#obvious solutions and amusement

[a-deceived-pigeon]

3/20/23

It was prom night. Or more accurately, prom night had just ended, the electrical buzz of excitement and the booming of the music fading into the background of the students’ consciousness, slowly being replaced by the comparatively calm melodies of the late night.

Almost all the kids in one friend group had gone home, either dropped off, picked up, or had driven themselves home.

Two remained, waiting in the driveway of their friend. One wore a vibrant red dress, shoulders exposed with a slit running high up the left leg. She wore a grey felt long coat.

The other wore a dark blue dress, sleeveless and flowing with a delicate tulle from waist to feet. A floral, lacey top portion was separated from the rest of the dress by a band of tulle which gave the dress an extra detail that drew the eye. A matching scarf seemed to have been abandoned earlier in the night and this girl did not have a coat.

These kids were Laurel and Amari, respectively, standing in the chilly night air waiting for Amari’s ride home. Laurel had her own car but wanted to make sure Amari was picked up safely first, and that she had company until then.

They chatted a bit but mostly stood in silence. At some point, Laurel glanced over at Amari, noticing her holding her arms in a bundle.

“Are you cold? Here. Wear this.”

Amari jumped to decline the offer, “Oh no, it’s okay! I’m good!”

But Laurel was already slipping the coat from her shoulders, insisting, “No please use it. I don’t get cold easily anyway,” she added with a smile.

Amari hesitantly but thankfully took the coat, accepting Laurel’s offer as she swung the coat around her own shoulders.

They continued to stand and wait. Perhaps it had been as much as 30 minutes, certainly longer than either had originally anticipated when Laurel had an idea.

“Wait. Why don’t we… just wait in my car?”

They turned and looked at each other for a moment of silence, blank disbelief that neither had thought of the idea before, before breaking out in chuckles.

“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe we hadn’t thought of that!” Amari blurted out as they both walked quickly toward the more sheltered car that was sitting right there.

“I know, right?!” Laurel just as incredulously blurted out.

They both huddled into the white Prius and Laurel got it turned on, pressing the power button and cranking up the heat.

They sat there going back and forth with “Oh my gosh”es at the obvious solution that neither had even considered til then, cracking up at their own ignorance at such a fantastically fitting idea. It wasn’t even two minutes before Amari’s ride pulled up. Amari got out, bidding Laurel a good night as she carefully slid off Laurel’s coat into the passenger’s side chair she had just been sitting in. She ran up to her ride and waved goodbye, shouting goodnight to Laurel and wishing her to drive safely. Laurel returned the gesture, shouting goodnight and wishing the same safety.

With that, Laurel proudly took off her heels that she had resolved to herself that she would wear the entire night. She rolled down her window and drove back home, barefooted, in silence, tired but contented at the night, and slightly amused.

So wonderfully amused,

~Nico

Hello hello! This is directly taken from a favorite memory my junior year of high school. I still can’t get over how neither of us throughout that time of waiting had thought to just wait in the car. Honestly, I can’t remember who proposed the idea so it can go either way! Looking back, I also think I could have just offered to take her home myself. Maybe that idea was proposed? And maybe there was a reason this wouldn’t have worked? Or maybe we just both thought her ride was coming very soon and didn’t think too much of it. All in all, all that mattered was that eventually we both got home safely and got a fun little memory to take from that night :)

[grandisknight]

afternoon treatment | zayne

summary: Zayne follows the "doctor's orders" in order to feel better.

tags: suggestive, established relationship, gn!reader (no specific descriptors), soft zayne, medical kink, 'doctor' kink, kissing, medical procedures (auscultation), medical inaccuracies (in a sense), chest mention, straddling

wc: 2.2k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: relax time affinity 80 with zayne and that one liner he has. that's it, that's the tweet.

Afternoons at Akso Hospital were always the busiest, from routine check-ups to meetings alike. Staff and accompanying patients hustled through the halls and hushed rooms—there was always something happening, and the cardiac surgery department was no different.

Yet, today seemed to offer Zayne some grace and time to reside in the chilled comforts of his workspace. The morning surgery went well, and his next procedure wouldn’t be for another hour or two. 

Therefore, he’s rewarded himself with a simple diagnosis report. The file was lighter in subject, easier to digest in comparison to what was usually on his plate. In his mind, this was a well-fitted solution to kill some time before returning to sterile scrubs and tense operating rooms.

Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he looks over their exterior when a soft series of familiar knocks reach his door.

“It’s open,” he calls out, rectangular reflection returning to the onscreen data. Without missing a beat and sparing another glance, he adds on, “Weren’t you supposed to visit a No-Hunt Zone today?”

“Finished my observations earlier than expected,” you chirped, pushing the door to a close and striding towards his busy desk. 

Recent reports of Metaflux fluctuations had consumed your bright morning with Herte Knaves running amok. Nothing out of the ordinary from your usual line of work, easily dealt with in a couple of bulleted blows. Their dispersing remains flecked the air in a quiet flurry that reminded you of snowflakes—naturally, your feet led you to the pristine floors of Akso soon thereafter.

Curiously, you sidestep to shadow his focused form, gaze altering between the wall of text and precise clicks of his keys. “Thought you were on break, but it seems like you’re working,” you mumble, in awe of his steady pace. “As always, Dr. Zayne.”

He speaks with an obvious, “Well, I am at work. The call is coming from inside the house.”

“Zayne,” you punctuate. His sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed, and you cross your arms in turn. “You know what I mean.”

A faint chuckle passes under his breath. “You’re accusing me as if I’m in the wrong.”

He was not, actually—far from it. That goes without saying when you were in the middle of his office, imposing during said work time. But you’ve been in his graces for nearly a year now, and know well enough that it was only around this time in the afternoons would he be able to catch a breather.

You shake your head, putting on your best voice before coming to your defense. “No, but the doctor’s orders require you to take a break.”

This catches his attention, fingers slowing their clicks and chair swiveling to face you head on. Slight confusion quirks his brow, mirroring your folded arms in observation. “And pray tell, who would that be? Last time I checked, only one of us is a certified surgeon in this room.”

Your eyes instinctively dart to his stationed badge, credentials on full display against his chest pocket. He had you beat there, at the very least.

“You may hold a degree for medical hearts,” you start, taking a step into the space of his parted knees and tapping your chest. 

“But I hold the degree to your heart.” Your finger redirects to the meeting point of his neckline, resting above the aforementioned muscle.

“Is that so?” The corners of his lips lift, amused by your display and newfound authority. “I was unaware of such a professional. Surely, I would’ve remembered seeing someone as dedicated as you during my studies.” 

He takes the chance to brush away a strand of hair hugging your cheek, neatly tucking it behind your ear. Gentle appreciation fills his comment of, “Would’ve made them much more enjoyable, too.”

“That’s besides the point.” You wave him off, though it doesn’t fan away the heat blushing your ears, sensing his underlying meaning. 

Returning to your self-presumed role, you nod. “As your dedicated and completely legitimate doctor, I believe you’re showing concerning symptoms.”

Zayne hums, withdrawing his hand. “I’m afraid your assessment is lost on me. What exactly are these symptoms?”

“Well, my patient seems to love working overtime. This can cause unnecessary stress to the body and mind, for one.” 

You lift one knee to bracket his, the other following in suit—Zayne adapts rather quickly, leaning back to give you space as you carefully straddle his waist. His arms naturally circle around you, hands hovering your tailbone to keep you steady.

Neatly settled on top, you continue with your mild lecture of reported observations. “Even though he should be using the precious time in-between work to give himself a well-deserved break, he does the exact opposite.” 

“He is on a break,” Zayne says to his defense. “It’s barely considered heavy work.”

“Doing any kind of work during down-time does not count, mister,” you chide.

You gently tussle his bangs, pushing them to the side and revealing his forehead. Smoothing over the skin above his brow, your eyes searched his expression before noting a shadow of fatigue beneath his lashes. He really was working himself to the bone, even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

“A dire symptom of a workaholic is when his skin is faring worse than usual,” you exaggerate. “Your eye bags are so prominent they could be checked in at the airport.”

“It’s not that bad,” he murmurs, eyes crinkling at your touch. They flutter to a close when your hand slides to cup his face, thumb brushing the high of his cheekbone in gentle care. “The lighting just makes it seem worse for wear. I’m fine.”

“I beg to differ.” You slowly trail downwards, caressing the side of his neck with a pursed lip. 

His pulse point thrummed nicely against your fingers, and a curious press elicited a low sigh from him. Unexpected, though the sound was music to your ears and had butterflies rampant in your stomach. A part of you wanted to hear more of the gravelly timbre that rarely made an appearance—you knew what needed to be done.

Picking up where you left off, more of your self-declared medical ramblings followed. “See here? Another symptom, such a fast pace surely isn’t for the faint of heart. Your apical pulse,” to which your fingertips lightly drag themselves towards, “can’t lie to me.”

Zayne is breathless by the time he formulates a response in sincerity. “How can we go about a treatment plan, then? It seems pretty serious.”

A slowed, purposeful pronunciation follows soon thereafter. “Doc-tor.”

Your heart skipped not one, but two beats—dangerous, surely, but it fell short in the face of Zayne’s steadfast compliance. He peers up at you, factually smitten and framed softly by the office lights blending the contours of his face. You raise your other hand to hold his fine face between them. Admiring, in awe of all that he was.

“There’s only one known treatment option, I’ll have you know.” Unable to hide your smile, you quickly add, “Might require mouth to mouth if things go south.”

Zayne’s pools of hazel flick to your upturned lips, before meeting your mischievous stare with a hint of his own.

“Is this truly scientifically proven, or did you come all this way just to kiss me?”

“Yes,” was all you offered to his question, before placing an airy kiss to his cupid’s bow. 

A second found its way to the bridge of his nose, laid over the slight ridge you adore before another rested between his raised brows. His eyes flutter to a close when your lips gently pressed to his temple, stilling at the contact. Slowly, you leave a trail of love across his cheeks, pausing once you meet the corner of his mouth.

Your thumb brushes against his lower lip, smiling at the way he parts them so readily for you. His chin tilts in the direction of your touch, mouthing the chase. A flush of pink sinked into his skin, a perfect peach for you to sink your teeth into.

“Tell me,” you say softly. Your fingers curl underneath his chin, observing the lidded gaze that follows. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

A tender exhale pushes past those very lips. “Right here,” he quietly admits. Closing the distance until you were only a breath away, his eyes focused on the plush of your mouth. “Please, Doctor.”

The union was gentle and warm, a kiss so kind that the same sentiment blossomed in your chest. Traces of a sweetened coffee picked from the hospital’s cafeteria and warm amber from his collar consumed your senses.

Zayne held you closer, chest to his and enveloping in a tender embrace. His hands traced the curve of your back, following your spine to gently cradle your head. Just to keep you this close, he was restless—realizing that he needed this more than he thought. The smile that cracks through another kiss is a testament to it, sealed with a deep breath of contentment.

It was perfect, a moment in time where your thundering heartbeats were equally matched. The world was nothing but a witness to the seconds spent in meaningful lip-locking.

“Mmph,” you groan unceremoniously. 

Something firm brushed against your brow, pulling you out of the sweet trance. The culprit looked back at you in its silver rimmed and glass glory, sliding down the bridge of Zayne’s nose.

“Hm?” He leans back, noticing your discomfort. “What’s the matter?” 

You contemplate on telling him, partially distracted by the puff of his lower lip. It has a sheen of your affection, and you were sure you looked no different in his eyes.

“Your glasses are falling,” you admit. You reach for the frames, intending on pushing them back to the high of his nose.

Zayne pauses your wrist then, a warm mirth in his gaze. “These are in the way, are they not?” He guides your hand, allowing the glasses to depart from his face and settling it on his desk. 

With or without the specs, he truly was handsome—the kind of beauty modeled in Greek busts, from the contours of his cheeks to the sharp angle of his brow bone. You’d have to thank his parents the next time you see them.

He sneaks in a kiss, no longer obscured by the barrier and face perfectly pressed to yours. “My Doctor seems to be distracted,” he comments, taking in your wandering gaze. A cool hand graces the crowd of your head, patting softly. “What are you planning this time?”

His touches brought you out of your daydreaming, and you nod. Hands settling on the curves of his shoulders, you slide them upwards with a murmur of, “I should check your apical pulse again.”

Your eyes wander to the space behind him, a stethoscope only a grab away. With some effort, you spare a hand to reach for it, rising from the chair to a degree. 

Zayne noticeably stiffens at his newfound view—your chest in his face wasn’t something on his agenda for today. The breath in his throat hitches, recognizing your fragrance. Comforting and pleasant, a piece of home warmly enhanced by your skin.

By the time you successfully have the medical device in hand, you nearly drop it at the feeling of his nose digging into your chest. 

“Zayne? You’re—mmh?!” His hands find their way to your midsection, holding you still as he inhales deeply. You only hear him hum between muffled fabric, and your mind dizzies at the heatwave the mere sound sends to your core.

He pulls back with a soft sigh, the peach of his skin notably deepened to a soft rouge. Zayne guides you back to sit proper in his lap, reaching for the stethoscope in your surprised hand. Carefully, he places the ear tips into place for you and brushes your hair back in the process. Nonchalant, as if he didn’t spend the last waking moments happily buried in your chest.

“If you’re checking my pulse for me, I hope you’ve read the hospital’s code of conduct.” He drops his hands then, patiently awaiting your auscultation. In the reflection of his coy stare, you find that your own blush is faring far, far worse than his.

“Right, right. I did, trust me,” you say in confidence.

You, in fact, did no such thing. But memory of past appointments guides your hand over his heart, chest piece sliding around to count the beats. Not a single count was missed, all perfectly in place and accounted for.

Though, the only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat drumming. It didn’t help that his eyes were entirely focused on you, pointed with affection and observation alike.

“Well?” Zayne hums. “How does it sound?”

“You have a heart, and it’s beating alright.” Your conclusion was far from exemplary, but at least it was the truth.

“That’s a relief,” he laughs quietly. He gently removes the stethoscope, setting it aside. “Realistically, this isn’t how an auscultation works.”

“My methods are just special, that’s all.” You shrug, lightly patting the space that protects the aforementioned organ. “But you seem to be feeling better, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Mhm.” Zayne presses a kiss to your nose, and offers his gratitude. “Thank you, Doctor. I don’t know what I would do without your care.”

[nottswitch]

— if you’ve been nice, you get…

─────────────── 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲 & 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭. ─

summary: during your trip to hogsmeade, you decide to pop into the famous honeydukes for some sweets. who would’ve guessed that your best friend would find the sight of you with a lollipop so enticing?

pairing: bsf!fred weasley x reader

cw: 18+ smut, friendship without boundaries, oral (m receiving), semi-public sex, praise, slight gagging, candy play, cursing

wc: 1.5k

a/n: for all my fred lovers out here!! let us all indulge in some sweetness <3 and dick

» navigation ; masterlist ; fred m.list ; kinkmas 2024

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The atmosphere inside of Honeydukes was everything you could expect from this time of year – despite it only being the beginning of December, the students already started feeling the holiday spirit. The shop was filled to the brim with what felt like the entire Hogwarts, from rowdy squealing first-years to the seventh-years who still had a soft spot for sweets despite pretending to be too cool for that. Hogsmeade residents groaned and huffed, trying to squeeze between the buzzing bodies, irritated beyond belief about Hogwarts students flooding the village once again.

You were standing next to the shelf filled with different lollipops, absently browsing, because you already had one in your mouth – a long green stick flavored apple and cinnamon, just right for the Christmas atmosphere filling the space around you. Your mind was drifting, and you didn’t even notice someone approach before a pair of strong, long arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind, encircling your entire form.

“Merlin!” you exclaimed, immediately knowing who that was – you could almost feel the cheeky grin against the back of your head.

“Just Fred would do.”

His voice was just as cheeky as his smile when he pulled away a bit, easily turning you around to face him. You were ready to retort with a snarky remark, as you usually would, but something stopped you, something that was as familiar as it was unexpected – the look in Fred’s eyes. The way they weren’t looking into yours at all. The way they were fixed firmly on your lips, currently wrapped around the tip of the green lollipop.

“Mhm,” you hummed to yourself, tilting your head to the side a bit as you took in the situation. You felt like you could read your best friend’s thoughts in real time, as if they were being broadcasted in a running line right across his face. And you didn’t mind the implication. Not at all.

“I see you’re being smart right now,” Fred made a remark, the grin on his face turning into an understanding smirk. He wasn’t shy about his obvious desire, on the contrary, he wanted you to see it. He also knew that you, being a good little friend, wouldn’t say no – you would even encourage it, being the tease that you always were next to him.

You chuckled, deliberately sucking on the lollipop this time, the wet sound of the candy going in and out of your mouth filling the close proximity between your faces.

“You wanted something?” you asked, pretending to be clueless, even though you knew you weren’t going to keep the act up for long – Fred had this effect on you that seemed to mirror your own on him, and his playful yet undeniably hungry gaze was doing wonders to warm up the space between your legs right now.

“Oh, come on, hun.” Fred rolled his eyes, an amused chuckle escaping him. “We both know exactly what I want. And, may I add, what you want as well.”

It was your turn to play annoyed, because he was, of course, as right as always; over the years of friendship as close as the one you shared, he learned to read you like an open book that he didn’t even have to open – it laid exposed right in front of him.

“Where?” was your only question, your eyes briefly darting around the stuffy, crowded room of Honeydukes. Fred followed your gaze, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought of a solution. A moment later, a smirk grazed his lips again as his eyes fell somewhere behind you.

Without another word, he grabbed your hand and started leading you away from the shelves, shamelessly pushing through the endless number of students blocking your way – he was too damn impatient. Your steps stuttered after his long ones, your fingers gripping the lollipop stick so that it wouldn’t fall to the floor – you had plans for the candy, after all.

The tiny space Fred squeezed you into looked like some kind of a utility room, but the lack of space was the last thing on your mind at the moment – not like you’d need much of it anyway. Once the door was locked thanks to him casting a spell, Fred leaned against the wall, looking at you expectantly; as much as he liked enjoying you and your body to the fullest, now was not the place or time. You instantly understood him – and you didn’t protest. Sinking down to your knees, you ran a hand over his thigh, ending up right on the straining bulge between his legs. Fred groaned, his mouth parted as he looked down, catching the sight of your face right next to his already aching cock, your lips wrapped seductively around the lollipop.

“Gonna be a good girl, huh?” he murmured, his voice breathless yet still containing the playfulness that never seemed to leave it even for a moment. “Come on, love.” He gently nudged your head closer to his crotch, and you followed his touch, nuzzling your face against his clothed length, feeling how hard and ready he was, all for you.

Your hand swiftly moved to unzip his trousers, pulling them down along with his boxers just enough to free his member. It sprung free from the confines, immediately staining the hem of Fred’s jumper with precum, which made you chuckle at his eager state. The lollipop left your mouth with a pop, and the hand holding it wrapped around the base of Fred’s cock, holding the candy right next to it. Fred raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this particular direction, but the words died in his throat when you took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip and the tip of the lollipop at the same time.

“I knew you were a little freak, love, but this…” He was cut off by his own moan when he felt the pressure of the candy against his dick as both were suddenly shoved into your mouth. “…Shit!”

He had to muffle himself with the sleeve of his jumper, because the way you made him feel threatened to expose you to everyone currently swirling around the Honeydukes shop. You hummed around him, feeling your lips stretch at the corners from the lollipop significantly adding to his thickness. The saltiness of his precum mixed with the sugary sweet taste of candy, creating a completely new yet strangely welcome sensation.

You started bobbing your head up and down, only able to take half of Fred’s cock due to the lollipop being in the way. Fred didn’t seem to mind – the added pressure of the candy seemed to make up for the lack of your usual technique. You pulled away for a moment to drag your tongue from the base to his tip again, slurping up the sticky, sweet and salty liquid that was formed by your saliva. You spat some of it back into his cock and the lollipop, lowering your head once again to continue the job.

“Making a mess of me, huh?” Fred moaned out, glancing down and seeing drool running down your chin, slimy strings dripping down onto the floor underneath you. “Such a good girl, love. Such a good fucking girl.”

His praise encouraged you to increase your pace, your head moving even more enthusiastically. You could feel a generous amount of liquid filling your throat, making you gag a bit as the sweetness of the lollipop tickled your glands, but it didn’t make you stop at all. You knew Fred was close – from your position on your knees, you could see the way his eyes fluttered close every so often, the way his chest heaved deeper and faster than usual. Your tongue swirled around the tips again, your cheeks hollowing out as you sucked them in, creating more friction between the sensitive flesh and the hard, sticky surface of the candy. Fred’s hand gripped your hair without actually moving your head – he just needed something to hold onto.

“Fuck, love,” he raggedly breathed out as his cock ended up pressed between the inside of your cheek and the lollipop once again. “Gonna– F-fuck!”

He didn’t have time to warn you; you felt his length twitch in your mouth as the hotness of his cum hit the back of your throat, mixing with the saliva gathered there and making you gag again. Your lips trembled a bit around him as you swallowed, slowly lapping up the remnants of his release and the significantly thinned out candy. Fred’s head fell back against the wall, and he let out a breathless chuckle, his eyes darting down to your wet, fucked out face.

“Gonna have to get you some more of those, yeah?” he murmured, taking the lollipop out of your mouth and placing it in his, a teasing smirk appearing on his lips. You scoffed in response, giving his thigh a light smack. You knew he liked what had just happened, though, and you didn’t mind giving him another sticky treat.

[manikas-whims]

request for LADS

what if u have to fake date the guys for some reason but its starts becomin difficult for ur heart cuz you start catching feelings

thank you 🙏

thanks for this request! ♡ i went a lil overboard with this LOL. WARNING ⚠️ long post..

Fake Dating the Love and Deepspace men but you catch feelings pt. 1

ZAYNE

❄️ Tara keeps trying to set you up with one of her colleagues, and no matter how subtle she acts about it, you're getting tired of it. Thus, you come to this decision! You request Zayne to play your fake boyfriend for a while.

❄️ The matter of his own feelings aside, Zayne just thinks that fake dating someone to avoid potential dates is incredibly crazy. “You can simply ask your friend to stop.”

❄️ His suggestion is baffling. You feel like an idiot for ignoring the obvious solution. But only a moment later realize that even asking her to stop won't likely deter Tara. At least not until she sees you with a person better than any of her chosen candidates.

❄️ So you decide to let go of the little self-respect you have and beg Zayne to do this for you. He is amused by this ridiculous proposition but agrees nonetheless since he can never really say no to you.

❄️ It's an amazing experience cause Zayne is the perfect boyfriend anyone could ever ask for— handsome, smart, caring, strict when needed, protective and very accommodating.

❄️ The first time Tara meets him, her eyes literally glow with admiration. And she pats your back like a proud aunt, winking suggestively as she does so.

❄️ However, Zayne has always been great at adapting to the situations at hand and soon your arrangement starts becoming a bit of a problem for your delicate heart.

❄️ It is one thing to show him off to your colleagues. But Zayne has started doing stuff like dropping you home everyday after work, his only explanation being “that's what he would do if he was your REAL boyfriend”.

❄️ And this isn't all. He's taking breaks in the afternoon to have lunch with you everyday and make sure you don't miss any meals. He slips your hand inside his coat pocket on particularly colder days. He even focuses on the little things like wiping a coffee stain from your bottom lip or gently pushing the stray strands of hair behind your ear. All this while, his explanation is: it's what he would do if he were your real boyfriend. And you aren't sure your heart will manage long if this goes on.

❄️ The real issue arises when one of your colleagues point out how they've never seen you kiss. And this makes Tara perk-up too.

❄️ In your defense, you spout some nonsense about how Zayne is kinda shy by nature and doesn't believe in PDA much. “When we're alone, he's very passionate.”

❄️ This leads to Tara and a bunch of colleagues secretly tailing you when Zayne comes to pick you up one evening. For they also wanna see this passionate side of him.

❄️ “Um..Zayne, can we kiss?” You whisper, your eyes averted, and fingers fiddling in nervousness. Its not that you are worried about the "kissing" part. Thats easy. You are actually worried about kissing Zayne.

❄️ As for Zayne, he is confused and shocked at first. Even blushes a little. But thanks to his perceptive nature, he quickly spots your colleagues and understands.

❄️ So as you clumsily teeter closer to him and raise yourself on your feet to reach his height, he chuckles at your efforts as well as the pained expression on your face.

❄️ “Relax.” He commands and magically, his words do calm your nerves a little.

❄️ He smiles then, his big arms wrapping smoothly around your waist as he lowers his head and lets his lips gently linger against yours, igniting a desire within you.

❄️ When he finally pulls back moments later, you nearly loose your footing.

❄️ This is it. The last shred of your sanity blown away. It may have only been a few moments but the kiss leaves an impact on you. Your heart can't take it anymore. Because you enjoyed the kiss more than you should have. And its made you realise that you may have actual feelings for Zayne.

XAVIER

⭐ There's this creepy resident at your apartment complex who's been trying to make moves on you but he's just been so nice and subtle about it that you have no idea how to turn him down. Thus, instead of that, you ask Xavier to play your fake boyfriend for a while.

⭐ “This doesn't seem like a good idea.” He says, hesitantly scratching his cheek.

⭐ Xavier also believes beating the shit out of the guy is a better option, and a permanent solution. But again, you can't do that because the guy hasn't actually done anything threatening or concerning. Thus, any sort of unwarranted violence against such a guy will only result in more problems for Xavier and You.

⭐ So Xavier sighs, and nods with a smile. “Fine. What do you need me to do?”

⭐ “Just do things only a boyfriend would do whenever that guy is around.” You tell him and he nods.

⭐ And so it starts with you dragging Xavier out for morning laps and evening walks around the complex, and you always make sure to hold onto Xavier's arm whenever you spot the strange guy.

⭐ But as the days go by, you sense as if Xavier may be a little too good at his new job.

⭐ One evening as you are working out at the gym on the top floor of the apartment complex, the guy walks in and approaches you. To your annoyance, he begins his usual small talk. But he's barely strung two words together when you feel the warmth of a hand gliding along your waist.

⭐ You look up to find Xavier, his clothes sweaty from workout. He tucks his chin on top off your head, his arm around your waist tightening ever so slightly. “Do you know this guy?”

⭐ It takes a moment for you to realise you're gawking! At the same guy you had asked to pretend to be your boyfriend. And it's not just his fingers stroking circles on your belly but also the way his voice sounds more intimate!??

⭐ Quickly, you compose yourself and stammer a response. “N-Not really. He's a resident just like us.”

⭐ And with that said, you're being steered out of the gym, Xavier's arm never leaving your waist.

⭐ Ever since you've known him, he rarely breaches your personal space without permission. A gentleman through and through. It's you who's been messing with his hair, squishing his cheeks and poking his chest to tease him all this time.

⭐ But ever since you asked him to play boyfriend, he's the one initiating skinship at the most unexpected moments. It's as if this fake dating arrangement has given him a free pass to do everything he usually holds back from.

⭐ Now he holds your hand whenever you're walking together, idly plays with your hair strands when hanging out at your place, and ALWAYS makes sure his arms are around your waist or face nuzzling your neck in the presence of that strange guy.

⭐ You may have been the one who requested him to do this but you aren't so sure about this whole thing anymore.

⭐ A few weeks have passed but the guy is persistent. Now he's always trying to find you when he's sure Xavier won't be around.

⭐ “It's not working. We need to do something more convincing.” You say in a deflated tone. You and Xavier are standing in the hallway of your floor, having just returned from a mission.

⭐ And that creep is lurking at the end of the floor by the elevator, waiting for Xavier to leave so he can ask you out yet again.

⭐ Xavier tucks a hand under his chin, his nose scrunching in thought. “Something more you say..”

⭐ Then in the very next moment, he pushes you against your own apartment door, a hand coming to rest upon it to keep you in place; his other hand gently cradles your face, arching it slightly before he presses his lips against your own.

⭐ Only a moment later he pulls away, then kisses you again. This time with more fervor than needed to fake it. And when he breaks the kiss again, his lips gravitate towards your neck.

⭐ “Xa..Xavier..?” You're stunned. You're not even sure how you are meant to react.

⭐ Xavier pushes away from you slightly and turns his head, his gaze directed right at the strange man. “She’s mine.” He asserts.

⭐ The man is as shocked as you are and immediately runs away.

⭐ Xavier looks back at you and flashes his usual soft smile. “This should convince him enough.”

⭐ Seriously!? Who cares about that guy anymore? Your heart is the most convinced that you may possibly be falling for Xavier.

RAFAYEL

🌊 “Miss Bodyguard, would you like to date me?” Rafayel asks one day out of the blue, and you are left feeling equal parts flustered and confused because WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?

🌊 He enjoys watching you trying to act nonchalant when your fidgety movements and flushed cheeks clearly tell him otherwise.

🌊 Finally he explains how he has accumulated quite the fanbase, thanks to not just his art but his gorgeous looks. And now these same loving fans are becoming slightly toxic with how they stalk him around, making it impossible for him to even go out in peace. Aa such, he wants to promote you from the position of his bodyguard to fake girlfriend.

🌊 You don't like the sound of it. You can already smell trouble from afar but you know he'll keep pestering until you relent. So you agree to it in the end.

🌊 Only later you realise what you've actually gotten yourself into.

🌊 Rafayel is already kinda clingy by nature but now that you've agreed to his dating charade, he's fully taking advantage of it.

🌊 Everytime he drags you out to a public spot, he makes sure that the two of you hold hands. And rather than going to places that may inspire him for his paintings, he drags you to expensive fashion brands stores.

🌊 Even as you refuse to let him buy any of it, he makes you try on the outfits for hours, making you turn this way and that, asking you to pose in specific ways as he snaps numerous photographs (which he'll definitely use as reference for his portraits of you). And just when you think it's over with all the fancy clothes, he makes you try on footwear next.

🌊 He's also buying you all these gifts you never asked for. He's basically spoiling you with things you can't otherwise afford.

🌊 He's also posting a lot of cringe yet cutesy couple photos with you on his social media accounts.

🌊 And you may not admit it but you are beginning to enjoy being spoilt like this.

🌊 Weeks pass without you even realising. This arrangement is becoming more and more dangerous for your heart. Because lets be honest Rafayel may be enjoying playing around with you like this but the same can't be said for you. You know that if this goes on any longer, your heart is bound to make space for him.

🌊 “How much longer do we need to keep this up?” You ask one day.

🌊 He merely winks at you. “Just a little longer.”

🌊 You try your best to keep your emotions in check. You just need to endure him and his charm for a little longer. Heck! You kill wanderers for a living so the matters of heart shouldn't be anymore difficult than that. Right? Right?

🌊 Oh how foolish you are.

🌊 It happens during a private gala Rafayel is invited to and of course as his “girlfriend”, you're supposed to go with him.

🌊 That, and the other reason being this crazy musician who will be there. Apparently she's been hitting on Rafayel for a while now, and your appearance may finally make her retreat.

🌊 So there, amidst the crowd of snobbish strangers, Rafayel asks you for a dance. And in the dim glow of the hall, paired with a slow, romantic tune, he feels closer than he is. And it happens..your resolve falters.

🌊 He wiggles a brow towards the corner of the room, and surely enough, you spot the aforementioned crazy musician. Indeed, she doesn't seem very happy with the way Rafayel has his arms around you.

🌊 And to deliberately spur her further, he lowers his head. His breath is ticklish along your skin as he whispers in your ear. “You’ve moved along quite well to my tune. You're a good dancer.”

🌊 For some reason, you don't like those words. Rafayel complimenting you so freely cannot be a good sign.

🌊 “Just endure a little longer, Miss Bodyguard. Tonight will be the last run of this charade.”

🌊 Then he tucks a lose strand of hair behind your ear and leans his face in, his lips gently brushing along yours before pressing harder.

🌊 The kiss is slow and lingering, just like the song being played. But it seems that the moment you begin to give in and truly relish it, the moment ends. He pulls away and smiles.

🌊 Yet you can't muster enough strength to smile back for its happened. Your resolve is broken. Your heart has already reserved the best spot for him. And you aren't ready to let go of this charade any time soon..

here's [PART 2]

i have 4-5 more LADS requests to finish. i'm working on them and will post them soon ✌️😊

THANKS FOR READING ♡

SEND ME REQUESTS FOR LOVE & DEEPSPACE HEADCANONS VIA ASKS.

» MASTERLIST «

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (14/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kind of fingering, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"Tell him the truth. Lying to my grandfather serves no purpose anyway. He's a skilled player. You have to win his trust." Said her betrothed, walking around her chamber with his hands folded behind his back as if it was simple, while she sat on her bed, looking at him in horror.

Lord Hightower had many reasons to doubt her loyalty, starting with her treacherous bloodline to the fact that, in all probability, Gwayne had convinced him that she had forced her way into his grandson's heart through his bed like a simple whore.

She lowered her gaze, fiddling with her fingers in nervous reflex – her lēkia approached her and knelt before her on one knee, taking her hands in his, slightly rough from holding the hilt of his sword.

"My grandfather is loyal to our family. I trust him. Do it, zaldrītsos."

Otto waited for her in the royal gardens in complete solitude, under one of the beautiful ancient arbours overlooking the sea. The day was sunny and hot, so she was dressed in one of the gowns of fine, thin fabric that she had ordered with her Prince's permission – she could have worn a garment belonging to his daughter, Queen Alicent, but she feared he would perceive it as an attempt of manipulation.

She was to be honest with him, as her betrothed demanded.

She sighed quietly, seeing his seated silhouette in the distance, silver trays full of lemon and apple cakes, caramelised dates, grapes and strawberries on a small white table in front of him. She blinked, coming closer with a rattle of stones under her feet, standing in front of him, feeling her heart stop in her throat.

Otto gave her a gentle, reassuring smile and held out his hand in front of him, pointing to the empty chair across from him, seeing how tense she was.

"My Lady. Thank you for agreeing to speak to the grumbling old man and listen to his concerns." He said lightly and she swallowed hard, sitting down, placing her hands on her thighs.

"Treat yourself. My daughter loves caramelised dates." He said and reached for one himself, taking a bite of it.

He chewed it and swallowed, nodding appreciatively, as if indeed their flavour appealed to him too.

"Do you know what my grandson's – and your betrothed's – favourite dish is?" He asked, looking at her curiously, as if he was challenging her.

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders, involuntarily grinning with amusement.

"I don't think such considerations occupy his head. He rarely delights in food, and if he does, it is more in the privacy of his own mind." She said calmly.

Otto hummed under his breath, as if her answer satisfied him, and nodded.

"Our Prince is a man of principle and loves simplicity. Deliberations on trivial things bore him and arouse his frustration, just like the romantic courting of women." He said, spreading out comfortably in his chair, placing his hands on the armrests, asking her the obvious question between his words.

How had she managed to seduce him?

She huffed under her breath and turned her gaze away, looking out at the sea stretching around them, the pleasant fresh breeze and shade cooling her sun-warmed skin.

"Like any man, he is not fond of empty words. He chooses his own deliberately and expects others to do the same. Unless he becomes enraged – then his fury erupts like a volcano." She said lightly, for some reason feeling no fear at the thought.

She had ceased to fear him long ago.

She knew that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to truly hurt her.

"The letter you found in your chamber was sent to you on my command." He said calmly.

She froze, staring blankly ahead, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad.

It was a trial, she suddenly realised.

He wanted to see if she was trustworthy.

For some reason, a wave of sadness and disappointment rippled through her heart.

She naively believed for a moment that her person could occupy her father's mind.

Otto continued, hearing her silence full of disbelief.

"I need to know what you want, child. I need you to put your desires into words so that I can understand what kind of person is sitting right in front of me to become my grandson's wife." He said slowly, as if carefully choosing every thought that left his lips – his voice was gentle and soothing, as if he was trying to reassure her that what she was going to say would remain their secret.

She lowered her gaze, feeling her heart pound like mad in terror – not because she was afraid of him, but because his question startled her.

She didn't know what to answer.

She had never thought about it.

Until now, she had only been the fulfilment of his desires, she thought with shame, playing with her fingers, feeling certain Otto would take her silence as a bad sign, proof that her intentions were not pure.

"I am what he wants me to be." She finally muttered, feeling tears of embarrassment under her eyelids burning as much as if they were living fire.

Lord Hightower looked at her in silence and twisted in his seat with a creak of wood, as if surprised by her answer.

"Do you wish to marry him?" He asked, and she nodded without thinking.

"I want to be by his side. His presence fills my soul and heart with a strange peace. When he is beside me, I am no longer afraid. Of my father, of war, or of what will happen to me. I am not afraid of death or dragon fire. Sometimes I think it would be better for me to die in battle than to live to see the moment when I realise I have lost his affection." She choked out in a trembling voice, feeling the heavy tears one by one run down her cheeks – she was wiping them off the warm skin of her face with her hands, but they flowed anyway.

Why had she said that?

Why was she letting him know her weakness?

Maybe because deep down she hoped that he would kill her one day, she thought.

That he would not let her live to see the day when her husband would love another woman.

"Our Prince holds you in a respect and esteem that he has never bestowed on any woman before. He allows himself to be vulnerable and weak in your presence. Men, dear child, experiencing physical fulfilment without a soul bond, feel an emptiness after the act. Their desire is like a cry of desperation for purely childlike attention and tenderness – then, in his chamber, seeing him in your embrace, I saw a boy who feels protected and comforted. I'm afraid that my grandson fell in love with you."

She swallowed with difficulty, choking on her own tears, looking at him in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest like mad.

I'm afraid that my grandson fell in love with you.

She shook her head, feeling that she could not accept those words.

He desired her, he enjoyed her, he was fond of her, but he did not love her.

"I dearly loved my late wife. She was my closest confidante, my beloved friend, the most beautiful of women. She was strong, and my grandson is weak. Filled with complexes, he lives to prove his worth, power and strength, not seeing that he is crushing the efforts of many years, made by me and his father. He needs guides, trusted advisors who love him and who want him to prevail. I know that it was because of you that my grandson told his brother about his plans regarding Rook Rest's. I know that you advised him against plotting behind Aegon's back and sought to rally them. You advise our Prince wisely and I wish you to be his wife. As the daughter of the Lady of Runestone, you are the blood of the Kingdom of the Mountain and the Vale, which will be crucial to us when the siege of Harrenhal begins. Your task to the Kingdom will be to rally the Lords against Lady Arryn's will and to stop my grandson from acting recklessly and violently. Do you understand what I have in mind?" He asked calmly, and she nodded quickly, wiping her hot, swollen cheeks with her hands.

"Yes."

As she was fitting her wedding gown, letting the servants and seamstresses check the length of the sleeves, she thought about Otto Hightower's words and how much they surprised her.

He was a shrewd and enlightened man, of that she was convinced – he also let her know that he did not see her as an enemy or a threat, but as an opportunity for them and the Kingdom as a whole.

For some reason, something in his words and the way he said them comforted her – she felt that, at last, the burden of the war and the Crown would partly fall off the Prince's back, allowing someone more experienced to advise him on difficult and complicated matters that would have overwhelmed the wisest of men.

She shuddered as the door to her chamber opened and her betrothed stepped inside, searching for her with his eye.

"No!" She squealed, fleeing behind the light-coloured three-door screen standing nearby. "It brings misfortune. Leave."

He shouldn't see her in her wedding gown before their nuptials.

She heard his sigh of impatience and his lazy footsteps on the other side – when he stopped the servants bowed to him and left the chamber, leaving them alone.

"What did he say?" He asked calmly.

She sighed quietly, stepping closer to the wall of thin material behind which she could see the shadow of his tall figure.

"That he wishes me to win the support of the Lords of the Vale for you. That I would help him control your impulsive nature." She said, and he snorted, frustrated, turning his head to the side.

"Is that how he sees me? As an uncontrollable animal to be tamed?" He asked with a regret that made her swallow hard, her fingers touching the fabric as if she wanted to touch his chest.

His heart.

"No. But he and I know what your anger means and how dangerous it can be. That it is only when its first wave passes that your coolness and common sense returns to you. There is a fire running through your veins – that is your nature. We do not want you to burn in the heat of your own fury, regretting later the deeds done in a sudden burst of rage." She muttered and heard him draw in a breath, as if her words pained him.

"He is disappointed in me, then." He said coldly and she closed her eyes, feeling helpless against his low self-esteem.

"No, brother. He wants your victory, exactly as I do. If you craved sweet lies, you would allow Larys Strong to pour poison into your ears, surrounding yourself with lords who would praise you and your greatness. You, in your wisdom, sent for your grandfather, who is sincere, who cares for you and your family."

"Ours." He corrected her, and she smiled involuntarily with gratitude.

"Ours."

She heard him take a step towards the screen, his forehead pressed against the material – she did the same, on the other side, hearing his quiet breath.

"– I desire you –" He whispered, and she sighed, feeling his words in her nipples, her lips, the tips of her fingers and her throbbing, swollen cunt.

"– let's last until our wedding – let's make this the night we've waited and longed for –" She said in a breaking voice, feeling that she was losing the battle with herself, his scent, his presence, his closeness making her grow hot.

"– what are you suggesting? – that you won't spend upcoming nights in my bed? –" He exhaled, placing his hands on the screen wall, and she felt a wonderful shiver of pleasure run down her cheeks, along her breasts and down her spine.

"– lēkia –" She gasped and they both sighed as the door to her chamber opened and Lysa stepped inside, holding in her hand the jewellery casket she had ordered for the occasion.

"– leave us, brother –" She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling her womanhood pulsing greedily around nothing, a drop of her wetness running down the inside of her thigh.

"– visit me tonight –"

"– I can't – for at least a few days let me pretend I have dignity –" She mumbled and heard him swallow hard, as if her words caused him pain.

She knew he hesitated, that he wanted to say something more, but resigned – she saw him turn and move towards the door, Lysa bowed to him as he left the room without a word.

She exhaled loudly, stepping out from behind the screen, and Lysa gave her one warm, comforting smile.

She was her only friend.

"They have arrived, my Lady – hair adornments, a dagger and a necklace, matching your instructions in every detail." She said, tilting the lid open.

She smiled broadly as she came closer, seeing the objects lying on the cushion – a thin, delicate golden chain with sapphires framed so that they looked like three water drops – two small and one large that was lying between them – her hair pins in the shape of forget-me-nots, also made of sapphire stones, and a long, beautiful dagger, her gift for her future husband.

She had chosen her jewellery deliberately – her wedding gown was sewn from fabrics in light blue tones and browns – she wanted to show her future husband her devotion to him and her own allegiance to Runestone at the same time.

According to what she had heard, King Aegon began to slowly awaken, but he was dazed and was merely babbling, fed with the milk of the poppy by the Maester – they wanted to spare him the pain, which must have been immense anyway, looking at how much of his skin had been burned in the fire.

However, the fact that he was regaining consciousness worried her Prince, who pushed for the nuptials to take place as soon as possible – he was afraid that his brother, as soon as he found out about it, would forbid the Septon to marry them out of sheer spite.

They renounced grand ceremonies and processions – their subjects were starving, and they did not want them to think that during their great suffering they were drinking wine and dancing, mocking them.

"Thanks to my spies, we were able to prevent great misfortune – a dozen inconspicuous boats arrived under cover of darkness from Dragonstone to King's Landing, filled to the brim with food. They were to be passed on as gifts from Queen Rhaenyra to her subjects. Instead, the food will be distributed on the streets of the city just before your nuptials, so that the whole Kingdom can rejoice with you." Said Otto during the Small Council meeting – her future husband had dismissed his mother in revenge for her affair with Criston Cole, thus freeing up a seat at the table.

As she was a dragon rider and would be participating in the war, she needed to know what was happening, so she was specifically assigned a seat in the Small Council, right next to the Prince Regent's grandfather.

She threw her cousin a quick glance and saw that he was looking at her as well, his grin indicating that he was more than pleased.

"Excellent." He said.

Her betrothed, in keeping with her wishes, had allowed them to spend the nights before their nuptials apart, she knew, however, that he was frustrated and made that known whenever he could.

"No. You stay, hāedar." He said when he closed the meeting and she stood up as did everyone else gathered.

She swallowed hard when she heard the door close – she saw out of the corner of her eye that he stood from his seat and approached her with a lazy, unhurried step.

She gasped as she felt his large hand on her waist, wandering up and down, his other hand without any warning slipped under the fabric of her gown from above and squeezed softly her silky, plump breast.

She pressed her lips together, suppressing a quiet moan of pleasure when she felt his parted, moist lips run over her neck, leaving a wet, sticky trail on her skin, his hot breath making her cunt, swollen with desire and longing, clench greedily around nothing.

"– stop –" She muttered, grabbing his wrist as his hand from her waist and hip slid down between her thighs, closing on her womanhood.

"– are you touching yourself? – hm? –" He asked coldly and she shook her head, panting heavily as she felt his hard manhood pushing against her buttocks, a drop of cold sweat dripped down her back.

"– no – I suffer just as you do, lēkia – please –" She mumbled and cried out, tilting her head back as his fingertips began to gently tease what was under the material of her dress, a wonderful wave of heat surging through her loins.

"– mmm –" He hummed and let her go, leaving her alone, thirsty and quivering with desire, walking out of the room without even giving her a single glance.

Contrary to what her cousin thought, it wasn't just for him that the wait for their night together was agony – her betrothed demanded that since he couldn't touch her, she couldn't either.

She knew that he also did not satisfy his urges in any way, which made him more mischievous – he would lurk for an opportunity for them to be alone and put his hand between her thighs to caress and tease her, whispering in her ear.

"– beg, and maybe I'll fuck you –" He hissed, her hand clenched on his arm.

"– n-no – please, please, stop –"

He let her go then, his jaw clenched in annoyance and some kind of awe, as if he didn't think she could really stand it – her whole body screamed before his eyes that she wanted it, and yet she still refused him.

It was a sign of strong will for him, proof that her words were not empty and her decisions were final.

On the day the nuptials were to take place, the entire Red Keep was put on its feet – Otto feared an attack from all sides, including poisoning, so guards personally chosen by him went to the Sept, as well as to the kitchens, to keep an eye on the cooks and make sure they didn't add anything to the food.

She was surprised by this, but she felt relieved that her future husband's grandfather was watching over everything.

From the morning, Lysa and the other servants had been helping her put on her gown – it fitted her body perfectly, revealing her cleavage and shoulders – the sleeves of the bottom dress clung to her arms, while the sleeves of her top dress, the blue one, was slit at the elbows, falling all the way to the ground.

Some of her hair was pinned up in a bun at the back of her head, decorated with small sapphire flowers, while some fell in waves down her back.

A necklace completed the look – it adorned her long neck and accentuated the colour of the fabric of her gown, however, she actually hoped that this and her sapphire hair adornments would be the only things left on her body during their wedding night.

She shuddered as the door to her chamber opened and she saw Queen Alicent before her – she stepped down from the small dais and bowed to her as did her servants, whether she wanted to or not having to show her respect.

The Dowager Queen stopped before her and sighed, folding her hands in front of her.

"Do you know what kind of man you will marry? Who my son is?" She asked, and she swallowed hard, wondering how a mother could know so little about her own child.

She thought she was simply afraid of the answers to the questions she was asking herself and didn't want to know them, separating herself from who her son was in her mind.

"Yes, Your Grace." She said calmly, looking her straight in the eye. "Our Prince holds you in deep esteem and hopes to earn your praise."

She saw Alicent's lips twitch, her eyebrows arching in an expression of regret, as if her words had caused her pain, her large brown eyes filled with nothing but sadness.

She nodded, as if accepting her words in her heart, and gestured to her servant, who held a small chest in her hand.

"I wish to offer a blessing to you and my son. I ask that you accept this small gift from me, along with my desire for you to be protected by the gods themselves." Said the Queen and opened the lid – she saw a fine gold chain with a small pendant in the shape of a seven-pointed star.

She nodded, looking at it, wondering if, when she went to see her son, she would find at least a few warm words for him.

The journey in the carriage through King's Landing seemed to last for ages to her – the streets were full of happy people – Lord Hightower, according to his plan, began handing out food to the people, leading to a sudden outburst of joy.

The smallfolk, in keeping with his desire, saw this event as a sign, recognising that the gods had supported the marriage between the Prince and his relative by sending them revelry, putting an end to their hunger.

However, for how long will the supplies stolen from Princess Rhaenyra last?

When will their suffering begin anew?

She swallowed hard at the thought that the war had to end as soon as possible, but both her future husband and Dragonstone knew that neither of them had enough advantage to bring the other to its knees.

When she arrived before the Great Sept and the carriage doors opened in front of her, she froze, feeling panic – the people around her were shouting her name, throwing flowers, reaching out to her as if she were some kind of semi-divine being, a symbol of the life they would never know.

She felt overwhelmed and stunned, alone among the crowd, small without her dragon and bow, dressed in a long gown like a doll.

For some reason she wanted to cry.

"My Lady." She heard a voice in front of her, then saw Otto Hightower walking towards her between the guards. "My Lady, give me your hand."

She swallowed hard and did as he asked, placing her palm on his, rough and large. With his help, she walked down a few steps to a small wooden platform, and from it to the ground, feeling that her legs were trembling with fear.

"I am not your father, but I will be more than happy if you do me this honour. It is a difficult journey and no young woman should have to walk it alone." He said calmly, and she looked at him with big eyes, noticing something in his gaze that could have been sympathy or simple concern.

She had always dreamed of someone looking at her like that.

The way a father would look at his daughter.

She nodded, thinking in the back of her mind that if she let go of his hand she would just fall, her legs soft as cotton wool.

As she walked with Lord Hightower into the Great Sept, she heard the sound of trumpets, young girls, daughters of lords and knights throwing flowers at her feet.

It all seemed unreal to her – the temple around her was so gigantic that it took her breath away, the great, tall statues of the Seven Gods towering over those gathered to form a circle, enclosing the entire structure.

At the very centre, on a raised platform stood the altar at which stood the Grand Septon and her betrothed, a sweet emotion squeezed her throat as she looked at his face.

Though he stood erect, with his hands folded behind his back like a statue, she could see that his gaze was hot, vulnerable, his eye large, his lips parted in a heavy breath as if he longed to cry at the sight of her – the fact that she had chosen not the colour of his or her lineage, but his colour, the blue of his sapphire, something only he could understand, the expression of her devotion, her understanding, her affection.

When they stopped at the steps Otto let her go, but she, seeing her cousin's face felt more confident – she grabbed the front of her gown and lifted it, not wanting to step on it, climbing slowly upwards, her steps echoing loudly around her.

She sighed quietly as she stood in front of them, not daring to look at his face, feeling that if she did she would cry for some reason.

It was really happening.

She was to become a wife.

She looked at him and it was a mistake – she felt a squeeze in her throat when she saw him draw in the air loudly when his gaze met hers, as if he felt something deep inside himself that frightened him, his lips slightly parted in a shuddering breath.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Her cousin swallowed loudly, looked at the Septon and then behind him, nodding – Gwayne Hightower approached him with a long black cloak embroidered with green threads from which the figure of a three-headed dragon was formed at the very centre.

The crest of their family and the colours of the Hightowers.

She bowed humbly as he threw the cloak over her shoulders with a sweeping gesture, making sure the material did not slip, and she closed her eyes.

He took her under his protection.

"We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." Said the Septon – her betrothed extended his hand to her, standing proud and upright, so she placed her palm on his – the priest entwined their joined hands with a wide, bright ribbon.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words." He said, and they looked at each other, her heart pounding in her chest once before they both opened their mouths and their lungs left the words spoken surprisingly confidently and calmly.

"Father,

Smith,

Warrior,

Mother,

Maiden,

Crone,

Stranger

I am hers | I am his

and she is mine | and he is mine

from this day, until the end of my days."

They fell silent, and though she thought he would not do it, that it would be beneath his dignity, he took her hot cheek in his hand and leaned down, looking at her as if he held the entire heritage of Old Valyria in his fingers.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." He whispered, only a quiet sigh escaping her throat as his full, fleshy lips pressed against hers in a deep, warm, moist kiss, so tender and soft that she felt a single, lonely tear run down her cheek.

My love.

When he broke the kiss he didn't move away for a moment, just looking at her, and she smiled in a way that must have made him happy, because he smiled too, shyly and sweetly, like a little boy.

They were husband and wife.

[steddiealltheway]

The upside down is colder than Steve remembers.

To be fair, he only wearing a vest, pants, and no shoes at the moment, and he may be actively bleeding out even with the bandages because of the damn bats but… he just doesn’t remember it being this cold.

He probably didn’t spend long enough in the tunnels to truly get a feel for things. But now that he’s fully here, he can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for Will.

The place is dark enough to even give Steve nightmares although he has Robin, Nancy, and Eddie at this side. How did Will survive with no one?

Steve looks down and carefully steps over a vine as he makes his way through the woods. Did Will ever step on-

“Is this a bad time to mention that I haven’t kissed anyone?”

Steve and the girls turn to Eddie, giving him looks of confusion at the random outburst.

Eddie keeps walking, staring at the ground as he tries not to activate the hive mind. “I’m just saying, it kind of feels like the end of the world here, and it makes you think. Like, do I really want to die a virgin? Not really, but dying without kissing anyone… I feel like that’s a bigger problem in my book.”

Robin and Nancy share the same look of confusion mixed with an air of why are you talking to us about this? But Steve thinks he gets the nervous rambling. He wouldn’t want to die unkissed either.

Eddie slowly stops and turns around, finally noticing that the three of them stopped when he made his first comment. He just stares at them for a moment before sighing, “Forget I said anything. I just hate walking in silence with all these thoughts of impending doom.”

With that, the girls start walking again, quickly catching up to Eddie, but Steve struggles as he thinks a little too hard about what Eddie said instead of thinking about not stepping on a vine. So he compromises speed for a very important thought.

Eddie wants to kiss someone. Probably. Definitely.

He can’t kiss Nancy because she’s with Jonathan, and Steve’s pretty sure Nancy would not be the greatest choice of a first kiss - since she would be unenthusiastic.

And Robin… well. She would be equally as unenthusiastic, probably even more so.

And really, everyone must be thinking the same thing. Because there’s one obvious solution.

“I’ll kiss you,” Steve announces as he steps over a vine. He watches as the three of them freeze in front of them, and Eddie almost even trips on a vine.

Once he catches up to them, Steve says, “It’s the clear solution to the problem.”

Robin shoots him a look of bewilderment and mouthes what??

Steve just looks away from her. It’s not a crazy thought really. Eddie wants to kiss someone before the world maybe ends, and Steve is just a really generous person who would like- enjoy- no, volunteer very very generously to help the good cause.

“You’re kidding, right?” Eddie asks.

And oh. Steve hadn’t really thought about how Eddie might not want to kiss him. Shit. He shakes his head. “I’m not kidding, but I wouldn’t do it unless you wanted to. And it’s okay that you don’t. Let’s just keep going.”

Eddie reaches out and grabs his arm. “I never said that I didn’t want to,” he says quickly.

Steve’s pretty sure he hears Robin snort at the comment, and he can sees Nancy trying to hide an amused smile behind her hand. He ignores them and puts his hands on his hips. “Alright.”

“Okay,” Eddie says.

They both stare at each other not moving.

“We’re going to give you some space,” Robin says, grabbing Nancy’s hand and pulling her deeper into the woods.

Steve doesn’t pay much attention to them as they walk away, he’s too busy staring at Eddie. And yeah, he’s a good looking guy. He knew that from high school whenever he would go on his rants, and Steve had an excuse to stare. And really the thought of kissing him is definitely not the worse and actually… he’s kind of looking forward to it, if the fast beating of his heart is any indication.

Eddie though, he looks… scared. Maybe just nervous. But his expression definitely isn’t in any way happy.

Steve takes a step toward him and softly says, “We don’t have to do this, okay? And it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Eddie shakes his head and laughs humorlessly. “It’s not that I don’t want to it’s just… you’re Steve Harrington.”

“And?”

“And that name means something. And it shouldn’t be tangled up with my name.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at him. “I’m pretty sure we already crossed that line a while ago.”

“But you know what I mean,” Eddie sighs, looking at the ground.

Yeah, he does know what he means. But… “The world might end. I think there are stranger things than you and me kissing.”

Eddie shakes his head. “I think that would be the most shocking thing out of all of this.”

“Then get ready for me to rock your world, Munson,” Steve says with a smirk, stepping closer and brushing a curly strand of hair out of his face.

Eddie takes a deep breath and settles his hands on Steve’s waist above the wounds he’s forgotten about. “Is this… okay?”

Steve nods and wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “Yeah. Is this?”

Eddie just hums mhm, his eyes get a little wider and his cheeks flush a deeper pink.

Steve can’t help but look over Eddie’s face, taking in what he looks like at the closer proximity when he’s allowed to look. His eyes wander down to where Eddie’s full lips are slightly parted as if they’re just waiting for him to kiss them. But Steve looks back into Eddie’s dark eyes, searching for hesitation but only sending nerves and anticipation.

“I like that you’re the same height as me,” Steve randomly blurts out.

“Why’s that?”

Steve feels a blush creep up his neck. “Because my neck won’t strain when I kiss you.” Eddie laughs, and Steve decides that if the world really is coming to an end, he should be fully honest. “Plus, it’s easier to look at your eyes when they’re at my level.”

Eddie’s grin turns into a soft smile. His eyes glance down at Steve’s lips.

He knows the moment has come. “I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay,” Eddie says, leaning in closer.

Steve smiles before closing the distance between them and kissing Eddie slowly as if they have all the time in the world. He breaks the kiss and pulls back enough to take in Eddie's expression - eyebrow raised in astonishment, lips slightly parted, and eyes still closed.

And yeah, they might not make it to tomorrow, plus Eddie looks hot. So, Steve doesn’t pull away. Instead, he kisses him again, this time with much more fervor and… yes, tongue. Sue him. He just wants to make Eddie’s first (and second) kiss memorable.

Eddie’s hands press into Steve’s back, pulling him closer as Steve slows the kiss, needing air. He pulls back and breathes in deep, staring at Eddie’s kiss swollen lips and feeling… many things.

But instead of giving into those feelings, Steve just pats Eddie on the arm and says, “See, you’re a natural.” As soon as he walks away, Steve wants one of the vines to drag him far far away so he doesn’t have to think about what he just said. Christ. He’s not smooth.

As soon as he catches up to Robin, she practically yanks him back so Eddie and Nancy can wander off out of earshot.

Steve crosses his arms and stares at her. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You know exactly what this is about,” Robin says, jabbing a finger into his chest.

Steve winces. “Okay. Yes. I kissed Eddie. But what else was I supposed to do? Make you or Nance kiss him? No way.”

“You realize that he was just thinking out loud, right? You turned his thought into an invitation.”

Steve shrugs and walks toward the other two, trying to make sure they don’t go too far. “It sounded like an invitation to me,” he says with a shrug.

“I’m sure it did,” Robin mutters.

Steve turns to glare at her.

Robin sighs and lays a hand on his arm. “You can talk to me, you know? Even if you’re in the process of figuring things out and can’t get a true read of things.”

Steve turns and looks back at Eddie, noting how his heart beats a little faster and his body wants more than anything to get closer to him. He looks back and Robin and asks, “How obvious am I being?”

The tension in Robin’s shoulder goes away slightly at the question, and she smiles. “With the ‘you’re a natural’ comment? Totally fooled. No one would guess a thing.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “You were watching that?”

“How could I not? And do I regret it?” Robin pauses before answering her question, “A little when you started using tongue.”

“Jesus, Robin,” Steve says, trying to sound annoyed, but he can’t help but laugh.

Robin smiles and nudges him. “It seems like you have a type.”

Steve raises an eyebrow before he looks to where Robin is staring. He watches as Nancy and Eddie talk quietly about something, both sharing a small smile, amusement evident in their big round eyes, and dark, curly hair framing their faces. Maybe Robin has a point.

“Maybe I do,” Steve says as Eddie glances back at him and smiles. When he turns back, Steve asks Robin, “Do you think we could talk more about it when we’re not in an alternate dimension, and I have time to think about things?”

“Of course,” Robin says and squeezes his arm. “But for now, I’m going to give you things to think about!” she announces before running ahead to Nancy and quickly starting some type of hushed conversation.

Steve looks at where Eddie lingers behind the girls and quickly runs up to him, deciding maybe he can figure things out now. And maybe he can verbally thank him for saving his ass instead of just kissing him and hoping he gets the message.

Gosh, he doesn’t know if he can get through this without getting distracted by his lips. But he’s going to try.

(And he’s going to fail)

[jayden-writes]

safe

pairing: Lucifer x gn!Reader

wordcount: ~3k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, whump

cw: kidnapping, strangulation, threats, violence, murder

summary: Did it truly matter that the hands cradling your face so very gently were bloody?

other notes: no name, Y/N or MC used // AO3 // thanks again to @gravedwe11er for helping me so much with this fic

A piece of fabric pressing over your mouth and nose was all it took to plunge your world into darkness, a pungent smell being the last thing you could process. You’d been on your way back from a short trip, unsuspecting, unaware of who was lurking in the shadows. How much time had passed, you couldn’t possibly tell, but as you finally came to, all you could feel was a dull pain engulfing your entire body. Upon trying to check for any injuries, you realized your wrists were tied, bindings digging tightly into your skin. Slowly, your other senses started to return to you, and you registered that you were sitting, something around your chest keeping you upright.

Forcing your eyelids open, you blinked a few times, attempting to make sense of your surroundings. It was dark, the small, sparse room only dimly lit. If you had to guess, you'd say it was some sort of basement; the floor was unfinished, and the brick wall looked rough. “Mh-” you tried to speak, but all that you managed to get out was a muffled, quiet sound. You’ve been gagged. A heavy weight settled deep in your stomach. The cloth forced between your teeth tasted musty, already damp with your saliva. Looking down with wide eyes, you took in the multiple rows of rope wrapped around your upper body, restricting your breathing, arms bound behind you at an awkward, painful angle that made your shoulders ache. The edge of the metal chair you were sitting on cut into your thighs.

When you wiggled around to free yourself, or at least loosen the restraints, the legs scraped on the crude floor, making your ears hurt. But no matter how hard you fought, it was futile. Holding back tears, you let your head hang, closing your eyes. Deliberately keeping your inhales slow and steady, you tried to think of a solution despite your racing thoughts. Panicking wouldn’t save you, you knew that. Clearly, you would be unable to free yourself without outside assistance. And with your mouth gagged, you weren’t even able to invoke one of your pacts to call them for help. So, what should you do? What could you do?

Before you had any more time to reflect on your circumstances, you heard heavy footsteps above you, drawing your attention. Seconds later, a door was opened, the light momentarily blinding you, then it was cut off again. In the remaining light bleeding through the crack of the door, you saw feet, legs and after that, slowly, the rest of someone unknown to you entered your field of vision - though it was obvious that it was a demon. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, the pale blue piercing through you. A wolfish grin curled around her lips as she stepped closer. You wanted to shrink back, huddle into the furthest corner of the room. But you couldn’t.

“Ah, finally awake, are we? I bet you must have a lot of questions.” Her voice was casual, as if she was simply out for a stroll while she towered over you. “Well, too bad! You see, as much as I’d like to have what would undoubtedly be a very productive conversation with you, I know you’d just call upon one of those so-called Lords that grovel at your feet.”

“Mph…! Mn…!” you tried again, only earning an amused chuckle from her.

“I’m not particularly keen on having one of those brothers that practically fawn over you come to your rescue. Pathetic, really. Demons of their status acting like that around a human. They're supposed to be leaders, to be an example to us lowly demons. Ha, as if! Traitors, all of them, and they should be treated as such.” She gripped your chin roughly, her pointed fingernails scraping along your flesh as you glared at her defiantly despite the ice-cold sensation running through your veins.

“Don’t give me that fucking look, human, show me some respect,” she sneered. For a moment longer, she held your gaze, then her eyes wavered. Faster than you could comprehend, a sharp smack resounded in the small room, and your cheek stung. The force of the slap made your head spin. “You’ll lose that defiant look of yours soon enough and learn to grovel at our feet, just the way it should be. I’ll correct the mistake that fool of a prince made.”

Leaning even closer, she brought her hand down to your throat, closing her grip tightly around it. “I could kill you, just like this,” she whispered harshly into your ear as you struggled against her. Faintness quickly took you over, and your vision became frayed at the edges. Were you going to die like this? “Throw your decaying corpse at the feet of these pathetic weaklings and watch them become consumed by their emotions. And then, I’ll be the king.” You couldn’t die. Not now. Not like this. Not here. Not at her hands.

Finally, she let go of you, and you slumped forward. Blood rushed in your ears and you coughed into the cloth. “Tsk.” She spat on the ground right next to where you were trembling on the chair. “That was more boring than I’d expected. Thought you had more fight in you. But you'll see-”

Her speech was cut off when, suddenly, the door was thrown open, banging against the wall and making both you and your captor flinch. “And what exactly,” drawled a frigid voice as slow steps descended the stairs, “was ‘more boring than expected’? Enlighten me.”

You immediately recognized who it was - of course you did. But the softness that usually laced Lucifer's tone whenever he was talking to you was entirely gone, replaced by a sharpness you’d rarely heard from him. It wasn't directed toward you, you knew that, and yet you couldn't help the shiver running down your spine at the sound of his booming voice. Though he sounded composed, it was clear that he was anything but. The air felt electric, and the dangerous aura he exuded made your hair stand on end. Your heart skipped a beat, only to start pounding faster, a whimper escaping from behind the gag.

Lucifer came to a stop in front of the other demon, who had become virtually frozen in place, all color drained from her face. Gleaming red eyes glanced at you, swiftly assessing your state, before, whatever it was he saw, made his gaze harden even further. “Look away,” he instructed you in an oddly soft tone, and then his focus returned to your abductor, who was now visibly shaking.

“M-my lord,” she stammered, the quiver in her words unmistakable. “Please, you must understand-”

Within the blink of an eye, Lucifer had her pinned against the wall, a pained shriek filling the room. “What must I understand?” he asked, sounding deceptively calm, as his fingers dug into the throat of the other demon. She fought against the grip, trying to loosen the hold. To no avail. Lucifer was unmoving, unbothered by the nails scratching at his gloved hands. Clicking his tongue, he let go, and she collapsed to the ground.

“Please,” she tried, her voice strained as she coughed, attempting to gather herself. A hard kick was delivered to her stomach, causing her to cry out again and curl in on herself. When it was followed by Lucifer stepping on her hand, you knew you should have heeded his order and looked away. As it was, you were unable to avert your gaze as the bones of her fingers cracked beneath the force of his foot. She was pulled up to stand, though most of her weight was being held up by him, pinning her against the wall once more. “I-I'm sorry,” she choked out as he pressed his forearm into her throat.

“Are you truly sorry? Or are you merely trying to save your worthless skin?” Lucifer questioned in a dangerously low voice. He trailed a finger along her cheekbone. “Perhaps,” he mused, “I should rid your body of it. Find a better purpose for it. I believe some bookbinders still use demon skin for books. It would make a terrific present for your family, wouldn't you agree?” He paused, taking in the horror flickering across her face with an impassive expression. “Of course, that would be rather time-consuming. And, quite frankly, I have more important things to tend to than your worthless existence. Let's make this quick then, shall we?”

As if she weighed nothing, he slung her toward the opposite wall, a sickening crack audible as her head made contact with the bricks. She bonelessly fell to the floor, groaning in pain. Before she was able to regain her bearings, Lucifer was kneeling beside her prone body, not caring about the rapidly forming puddle of blood that was dirtying his pants. A dagger glinted in the dimly lit room, and only when blood spurted from her throat, her last, gurgling attempts at breathing filling the air, did you look away, your breaths coming in sharp gasps against the cloth. You felt sick.

With the mangled corpse of the demon lying at the feet of Lucifer, his gaze returned to your quivering form. The intense sheen in his eyes vanished as he took swift steps toward you, appraising your pale appearance. Crouching near you, he partially obscured the gruesome scene behind him. But now, with him finally by your side, he didn't need to. You didn't want to look at it, didn't care about the dead demon, the only thing your sight was drawn to was him. All that mattered was the man before you. The man who could easily kill you just like he killed her, who barely even batted an eye at the wounds he’d inflicted upon that woman. You knew that, rationally, you should be terrified of him, at least as much as you’d been terrified of her. And yet you weren't.

Those same hands that had just killed in cold blood, still stained red, were gently working on undoing the painful restraints keeping you in place. Those same eyes that had shone with ruthless indifference as he had taken a life now looked at you with carefully guarded concern and cautiousness. The crimson streaking his sharp features, dripping off his jaw in beads, complemented the eyes that were looking at you with a contradictory softness perfectly.

Once the cloth was removed from your mouth, all you could muster was a broken sob in the vague shape of his name. With a soft sigh that was probably shakier than Lucifer would have liked to admit, you were gathered into his arms. A hand gingerly pressed against the back of your head, guiding your face into the crook of his neck. The wet blood on his glove was undoubtedly staining your hair, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care; the warmth and safety you found in his embrace was all that mattered.

“Do you have any serious injuries?” he asked quietly, his breath brushing against your ear. Upon feeling you shake your head, he lifted you from the chair, carrying your weight with ease, and you instinctively wrapped your arms over his shoulders. As soon as he'd made it up the stairs, you could hear multiple sets of steps approaching in a hurry alongside several voices, yelling over each other. You recognized all of them, and they rushed around you, a few of them touching you.

Lucifer tightened his hold on you as the sudden onslaught of sensations made you whimper and burrow yourself further into him. “Stop it. This is not helping,” he reprimanded them sharply, and immediately, it grew quiet and the hands withdrew. “I will return home,” he continued. “Do with the body as you wish, though you ought to leave some remains. And don't dawdle too long.”

With that, he went outside, the fresh, cool air replacing the stuffy, metallic tang of the basement. The trip back was short - or was it long? You weren’t sure. It was silent, neither you nor him said anything. The tension in Lucifer was palpable, his posture rigid as he carried you. You mindlessly played with the fabric of his shirt, rubbing it between the tips of your fingers while your head rested on his shoulder.

“I'm okay,” you whispered, although it sounded hollow even to your own ears. He released a heavy sigh and hugged you closer to him.

“You're okay,” he simply echoed.

Next thing you knew, you were back inside. Lucifer's bloody hands were gentle as they worked on divesting your still-trembling form of your clothes, his gaze never lingering anywhere but his own fingers. Not that you would have noticed either way; you were blankly staring ahead, only vaguely aware of his actions. When he had finished, he spoke in a soft voice, as if afraid to startle you, “All done. Are you ready to get in?” Your attention snapped back to the present, to the warm bathroom you were standing in. The tiles beneath your bare feet were a little cold, just now starting to heat up. In the background, water was running, gradually filling the bathtub right next to you.

“Lucifer…?” you mumbled, receiving a squeeze to your hands in response. Looking down, you realized he was gently holding them in his own, ugly bruises and abrasions blooming across your wrists. His gloves were still damp, some of the blood staining your skin.

“Yes. I’m here. Let’s get you cleaned up now,” he responded patiently, directing you toward the tub. Your steps were mechanical as you followed his guidance, entering the warm water and submerging your body in it. Drawing your knees up to your chest, you hugged your legs to yourself, simply gazing at the rippling shapes around you.

“I will leave for a moment to change. Call for me if something is the matter.” For a beat, Lucifer waited for a reply, a reaction, anything from you. When he received none, he sighed wearily. “It will only be for a moment, I will be right back,” he said before stepping out. As you submerged your hands, you watched as the water surrounding you turned a light shade of pink. The pain radiating from your wrists was distant, detached from your being. You observed how you flexed your fingers, then curled them toward your palm, nails digging into the flesh. Had your hands always looked like that? Turning them around, you inspected them, spreading the fingers apart, pressing them together and-

“Does it hurt a lot?” a voice asked and you flinched hard, spinning toward the source. Lucifer was kneeling next to the tub, his brow creased in a frown. “I did not mean to startle you. You seemed very… absorbed in your thoughts. I suppose you didn’t hear me return.” His gloves were gone now, with no traces of the blood that had marred his skin just minutes ago. He had changed into clean, comfortable clothes as well. Upon your prolonged silence, he reached for a nearby cloth, dipping it into the water, then moving it over your body in slow, gentle circles.

“Is this real?” you muttered, the words leaving your mouth before you had even formed the thought.

“Yes, it is real,” he confirmed calmly, though his ministrations faltered briefly. “We are in my bathroom, back in the House of Lamentation. You are safe here.”

“Mhm…” you hummed noncommittally, your gaze drifting down to your submerged hands as you balled them into fists and stretched them out. The water rippled at the repetitive motion and you couldn’t help but stare at the patterns it created. The sensation of the cloth brushing over your skin faded into the background. Only when larger hands stopped your movements, grasping yours gently, did you glance at Lucifer again. You blinked at him blankly. Something in his expression was off, though you couldn’t tell what it was.

“I’m tired,” a voice said and you didn’t have the energy to think about whether it was your own or not.

“Let’s get you into bed then, hm?” he suggested softly, letting the water drain and carefully supporting you as you stood up and stepped out of the tub. A large towel was wrapped around you with which he patted you dry before he helped you into a set of clothes. They vaguely smelled like him. With an arm over your shoulders, he guided you out of the bathroom and back toward his room. Once at the bed, you lay down, sinking into the mattress. For a moment, Lucifer simply remained next to you, regarding you with an unreadable look on his face. Eventually, he knelt beside you and opened the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a small container. Gingerly, he took one of your arms and scooped out some ointment to apply to the raw skin on your wrist, then he repeated it on the other side as well.

After stowing it away again, Lucifer turned off all the lights besides the candles and climbed into the bed next to you, cautiously gathering you into an embrace. A hand cupped the back of your head, hugging you into his chest as the fingers stroked your scalp. Aside from his even breaths and your slow, shallow ones, it was silent. An invisible weight was tugging on your limbs, the only thing holding you in place, holding you together, were the arms enveloping you.

“Can I let go?” you mumbled, not quite sure yourself what you were trying to ask, but he seemed to understand nonetheless.

“Yes, it’s alright to let go now,” he reassured you, squeezing you a little tighter. “I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

Humming in response, you nestled closer to him, feeling your breaths gradually synchronize with his as you surrendered yourself to the heavy warmth overcoming you. Soon, everything else slowly faded away until you finally drifted off to sleep, safe in Lucifer’s hold.

[yuesya]

“The Zenins finally named an heir?”

“Yup, seems like they finally got around to it,” Satoru laughs. “Or maybe their clan head just did it on a whim?”

It’s an amusing thought. The current head of the Zenin Clan is an extraordinarily difficult person to pressure into doing anything –as this sort of thing tends to be, when the person in question is apparently of the opinion that ‘murder’ is an excellent solution to most of her problems. For all that the Gojo elders are constantly grumbling over how the Zenins’ clan head should technically belong to them and not the Zenins, Satoru doesn’t doubt that there are a number of them who are also quietly relieved by not having to deal with someone who has no qualms about killing and isn’t afraid to make her stance obvious. Or act on it, for that matter.

Suguru tilts his head. “The Zenin clan head… oh, I think I remember her. She came around the Tokyo campus once before, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Satoru grins at the other boy. “You asked me if she was one of my clansmen, remember?”

Suguru flushes slightly in embarrassment as he snaps, “Well how was I supposed to know? The two of you really do look alike, I can’t be the only one who thinks that!”

“Mhm. You’re definitely not the only one.” Zenin Shiki has what’s considered the ‘classic’ Gojo look, all silvery-white hair and light coloration, instead of the Zenin appearance. Ebony hair and eyes, as dark as the shadows that the Zenins pride themselves in.

That still doesn’t change the fact that she’s a Zenin and not a Gojo, though.

“Sorcery clans tend to intermarry with each other,” is all he offers in explanation to his civilian-born friend. Usually, when there are such unions between well-established bloodlines of equal standing and prestige, there are certain vows in place –such as children being returned to the mother’s clan should they turn out to have inherited signature techniques from the mother’s side of the family.

In the case of Zenin Shiki, however, the Gojo Clan discovered that there was a loophole. She possessed cursed eyes, yes, but they were unprecedented in the long history of the Gojo Clan. Therefore, as the Gojo Clan had not demanded that all children possessing cursed eyes be relinquished to them as part of the vow, it stood to reason that new abilities born of the union would be considered as belonging to the Zenin Clan.

To be fair, cursed eyes were rare, and the only real case that still existed among sorcerers in this day and age was the Six Eyes. Which were rare enough already, and usually only found in the Gojo Clan’s main family.

No one had thought that there would be a Zenin granddaughter of a Gojo-Zenin union resulting in a pair of new cursed eyes.

The Zenin elders had probably been unbearably smug about the whole thing, up until they’d been slaughtered by the girl when she ascended her position over her former clan head’s cooling corpse. After which it had probably been the Gojo elders’ turn to wipe their brows and be thanking their lucky stars over having narrowly dodged a bullet there.

Or not, as the case may be; there were still some old fogeys laboring under the impression that the Zenin Clan had simply ‘raised the child wrong’ and that she would’ve turned out to be so much better had the Zenins admitted their own inadequacies and surrendered custody of the girl to them.

Pfft.

Well, it wasn’t as if any of them could turn back time. What’s done was done, and now they had to live with the consequences of their decisions.

Interesting choice for Zenin Shiki to name Zenin Naoya as her heir, though.

Ordinarily, a new clan head who’d supplanted their predecessor through force would want to establish their own bloodline as the new ruling family, but clearly Zenin Shiki had foregone picking one of her close cousins to be her heir. None of them had been specifically elevated to positions of power, either. She herself also had not chosen to marry into one of the more influential Zenin bloodlines as part of an alliance through marriage.

The only strength I need is my own, was the message that Satoru was seeing here.

… Or perhaps not? After all, the unexpected choice of Naoya as heir was definitely going to give people thoughts. Especially those who’d been very unhappy when Zenin Naobito, the previous head of the Zenin Clan, had been killed by a small slip of a girl. A girl who was distinctly Gojo-looking in appearance, despite her Zenin blood –the Zenins likely still had hang-ups about their clan head being killed by a Gojo, given the… historical precedent behind such a thing.

Hmm.

… Well, whatever game Zenin Shiki was playing here, it didn’t have anything to do with Satoru. And hey, maybe she wasn’t playing any games at all –maybe Zenin Naoya was just the strongest Zenin in the younger generation, and she’d made her decision based on that?

Who knows?

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Cooper Adams x Reader • Includes themes of violence, murder, blood is mentioned often, period sex, infidelity, oral sex (m&f receiving) Reader and Cooper are both certified freaks seven days a week

You’d suspected for awhile.

You’d wondered even longer.

The question you’d wanted to ask Cooper had sat silent on your tongue so long, you’d have sworn you could taste it by now.

Even still, no amount of wondering could have prepared you for this moment: standing face to blood-streaked face with the man you loved, the question on your tongue quietly dying as it no longer needed answering-

Cooper Adams, your boyfriend, was The Butcher…

He stood still, lingering in the doorway, the one at the back of the house. Cooper had brought you here a couple of times, to smoke and fuck; and each time, he’d always brought you through that door, the one less likely to draw attention from neighbors. The house was isolated, but not completely. With Cooper being a married man, you’d understood his concerns and hadn’t objected to being brought in through the back of the house. Now however, it was obvious that he used the back door to conceal a much darker secret than his infidelity.

His left eye twitched, lips forced into a placating smile that chilled you to your core. “(Y/N)?” Cooper began, his voice wavering. “What are you doing here?” You swallowed as cracks in Cooper’s fake smile began to reveal themselves. Heavy rain pelted the ground behind him, lightning briefly illuminating his silhouette, tall and intimidating. He tightened his grip on the duffel bag slung over his shoulder; the sudden movement made you flinch, which Cooper found amusing.

Blood caked his jeans and the plaid flannel button-down he wore. His hair was tossed to the sides of his face, except for a few strands that seemed to be matted against his forehead with sweat. Cooper’s jaw was tight, the muscles in his neck flexing as he chewed the inside of his mouth, thinking. He’d have to get rid of you now, and that upset him. Cooper had enjoyed you, and not just fucking you. He’d grown fond of your dark sense of humor and the way both your mind and his seemed to play well with each other.

If he was being totally honest with himself, Cooper could even admit that he loved you. He’d confided in you, shared secrets of his past, his traumatic upbringing, the way he’d never been accepted by his mother or anyone else for that matter, until meeting his wife. And later, meeting you.

Your histories and minds were similar, in so many ways. Unfortunately, you’d proven yourself too clever for your own good…too clever to keep alive.

Cooper sighed, his insincere smile returning. “This is going to hurt,” he said, nodding for emphasis. “I mean that, (Y/N).” He took a step toward you; you shifted backward. “And I’m not even talking about the pain,” he continued. “Not the kind you’ll feel…” Cooper removed something from the bag, his eyes fixed on yours. It took you a second to identify the knife in his hand; it was so caked with partially-dried blood, you could barely make out what it was.

“…I’m talking about the pain I’ll feel,” Cooper continued, bringing the soiled knife to rest against his chest. “Here…in my heart.” He kicked his heel against the door, closing it behind him with a loud thud. You jumped, recoiling at the sound. Cooper held his hands tensed at his sides, the knife tucked under his right thumb. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, taking another step closer. You didn’t back away this time; your mind was racing for a solution, for a way to make Cooper understand that killing you wasn’t necessary.

“Then don’t,” you told him, trying to sound brave. You hoped he couldn’t see you trembling, couldn’t hear the plea in your next words even as you tried to suppress it: “Don’t kill me, Cooper…”

His expression was bittersweet, a resigned sigh leaving his chest. “They all say that,” Cooper told you, his voice eerily calm. “None of them want to die, (Y/N). They all beg me not to kill them.” He changed his voice to a slightly higher pitch, imitating his victims. “ ‘Don’t kill me, please…I’ll do anything, please…Just let me go, I won’t tell anyone’ .” Cooper’s free hand shot out and grabbed you by the wrist, tugging you into him, erasing the remaining space between you. “What makes you think you’re any different from the rest of the people I’ve murdered?” he glared down at you.

A tear rolled down your cheek, so hot it burned. “I’m different because I love you, Cooper,” you told him. And you meant it. His grip on your wrist softened immediately, the tension in his jaw easing. “I don’t care that you’re The Butcher, or whatever stupid nickname they’ve given you,” you continued. “I accept you. Cooper, I love you.” A few seconds passed in silence. “Have any of the others ever said that?”

Cooper’s eyebrows were drawn together in concentration as he wrestled with the conflicting messages inside him. One said to protect himself by ending your life. The second option was much more tempting for Cooper, to grant you the mercy of life, a privilege which he alone now held.

Cooper pressed his lips to the top of your head, his knife ghosting your cheek as he used the hand that held it to stroke your hair. His breath was heavy, his chest rumbling against your cheek as he spoke. “What am I going to do with you?” Cooper asked. It wasn’t a question at all, not really. You lifted your chin, eyes fixed on Cooper’s, tilting your head so the blade in his hand was deliberately primed against your throat. An offering up, not of surrender, but of submission. He’d seen his share of tears, heard more than enough screams to fill his ears a lifetime; but the way your resistance melted in front of him touched something in Cooper that hadn’t been touched in a long time, if ever. Faced with the darkest part of his soul, you still accepted him.

You placed a hand tentatively on Cooper’s forearm, where the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows. While his hands were clean from wearing gloves, Cooper’s forearms were spattered with blood, a viscous crimson syrup drying in the tufts of hair lining his skin. He repeated his question, a huskier, seductive tone making his meaning crystal clear: “…what am I going to do with you?”

Cooper released his grip on the knife. It fell to the floor with a clatter, as lightning lit up the room, thunder rumbling close by. He was bent forward slightly so your foreheads could touch, his eyes drifting closed as you smoothed your hands across his broad shoulders. Warm breath dusted your neck as Cooper’s kiss traveled down the slope of your shoulder, his big hands securing you in place at the small of your back. The energy between you was electric, buzzing like an alarm whose warning you refused to heed. You were in too deep, now. With Cooper, you always had been.

He began to work the buttons of his flannel undone, as you went down to your knees. You looked up at Cooper from between his feet, his heavy boots caked with mud and grass from the storm outside. Lightning struck very close to the house; the lights flickered as thunder bellowed from above. And then, the room went dark, moonlight alone providing any visual for the two of you.

Cooper was unaffected by the loss of electricity. He folded his shirt and set it aside, hands moving to undo his belt and jeans. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness quickly; you were able to make out the image of Cooper, his hulking frame towering over yours, stray strands of hair fallen forward as he watched you at his feet. You were on your knees in front of The Butcher himself, and it felt…exhilarating. Rather than making a plea for your life, your tongue was gently pleading for his sex, padding thick and wet against the outline of Cooper’s erection.

He tugged his zipper down and freed his cock, the wet tip tapping against your lips in the darkness. You felt Cooper’s hand come to rest atop your head, his fingers knotting softly inside your hair, guiding you gently onto him. The only sounds in the room were Cooper’s shallow breaths and grunts, and the wet sucking sound of your throat closing around him. Cooper let you suck him a moment longer, before removing his cock from your mouth, breathily explaining “-the shower, baby-want to fuck you in the shower.” He felt around the floor for his duffel bag and retrieved a flashlight from inside it. Switching it on, Cooper smiled when he saw your streaked makeup in the light, knowing his cock had made a mess of it. He held the flashlight between his teeth and trotted upstairs with you, using the beam to light your way.

The bathroom in its entirety wasn’t that large but thankfully, the shower was. Cooper switched on the faucet and held his arm under the water stream to check the temperature, bits of dried blood re-wetting and dripping to the shower floor. You’d quickly discarded your own clothes and stepped inside, around the water stream till Cooper had adjusted it. He shed his pants and hastily folded them before tossing them onto the sink. He was in a hurry; he’d never wanted you this badly before.

The flashlight’s battery was almost dead, its last real bit of power used on the way upstairs. Now, you and Cooper were essentially in complete darkness again, except for the moonlight threading through the small bathroom window. Cooper had no trouble manipulating your body in the darkness. His right hand slipped immediately between your thighs, reaching around with his other arm and pulling your chest into his. Warm water cascaded down Cooper’s back and shoulders, dripping along his chest and between your breasts where your bodies were pressed together. His fingers rubbed rough circles over your clit, making your hips buck into the heel of his palm as you selfishly chased your climax. “That’s a good girl,” Cooper murmured in the darkness, his breath labored with arousal. “Gonna come for me just like this, yeah?” You whimpered a reply, but Cooper wasn’t satisfied. “Oh, you can do better than that, sweetheart,” he said. “Use your words. Tell me how you’re gonna come-.” He dipped his head forward, teeth catching the soft skin of your neck and biting just enough to make you squirm even more wildly on his hand. “Ungh-on-oh!” you squeaked, your hips trembling. “-On your h-hand, S-Sir!”

Cooper’s face was stoic but satisfied in the darkness; he was in his element, his happy place. He was in control. As you quivered and shook on his hand cupping your pussy, Cooper slid his other hand around your throat, briefly silencing your scramble of moans and whimpers. “WORDS, baby,” he gently reprimanded, his fingertips tapping against your pulse. “Can’t give you what you want till you ask for it-.”

Cooper slipped a finger between your lips, hooking around the smooth spot inside you, your spongy walls sucking his finger greedily. Your head fell backward, a string of desperate pleas tumbling from your mouth, interspersed with Cooper’s name. He let you come, giving you what you needed because you’d asked for it so nicely. You gushed all over Cooper’s hand and wrist, slick spilling between his fingers and onto the shower floor. He couldn’t see it in the darkness, and he didn’t need to; he could feel your blood on his fingers, knew the texture well and that your orgasm had surely painted the shower floor red at his feet.

He removed his finger from inside you, once you’d stopped squeezing it, and popped the slippery digit inside his mouth. A coppery, musky flavor sank warm on his tastebuds; Cooper exhaled gratefully through his nose, releasing his finger only after sucking every drop of you from it.

Lightning crackled above the house as Cooper lowered himself to his knees in front of you. You rested your hands on his shoulders, leaning into his sturdy frame as he sank his mouth between your legs. Cooper’s tongue found exactly what he’d hoped to find, what he craved…more of your sweet arousal tinged with the bitter tang of fresh blood.

You knew you were bleeding; your period had started that morning. You also knew that Cooper had a preference for fucking you on your period; you’d just never really thought much of it. The truth was, the blood aroused Cooper, reminded him of his other, secret life, and the power he held over others. Seeing himself covered in someone else’s blood, especially such intimate places like his cock, helped Cooper achieve the most powerful orgasms imaginable. It’s one of the reasons he’d grown to love you; your openness to trying literally anything sexually was liberating, allowing Cooper the chance to indulge his most taboo fantasies. One of those fantasies included eating you out on your period. He’d tried to bring other women around to the idea, but each of them had been repulsed by even the suggestion. You, however, had no reservations about letting Cooper use your body however he wanted, in whatever state it was in…

His tongue bathed your outer lips, licking them clean. Cooper massaged his cock in lazy strokes, in no hurry to come just yet. When the tip of his tongue pressed inside you, he grinned against your pussy at the way your soft, wet entrance trembled around him.

One of your hands was now on Cooper’s head, fingers locked in the strands of his hair. When he hoisted your leg over his left shoulder, you braced yourself against him, knowing he wouldn’t let you fall. Cooper held you steady as he nuzzled and lapped your essence, his eyes closed in a kind of reverent, trance-like high. It was the closest Cooper had ever come to a religious experience, drinking your most precious offering at the altar of your thighs, and for him, it was more than enough.

When he’d made you come twice more on his tongue, Cooper rose to stand, pressing red kisses to your belly and breasts that looked like lipstick marks. He reached for you in the darkness, his hands pulling your hips closer. You felt Cooper’s erection prodding between your thighs, and closed your hands around it. He hissed in a sharp breath as you grazed his tip; he was so sensitive, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Get on your knees,” Cooper panted urgently, his hand on your head pushing you downward. You sank to the shower floor, letting Cooper guide his cock into your mouth in the darkness. Lightning flashed outside, briefly revealing his blood-soaked lips parted in desperation, his eyes fixed on you at his feet while he used your mouth for his own satisfaction.

Cooper finished down your throat with a growl, his stomach tense as hot streams of cum pulsed over your tongue. You swallowed his seed with a contented grin, humming softly around Cooper’s shaft as you tugged the last drops of his cum between your lips.

The water continued to pour over your bodies as Cooper cradled you against his chest, rocking you gently. In that moment, he almost regretted his decision, almost thought of changing his mind. But there was no sense in getting sloppy after all these years, after so long a run of keeping his secret life secret.

Cooper glanced at the bathroom sink. A thin sliver of moonlight cast onto the knife you hadn’t noticed him bring upstairs along with the flashlight. He pressed his lips to your forehead one last time in a silent kiss goodbye, and reached toward the sink…

[heerinnie]

𝐌𝐯𝐧𝐜𝐡

𝐒.𝐉𝐘

SYNOPSIS: Jake is a munch. That’s it.

WARNING: Pure filth, no plot basically just porn, oral (f receiving), Jake finishes untouched, fem!reader, oral fixation.

WC:

^^ NSFW UNDER CUT, MINORS DNI (not proofread)

Read under cut

Jake is a mean menace. More than a menace actually, he’s an evil fuck because as soon as you two became official he would use any excuse to get you riled up enough to the point of suffocating him with your plush thighs chasing that sweet release. He's like a chaotic mastermind- or rather what you call him ‘Horny Megamind’.

He’s so pussy drunk he needs it every day, every morning and every night. When you're out at a party or even visiting his childhood home in Australia he will find time to nestle between your legs like a baby bird in its mother's nest. Your cunt is like alcohol to him.

Jake was such a pussy driven maniac that if he didn't get a taste of you he would become cranky and agitated. He described the feeling as if bugs were crawling under his skin and he was dying. The only solution was to treat him like your good, pretty boy and give him his reward to satisfy his craving.

As much as he loved teasing you, the moment you would tease him back he would become visibly annoyed and shocked. You could see him biting back any words or noises that threatened to escape from his mouth, as he poked inside his cheek with his tongue. On the other hand, for you, it really was entertaining to watch, especially when you were surrounded by your group of friends or worse, at a family dinner. The way he tried to stifle his annoyance and soften his growing bulge was both amusing for you and embarrassing for him, making you eager to know what he’s planned to do about it once you reach your shared apartment.

Things only got more interesting when you two talked about things that you’d want to try out in the bedroom. Your mind scattered to times your eyes caught Jake mid-munch rutting his very obvious and painfully hard boner against your bed frame trying to get himself the same release he’s giving you at the moment. Personally you found the thought of Jake being so in love with you that he could cum just by eating you out so attractive that you had to mention it to him, no friction no touch, just him thrusting his bare hips up trying to get attention to his pulsing dick, only to be met with the nothingness of air whilst pathetically grinding his nose into the clit above his face.

You made a promise to yourself that you would eventually convince him to try cumming without touch, and the thought of him doing so of his own free will fills you with joy. However, you know that once he sets his sights on something, he becomes obsessed with it like when he was so adamant on making you squirt. So for the time being you kept that fantasy to yourself, waiting for the perfect opportunity to present itself.

AN: okay I'm actually back now, I'm planning a long fic about doctor!hoon and just know you'll be sobbing at it ☺️ And this is just a filler for those who were waiting, also urmh2 is in the planning I'm out of ideas for the part 2 plot but I do know who i want in the LOVE TRIANGLE?! (ik you weren't expecting that were you 😍)

anyways thanks for reading mvnch <3

[pearlessance]

Feelin' Empty? - Idle Threats [iv]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel reminds you to heed his warnings.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap (32yrs), mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, jealousy, light angst, spanking, edging

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

Joel waits several minutes before leaving the bathroom. He cleans himself up, tries to collect his thoughts, tries to swallow down the bitter taste you left behind.

And when he emerges back into the front of the bar, it isn’t Kelly’s smiling face that grabs his attention. It’s you, of course it’s fucking you, because you’ve picked up your things from the bar and moved instead to a booth. 

You’re not alone, either. Abel sits at your side, grinning down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Joel doesn’t know Abel well. He knows he works in the armory, that he keeps stock of all the weapons and ammunition that pass through Jackson. He doesn’t know about the knife wedged in Joel’s boot right now, though.

He pushes the thought from his mind. His jaw clenches, and he takes in a slow breath, and then he’s forcing himself to return to the bar. Tara’s refilled his glass, and Joel has never been more thankful.

“I was starting to worry,” Kelly says as Joel sits on the barstool at her side. “You feeling okay?”

Other than the fact that he just had a religious experience with a girl half his age only to find her nearly sitting in the lap of another man moments later? Yeah. Fine. “Peachy,” he answers, taking a long sip of his whiskey.

Abel’s older than you by several years. Younger than Joel, but far from age-appropriate. He’s gotta be in his mid forties, but Joel can’t deny that he’s handsome. Tall and built and rugged, with a thick black beard he keeps trimmed up like some sort of pretty boy. Beneath the cream colored cowboy hat he wears, Joel can see matching dark curls poking out of the sides. And he’s got those bright blue eyes, too, which are currently swallowing you up with no remorse. 

Joel grinds his teeth. Takes another sip of whiskey. He hears Kelly say something. A question, maybe, but he doesn’t hear it. “What was that?”

“I was just asking if you two have history.”

It takes him a little off guard. Is he so obvious? He must be, though. Because Kelly’s sunshiny smile falls as she looks over at you, and Joel begins to feel a little bad for her. Because this date is going nowhere, and he thinks she knows it, but she’s still trying. “Not really,” he answers. “We were on patrol together a couple of times.”

She nods slowly, mulling his answer over like there’s a secret hidden between his words. Joel supposes there is. “Did something happen?”

Christ. Was she this nosy with everyone in Jackson, or just with Joel? He doesn’t want to answer. So he doesn’t. Finishes off his whiskey and nods to Tara for another.

This is too much. And Joel suddenly realizes the solution to all of his problems right now; Kelly, Abel, you—is just to simply get the fuck out of here.

But he can’t leave you alone like this. It’s not safe. He knows exactly what sort of thoughts are running through Abel’s mind right now, knows exactly what he’s thinking when he licks his lips and smirks down at you. Joel can hear him faintly, saying, “You’ve got such a pretty smile, darlin’.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kelly suddenly says. She laughs but there’s no joy in it, no amusement at all. She rises to her feet with a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna go, Joel.”

It’s only with her words he remembers why he came here, remembers that he was supposed to try on this date with Kelly to distract himself from you and has, catastrophically, failed. He thinks about asking her to sit back down, but then realizes he can pay closer attention to you without her chattering in his ear, so Joel apologizes instead. “Kelly, look, I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m…cut out for this kinda thing.”

She nods slowly, looks over to you one last time. “I get it,” she says, reminding him of your conversation in the bathroom. 

I get it, but I don’t understand. It hurts just as bad in his memory. Cuts just as deep.

When he looks up at her, a storm cloud has replaced all that carefree sunshine on her face and rainwater lines her lashes. His eyes soften, and Joel wishes he would’ve ended this the moment he stepped through the door to save everyone a little bit of pain. “Kelly…”

She shakes her head, clearing any remaining sadness away. “Really, Joel, it’s fine. I’m not blind, alright? You can’t hide something like that.”

His brows furrow. “Like what?”

Kelly gathers her jacket with one hand and waves the other between you and him. “That,” she says as if it’s obvious, like the magnetic energy pulling him to you is some physical, tangible thing. “Whatever it is, it’s not exactly subtle. And, Joel, that girl’s trouble but she doesn’t deserve any more hurt. Neither of you do. So, whatever it is, just make sure it’s real.” She turns to leave, but at the door she turns her head back to him, watery eyes making their grand return. And then she says, “Nothing’s promised anymore. Take the good where you can get it.”

Joel tosses his whiskey back in one gulp. He presses his fingers into his temple, trying to alleviate the ache, grateful for the soft hum the alcohol has created in his bones. He hears the ring of your sweet laughter and his eyes follow the sound. 

He watches through hooded eyes as Abel pulls you to the other end of the bar where there’s a small, open space near the jukebox. He takes your hand in his, the very hand that you licked clean moments ago, and raises it above your head. Abel’s spinning you in a circle, and there’s a carefree smile on your face, and it makes Joel feel hollow. Like the part inside of him that you’ve carved out for yourself has been vacated, demolished. It makes him feel empty.

You look happy. And that’s the part that kills him.

Joel wants that for you. Wants you to be happy and safe and satisfied and loved. And it can’t be him that gives those things to you, can it? It would put a target on your back for cruelty, and Joel has to protect you from that. You say you don’t care what the people of Jackson have to say about you, but he does. Joel knows himself. Knows that if he ever overheard someone talking bad about you and it was his fault? There would be more than just an argument with his little brother as punishment. 

There would be blood, and loss, and death. And Joel doesn’t want that. He only wants you—sweet and soft and innocent and bratty and perfect. He doesn’t want to taint you with bloodstained hands, doesn’t want to tarnish you any further than he already has.

But then you glance over at him from around Abel’s shoulder as he sways you to the soft blues song that plays. He’s got one hand wrapped in yours and the other on your back, a respectful distance above your ass. Far more respectful than Joel has ever been to you.

And there’s that look in your eyes again, the one that makes him feel warm, comforted, safe. It grows and grows the longer you stare at him until it’s engulfed every cell in his body, thawing him from the inside out. And when you look away as Abel whispers something in your ear, that warmth in his chest remains. Muted, but ever-present.

Joel is a selfish man. He’s come to terms with it. He knows from experience that if it ever came between choosing the few and choosing the many, he’d let the world burn if it meant keeping his people safe. The ones he loves, the ones he’s chosen. He’s not ignorant to the fact that you have, inescapably, found your way into that category of people he’d sacrifice the world for.

But he doesn’t want to be selfish with you. He doesn’t want to, even though he already has been. Because the selfish thing he’s doing now will hurt you later on, just as Tommy said. No matter what, even if things go perfectly to plan, someone will suffer for what the two of you have done. And Joel really, really doesn’t want it to be you.

If there was a way to guarantee that he would be the only one left bleeding at the end of this calamity, Joel would be snatching you out of Abel’s hands and taking you home before the song was over. He’d damn himself without a second thought, without a single regret because Kelly is right; nothing is promised anymore. And Joel wants to hold onto that warmth for as long as he can, wants to hold onto you for as long as he can. 

Even if it’s selfish. Even if it’s sinful. Even if it hurts.

But he doesn’t want to make a scene, doesn’t want to embarrass you. Which leaves him stuck, sitting at the bar, sipping whiskey to fill the void you left behind, watching Abel play all his tricks to attempt to woo you. Joel even watches some of them work. 

Abel’s funny. Or at least, you find him so. Joel knows because every couple of minutes you’re giggling or snorting or grinning with a shake of your head. He queues up music on the jukebox and the two of you dance to Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad by Def Leppard and Joel thinks about chewing on glass.

You’re glancing over to the bar every few minutes, but Abel is completely unaware of Joel’s hard stare. He understands, though, how easy it is to succumb to your witchery. How being in your presence makes everything else—people, problems, morals—fade into the background. Joel wonders if he gets that same lovesick look on his face that Abel currently wears.

It’s painful to watch. Every second of it makes Joel feel like he’s splintering apart. But he forces himself to stay put—to keep a close eye on you. To keep you safe. Because he can see the thoughts as they flit through Abel’s head, can see him appreciating the curve of your neck, the softness of your lips, the arch of your nose. Joel can relate because he’s been there—enthralled, captivated, hypnotized. And he knows Abel will do anything to take you home with him, to make you his. But that’s not going to happen because Joel will never allow it.

So he watches the two of you dance until the sun sets below the horizon. He watches Abel push your hair behind your ear, watches your cheeks turn crimson when he compliments you, watches him pluck his cowboy hat from his head and place it onto yours. And it makes him sick—makes his knuckles go white, makes him grind his teeth, makes him sweat. 

But Joel has never, ever, been as angry as he is when you lay your head against Abel’s chest and he presses a kiss into your hair. Because holding your hand and touching your spine over your jean jacket with the other is one thing—but kissing you? No. 

Fuck. No. 

It sends him into a blind rage. Joel realizes it’s been simmering since the moment he left the bathroom, that watching the two of you become real cozy in front of the jukebox only served to stoke the flames of fury beneath his skin. 

He’s going to kill him.

Joel grabs a half empty beer bottle by the neck and smashes it against the bar top.

The commotion grabs all the attention in the room, including yours, but Joel doesn’t notice. He only sees Abel and his hands on you and his lips against your head and the smiles he’s stealing from you, smiles that should belong to Joel.

His ears are ringing. Fuck the people of Jackson and the bullshit they’ll have to say. Fuck watching you when he should be holding you. Fuck your age difference and the notion that it’s wrong and fuck the wrath of God. But more than anything, fuck Abel.

He doesn’t take more than two steps before someone pushes him back. A solid force standing between Joel and his vengeance. He shoves and shoves but it doesn’t move, and he thinks about raising the glass bottle in his hand to whatever stands in his fucking way—until Tommy’s voice cuts through the red fog in his mind. 

“Joel,” he says. “ Joel. Joel, take a walk. Talk a fucking walk. Right now.” 

His brother stands in front of him, one hand wrapped around Joel’s wrist, the other shoving his chest, pushing Joel backward. 

On the other side of Tommy, Abel stands with his shoulders squared and his fists clenched at his sides. He’s pulled you behind him protectively, completely oblivious that Joel is no threat when it comes to you. 

In fact, Joel realizes that maybe you’re the true threat in the room. Making him feel these things, tempting him toward sin. The true forbidden fruit, the snake in the grass. And it’s only now Joel realizes it’s far too late for him.

Tommy pushes him out of the bar. The winter air stings Joel’s face, his hands—ice cold compared to the boiling temperatures within. “Go home, Joel,” his brother says, leaving no room for argument. “Don’t be stupid.” There’s something in his eyes. A warning, maybe. Joel listens, leaving you alone in the bar with Abel and Tommy and Tara and whoever the fuck else.

Because Joel is lucid enough to know Abel won’t hurt you. He’s also lucid enough to know that if he did, there would be nothing strong enough to keep Joel from ripping him apart. 

So, he appeases his brother. 

He walks the streets of Jackson but he doesn’t go home. He can’t go home, not now. He’d only lie in his bed and convince himself to come find you. And Joel’s tired, so fucking tired of beating himself up for this.

It’s too late. Too fucking late. He’s already sunk his teeth in deep, already cracked the bones and sucked out the marrow, already given into his lust, his gluttony, already listened to the hissing from your forked tongue and let himself believe it. The poison will set in later down the line, he knows. But later isn’t now and forbidden or not, Joel Miller is starving and you’re fucking delicious.

There’s a big willow tree on the side of the street opposite your house. Joel stands beneath the weeping branches, comparing the sway of the limbs to his grip on his sanity. He leans against the wide trunk and waits. 

And waits.

And waits.

He sees you less than twenty minutes later. You’ve got your jacket pulled tight across your chest and your steps are hurried as you skip up the stairs and try to fight off the midnight chill. The moonlight reflects in your hair, and Joel thinks you look like some sort of angel. His desire for you is incessant; a gnawing against his psyche, a want that’s both unholy and divine.

Joel watches you fumble with the key, wondering if you intentionally forgot to lock your front door that night. It wouldn’t surprise him anymore—you bratty, venomous little thing.

He waits until you disappear inside before he pushes away from the tree and crosses the street. Joel’s careful as he steps up the creaky stairs. And, much to his relief and satisfaction, the door has been, once again, left unlocked. 

It’s dark on the other side, nothing to illuminate the space but the soft glow of the lamp in your bedroom. He follows it like a moth to a flame, but Joel stops when he notices his coat hanging over the back of the couch. 

He only just now remembers he left it at the bar in his haze of fury, and can’t tell if it makes him feel tender or irritated, seeing the dark brown canvas hanging there so casually, looking far from out of place. On the one hand, he loves that you thought of him, loves that you saw it, and felt entitled to claim it as yours for the time being. Even though you danced with another man all night, even though he knows Abel likely begged to walk you home, it was a piece of Joel that you decided to take. And the realization brings him a deep satisfaction, knowing you chose him. 

But bringing it home means you assumed Joel would show up here at some point. And he can’t help but feel a little played. Like this has been your plan all along; to provoke him to anger, to incite a reaction from him. And the worst part is that it worked—Joel did just what was expected. But he doesn’t regret it for a single second, still feels the residual wrath in the palms of his hands and he wants so badly to give you a spoonful of your own medicine. 

You want to be bratty, to taunt him? Fine. But you need to understand that your actions are not without consequence.

When he pushes open your bedroom door, Joel ignores the gasp of surprise you let out. Your hand goes to your chest in an attempt to slow your racing heart, and his hand finds a home around your neck. He pushes you against the wall, and expects you to fight back or shove him or shout out curses or something— but all you do is rest your hand against his wrist. His touch is bruising but yours is affectionate and, just like that, Joel’s lost all control yet again.

His knees go weak at the sultry look in your eyes, at the smirk playing at your pretty mouth, at the deviance you exude. “Tommy told me to stay away from you,” you say.

Joel realizes his brother is now playing both sides, trying to drive from the back seat. But Joel’s already driven over the cliff, now in a complete free fall. It’s too late. Too late. And he thinks it might’ve been from the moment he first saw you. “S’that right?”

“Said I’ll be the reason you get kicked out of Jackson if I’m not careful,” you continue. “You should go, Joel. It’s not smart for you to be here. Go back to Kelly.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says. And he means it—there’s no getting rid of him now. Not anymore. 

“Maria won’t let you stay. Not if you kill someone.” He’s not talking about Jackson or Maria, and he thinks you know it, but he can see your hesitance beneath all that sinful seduction and decides the conversation can wait until tomorrow.

“You did that shit on purpose.” It’s a statement, and the wicked gleam in your eyes all but confirms his suspicions. 

“Yeah. And what’re you gonna do about it, huh?” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and a breathy sigh escapes him at the sight. 

“I oughta spank you till your ass is red,” Joel says, noting the way your pupils dilate at the threat. And it is a threat—one he swears to make good on. “Always being so disrespectful.”

“Abel’s nice, Joel. Says he’s good at making girls come, that he’s been practicing longer than I’ve been alive. Said he’ll make me feel good, that he’ll be real gentle with me. And you and I both know just how much I like older men. ”

The image you create has Joel’s fingers tightening around your throat. “Gentle?” It’s laughable. “That what you want, little girl? Want me to be gentle with you?” He tilts your face up with his thumb beneath your chin, presses his body against yours. Your hand goes to his belt buckle as it digs into your belly, and your legs fall apart on instinct as he wedges his knee between them.

You seat yourself right over his denim-clad thigh, hips rolling already, desperate for friction, for relief.

He chuckles darkly and says, “Yeah…didn’t think so.” Joel presses into you harder, because he knows just how bad it hurts. Knows just how that longing feels, knows how bad it aches. He grabs a fistful of your dress and hikes it up over your hips. He wants to see the mess you make, and he’s rewarded with the embarrassed whimper you let out in response. “Filthy little thing,” he says. “Don’t want it gentle at all, huh?”

At the sight of you grinding against his thigh, Joel forgets what he came here to do. Forgets he’s supposed to be giving you a taste of your own medicine, supposed to be showing you just how difficult it was to watch you flirt with another man. Because he thinks you look so pretty like this, he doesn’t have the strength to stop you. Joel wants to watch you fall apart just as much as you need to, wants to touch you till you shake, wants to lick your clean afterward, wants to make you feel so good no other man will ever compare.

But you’re not quite there yet, he knows. He can feel you’re not quite relaxed, not quite as pliable as he wants you to be. But he knows how much you like hearing his disgusting words, and so he lays it on thick. “Dirty fuckin’ girl. Lettin’ me fuck you with my fingers in public and that still ain’t enough for you, hm? You want more, always wantin’ more. Beggin’ me all the time.”

He’s surprised when it doesn’t work as well as he hopes. You’re moaning in his ear—breathy, needy little sounds that make his hard cock seek you out behind his zipper—your hips move restlessly, creating more and more friction, and there’s a telling dark spot beginning to form on his jeans. But something is off. 

Joel can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something. And he begins to spiral, heart racing behind his ribcage. Because what if you’re finally coming to your senses, finally realizing he has nothing to offer you? What if the whole thing was just some fantasy to you? Maybe you’ve gotten your fill of him, gotten your rocks off enough times to be satisfied. What if he’s here, willing to sacrifice everything just to be close to you, while you’re slowly growing tired of him?

But then he tears his eyes away from his knee and sees the downright evil look in your eye as you let out a dramatic moan and say, “Oh, Abel!”

And he’s had it. Absolutely fucking had it. 

Joel steps back, fists his hand in your hair, and pulls you towards the bed. You’re giggling and he’s seething as he sits on the edge of the mattress and takes you over his knee. “Fuckin’ brat,” he says. “Tired of your attitude. Think you know everything. Think everything’s a goddamn joke.”

You spread your arms straight out above you, fingertips disappearing beneath the pillows. And you're sitting on your knees, ass arched beautifully, and Joel’s mouth waters when he pulls your dress up to expose a pair of royal blue panties, ones he hadn’t been able to properly appreciate in the dimly lit bathroom. “What are you gonna do, Joel? You’re gonna spank me? Really?” You scoff in disbelief. “All bark and no bite. Why don’t you— Joel!”

The sound of his harsh slap reverberates through his head, sharp and delicious. He feels his muscles relax almost instantly—almost as if he needs this more than you. “I told you, baby,” he says with a slight tilt of his head. “I don’t make idle threats.”

“Joel! You can’t—you—! What the fuck?”

He smacks your ass again, harder this time. Your whole body tenses and a soft little whimper leaves you, one that sends shivers down his spine. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” he warns.

There’s already a hand-shaped mark blossoming across your smooth skin, and Joel rubs the tender flesh to soothe. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, shoulders shaking with each desperate inhale. “Joel,” you cry.

“Wasn’t it just five seconds ago you were moanin’ some other man’s name?” He brings his hand down against your ass again, a stinging slap that has you shoving your face into the pillow. “C’mon, now,” he says. “Where’s he at, baby? Thought he was gonna make you feel good.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, words muffled through both the sheets and your giggles. “I was just kidding!”

“Nah. I don’t think you were.” When he strikes again, it’s lighter this time, on the opposite cheek. Your skin is reddening beautifully, and Joel licks his lips as he watches the damp spot in your panties become more and more prominent as the seconds tick by. “How’s that feel? Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes! God, Joel—I said I was sorry!” You sprawl out further in front of him, spine bending, thighs clamped tightly together. He knows you're enjoying this, can see it in your face, but Joel doesn’t think you’re quite getting it and he needs you to understand. 

He brings his hand down again, so hard this time his palm tingles. Your legs cross at the ankles and your muscles go rigid. He holds you in his lap with one hand and uses the other to stroke your hair out of your face. “Imagine how I feel, baby. Imagine how much it hurts to see him makin’ you laugh, makin’ you go all red. How much it hurts to see him kiss you.”

“Then you should’ve taken me away from him,” you say quietly. And it forces Joel to pause—to see through his frustration for just a moment. Because you’re right. He should have. He wanted to.

“You know I can’t do that, sweet girl,” he says, thumb stroking gently over your reddened flesh. “Can’t let you get away with bein’ bratty, either. Think five is enough?”

Joel laughs when you press your face into the mattress and let out a dramatic groan.

“Gonna make you count with me, baby,” he says. “Can you do that for me?”

When you lift your head and look up at him, Joel gets that zealous feeling again, twisting up his insides—warm and intense and heavenly. It makes him want to lean over and kiss your cheek, your forehead, makes him want to hold you so close the concept of disconnect becomes foreign. You nod slowly in answer, and he wonders if you can feel it, too.

He watches your face this time as he brings his hand down sharply against your ass. The cutest crease forms between your brows, and your knuckles turn white as you clutch the sheets. He caresses the supple flesh, squeezing softly as he waits.

You let out a long breath. “One,” you choke out, and Joel feels pride swell in his chest. Already you’re following his direction. All it took was a little discipline.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Bein’ so good for me, baby. Sittin’ so pretty.” Joel’s attention leaves your flushed face as you begin to squirm. And it’s only then he realizes just how much this is affecting you—the seam of your panties is soaked. The fabric has gone from blue to almost black, wet material clinging to every dip and curve of your pussy, leaving nothing to the imagination. And Joel moans at the sight—he can’t help it. “Oh, little girl…look at that,” he whispers, voice thick with admiration. “Now you’re finally gettin’ it.”

This time when his palm connects, it’s right in the center of your ass, lower than before—and Joel can almost see your clit pulsing. “Two,” you whimper, eyes squeezed tight to try and fight your oncoming tears. When you catch your breath, you begin pleading almost immediately. “Please, please, touch me. I need you.”

He clicks his tongue. “Shh, baby, I know,” he says. “I know it’s hard, wantin’ something so bad…having it so close…” He slides his middle finger over your panties, right through your slit. It’s featherlight and teasing and torturous. You tilt your hips back to meet his soft touch, but he only pulls away, leaving you trembling in his lap. “And then it gets taken away from you,” he continues. “Leavin’ you all needy and cold and hungry. ”

Joel strikes your ass with his tingling palm, grinning to himself in satisfaction at the art he’s made of your skin. “Joel,” you cry, shoulders shaking with every deep, ragged breath. “Joel, please.”

“See? Knew you’d forget his name. Happened so quick, darlin,’” he mocks. He snakes his hand beneath your dress, tracing the curve of your spine, stroking in reverence. “S’posed to be countin’ for me.”

Your voice is breathy and broken as you say, “Three, Joel I need it, oh my god.” This time the tears do come, sliding slowly down your flushed cheek. Joel reaches over and swipes it away. He runs his knuckles softly over your jaw, ignoring the rocking of your hips.

“Shh. S’alright, little girl. I’m here, nothin’ to cry about,” he coos. And then he takes your arm in his hand, pulling you up off the mattress. “C’mere, baby. I’ve got ya.” When you lean back on your heels, knees pressing against the side of his thigh, Joel kisses the tip of your nose with his lips stretched into an amused grin.

You reach for him, hands finding the coarse hair of his beard, pulling his face to yours, crushing your mouth to his. You taste like heaven, and Joel lets you take control for a single moment. Lets you bite his bottom lip, lets you lick into his mouth, lets you run your hands through his hair and tug the curls at the nape of his neck. But the moment you reach for his cock, Joel grips the back of your neck and pulls you quickly away. “ Please,” you whimper, and you sound so fucking pretty begging for him that his resolves wavers.

But then he remembers the way it sounded when you said Abel’s name and Joel’s jaw feathers. “Arms up, sweetheart. Still got two more to go.”

A whine leaves you in protest, but you do as he asks. Joel helps you take off your dress, tosses it to the floor in the pile where he left his faith, and runs his rough fingertips down your bare chest. 

“You’re so pretty baby,” he says truthfully, thumbs ghosting across your nipples. “You know how pretty you are?”

No answer comes in the form of words, but you clue him in on just how desperate for him you are when he sees your head fall back at the light touch. Your lips part with a ragged breath that turns into a moan when he leans forward and takes one nipple into his mouth. 

He swirls his tongue, flicking it over the hardened peak. He pinches the other gently between his thumb and forefinger, massaging the delicate flesh of your breasts. And when he pulls away, pushing you back down against the mattress, Joel can’t hold back the grunt that leaves him at the pressure your body creates over his cock. He’s so hard it hurts. And he knows the cure, longs for it, but he has to finish this. He has to make sure you remember what happens when you disrespect him, when you entertain another man.

Joel hooks his fingers in your panties and slowly pulls them down. A low, throaty groan leaves him as he sees the mess you’ve made. It’s pornographic and dirty and obscene and Joel has never, ever wanted something so bad in his life. “Fuck. This all for me, little girl?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless. “It’s yours, Joel, all for you.”

He pulls your panties further down your thighs, cock throbbing as he watches strands of your slick snap as they disconnect. Your pussy is glistening, and Joel wants to feel it, wants to taste it. But he resists, knowing it’ll be worth it in the end. “I know it is, baby,” he mutters.

This time when he brings his palm down against your ass, the sound is sharper, louder than before without the fabric between you. Now it’s just his hand and your flushed skin, and it isn’t until now that Joel realizes just how badly he needs to touch you.

Your hips lift up towards his hand, looking for relief that won’t come. “Four,” you sigh.

“Good girl,” he says. “One more, yeah?”

Through panting breaths you ask, “And then you’ll touch me. Right, Joel? Right?”

The words are so innocent and hopeless that he can’t hold back his dark laughter. You’re being so good for him right now, and Joel knows you don’t deserve any more punishment than this…but the opportunity to tease you is just too sweet to resist. And Joel has already established that, when it comes to you, he’s got no restraint. “What’s wrong? Hm?” He slides his middle and index finger through your pussy, chuckling at the blissful moan you give in response, down to your clit where he circles once, twice—and then back up, gathering your wetness on the pads of his fingers. He spreads you open and traces your entrance, careful not to push inside. “Feelin’ empty, little girl? S’that it?”

You’re nodding frantically, eyes transfixed as he lifts his fingers covered in your slick to his mouth and sucks them clean with a groan. “God, Joel, I can’t take it anymore,” you say. 

But he knows better. If he can sit there and watch you dance with another man for hours, you can handle a little desperation. “Good. Now you know how I feel. One more baby,” he says. “Then I promise I’ll touch you, just like you said. Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, please. One more.” 

He makes it the worst one yet. When he slaps your ass the sound reverberates through his ears, and Joel knows it hurts because his palm stings and he starts to feel a little bit guilty. Because the relief it brings him to have finished, to have made you suffer in the same way he has, is incredible. So much so that he wants to do it again—wants you to act out, to be bratty, just so you’ll end up over his knee with his handprints on you again. And that’s wrong, isn’t it? It has to be. It’s fucked up, wanting to punish a little girl for his own satisfaction.

But then your shoulders drop, and delight shines in your eyes, and Joel knows you enjoyed it as much as he did. So, even if it is fucked up and wrong and immoral, it’s something he shares with you and, somehow, it makes it all worth it. “Five,” you whisper. And you immediately go to sit up, to crawl into his lap, but Joel stops you. 

“Stay still, baby. You just lay right there, I’m gonna take care of you, ‘kay? Just like I promised. Don’t gotta lift a finger, pretty girl.”

Joel shifts from underneath you. He stands up, admires the way you look sprawled out over the sheets with your pussy dripping and your ass marked in the exact shape of his hands. You’re so beautiful it pains him, so flawless it hurts. Joel has to remind himself to breathe as he unbuttons his flannel and tosses it aside. 

By the time he’s unbuttoning his jeans, you’re getting desperate again—needy little thing. He watches you squirm, watches you press your thighs together and arch back towards him. 

Once he’s got his jeans off, he climbs over you, takes his aching cock in his hand, and presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “My perfect little girl,” Joel murmurs against your skin. He slides the head of his cock through your slit, coating himself in your slick, smirking as you whine for more. “This what you want? Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, God, give it to me, I need it, I’ll be so good,” you beg as he circles your clit.

And what is he supposed to do but give in to you? You’re always good when he’s got you alone like this. “I know you will be, baby. Say please.”

“Please, please, please — ohh.”

You feel like damnation as he eases inside. Your long moan sounds like a psalm, his fingertips on your ribs are like keys to the gates of heaven. It feels so fucking good to be inside of you that Joel feels like a thief. A brigand, a predator, a vulture. Because in the back of his head, he knows the truth, knows you can never really be his, knows that the age difference between the two of you means that you’re not meant for him. And he’s stealing, taking from whoever it is you should belong to…but he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to stop.

He moves slowly, pushing in deep until there’s no spot inside of you left untouched. And when he pulls out, his cock is wet with your slick, and Joel shivers at the sight. “Oh, God, Joel, it feels so good.”

“I know, baby,” he says. He leans back, straightening his spine so he can watch himself disappear inside of you. The dark hair between his hips has been made darker by your wetness, and the muscles in his thighs flex with each slow, meaningful thrust. 

There’s something different tonight. Something even more holy than any other time he’s been this close to you. His heart aches behind his sternum and pressure builds in his throat. The feeling chokes him, runs through his veins as naturally as blood. And though it’s never felt quite like this, Joel knows this feeling. Knows, too, that it terrifies him.

But he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Doesn’t want to take himself out of the sacred time he has with you. So, he leans into the feeling, letting it take over all those thoughts of sin and doubt, all those thoughts of guilt and shame. He pushes them away and loses himself in you instead, picking up his pace, fucking you hard. “Feels real good, hm? You know he’d never make you feel like this, sweetheart. Just me, ain’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes, mmhm, just you, just you.” He can feel you clench around his cock, squeezing your walls tighter with each cruel thrust. His name sounds so pretty in your mouth, Joel thinks.

Already he’s fighting release, fighting to hold himself back. “Fuck, baby. That’s right, just me.” He snakes his hand beneath you, fingers finding your sensitive clit a moment later. He swipes his hand back and forth quickly, delighting in the way you begin to shake. “Don’t want nothin’ fuckin’ gentle. Wanna be fucked just like this, hm? Fucked like the little slut I know you are. You fuckin’ love this cock, don’t you baby? Hm? Say it, sweetheart.”

“I love it, I love it, I love it, ” you say, and Joel’s heart pounds a little faster in his chest. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, God,” you cry out. And he knows you’re right there, can feel it in your trembling limbs. Joel grabs your ass with his free hand, raised skin hot to the touch, and spreads you open for a clearer view.

The sight of his cock stretching you open nearly does him in. But he resists, because he wants to come with you, wants you to drown him. “Give it to me,” he says, thrusting in deeper, stroking your clit faster. “Give it to me, baby. C’mon. There you go, thaaat’s it. Good girl, that’s a good fuckin’ girl. Shit, pretty little pussy’s soakin’ me. Gonna come inside, hm? How’s that sound, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you’re nodding and you look back at him with hazy eyes and say through your moans, “Yes, I wanna feel it. Please come inside me, Joel, please.”

He doesn’t last another second. His orgasm hits him so hard his vision blackens and he sees nothing but bursts of light, hears nothing but your sweet sounds, feels nothing but admiration and devotion and worship. For you, all for you. 

Everything for you. 

He fucks you through it, doesn’t stop until he’s completely spent, even though you've finished and come down and your knuckles are white around the sheets, too sensitive to care about anything else but the steady movement inside of you. He gives you every last drop, makes fucking sure of it. And when his muscles go slack, he presses his sweaty forehead to your spine and tries to catch his breath. He breathes you in deep, holding you in his lungs, in his heart.

And he doesn't want to move, but then you let out a sated little giggle and say, “Joel, you’re squishing me.”

He laughs quietly, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and slowly pulls out of you with a groan. He crawls to the other side of the bed, pulls the comforter back, and helps you crawl underneath it. And when he nestles in beside you, he’s a little startled when it’s a natural reaction to pull you close. He wraps his arms around your waist, hooks your thigh over his hip, leans into your hands as you thread your fingers through his hair and scratch lightly at his scalp. 

It’s intimate and closer than he’s been to anyone in a very, very long time. But he doesn’t hate it. And he doesn’t hate it when you pepper kisses over his face, either. And he really doesn’t hate it when you arch your back, tits pressing against his chest, and smile like there’s nothing in the world that makes you happier than being here with him, just like this.

He knows you are, but he has to ask. “You okay? It wasn’t too much, was it?”

You shake your head. “No, not at all. I…” You stop, chewing on your bottom lip. “I, uhm…”

“What is it?”

You look away from him, suddenly very interested in the shadows you make on the ceiling by rubbing your cold feet over his legs. “In the morning, I’ll have to go talk to Robin,” you admit. “She…she makes this tea, something you can drink to prevent unwanted…uhm,”

Joel thinks it's real cute, the way you’re struggling over your words. But he decides to grant you a little ease. Thinks you deserve it. “You don’t have to do that. I had a vasectomy before the outbreak,” he says. And when a crease forms between your brows, the question written plainly on your face, he explains, “It’s a procedure that, uh…makes it so I can’t…you know. Do that. Shootin’ blanks.”

It’s only then he realizes the gravity of the situation. Realizes that you didn’t know, because the two of you have never had this conversation, and you were ready and willing and begging to risk everything, to risk being tied to him forever, all for a single moment of bliss, of sweet relief.

“Oh. How convenient,” you say. 

“That’s somethin’ you were worried about?” He begins to wonder if you’ve ever felt pressured by him to do things you didn’t want all in the name of pleasing him. Realizes that never once has he asked for your permission. He’s always just…told you what to do. Bossed you around. And there’s a power imbalance here because of his age, isn’t there? His mouth runs dry, his blood runs cold. “You can say no, baby. At any time, with anything. You know that, right?”

You nod, and he feels the panic bleed from his chest as you explain, “I know. I wanted it, too. And I wasn’t worried. I trust you, Joel.”

That fucks him up. Blows through all the defenses he’s put up, all the walls he’s built to keep you out, to keep you at arm's length.

I trust you.

God, he’s fucking done for.

You let out a long breath. He feels at ease the moment you nestle your head in the junction of his shoulder, muscles relaxing as the tension subsides. “I don’t want to see you with her,” you whisper against his throat. 

“You won’t,” he says quickly. “I never should’ve gone in the first place.” It’s the truth, and Joel means it. There’s no one for him but you and he knows by now that there never will be.

“So…I’ll only be with you, and you’ll only be with me, and we’ll keep it quiet for a while. That way everyone’s happy.”

“Yeah,” he says. But it’s not enough. Just seconds after the words leave your mouth, there’s a pull within him for more. He wants to parade you around Jackson, to hold your hand and kiss you over dinner at The Tipsy Bison and dance with you so every man in the commune knows who you belong to. 

But he can’t. He can’t.

It’s not enough, but it has to be.

Joel can tell there’s another question on the tip of your tongue. He gives you time to work through it, to form the words in whatever way makes you most comfortable. But the longer you stay silent, the deeper that crease between your brows becomes. You swallow thickly, open your mouth, close it again. And Joel feels his heart shatter in his chest because he knows. He knows because he feels it, too. And the words crack in your mouth as you say, “Joel…Joel, I—”

“I know,” he says, because he can’t hear you say it. He can’t. It’s too much. It’ll rip him apart. But he gets it, he understands. He presses his lips to yours, kissing you deeply, hoping you can sense his piety. When he pulls away, your eyes are wide and glassy and you look just as frightened as he feels. “S’okay, baby. I know. Get some sleep.”

Joel holds you a little tighter.

[part three] [part five]

[poguesofthebau]

microscope

summary: steve wants nothing more than to ask you out. however, constantly being under the eyes of nancy, robin, dustin, and the rest of the kids makes it nearly impossible for him. read part two here :)

word count: 6.8k pairing: steve harrington x fem!henderson!reader

"you know, i've been hearing a lot of boo-hooing from you. you, steve harrington, who has the perfect solution to all your problems right in front of your face."

steve scoffed, rolling his eyes at his friend as he tossed a stack of returned films into a bin behind the counter. he internally grimaced as he thought about the fact that he'd be emptying that same bin back onto the shelves tomorrow morning, likely whilst having that same conversation with robin, both more or less against his will. "don't start with this again, robin."

"i'm not the one who started it! you did, with your gushy, lovey-dovey, pining, bedroom eyes every time you look at y/n!" her hands flailed around her as she spoke, dramatizing her words in that way only robin could. "seriously, i don't know how she hasn't caught on yet. because, of course that's not the only way you make your feelings totally obvious. every time you see her-- whenever your lives aren't in immediate danger, i mean-- she's the only person in the room you actually outwardly enjoy speaking to. you randomly bring her up in every other conversation. you call her sweetheart without even thinking about it. and don't think i don't realize that half the time you're at dustin's house it's for her. not to mention you haven't gone on a date in months, and not because you can't get one! it's like--" robin scoffed, a mixture of realization, amusement, and astonishment-- "it's like you've found the girl you've been looking for, but you're too chicken to actually ask her out!"

"first of all, the sweetheart thing? yeah-- that was one, maybe two times. second of all, there are only so many girls in hawkins. how do you know there's not a deficit of girls nearby that i haven't already dated?" robin tried to interject, knowing that his second reason was total bullshit, but steve raised his voice as he continued, preventing her from speaking. "anddd third of all! the rest of that can all be justified by the fact that y/n is my friend!"

"friend schmend. the two of you are going to end up together, i can feel it. mark my words, harrington!"

"i'll mark them if you stop repeating them," steve grumbled, returning to the task at hand as robin hummed in satisfaction.

"so there's really nothing going on? like... nothing, nothing?"

steve's day was becoming a miserable cycle. first it was robin. now it was nancy. he was beginning to consider going home and hiding from his remaining obligations for the day, but lucas was starting five in the basketball game that night, so he really had no choice. so there he was in the hawkins high gym, grimacing as his ex grilled him about the girl he was in love with. moreover, steve had thought he was secretly in love. apparently he hadn't been doing too great a job of keeping things under wraps. so not only was he going to have to spend another night with all of his friends pretending he wasn't in love with you, but he also had to listen to them as they threw it in his face that he was.

so, yes, steve was miserable.

"nothing is going on, nancy," steve stated flatly, eyes scanning the area near the entrance. he knew that if you showed up, she would quit it (nancy was one of the few of the bunch who at least halted her interrogations when you were around to potentially overhear). robin was a section over in the gym bleachers, clad in her band uniform and gripping her instrument, too focused on vickie's presence beside her to notice steve and nancy sitting so close-by. although he was currently missing the constant subject changes throughout conversations with robin, he was glad she was too distracted to join nancy in harassing him. mike was standing on the sidelines with lucas while he stretched, the boys laughing at something a grinning lucas had said. the rest of you had yet to arrive. in other words, there was nothing stopping nancy from taking her turn to question him about his nonexistent relationship with you. he was trapped.

he was also saving the seat to his right for you, fully prepared to face the repercussions of that choice if someone realized it too soon. regardless, he was praying you showed up before anyone else so he could avoid having to literally fight over the empty foot of space on the bench. regardless of where you ended up sitting, steve just wanted you there. he wanted to be near you, and to hear you laugh at dustin's silly basketball jokes, and to watch your expression shift from suspenseful to proud any time lucas shot and scored. he knew you'd turn to him and grin for no reason at some point, like you always did. he would be stunned by how effortlessly beautiful you were, but he'd just blush and grin back without a second thought. you'd make him happy in the ways that mattered. he could never be miserable with you there.

"okay, well... do you want something to be going on?"

steve turned to nancy at that, brows ruffling as he eyed her. "what do you mean? nance, have you been talking to robin? because, seriously, she's nuts. like, out of her mind--"

"no, no, no," nancy interrupted. her hair swirled around her head as she shook it, further emphasizing her answer. "i haven't been talking to robin. i've just noticed the two of you spending more time together than usual, and... you would make sense together. i mean, she makes you happy, and you make her happy. it's pretty easy to see that much."

steve paused at that, eyes flickering to the door one more time before carefully selecting his next words. his tone was less harsh this time, having a better understanding now of what nancy had been trying to do. she was encouraging him. "we're just friends, nance. you're right about her making me happy, but we're just friends."

nancy started to respond, offering him some hopeful nonsense about giving it a little bit of time, but steve was no longer paying her any attention. his eyes had finally found what they'd been searching for, and the sound of his heart thudding in his chest suddenly drowned out nancy's voice. you were there, and you looked perfect. your outfit was nothing special, really-- he'd seen you wear the same thing plenty of times before-- but steve still felt a wave of awe wash over him when he caught sight of you, a smile creeping onto his face. you hadn't noticed him yet, your eyes beginning to search the crowd before suddenly turning to look at max, who'd walked into the gym with you. you laughed at something she said, presumably a snide comment about the jocks or the antsy crowd or whatever else max was unimpressed by upon arrival, and steve's breath hitched in his throat at the amused expression on your face. a second later, though, you found him in the crowd. your eyebrows raised when the two of you made eye contact, and your hand reflexively shot up to wave at the shaggy-haired boy. he returned the gesture, abruptly snapping out of his y/n-induced trance. when he glanced back at nancy, she had a smug, knowing look on her face, clearly entertained, but said nothing.

"hey there," you said, dropping into the empty spot that steve had been so ready to fight someone over. mike had parted ways with lucas and joined you and max on your walk to the bleachers, and they seated themselves in front of you as you greeted steve and nancy.

"hey, y/n. how's it going?" his tone was calm and balanced as he spoke to you, concentrating hard on remaining as nonchalant toward you as he would the others. he had to play it cool; nancy was watching.

you let out a puff of air, chuckling a little at the question. "as good as it could go, i guess. dustin's feeling particularly unruly today, so it's been an interesting afternoon. but little brother can't dish out anything i can't handle, so let there be basketball!"

he smiled at that, a laugh passing his lips as he fell into conversation with you. this was what he'd needed all day. just a simple, uninterrupted five minutes talking to you. "where is the little demon? no way he's missing this game when he told me i had to be here."

"bathroom. he was too busy torturing me with science facts to pee before we left the house to pick max up, and then he was too 'immobilized by the need to urinate' that he couldn't get out of the car and use max's bathroom. i don't think i've ever seen him move as fast as he did getting out of the car after i parked outside-- dusty boy had to go."

"maybe that's his karma," steve suggested, prompting laughter from both of you. "huge ego, tiny bladder."

a few minutes later, dustin was emerging from the hallways. he suspiciously squinted at steve as he walked in, having recently noticed that his best friend had been paying his big sister a lot of attention in the last few weeks. he had tried his hardest to remain calm about the situation, but he was already panicking. what was he supposed to do if steve dated you, somehow fucked it up, and you ended up hating him? how would dustin's relationship with steve fare if he broke your heart?

at the same time, though, he wanted you both to be happy-- or to at least get the chance to be happy. in fact, he would love for you to be happy with each other. two of the people he loved the most in the world ending up together seemed poetic in ways that dustin couldn't find the wording for. the best analogy he could come up with was a comparison to peanut butter and jelly, but he knew that was too cliche to voice. so he didn't mention anything, not you and steve or peanut butter and jelly, and just sat back and watched. some days he watched optimistically. maybe after today they'll realize they're perfect for each other. other days, he watched like a hawk, a childish urge to kick steve in the groin for looking at his sister like that festering inside him. i'm going to knock him out. i'm going to give him two black eyes-- that'll teach him a lesson. but he never did anything. just watched and waited.

in the last few weeks, watching without commenting had gotten more difficult than dustin ever expected. one advantage to being your brother and steve's best friend was that he noticed things some of the others might not. he saw steve taking extra long strides to make it to the door first, opening it for you as you continued rambling about some meaningless topic, any time the two of you were walking through a threshold together. he saw your eyes roll the slightest bit when steve mentioned a girl he'd gone on a date with a few months back. he saw steve waiting in his car to make sure you got inside alright after he dropped you off-- something he never did for dustin. he saw you smoothing down your hair before getting out of the car to sit besides steve at the basketball game. he saw how the two of you saw each other.

so instead of continuing to give steve dirty looks as he approached, dustin sucked in a breath of air, forced himself to change perspectives, and made some adjustments to his facial expression.

when he finished glaring at steve, his eyes locked with nancy, who returned eye contact and gave him a sympathetic smile. she understood being protective of your sibling, and she knew what the fear of losing steve felt like. but she also had a strong feeling that things would turn out going well for all three of you; at this point, your quickly-blooming relationship with steve had been a long time coming. of course, she couldn't communicate all of that knowledge through two seconds of eye contact, but dustin at least saw that she understood.

"hellooo, people!" dustin grinned at you, steve, and nancy as he seated himself between mike, whom he amicably bumped shoulders with, and max, whom he wiggled his eyebrows at. each of you acknowledged his arrival just before a whistle blew. lucas and four of his teammates made their way onto the court, and dustin felt a wave of relief upon having something else to focus on. "let's watch some basketball!"

"you did amazing, lucas!"

"oh, yeah! super graceful out there, just like i taught you. way to make me proud, kid."

you snorted, lightly whacking steve for somehow finding a way to make lucas's success about himself. "very humble, harrington."

nancy, mike, dustin and max followed close behind you and steve, congratulating lucas on the team’s win as they stepped up beside you. the game had ended 20 minutes ago, with hawkins securing the win. lucas had been granted some time to hit the showers and say his goodbyes to his teammates before meeting back up with the rest of you by the gymnasium doors. the school was far from empty, a plethora of people still lingering around the gym and in the parking lot, and the bustling seemed to comfort you all.

“okay, who's getting a ride home from me?” the kids began chattering over one another in response, and the only way you deciphered their chorus of answers was by mentally noting whether they'd pointed at you or steve. you'd chauffeured dustin and max on your way, and nancy, mike, and lucas had carpooled with steve, but lucas was now planning on riding home with you (assuredly to spend more time with max). in the bustle of the conversation, you heard mike say he'd left his bike at lucas's house the day before, meaning he'd be joining whoever lucas left with so he could get his usual mode of transportation back. this left steve riding with nancy, and you dropping off mike, lucas and max on your way home with dustin.

steve was still hyper-focused on behaving normally, resisting the urge to look at you with what robin had described as his "gushy, lovey-dovey, pining, bedroom eyes" too frequently. at this point in the night, he was regressing to the sullen mood that he'd begun that day with. he knew that he'd have to part ways with you within a few minutes, and that was enough to ruin his night. because of that, he didn't really care who he had to drive home, or that nancy would be his only passenger, or how your mood change entirely when you realized that nancy would be his only passenger.

you knew you should've held it together better. unbeknownst to steve, the kids had been on your back, too. dustin would quiz you about your day whenever you spent ample time away from him, prying until you coughed up every detail of any time you'd spent alone with steve. there had been one evening a few weeks earlier when max and lucas were on their way to use the pool at steve's house, and they'd seen your car pulling out of steve's driveway as they turned onto his street. dustin wasn't with you. the next day, max showed up at your doorstep to accuse you of being in a secret relationship with your friend. you thought you’d convinced her otherwise at first, but three weeks later she told you she was still waiting for the day you two “finally came clean.” nancy told you she’d overheard mike telling el over the phone that you and steve “still haven’t gotten together,” which then led to a very awkward conversation between you and nancy about how she wouldn't mind if you wanted to get with steve despite their history.

you knew what it felt like to be scrutinized in the exact same ways steve was, and you were just as antsy as him when they were around to observe.

you should’ve held it together better. but you slipped.

“okay, great. you and me, nance. all ready? let’s hit the road.” he dropped his hands onto her shoulders, beginning to steer her toward the exit when he was halted by your reaction.

what did you do in response to steve’s urgency to leave with nancy? you scoffed.

for a split second, you thought maybe, maybe, no one heard it.

unfortunately for you, everyone heard it. (admittedly, it was sort of loud. arguably more of a guffaw than a scoff.) steve froze, his hands falling from nancy's frame as he twisted back around to quizzically look at the source of the noise. the others followed suit, all peering at you before exchanging their own encoded glances with each other.

so... maybe 'slip' was an understatement. maybe you completely threw yourself under the bus, let the cat out of the bag, spilled the beans, all of it. totally exposed yourself. if they had an inkling before, they had proof now.

after a moment of tense silence passed over the group, steve looked at you, surprised and unnerved by the noise you'd made. he opened his mouth to ask if you were okay, but you were already moving on, turning to speak to dustin. “let’s go, little man. round up our passengers for me.” and you spun on your heel and walked out of the high school.

as you walked out, dustin immediately turned to steve, his finger extended until it was a mere inch away from steve’s face. “you,” he said threateningly. “you idiot! you absolute goddamn imbecile! son of a bitch!”

as dustin threw halfhearted insults at the older boy, the kids behind him groaned in mortification. “steveeeee,” max complained. “you’re better than this!”

lucas snickered, looking at max as he gestured to steve. “what makes you think he’s better than this? look at him! he has no clue what he’s done!”

“oh, he knows what he’s done,” dustin grumbled. “he’s done something to upset my sister. and for that, i might have to kill him.”

steve was just beginning to defend himself when robin came bounding down the halls, a duffel bag slung over her arm and an unknowing grin on her face. “hey! i’m so glad i caught you before you left! what are the odds you could give your old friend, coworker, fellow monster-slaying warrior robin a ride home?”

she tried to further explain the circumstances that led to her losing her original ride, but she was cut off by the kids' roars. they spoke over one another, and all at once robin heard, “oh, thank god!” “perfect timing!” “you’re a little late.” “jesus christ!”

her expression shifted to confusion, finally sensing that she was out of the loop on something. she looked to steve and nancy, opening her mouth to question the strong reaction from the younger crowd when steve cut her off. “yeah, i can give you a ride. c’mon, we were just leaving.” he looked pointedly at the kids as he made the latter claim, swaying them to keep their mouths shut for the remaining three minutes that they’d be together.

it was a fifteen minute ride from the school to max's house. the redhead was sitting in the passenger seat of your car, subtly glancing over at you every few moments as the three boys bickered in the back seat. she hadn't said anything since you started driving, but the backseat occupants had been whispering essentially the entire time. you had turned on the car radio when the awkward silence and coughing became too much to bear (which, to be precise, was within two minutes of the ride), and they'd immediately began to quietly theorize behind you.

during the last five minutes of the ride, the whispering intensified noticeably. you still couldn't make out their exact words, but all three of them had raised their volumes enough that you could decipher which voice was which. you'd had just about enough of their poor attempts to hide the fact that they were talking about you, and you were just about to give them a piece of your mind. before you reached your tipping point, however, max cleared her throat and spoke to you in her own low voice. "robin ended up going with steve and nancy, by the way," she muttered, mentally noting the muscles in your jaw slightly relax when you processed what she said. you threw her a grateful look, letting out a barely-noticeable sigh of relief. max paused, gauging your mood before adding something else. "you know he likes you, right?"

your eyes moved to the rear view mirror, peering at the boys' reflections to confirm that they were still preoccupied with their own conversation before responding quietly. "i know."

steve knew from the moment he opened his eyes the next day that it was going to be another day from hell. he groaned aloud when his alarm clock woke him up, his nose scrunching as he slammed an open palm on top of the machine to silence it. when his bedroom reverted to a state of heavy silence, steve tossed the same hand over his face, mentally recapping the events of the previous day as he prepared to get out of bed. "and you didn't go after her," he grumbled to himself, tossing the comforter off his body and shifting into a sitting position on the side of the bed. "god damn moron didn't go after her."

yesterday he'd had to listen to the girls-- his peers, people his own age-- question his relationship with you without any concrete evidence. today, he was going to have to fight for his life against dustin for ruining your night, disappointing you, not finally confessing his feelings for you instead of trying to run off with nancy, and whatever else dustin felt like drudging up in the midst of the singular discrepancy. worst of all, steve felt like he deserved it. he felt like shit for making you feel anything other than adored and appreciated, and he had already spent plenty of time beating himself up over it when he got home the night before.

no matter how he felt, he couldn't shake the anxiety he felt over you being upset with him. granted, he wasn't even sure that you still were upset with him-- maybe this only seemed like a big deal in the moment, and he was actually already forgiven-- but the uncertainty was enough to make his stomach flip a few times whenever he considered the possibility.

he knew he had to talk to you as soon as he could. he had a shift at the video store that morning, which was why his obnoxious alarm had sounded so much earlier than he would've preferred, but the next thing on his agenda for the day would be to find you and apologize-- grovel, if necessary, until he was sure you weren't harboring any hard feelings toward him. he'd probably have to hear a lot of commentary from everyone else before he got to talk to you, but he doubted anyone could be much harder on him than he was already being with himself. so he threw on his work uniform, blocking out a memory of the time you told him he looked "magnificent" in that green vest, and hopped in the car. just a few hours and he could talk to you.

it took the kids longer to show up than steve expected. half of him thought dustin might be standing at the front desk with his arms folded across his chest when steve walked through the door. but no, they didn't get there until three hours into his shift. he'd already restocked the shelves, rung out a handful of customers, and taken his thirty-minute lunch break by the time he heard the bustle of the 4 freshmen entering. the first coherent thing he heard was lucas's whisper, asking, "do you see him anywhere?" he popped his head above the shelf he'd been reorganizing in an attempt to pass the time, throwing the group a hesitant smile as they spotted him in the far corner of the store. when he joined them in the open area beside the register, steve opened his mouth to greet them only to be immediately cut off by dustin.

"have you talked to her?" he drilled, a stern tone behind his voice to match the demanding look in his eye.

"no," steve replied hesitantly, not sure of whether or not the boy was planning on allowing him to elaborate further. his eyes darted around the small crowd before him, taking in max's curious gaze and the amused expressions lucas and mike wore before flickering back to dustin. the curly-haired boy was glaring at him expectantly, and steve rushed to fill the silence before dustin could yell at him again. "i was planning on going over to see her after my shift."

dustin squinted at steve, inspecting his face for any sign that he might've been lying. he found no evidence of falsehood, nodding slowly as he mentally lined up his next set of questions. as dustin was thinking, max piped up. "do you feel remorse? i mean, do you fully grasp the depth of what you did?"

"hey, i'm asking the questions here," dustin said pointedly to max. he blinked a few times, then turned back to steve. "well, answer her!"

steve stuttered a bit as he responded, surprised by the question despite how prepared for this confrontation he'd thought he was. "uh, i-- what-- well, yeah, i feel remorse, but it's not like i did it on purpose. it was-- i didn't mean to make her upset."

"you were drooling over nancy! literally rushing to get out of there when the only thing motivating you was the idea of being alone in a car with your ex-girlfriend! literally!"

"okay, when you put it like that, it sounds really bad," steve admitted dubiously, wincing at the reminder that you probably thought he had feelings for nancy again. "but that wasn't actually what was going on!"

dustin didn't seem to care what steve had to say to defend himself, simply moving on to address his second issue. "and not just that, but you've also been stringing her along for months now, acting all flirty and romantic and obsessed with her, basically going on dates all the time, and then denying that anything is going on between you two!"

"that is not true," steve contested.

"dude, that's kinda true," lucas interjected.

at the exact same time, mike added, "yeah, you definitely do all that stuff."

"we don't go on dates! we hang out! y/n would tell you the same thing-- because we're friends, and nobody is stringing anybody along."

"that doesn't explain why she got so upset at you wanting to spend time alone with nancy, though," max remarked. steve groaned at this, growing tired of talking in circles yet again about his relationship with you. max's eyebrows raised at the older boy, eyes slightly widening in a combination of false innocence and genuine interest. "i'm just saying."

"exactly! if nothing's going on with you, why is she so worried about you and nancy? and--"

"okay, fine!" suddenly steve was interrupting dustin, and all eyes were now expectantly trained on his noticeably fed-up expression. "you're right! i have feelings for your sister, and i'm pretty sure she has feelings for me too, but i haven't been able to ask her out properly yet because i have a bunch of people watching my every move and asking me questions about her and us at all times! so maybe if you would all stop breathing down my neck, then i would be able to figure out a way to ask her out without seeming like a total creep!”

silence fell over the group, all of them stunned that steve had finally confessed the truth. the kids hadn't thought steve would give his big secret up that easily, and even steve himself had intended to keep his emotions under wraps for a while longer. he at least wanted to tell you about how he felt before he told dustin. but, clearly, that was no longer an option.

just as it began to set in steve's mind that he'd just confessed his true feelings to dustin, max, lucas, and mike, the front door swung open and another person stepped foot in the store.

it was you.

"uh, hi everyone," you chuckled nervously when you walked in. you held a vhs tape in your left hand, the other holding the strap of your bag to secure it on your shoulder. the tension in the air was immediately apparent to you; it wasn't often that these kids were stunned into silence, so you recognized the expressions well. no one flinched to respond when you walked in, but they seemed caught when they saw you. steve, on the other hand, was visibly clenching his jaw and avoiding eye contact with the others. he was unmistakably distraught, and the tight-lipped smile he threw you as you entered did nothing to convince you otherwise.

you took a few steps toward them, just about to blatantly ask what you'd walked into when max spoke up. "hi y/n," she stepped in front of the others as she spoke, meeting you halfway between their position and yours. a second after she greeted you, her mouth moved again, releasing no sound. you made out what she mouthed clear as day: steve is mad. her eyes held a sort of amazed-but-apprehensive look, and it clicked in your mind what must've happened. dustin. max assumed you'd caught on then, subtly sending you another hint. "returning a movie?"

"yeah," you said, feigning a smile as your eyes flickered behind the girl. dustin had now snapped out of his stunned silence, obviously observing closely as you made your next move. mike and lucas seemed to be on alert, both glancing between you, dustin, and steve to see how the situation would unfold. "steve, you wanna help me out over here?" you nodded toward the counter in the center of the room, walking backwards in the direction as you gestured.

"uh, yeah," steve said, clearing his throat when he realized how low his tone was. "sure, i gotcha."

the two of you made your way to the register, steve's back to the kids as he stood across the counter from you. your eyes shifted to your little brother as you placed the vhs tape on the counter, watching as he took a step forward only to be physically stopped by max. words were exchanged between the two, and dustin gave the back of steve's head one final intense glare before moving to the opposite side of the store and fixating his eyes on a random shelf of films. thank you, max, you thought gratefully.

when you looked back at steve, he seemed to be lost in thought, already in the process of marking your latest rental as returned. you gave yourself a few seconds to just look at him. you could tell he hadn't brushed his hair when he woke up that morning because the hair on the left side of his head was flattened out in comparison to the rest. the first button on his vest was secured to the second buttonhole, something you would've laughed at on most other days. his eyes were the same brown as always, but the distracted expression behind them made you slightly uneasy. soon enough, your few seconds to admire the older boy had expired, and it was time for you to force him into a conversation. "so," you started, earning a glance and raise of the brow from him. "how's the shift going? running the show solo?"

he chuckled, shaking his head at your small talk. "yup, it's all me this morning. and, of course, i was running a smooth operation until the fiends showed up."

you shot him a pitiful smile. "i'm sorry about them. i told dustin to leave it alone, but he's--"

"obsessed with protecting you?" you nodded, and steve chuckled again. "yeah, i know. he always has been, and he always will be. i don't blame him. it's just-- agh, it's a lot sometimes, i guess." you could feel him thawing out as you fell into conversation, gradually easing back up after facing the turmoil that was your little brother. steve's mind seemed to shift then, almost as if he'd had a lightbulb moment within. "hey, you know, i'm sorry about last night, by the way. i didn't mean for it to seem like i was trying to get away from you, or get alone with nancy, or anything like that, because none of that is the case."

"you don't have to apologize, steve. i'm sure you've already had a hard enough time explaining yourself to dustin; you don't need to explain anything to me on top of that."

"no, no, i do, though," he insisted. as you talked, the vhs you'd entered with was resting beneath steve's palm, having long-since been forgotten. he turned his body to fully face you as he spoke this time, and you took a split second of that transitional time to mentally note the way his hand engulfed the tape. you almost lost all focus in that moment, already starting to thinking about steve's hands, warm and big and firm, instead of his relationship with nancy or your brother's pestering or anything else. but when he spoke again, the tone of his voice had changed, and all of your attention was drawn back to the conversation. "it's been months of everyone else demanding an explanation for you and me spending so much time together, and the least i could do is actually give you an explanation."

"trust me, i get it. they give me a lot of shit too, for pretty much anything that involves you."

"anything and everything. like, if dustin sees me wave at you when i pick him up from your house, it's all i hear about for twenty minutes. any time max hears that you and i spend any time together she has to clarify whether or not it was a date. even nancy and robin do it. i mean, when we left the gym last night the two of them went back and forth the entire ride on what i could do to get you to forgive me. i honestly don't remember the last time i went a whole 24 hours without someone asking about you, or mentioning us, or calling me out on something. it’s just so frustrating. i mean, i spend months striking out with every dud of a girl i talk to, and then i waste a few more months with a bunch of chicks who i know aren't worth my time, and then i finally realized that there's this perfect girl right in front of me, and i can’t work up the courage to do anything about it because of the pressure from our friends and her little brother? kind of pathetic, if you ask me."

"the perfect girl, you say?" you smirked at him, his face flushing a little when you locked eyes.

"i-- yeah, the perfect girl." he smiled a little as he looked at you, feeling his own mood shift from anxious and overwhelmed to hopeful and optimistic.

"i don't know about perfect. maybe she's kinda cute, but perfect? seems like a bit of a stretch."

"no, i mean, i get that it's hard to believe and everything, but she's a total catch. she's drop-dead gorgeous, obviously, but she's also smart, and determined, and so caring. like, i don't think there's anything this girl wouldn't do to protect the people she loves. seriously, i've never met a girl like her before, and i'm pretty positive i never will again. she's pretty much one of a kind. yeah, she's perfect."

the nonchalant tone of his voice as he spoke confirmed to you that steve had calmed down after his interaction with dustin. more than that, you were shocked by the things he'd said. as you'd said to max the night before, you knew steve liked you. it wasn't like he did some superb job of hiding it from you or anyone else; everyone knew that steve harrington didn't waste his time hanging out with one girl for months if he wasn't actually interested in her. in all honesty, though, you hadn't thought it was as much of a true emotional attraction as a combination of loneliness and sexual tension. his never having made a move before was what you'd considered confirmation of that theory; he didn't actually care enough to risk his friendship with dustin, so he just left it alone. regardless of all the logic you'd used to justify your relationship with steve, here he was confessing that he had all sorts of feelings about you.

without noticing, you'd gone completely silent during your moment of realization. steve was looking at you with anticipation and a little fear, smiling nervously as he said, "sorry, was that too much?"

you laughed, shaking your head. "no, that wasn't too much. it's just kind of insane, you know? i mean, if you told me sophomore year that king steve would be calling me 'the perfect girl' one day, i would've laughed in your face. but here we are."

"here we are," steve repeated with a smile. "for the record, though, king steve is dead and gone. god, i hated that guy." he rolled his eyes as he spoke then, cringing at the memory of who he used to be.

"yeah, i can't really disagree with that. king steve was a dick. but i'm glad you're the steve that took over for him."

"well, this steve would really love it if you'd give him a chance. i might do dumb shit sometimes, but it's just because i get so in my head about what people think. but when it comes to you, i'm sick of worrying about what everyone else will say. i just--" he leaned forward, both elbows resting on the counter between you, and locked eyes with you as he spoke again. "will you go out with me?"

you could've sworn someone was holding a lighter to each of your cheeks in that moment. whether it was because of how hard you were blushing or how hard you were smiling, you weren't sure, but you could feel the heat spread across your face as you answered. you leaned forward as you spoke, too, placing your hands on top of his where they rested on the counter. "i would love nothing more, steve."

"jesus christ," steve breathed, letting his head hang low as he exhaled a chuckle and hid his face from you. when he lifted his head again, his face was just as pink as yours. "i didn't know if i would ever get the opportunity to ask you uninterrupted. even then, i didn't know if you'd even say yes!"

you squeezed his hands in yours, laughing at his confession. "obviously i said yes. what girl could say no to that hair?" you reached up and tugged gently on the hair atop his head, laughing when his nose scrunched in response.

steve grabbed the hand that had been in his hair as you dropped it back down, feeling another wave of relief and adoration wash over him. "i would come around the counter and kiss you, but your little brother is definitely still watching us."

you snorted at that, nodding. "you're totally right. and, unfortunately, the only way to get him to leave here is to take him with me when i go. so, instead of kissing me now, you can wait until later tonight when you pick me up to go out."

steve laughed, letting your hands slip out of his as you pulled away and started walking toward your brother and his friends. "i'll pick you up at 7?" he called after you.

"i'll be ready by 6:30," you shot back with a smile. then you moved a few feet across the store to find dustin, lucas, mike, and max huddled behind a shelf of vhs tapes, obviously struggling to eavesdrop on your conversation with steve. you fought back a laugh at the sight of them, cramped and clueless, before announcing, "anyone who wants to know what's going on with me and steve, leave the store now and you'll get your answers."

steve had never seen those four fools move so quick, and before he knew it, they were outside. he shot you one last lovesick grin as you waved goodbye to him with a smile. "see you at 6:30."

maybe today wasn't such a day from hell, after all.

[aneveningsword]

𝐔𝐧𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐬

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader warnings: not proofread words: 685 summary: a spare hair tie becomes the solution to Spencer's problem

masterlist

It's common knowledge that the curls Spencer Reid had were untammable. No amount of brushing, hair product or spray could keep them at bay. They seemed to have a mind of their own, and nothing could control their will. If they wished to defy gravity, that is what they would do, if they wanted to stick out the sides of his head making him look like a chicken, that's what they would do.

You found it endearing how no matter how many times the man tried to push the curls out of his face, they simply flew back into place. The annoyance was almost pliable, the emotion etched clearly on his face for everyone to see. You could not help but find some amusement in the Doctor's frustration. How something that seemed so simple could get the better of him. Spencer could recite useless facts off the top of his head, and he could pinpoint the general area where an unsub might be, but he could not win against his curly hair.

From the coffee machine, you could see how Spencer's body rocked with a deep huff as the hair he just pulled back from his face, flopped back into his eyes. It was a sad sight, seeing the frustration tense up his slender body. You felt a bit of pity for the man who was clearly debating just cutting off all his hair.

A warm cup of coffee in hand you head towards Spencer's desk hoping to provide the genius a simple and obvious solution to his problem. "Hair giving you some problems?" The question held a small joking tone as the coffee was placed in a small clear space on his desk. A place for it to sit as you pulled the hair tie off your wrist.

"Is it that obvious?" The man asks with an underlying tone of annoyance, something you do not take to heart. A small smile forms on your face as you are behind the desk chair he was perched on. His face contorts into one of confusion as he tries to follow you around, chair moving slightly as he tries to keep you within eyesight.

"Sit still, eyes at the front." you scold jokingly, grabbing the back of his chair to swivel him around to where you want him. A small huff would leave Reid, but he would not move from the spot you put him in. The elastic hairband in your hand would snap slightly as you begin carefully moving his hair into your awaiting hand. You attempted to be as careful as you could be, not wishing to tug on his hair and cause some pain.

With most of his locks secured in your hand, it was time to finish it off with the hairband. With precision and care, you would loop it around a couple of times to ensure it would not fall out before letting go of his hair altogether. A proud grin on your face as you eyed your work, while not all his hair was captured by the hair tie, it was good enough.

There was a moment of bliss as your fingers threaded through Spencer's hair, taking care not to get caught in the curls. It was relaxing, having someone else play with your hair. Soft and careful hands ran through his hair, curling it around your finger, it was bliss in his mind. A sensation he did not wish to stop.

"Done," Your voice pulled him from his thoughts as you spun him back around carefully to face you. Warm eyes look up at you expectantly, waiting for you to decide if your work was well done or not. He watched the concentration fill your eyes as you scanned over his face and hair, making sure no rogue curls were going to annoy him too much.

"Perfect, utterly perfect if I do say so myself." Your voice was filled with a sense of achievement, the smile you wore was contagious. The stress of his hair problems leaves him with the help of your simple solution. A well-placed hair tie.

[kazvha]

William helping you study maths

Another groan escapes you. You've been studying for the upcoming maths test, but the questions and even the solutions don't make any sense. How does one even come up with these approaches?

Frustrated, you bury your face in your palms, which stops you from the urge to bang your head against the table so that you don't have to look at these numbers anymore.

"If only Liam was here," you mutter. Your boyfriend would certainly be able to explain the topic to you. You would like to go and ask him, but he was surely still busy with work.

With your head lying on your desk now, you gaze into the void while hoping the papers beside you will disappear into nothingness.

Shortly after some minutes, someone knocks on your door and a familiar voice reaches your ears. "It's me, can I come in?"

It was William.

Immediately feeling energized again, you spring up to open the door for him. "Liam! What a pleasant surprise! What are you doing here so early?"

"I finished work earlier today," he smiled warmly, "What are you doing right now? I thought that we could take the lunch break together."

Your face falls. "Oh I would love to, but these math problems have been giving me a headache."

"Is that so? Let me help you then." His ruby-colored eyes take a look at your unorganized desk which is full of notes and exercises.

"I couldn't ask you to do that Liam, you can have your lunch break. I'll join you later maybe."

"No, it's alright darling." He walks up to your desk and pulls up another chair beside yours. "Spending time with you is much more enjoyable than taking my break alone. Besides, you know I love solving math problems."

Your heart melts and you decide to take a seat next to him. "I'll gladly accept your offer then. You're really helping me out here."

As you expected, you finally understand the topic after William takes his time to carefully explain each of your questions. You appreciate that he even answers your dumb questions without making fun of you for problems that should actually be crystal clear to you.

"It was really that obvious? How did I miss that..." you grumble, throwing your head back into the chair.

William chuckles as he pats your back. "Well, you know how it works now and that's what matters."

"You're... right. Thank you for helping me Liam, I was really desperate there. Honestly, I was one second away from burning everything down", you admit and hope that the look in your eyes conveys how grateful you are.

"I'm always glad to help, love", William answers with amusement in his voice. At the same time the sentence leaves his lips, his stomach growls.

You snicker and ask him, "What do you say about having our well-deserved lunch break now?"

To which William clears his throat and still tries to reply in a refined way despite his cheeks gaining a rosy tint. "Having it now would be more than alright for me."

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Oh No, There’s Only One Bed

Bradley Bradshaw x reader 2k words summary: The hotel is all booked out and now you have to share a room with Bradley Bradshaw. Worse, you have to share a bed. 

there’s not much plot in this. so like dont get your hopes up. im not happy with how it turned out

prequel to “Oh No, There's An Arm Around My Waist”, can be read seperately tho

top gun masterlist

“You have got to be kidding me.” 

You couldn’t help yourself, already regretting the words once they’d left your mouth. The poor receptionist played no part in this - it wasn’t his fault. You weren’t usually this rude to hotel staff. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, but we’re all booked out for tonight. It’s a twin room or no room at all.”

“C’mon, we can make it work.” 

You looked up at Bradley like he was out of his mind. And he even had the audacity to grin at you. “It’s just one night.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

You couldn’t believe that he was actually supporting this dumb fucking idea. “We can’t share a room. We can’t share a bed, Bradshaw.” 

He raised his eyebrows and you bit your lip, mentally roundhouse-kicking yourself in the face. Why did you have to be so obviously avoidant? Your fight-or-flight was kicking in at the mere proposal. It was too obvious. Were normal people as desperately opposed to the idea of sharing a bed with a friend? Probably not. So why the fuck were you? 

Because maybe Bradley was not just a friend. 

Because maybe you were totally in love with him. And because maybe you’d rather die than ever admit that and get rejected. 

“I mean-” You scrambled for words, for a quick excuse that would make sense, that would save you from at least some of the embarrassment. “You know, like, we’re friends. Friends don’t share a bed.” 

Welp, that did not work. Horrible miss. Dart stuck in the wall-kind of miss. 

“I’ll build a pillow wall if that makes you feel better”, Bradley promised, failing to hide his amusement. You clenched your jaw. 

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. 

“There’s other hotels”, you tried, desperate to find a different solution. 

“Yeah”, he nodded, almost too enthusiastically. “Sure. Because those aren’t booked out.” 

Alright. So maybe he had a point. 

The only options here were sleeping on the floor of a subway station in San Diego or sharing a bed with him. And the fact that you actually took two seconds debating whether getting chlamydia would be worth not having to sleep pressed up against Bradley’s (warm and very comfortable) chest in a clean bed told you enough about just how far you’d fallen for him already. You were in too deep. And after tonight, you’d be a goner. 

But you really, really did not want to spend the night on the subway. 

“Fuck this”, you muttered, turning back to the poor receptionist who looked like he’d rather be on the subway getting chlamydia himself than here and forcefully smiled at him. “We’ll take the room, thank you.”

...

The door swung open and you blindly reached for the light switch, flipping it on before trudging into the room with your suitcase in one hand and the keys in the other. 

You parked the suitcase in some random corner, threw your jacket onto the tiny table and looked up only to see that Bradley had already claimed the left side of the bed, arms and legs spread out, eyes closed. There was a lump in your throat as you watched him breathe that should not have been there. Neither should the flutter in your tummy. Neither should the heat in your cheeks when he opened his eyes and caught you staring. 

“This is like some fucked up scene straight out of a shitty rom-com”, you complained - the only thing you knew how to do so you wouldn’t drool. He looked way too attractive doing literally nothing. You were not okay with that. Especially now that you had to share the bed with him. 

He tucked his hands behind his head (his biceps flexed ridiculously) and chuckled. 

“You love rom-coms”, he reminded you. 

“Yeah, but only good ones with actual plot and characters that have personality.” 

(This was, in itself, an absolute and total lie and Bradley definitely knew that. He was right - you loved rom-coms. You loved all of them. Especially the shitty ones with no plot whatsoever except “Oh we’re two idiots in love”. But you’d thought it would be much more fun if life played out like that - you hadn’t thought it would be like this.) 

“You’re a bad liar”, he laughed, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better look at you. 

“Am not”, you protested. He hummed. 

“You definitely are.” 

Then he patted the other side of the bed again. “Stop pouting and get in.” 

You rolled your eyes and turned away from him, bending down to put your suitcase on the ground and undo the zipper. 

“Gotta change first, Bradshaw. You can build that pillow wall while I’m in the bathroom.” 

His chuckle followed you even as you closed the door behind you half a minute later and it took you longer than it should have to change into pajamas - shout out to your shaking hands - partly because you spent five minutes brushing your teeth, looking at yourself in the mirror and trying to calm your nerves by telling your reflection all kinds of reassurances. (”It’s just one night” and “If you stay on your side you won’t even know he’s there” and “You’ll both be asleep anyway”)

You almost had a heart attack when you left the bathroom again. 

Because yes, Bradley was still in bed, and that in itself was stressful enough. But mainly because he’d kicked the covers to his feet and his pajamas, if one could call it that, consisted only of his briefs. 

At least he had the decency to look apologetic. 

“Sorry”, he said, gesturing at himself. “I don’t have sleepwear with me. I usually sleep naked.” 

Because of course he did. Of course Bradley fucking Bradshaw slept naked. 

“Uh”, you managed, mind completely blank. You were very, very much aware of the fact that you should say something. You just did not have the mental capacity to come up with anything whatsoever. 

There was a goddamn Adonis in your bed. 

If you’d thought you weren’t wearing much before (because you really weren’t, you’d expected San Diego to be warm and had only packed a skimpy little nightgown) then Bradley was wearing literally nothing. 

And, well, he kind of was wearing nothing. 

Couldn’t he at least have kept the covers up? But no. You knew him. He was basically a live heating pad. He’d die if he pulled them up.

“Okay”, you eventually managed to croax out, forcing your feet to work, to carry you to the right side - your side - of the bed, to flick on the lamp on your bedside table and turn off the big one, all without thinking. “Yeah, no worries.” 

“Good.” He nodded his head for what had to be the better part of ten full seconds. “Good.” 

The silence felt awkward. You were just sitting on the edge of the bed and he was propped up on his elbows on his side, staring holes into the air, not saying anything. Eventually he cleared his throat. 

“Wanna, like, sleep?” 

“Oh, yeah.” You busied yourself with the covers so you wouldn’t have to look at him, carefully sliding underneath them. “Yeah, we probably should.” 

Only the rustling of the sheets filled the room until you were finally lying flat on the mattress, head resting on the pillow, and then there was silence again and you wanted to scream. This was more uncomfortable than anything else had ever been with him. Usually it was easy and light and that was why you liked him so much, that was why the two of you had initially become friends at all, but this... this was so heavy. Like something looming over the two of you that neither was addressing, just staring at it, aware that it was there but not doing anything about it. 

This time, you cleared your throat, reached for the bedside lamp and turned that off too. The room was dark without it. You could only make out his contours next to you, hear the sound of his breath. 

“Good night then”, you whispered, listening as his sheets rustled as well as he lay back, turning onto his side so that he was facing you. For a moment you felt the urge to do the same, but before you could even think about moving you were already swatting the idea away with an imaginary broom and locking it out of your imaginary house. Like hell you were gonna face him. Nuh-uh. You’d rather take the subway and the chlamydia after all. 

“Good night”, he said softly, adjusting his hands one final time before the quiet of the night enveloped the two of you. 

You tried to even your breathing, to focus on anything but him so close to you. You needed to sleep and you needed to sleep quick. But your mind was racing, your heart was beating so fast and so loud that you could hear it, your skin was burning up and you felt like you were about to lose it. 

You managed about five minutes before you turned away from him, onto your side, in hopes that that would make it better. 

It didn’t. 

Five minutes after that, you tried lying on your stomach. Which, to nobody’s surprise, worked no better. It took almost fifteen minutes for you to find the courage to turn onto your right side, to turn so that you were facing him after all. He hadn’t moved an inch. 

In fact, he hadn’t tried to sleep at all. 

When you turned and caught sight of him (bare chest and messy hair and fuck) you almost screamed. His eyes were wide open, watching you, reflecting the little moonlight that was flooding through the windows. 

“Jesus”, you whispered, pressing a hand to your chest as he grinned, his face mere inches from yours. “Bradley, you scared the hell out of me.”

He didn’t even react to that. 

“Can’t sleep?”, he asked instead. He was so close that you could feel his breath on your skin when he spoke. You had to swallow.

“No”, you admitted. For a moment you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, maybe he’d fallen asleep, but then he moved his arms and you felt a shiver down your spine when his fingertips brushed over the exposed skin of your arms. He wrapped one arm around your waist, his palm resting on the small of your back, and pulled you closer to him. So close that your knees bumped into his thighs. So close that your hands bumped into his torso. So close that your nose bumped into his throat. 

All of them were innocent touches: chaste, easy, light. His skin was barely grazing yours. But they were enough. 

Enough to go crazy over. Enough to hold your breath for a good half minute. 

“Relax”, he muttered, his other hand threading through your hair and holding you just as close as the one on your back.

You swallowed hard. 

“Bradley”, you murmured, not knowing just yet what you were going to say. Maybe you would have pulled away. Or maybe you would have bit the bullet and, for once in your life, taken the chance - maybe you would’ve told him right then and there just what you felt for him. Because friends certainly didn’t do this. 

“We’ll talk tomorrow”, he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head and immediately silencing your inner monologue. “Tomorrow. Just sleep for now.” 

[screamforyani]

addicted to your body

wc. 787

requested

the bed creaked like shabby, run-down stairs, with a rhythm in step with the wet, resounding squelch whenever your bodies met. your hands were praised flat against ethan’s chest and you couldn’t feel your thighs. the view below you was to die for, your vision panning from your boyfriend’s abs to his chest to the ecstasy tensing his features.

it hadn’t always been like this, in spite of how tempting that would’ve been to believe. only weeks ago your relationship chiefly consisted of intertwining fingers and exchanging cheesy love confessions - bumping noses and locking lips with or without a crowd. you drove your friends mad with how clingy the two of you were.

but there was a shift one day. ethan had let slip that he was a virgin, a overshare your friends thankfully paid no mind to, but it consumed your whole mind for the rest of that day until you later brought it up to him privately and blurted that you, too, were a virgin. 

the solution was obvious. you would take each other’s virginities. so, that was what you did. 

and neither of you could keep your hands to yourselves ever since.

“shit, baby, you squeeze me so - fuck good,” ethan moaned, hands to your waist. “keep riding me like that.”

“who knew you had such… a dirty mouth,” you panted, feeling the sweat rolling down your back. 

ethan’s eyes were glued to your glistening tits, golden sweat collecting at your skin. they bounced with your movements, much like the rest of you, and ethan was in complete awe. you never failed to mesmerize him, like you were a fucking deity.

“i didn’t,” ethan chirped through thick breaths. “not until i met you.”

you giggled breathlessly, leaning over to press a kiss to his mouth at his cheesiness. your whole body was aflame with warmth, sparks spreading throughout your body like wildfire. you knew that you were on the brink on your nth orgasm today (you’d lost count) and you wanted to do it with ethan. 

“cum with me,” you whispered, slipping your fingers through his.

ethan’s head felt scrambled, like murky water, discombobulated with thoughts of you running haywire through his mind. he was nodding, his euphoric sounds blending with that of the headboard against the wall and the loud slap when your hips touched, again and again.

ethan made the sweetest, most delicious sound you’d ever heard when he came, fingers holding onto you with a bruising grip, almost like he was going to break you. his whole body felt alive, and with how you tightened around him with climax, throwing your head back as your lips parted in a cry of his name, all ethan could think about was how if he died right now, he would have zero regrets.

you took your time to slip off of ethan, just taking your time to observe in amusement how you’d absolutely ruined each other, and once you did he went to discard the condom beside his nightstand.

then, when he caught a glimpse of the clock on his bedside table, he immediately sat up and reached for his shirt. “shit,” he mumbled, fumbling with his clothes.

you blinked. “what?”

“the group,” ethan said, glancing around for his pants. jesus, where the hell did you throw them? “the fucking core four or whatever chad calls them. they’re supposed to be here, remember?”

“shit,” you hissed. “we lost track of time.”

it took you a good five minutes to locate your clothes and redress yourselves in them, but once you did, you slipped out of his bedroom with your fingers predictably locked with ethan’s.

“there you two go,” chad said when he saw you enter the living room with your boyfriend. “i thought you guys would never stop clapping.”

“weren’t you guys fucking, like, this morning?” tara asked. “i came by earlier to drop off chad’s jacket and for a second i thought ethan forgot to close his pornhub browser, but then i was like nope, that’s definitely ethan.”

ethan, blushing, bashfully slips behind you. which, given his height, doesn’t do much to help hide him, but he crouches down a little. you, on the other hand, giggle and roll your eyes. “what can i say, tara? ethan has a problem and i solve it. and vice versa.”

mindy pretended like she was going to throw up. “i miss when i wanted to gag because you guys wouldn’t stop making wet kissing noises and not because-”

“can we please change the topic,” ethan said, still cowering behind you. 

you snickered and leaned into him, whispering for his ears alone, “weren’t this shy when you were buried balls deep in me, were you?”

ethan flushed.