#overwhelmed and underdressed

[sinceileftyoublog]

Walter Etc. Live Show Review: 9/21, Subterranean, Chicago

Walter Etc.

BY KEITH MILLER

Last Saturday, on the downstairs stage of Chicago’s Subterranean, stood a California folk-punk band with a variety of names. As Walter Mitty and His Makeshift Orchestra, they were a traditionally acoustic outfit that, when playing live, tended to plug in. Nowadays, they haven’t broken up but fully embraced their electric side as Walter Etc. They’ve signed to SideOneDummy, toured Europe with Jeff Rosenstock, and opened for Slaughter Beach, Dog at legendary Joshua Tree honky tonk Pappy and Harriet's. Lead singer Dustin Hayes has made some seriously good connections. And now, with Pavement playing four miles south of Subterranean at Riot Fest in Douglass Park, Walter Etc. had nonetheless sold out a tight venue space in order to play 2014's Walter Mitty album Well Soon from cover to cover.

The space got tighter and more intimate as local opening bands What’s Vital and Sunday Cruise delivered their sets, thrilled to play a sold out show during Riot Fest weekend. (The latter especially took the stage with energy, humor, and stellar vocals. They were even kind enough to offer up their setlist, which reads like a poetic heartbroken letter to a meter maid.) But the audience was howling as Walter Etc. got on stage. Well Soon’s opening song, “Compersion,” didn’t exactly bring the house down, but it led into the fast-paced, existentialist “Post Graduation Oblivion,” a song that I--yes--played on repeat immediately after graduating college. Throughout the entire set, Hayes told jokes, laughed with the other band members, talked about the album's significance, and even dissed the slowest song on the album, “Chamomile”, all while keeping the show moving. After the last song came to an end, a track titled “Auntie Earth”, the band kept right on, playing tunes from Walter Mitty albums Overwhelmed and Underdressed and Cliche Definitions of Success. Though Walter Etc. played nothing from the albums released under their current name, the energy and attitude of a punk show was alive and vibrant.

I got a chance to meet Dustin Hayes briefly after the show. He and I have exchanged messages from time to time over Instagram, as we’re both fans of the author Larry McMurtry. I usually send him a message telling him about some new book I’ve read. As I wrote this review, I realized that I forgot to tell him to check out Terms of Endearment. Maybe he’s already read it. Who knows? Anyways, if you have a chance to see Walter Etc. on tour, definitely pop in and say hello. Either way, keep them on your radar. There’s talent and dedication in their sound, and they're a band you don’t want to sleep on.

Sunday Cruise setlist

[danceintheskies]

I need to have the Consumer's Spirit in me I want to buy things at the convention I'm at

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: BOSTON'S ENGAGEMENT PROPOSAL * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where, at the Boston show of the Surprise Party Tour, Matt finally reveals his first solo surprise of the tour: proposing to Y/N.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Matt felt like a complete idiot.

Which was honestly fine.

Normal, even.

Because what else are you supposed to feel when you walk into Tiffany & Co alone, camera in one hand, jacket half-zipped, and the literal knowledge in your brain that today’s the day you buy your engagement ring?

The second the glass doors swished shut behind him, he instantly felt underdressed. The place was too clean. Too bright. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet where even your footsteps sound loud, and you’re 90% sure the floor costs more than your car.

"Okay." He muttered, clicking on the small camera in his hand, flipping the screen so he could see himself, waving with his free hand. His messy strands were doing their own thing, and his voice cracked a little. "Hi, uh, so I guess this is happening."

The Tiffany logo glimmered in the reflection behind him, all silver and serious. He turned the lens toward the inside of the store, slowly panning across the display cases that sparkled so hard it hurt to look at them.

Everything was white and silver and pale blue. Velvet chairs. Smooth marble counters. Employees moving around like they were floating, all super polished and weirdly calm, which was the opposite of how he felt.

He found a small table in the center of the room with a modern glass vase on it and propped his camera there using the tiny tripod suction he’d brought.

"I sent an entire email explaining this to the brand and asking for permission to record it. They gave me it. I even brought it printed." He laughed breathlessly, angling the lens to frame the table and the chairs across from it.

Matt sat down and let out a quiet breath, tapping his fingers anxiously on the edge of the table.

He didn’t really know what he was expecting walking in here. Like maybe it would hit him differently, feel more real. But all he felt was this warm weight in his chest and the nonstop loop in his head.

Don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up.

A woman appeared after a few moments, dressed in sleek black with a small Tiffany-blue badge on her chest. Her heels clicked quietly as she walked toward him, her smile calm and super professional but not cold.

"Hi there. Matthew, right?" She said warmly.

"Yeah, hey." He stood up awkwardly, then realized she didn’t expect that and just kind of hovered in a weird half-stand before sitting back down.

She smiled kindly.

"I’m Elena. Thank you for coming in today. I've been informed of your plans."

He nodded.

"That's great! Thank you."

Elena let out a soft laugh at how stiff he looked and pulled up a chair across from him.

"Don’t worry. You’re definitely not the first person to come in here with that look on your face. You’re shopping for an engagement ring, yes?"

The words still made his brain stutter. But he nodded.

"Okay, then let's start." She said, already opening a small black folder in front of her.

Matt sat back and rubbed his beard covered jaw. The room felt big. And small. And too real.

"Alright." Elena said, flipping open a tray of sample bands, all lined in rows with tiny cards that probably had words like platinum and cushion cut on them. "Let’s talk about her. What does she like?"

Matt blinked at the rings for a second, overwhelmed by sparkle. Then he focused.

"She actually wears a lot of jewelry." He started, voice calmer now that they were actually talking logistics. "She wears gold more than silver, but like both. And she hates anything super chunky or loud. She's more into the delicate, kinda simple stuff. Like she has these tiny gold hoops she wears almost every day and these little rings that look like... minimalist or whatever."

Elena nodded, already pulling a few bands from the tray and setting them aside.

"This gives us a lot to play with, actually."

"Good." Matt said, nodding. "She also... okay, I don’t know if this helps, but she likes stuff that’s classic but not boring, y’know? She’s not trendy. That sounds kinda corny, but..."

"No, that’s perfect." Elena said, already unlocking another small drawer in the case nearby.

Matt glanced down at all the million options, fingers drumming a quiet beat against the edge as his brain tried to concentrate.

Fuck, he wished his brothers were there.

Chris would’ve made him laugh to calm him down while Nick would’ve asked twenty questions about resale value and the clarity of the stone or whatever.

It was weird doing something this big without them next to him. Like losing your phone and realizing how much you depended on it. He was so used to them being right there in every step.

But not this time.

This was just him.

"Here." Elena said gently, breaking the spiral as she placed a new tray in front of him. "I think we’re getting close."

Matt leaned in, eyes scanning the rings. One stood out immediately.

It was delicate, so thin he almost missed the band entirely. A single oval-cut diamond sat in the middle with six claws holding it in place, no extra flash, no weird shapes, just clean and clear and... her.

He pointed to it, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"That one’s really nice."

Elena smiled like she’d been waiting for him to say that.

"That’s one of our most classic solitaire styles. Platinum band. Oval diamond."

He tilted his head.

"Yeah... she’d actually wear that. Like she’d live in that."

"Exactly." Elena said. "You want something she’ll love now and thirty years from now."

They added a curved matching band that hugged the engagement ring perfectly. It looked like the two rings were designed to never be apart.

Matt stared at them for a second too long.

"Can I- uh... get a second to record this?" He asked, already reaching for his camera and bringing it closer.

He lifted the box gently, showing the rings to the lens and whispering.

"This is the one. I hope you love it."

The big screen flicked for a millisecond before showing the banner with 'SURPRISE' written in big white letters.

The noise was immediate, and it only seemed to increase when the countdown appeared seconds after, huge and bold across the giant screen. The numbers started ticking down from 5, all in that signature grainy style.

The theater echoed with voices. People clutched their phones tighter. Someone behind Y/N whispered a breathless "Oh my god, it has to be Matt", but she didn’t even register it at first, her eyes glued to the screen.

And then, there he was.

Matt.

Standing in front of a camera, looking directly into it while adjusting his tie.

The crowd lost it.

They weren’t even at fault for their reaction. Six shows had passed through, and Matt wasn't the one bringing a solo surprise in none of them.

Matt smiled at the screams. He stood up from the orange couch on the left, where he’d been sitting shoulder to shoulder with Chris, and grabbed his mic.

The crowd didn’t calm down. If anything, they screamed harder, but there was something about his nervous little laugh that softened everything around it.

He walked to the side of the stage, shoes scuffing the dark wood, and turned toward one of the wooden shelves that were part of the set.

"Okay, okay." Matt said into the mic, voice shaking slightly but still him. "I’m gonna need you guys to chill a little, like, just enough for me to hear myself, alright?"

The crowd laughed but actually obeyed. Kind of.

"I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time." He admitted, glancing out at the audience like they were all his best friends and not strangers in a dark room. "And I’ve honestly never been this nervous before."

He paused.

Looked down.

And without needing to search, his eyes dropped straight to the middle seat in the front row.

Y/N.

There she was, sitting all cute and clueless, smiling so big it almost hurt him. She had that gentle sparkle in her eyes that only came out when she was happy in quiet ways.

She had no idea. Not even close. And God, she was going to freak out.

Matt felt his heart full-on trip over itself.

She was wearing the red and black Ralph Lauren jacket he had used on Philadelphia, and her hands were folded over her legs. She was watching him like she was proud just to see him standing there. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And that made it worse.

And better.

And way harder not to cry.

Chris and Nick were now on the left couch, explaining the dynamics of the live broadcast channel and the hint Matt was going to show to the public.

"Matt." Chris called, adjusting his mic. "We’re gonna be here all night if you don’t open that damn shelf."

The crowd cracked up.

Matt rolled his eyes dramatically to the audience, grinning as he turned back toward the cabinet door.

"Okay." He said, laughing through his nose. He reached out, fingers gripping the cool handle. "Let’s see what the hint is."

He pulled it open.

A ring.

Not the ring.

Just a ring.

It was chunky and bold and totally not bridal. Something from Paula, their stylist. Gold with a flat top, engraved with something random that didn’t matter.

Matt grabbed it and shut the cabinet again, turning around. He made his way back to the couch, but instead of sitting down, he stood in front of his brothers and held up the ring for them to see.

Nick leaned forward.

"What is that? A mafia ring?"

Chris squinted.

"Wait, wait- is your surprise a jewelry line? Are you releasing jewelry for Yesterday's Problem now?"

The mention of Matt's mystery brand made a crazy effect over the crowd, who screamed and begged for it to be about Yesterday's Problem.

Matt raised his eyebrows at the youngest.

"No, of course not." He pressed his lips together in a smug kind of way, then looked over his shoulder to the crowd. "Y’all are so off." He laughed under his breath.

Nick sat back with his arms crossed.

"This is too vague."

Matt ignored him. He tucked the fake ring in his jacket right pocket, feeling it clinking against the hidden velvet box, and finally walked over to the opposite couch.

He sat down slowly, smoothing his jeans and adjusting his mic. And for the first time, he looked up, not at the crowd, not at his brothers, but to the grandstand section near the side stage.

He found them instantly.

His parents. Nate. Mikayla. Sam.

All there. All watching.

Their expressions were... hard to read. Focused. Neutral, but expectant. His mom had her hands clasped near her chin, her brows slightly knit. His dad was still.

Matt swallowed. Looked back to the screen.

"Well, let's see what I did."

And then the video started.

It didn’t come with any fanfare or intro, which already made it so different from the slow builds Chris and Nick did for theirs.

"Okay."

Video-Matt’s voice crackled through the speakers, low and kind of nervous. On screen, the camera shook slightly as he clicked on it and flipped the screen to face him. He waved awkwardly with his free hand, his expression caught between a smile and full-on panic.

"Hi, uh, so I guess this is happening."

A wave of laughter rippled across the theater at how awkwardly he opened the video.

On stage, Chris squinted at the screen, tilting his head.

"Wait, where even is he?"

Matt hadn’t said it, but the massive, gleaming Tiffany & Co. logo was reflected behind him in the video - polished silver letters on a blue-tinted wall.

The moment the logo came into focus, Nick let out a confused noise beside Chris, practically leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Is that-"

"Bro, is he in Tiffany’s?" Chris finished, brows furrowed.

Even Y/N blinked in quiet surprise. Her head tilted slightly as she watched Matt on the screen set the camera down on a sleek little table inside the boutique. She’d never seen him even mention Tiffany jewelry. Vivienne Westwood was his thing, silver chains, edgy rings.

But she still smiled wide because he looked nervous as hell.

Matt, onscreen, muttered something about having emailed the brand beforehand to ask for permission to film, even flashing a crumpled printout of the email at the camera.

"I even brought it printed." He chuckled under his breath, clearly trying not to combust from stress as he fixed the frame.

Back on stage, Chris snorted.

"Why does he look like he’s about to commit a crime?"

Nick leaned toward the mic.

"Your surprise is that you stole some expensive jewelry, Matt?"

The crowd laughed again, some people clapping, some just wheezing into their hands.

Y/N was frowning now, eyes glued to the screen. Matt hadn’t looked that nervous since- well, since he asked her to move in with him from Boston to LA years ago.

On screen, Matt sat down at the table, his fingers tapping a beat on the edge like he couldn’t stop moving.

Moments later, a woman walked into frame - sleek black outfit, small Tiffany-blue name tag pinned to her chest.

"Hi there. Matthew, right?" She asked with a kind smile.

Matt stood up too fast and then kind of froze mid-stand like he wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do. He hovered awkwardly for a moment before sitting back down with a stiff, nervous nod.

Y/N laughed quietly, leaning forward in her seat.

"Oh, baby..." She mumbled, her heart just full.

"I’m Elena." The woman said, settling into the chair across from him. "Thanks for coming in today. I’ve been informed of your plans."

On the couch, Nick let out a quiet, "What plans?"

Chris nudged him but was just as confused.

"That’s great! Thank you." Matt said in the video, his voice an octave higher than normal.

Elena smiled, clearly used to this kind of energy.

"Don’t worry. You’re definitely not the first person to come in here with that look on your face. You’re shopping for an engagement ring, yes?"

The theater went silent.

Chris blinked.

Nick sat all the way back into the couch like the air had been punched out of him.

The crowd gasped.

And Y/N... Y/N froze entirely.

Her jaw went slack. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, twitched.

Did she hear that right?

Chris was the first to react.

"Wait- WHAT?" He half-shouted into his mic.

Nick was still staring at the screen, eyebrows drawn so hard together that they were practically touching.

"She just said- she said engagement- he- what?"

The audience exploded in a mix of laughter, shocked screams, and collective gasping.

Y/N covered her mouth, eyes glued to the screen, heart pounding in her chest so loud it drowned everything else out.

She didn’t blink.

She didn’t breathe.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the boy on the screen, the boy she’d loved quietly, gently, patiently, for what felt like forever, who was sitting inside Tiffany & Co., looking like he was going to throw up from nerves, and apparently about to buy a ring.

For her.

Matt had been planning this.

He had planned this entire thing.

"Oh my god." She whispered behind her hand, her voice shaking with shock and joy and every emotion crashing together in her chest.

Chris turned slowly to look at her from the stage, his mouth slightly open like he was seeing the twist in a movie.

"You knew about this?" He asked, pointing to the screen.

Y/N shook her head so fast it almost made her dizzy.

"How could I know this, Chris?!" She squeaked, the words barely coming out.

Nick blinked rapidly, rubbing his forehead.

"Chris, a wedding propose is supposed to be a secret to the one being proposed."

But Chris still hadn’t recovered.

"A ring, dude. Like... for real. We’re on stage, and he’s proposing?"

Y/N sat back slowly, staring up at the screen like it was made of stars. Her lips trembled, not from sadness or fear or anything close to hesitation, but just from the way her entire soul felt like it was floating.

This wasn’t just a surprise.

This was Matt.

Her Matt.

And somehow, he’d managed to turn an ordinary night into the most extraordinary moment of her life.

The video continued playing, but no one really moved.

The entire theater was still.

Hearts pounding.

Eyes wide.

Waiting for the big moment.

The last frame of the surprise video froze on the big screen, the tiny velvet box open in Matt’s hand, his voice low and trembling, whispering like a private secret.

"This is the one. I hope you love it."

And then... nothing. The screen went black.

For a second - two, maybe three - the entire venue was suspended in absolute silence. No screams, no gasps, no whispers. Just air. Thick and vibrating with a kind of collective disbelief that made everything feel just a little unreal, like the world had glitched and was still buffering.

Then someone - probably a fan in the front row - gasped out loud.

And the silence cracked.

A mix of choked sobs, happy cries, shocked laughter, and chaotic squeals broke like a wave through the audience.

Mary Lou covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide and glossy. Mikayla had literal tears streaming down her cheeks, clutching the side of Nate's hoodie. Even the tour crew was caught off guard, one of the lighting guys had his jaw dropped like he was about to cry.

Nick blinked rapidly and turned toward Chris, totally stunned.

And then there was Y/N.

She was still seated, her mouth parted just slightly, her eyes wide and blinking slow, like she was trying to make sense of gravity again. Her entire body felt... floaty. Like she wasn’t quite in the room anymore. Like she was watching someone else live her life and was just now realizing that someone else was... her.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, and her hands felt cold and sweaty at the same time. She couldn’t move. She didn’t even breathe.

And then Matt stood up.

Still on stage, in front of the giant screen, with tears in his eyes and his heart practically written all over his face.

He looked at her.

Just her.

And the noise around them blurred into something distant and unimportant. He brought the mic up to his lips, eyes momentarily running from hers.

"Can- uh, can one of you help her up here?" He asked, nodding toward the security guard on the right side of the stage, voice trembling through the speakers.

The crowd seemed to become louder.

Screams. Cries. People clapping and jumping. Y/N could barely process the guard gently approaching her, a soft smile on his face, as he reached out a hand.

She blinked at him.

Then blinked again.

"Come on, sweetheart." Matt said into the mic, his voice cracking. His smile was soft and a little wobbly. "It’s okay."

That’s when her legs finally moved. Barely. But they moved.

The crowd cheered louder as she slowly stood up, holding her shaky hands to her chest, fingers scratching against the glitter of her shirt - the same one that Nick was using.

She followed the security guard to the edge of the stage, the warm lights making everything feel more surreal, more floaty. Like a fever dream she didn’t want to wake up from.

And then, she was there.

Up on stage.

Everything around her was blurry except for him.

Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt.

Standing there, eyes glassy, hands twitching like he didn’t know where to put them. He looked like he was holding back a loud cry.

"Come here, angel." He said again, softer this time. Just for her.

She walked toward him slowly. Feet barely touching the stage, everything trembling. The lights, the crowd, the sound, it all disappeared as she reached him and stopped a foot away.

His voice was shaking. His hands were shaking. But when he looked at her, it was solid. Sure. Like there was nothing else he believed in more than her.

"Okay." Matt started, laughing nervously and brushing his fingers under his eye. "Uhm... wow. Okay. So... I had this whole thing in my head. Like, how I was gonna say it. But now I’m just... losing it."

She let out a teary laugh. So did the crowd.

Matt looked down for a second, then back up, voice steadier this time.

"I love you." He said first, like he had to just get that out before anything else. "I love you so much."

Y/N let out a shaky breath. Her hands came up to her mouth, eyes already overflowing.

"You’ve been with me through everything. Everything, Y/N. When I was nobody. When we were filming in our parents' kitchen and only getting a hundred views. When I had zero dollars to my name. When I moved to LA with my brothers and literally lived on hope. You were there."

He sniffled.

"You’ve always been there."

Her whole body was trembling now. She could barely stand straight.

Matt stepped a little closer, reaching out with one shaky hand to hold hers, gripping tight like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"I’m not good with words. You know that." He said, voice wobbling but warm. "But you- you’re everything to me. You’re the reason I’m even here. Not just like, here here." He gestured around at the stage. "But like- here."

Her lips quivered as she sobbed softly, squeezing his hand.

"I wake up every day, and I can’t believe I get to love you. That you love me back. That I get to see you reading on the couch or ranting about your series or dancing while you brush your teeth. You’re the best part of my day, every day." Another laugh cracked in his throat, wet and breathless. "I brought your perfume with me to Vegas so my shirts smelled like you. That’s where I’m at. That’s how far gone I am."

Y/N let out a choked laugh through her tears, wiping at her eyes, her fingertips coming out black with mascara. Matt laughed too, even as a tear rolled down his cheek.

And then he reached into the right pocket of his jacket.

The room seemed to still again.

He pulled out the small velvet box. Hands trembling.

She bit her lip. A hand flew to her chest.

And then Matt was getting down.

On one knee.

His knee hit the stage softly. He opened the box again, showing two beautiful rings sparkling under the lights, and tried to hold it up while still holding the mic. But his hands were too full.

Chris was already moving before Matt could even think of asking for help. He ran up to them, gently taking Matt’s mic right out of his hand, and held it up close to Matt’s mouth for him.

Matt looked up at his brother, breathless and laughing softly through the emotion.

"Thanks." He whispered, voice cracking.

Chris just smiled his widest smile, his eyes shining with tears, and nodded.

Matt turned back to Y/N, holding up the box in his shaking hands.

"Y/N." He said. "Please, allow me to spend the rest of my life by your side. Will you marry me?"

And it was like the world held its breath.

All she could do was nod at first, crying and covering her face. Then she laughed through her tears and choked out.

"Yes. Yes. Oh my god- yes!"

The crowd exploded. Screams. Cries. Phones held high. Some people literally jumped. Nick tackled Chris in a hug. Their mom sobbed against Jimmy.

Matt stood up and pulled her into his arms so fast the empty box slipped, and they both stumbled a bit, laughing and crying and shaking.

And when he kissed her, right there in front of everyone, it wasn’t polished or pretty. It was messy. And emotional. And real.

"I love you so much." He whispered in her ear.

And she whispered back.

"I can’t believe you’re mine."

They stood there for a long time, just holding each other.

Two people on a stage. In front of thousands.

"The 'getting down on one knee' thing was successfully approved, Matt." Nick's voice echoed around the room from the speakers before two more bodies collapsed around them, holding them close.

They were the only ones in the world.

© vanteguccir

[gojosoups]

cw: smut, drink thief gojo, spitting, spit kink, unprotected sex, creampies, f!reader, all characters are 18+, MDNI, slightly proofread

gojo satoru is the type of boyfriend to take your drink from your hand when you least expect it, lift it over your head and out of your reach, and drink through the same straw like the menace he is.

and whenever you make a snarky comment and call him gross for ruining your drink, he reminds you how he spat in your mouth last night, or perhaps you need a memory refresher.

"'toruuu," you whine, getting on your tippy toes to grab your drink from your ridiculously tall boyfriend.

cursing your boyfriend's genes for his tall height, you cross your arms over your chest, watching helplessly as he takes a big long sip through your straw. your expression is sour as you glare daggers at him, and your boyfriend is none the wiser, as a goofy grin decorates his (stupidly handsome) face.

humming in approval, he takes a few more sips like the greedy big back he is before giving you your drink back.

"ugh, gross satoru," you say, looking at the lip gloss residue coating your straw, pushing the drink away.

"babe, i literally spat in your mouth just last night, and you think this is gross?" he smirks, leaning down and cornering you against the counter.

a pink hue coating your cheeks as he leaves you standing speechless, your mouth open wide in shock at his audacity.

“careful,” he says, thumb running over your glossy bottom lip, “or you’ll catch a fly.” you roll your eyes at him, resisting the urge to bite down on his thumb.

"you're insufferable," you scoff, the drink long gone as he grabs you by the hips. hands trailing down to the curve of your ass, before stopping at the back of your thighs. you squeal as he lifts you onto the marble counter, spreading your thighs and nestling himself in between them.

on instinct, your arms make their way to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck as he leans down, minty breath fanning your face and lips inches away from yours.

"I'm what?" he asks with a cheeky grin, ocean-blue eyes glowing intimidatingly as he looks down at you.

your breath hitches as his hands run up and down the expanse of your thighs, all thoughts leaving your pretty little head as you look up at him.

"shut up," you say, pulling him down into a searing kiss.

groaning at the sweet taste of your lips, satoru's hands make their way to your jaw. you gasp, panting for air as your boyfriend pulls your head back, "come on, open up pretty girl," you whine, his fingers gripping your cheeks, squishing them together to open your mouth.

gathering saliva in his mouth, he spits in your mouth, pulling out a moan from you. swallowing obediently, you feel him working fast at underdressing you, tearing your clothes off your body, and leaving you bare on the cold kitchen counter.

you whine in protest, fisting his t-shirt and helping him undress. your fingers running through his ivory happy trail, trailing down to the band of his sweatpants and tugging them down along with his boxers to reveal his angry leaking cock. precum decorating his pretty tip, making you bite your lip in anticipation.

pulling you closer to the edge of the counter, he aligns his cock against your wet entrance. 

"pussy so wet for me," he groans, the tip of his cock rubbing against your sensitive clit, making you squirm underneath him.

"fuck-" you squeal, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick grith as he bottoms out in your warm, velvet walls. fingers digging into his biceps to ground yourself, he increases his pace. a handful of your tits in his hold, squeezing them and twirling your puckered nipples in his cold fingers as his balls repeatedly smack against your ass, filling the once quiet apartment with sounds of skin slapping skin. 

choking on your moans, your toes curl as his thick cockhead thrusts up into your sweet spot. a finger making its way between your thighs, rubbing circles on your clit, pleasure overwhelming your senses as tears stream down your cheeks. 

your vision cloudy as you feel a pinch to your sensitive clit, making you wrap your legs around his slim waist, pulling him in closer. 

with a final thrust, he bottoms out in your tight pussy, mushroom tip kissing your cervix as he cums inside your pulsing walls. lips fluttering around his cock as your pussy tries to milk him dry, you cumming undone around his pretty cock with a moan. 

a/n: idk how I feel about this lol.. but enjoy <3

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Teach Me How To Play Coach Miller

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Austin Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 3,275 Summary: You're home alone, relishing a lazy day when your hot neighbor knocks on your door. Seems his TV is out and he really wants to watch the Rangers game. You know nothing about baseball... maybe he can teach you a thing or two? Warnings: smut, porn with very little plot, age gap (reader's college aged, Joel's in his 30's), oral (f & m receiving), unprotected p in v, riding, baseball terms, Joel's a filthy liar but it benefits all of us, mentions of voyeurism and masturbation, big balls Joel Miller in gray sweatpants, no use of y/n, not beta read.

Masterlist

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It’s another famous hot September afternoon in Texas. Too damn hot to do anything besides walk outside, roll your eyes at the sweltering temperature, turn around and walk back inside. The thick humidity and overbearing heat makes your skin slick and clothing stick in all the wrong places– or maybe the right places– it depends on who’s looking. 

A ring of the doorbell interrupts your lazy day movie marathon. The house is yours for the weekend, your roommates are all gone for a festival and your coursework is all done, so naturally you’re laid on the couch taking a reprieve from the overbearing temperature.

Another ring.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you grumble. 

You open the door, your knees buckling at your bad luck.

GOD DAMNIT. OF COURSE IT’S JOEL MILLER. *THE* JOEL MILLER. The hot DILF you and your roomies all lust after. The broad, golden skinned GOD of a man that you all argue over who’s going to get to bed one day. 

“Joel? H-hey,” you say, attempting to hide your embarrassment over how you look. It’s 4 PM and you’re still wearing what you woke up in… an oversized Rangers shirt of your ex-boyfriend’s over a pair of lace boyshorts… it’s too freakin’ hot for actual clothes. 

“Afternoon–uh–so my cable box just stopped working and it’s the clenching game for the playoffs,” he nervously huffs, putting a hand to the back of his neck. “I know it’s crazy to ask, but can I watch the game on your TV?” He lifts a six pack of beer enticingly, “I brought this as payment.”

“Oh,” your eyes widen in surprise. Joel Miller… on your couch? Yes! Joel Miller on your couch! You open the door wider and step aside to let him in. “Of course, make yourself at home.” 

He walks into your house… this is a dream come true, he’s in GRAY SWEATPANTS and they hug his thick body perfectly. 

You take a precursory look around your living room, silently thanking yourself for picking up the house yesterday. Now the hunk of a neighbor you’ve touched yourself to while watching him mow his lawn is closer to you than he’s ever been.

You quickly stroll over to the coffee table, picking up the remote and handing it to him. 

“Thanks for this, appreciate it sweetheart,” Joel says, sitting on the couch, taking up a whole cushion with his broad body. 

Ohhhh, sweetheart. His eyes darken at the sight of your breath hitching, before his eyes gaze lowers to your bare legs. 

“Yeah, o-of course,” you nod, feeling very underdressed with your handsome neighbor taking a seat on the couch you were just laid out on a few minutes ago. “I’ll go get an opener.”

Joel turns the game on and settles his back against the couch cushions, “Thanks sweetheart.” 

__

The ceiling fan chains clang against one another, it only does this on high, it drives you crazy but the soft breeze it sends down is worth the annoyance. Your skin’s too overheated sitting only a couch cushion’s length away from Joel. Your foot nervously taps against the carpet while you try to focus on the book you’re reading. You’re overwhelmed by his presence, hearing his lips form around the beer bottle and taking a swig, the movement of his body against the couch cushions, the smell of wood and coffee he’s brought into the house. You sigh, turning your attention to the game, maybe today’s the day you’ll learn about America’s pastime. 

“Why is it called a shortstop? Do they have to be short?” You ask putting your book down. 

“No,” Joel chuckles, “s’just what the position is called.” 

“Ah, and every team has one?”

“Yes,” he shakes his head, “what exactly do you know about this game, sweetheart?”

“Um, I know I like their tight pants.” 

“Oh really?” Joel looks over at you, crooking his eyebrow up. 

“Yep, and the guy throwing the ball is really tall and cute.”

“That’s called a pitcher sweetheart,” he shakes his head at your ignorance.

“And he throws to the…” your finger taps your cheek while you mock contemplation, “catcher?” 

“That’s right,” he nods, his voice dropping an octave. “What else do you know?”

“I know there’s bases and home runs, adorable mascots and Cracker Jacks.”  

“What bases?”

“Hmm. First base, second base, third base, and home.”

“Good girl,” he grins, “you’re a smart girl.”

“I know I am,” you smugly smile at him. “First base is kissing. Second base is above the waist, third base is bel—“

Joel’s laugh cuts you off. “Is that right? Seems you know all about baseball, you’ve… ‘played baseball’ before?” 

“Mm,” you lean towards him, “I like playing baseball… I just haven’t in a few months… you know besides practicing with myself.”

He shakes his head, a devilish smirk lights his face as he angles his body towards you. “You practice a lot?”

“Yeah, especially when my hot neighbor is outside mowing his lawn and he gets all sweaty. My bedroom window looks right out on his lawn.” Joel’s eyes widen at the realization that you’re talking about him. “Sometimes he lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes his brow, I get to see a peek of his stomach, it’s super hot.”

“Funny,” he puts his beer bottle down and licks his lips. “I have a hot neighbor too. I’ve, uh, ‘practiced’ before while thinking about how good she looks running in her tight shorts and tiny tank top.” 

Your core begins to pulse at his words, desire lights inside your body. Joel Miller has noticed you *and* gets off to the thought of you?! And now, he’s on your couch, sending you a lascivious look. Let’s ball. 

“Can I play?” you ask, head tilted with a smirk before scooting closer to him.

“Yeah?” his eyebrows crook up. “You want to play with an old man like me?” 

You nod. “Put me in coach.”

“Batter up baby,” he growls, grabbing and lifting you to straddle his lap. You’re thankful for your measly lace panties, less layers between you and Joel’s dick. “You wanna show me first base?”

You gulp, pouty lips agape begging to be kissed by Joel Miller. “First base,” you nuzzle your nose against his, “is kissing.”

“Mm,” he nips at your bottom lip, “then kiss me, pretty girl.”

You pull away, angling your head to look at the TV. “But what about the game?”

“They’re losing by four,” he grabs your chin, turning your head back towards him. “Plus, I don’t think it’s possible to care about the game when a pretty girl like you is on my lap.”

Leaning forward, you plant a soft kiss and suck his plush bottom lip into your mouth. Your heart flutters inside your chest when his mouth opens inviting you to lick into it as he lifts the hem of your shirt. 

You swipe his hand away, “Not at second base yet.”

“Fuck,” he pants. “Been wanting to see you since you moved in last year.”

His confession rolls through your body, sending waves of want through your limbs. You want to rock your hips against him, you want to feel your bare skin against his, you want to feel him inside you, but you also love the game you’re playing and it’s not just every day your hot neighbor comes over to watch a ballgame and winds up with his tongue in your mouth.  

You deepen the kiss, moaning against his lips as your tongues collide and explore each other’s mouths. Raucous shouting of the announcers on the TV interrupts your makeout session.

“Mmph, will you look at that? Rangers just hit a grand slam ’n tied the game. You wanna celebrate now?” Joel grabs the hem of your shirt and angles his eyebrow up.

“Show me second base Joel.”

Your shirt is lifted and tossed aside, your nipples pebble under the cool fan air and Joel’s attention. He stares, eyes wide in astonishment as he takes your bare chest in. 

“Second base is above the waist stuff,” you direct. His large, calloused hands mold around the weight of your flesh. 

“Mm, knew you’d be soft,” he rasps in awe. His touch drives you crazy, just an hour ago, you were dozing off on the couch to Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion, now Joel Miller is holding your tits in his hands. He rubs the tips of his thumbs back and forth across your nipples. “Can I use my mouth on you baby?” he asks, his gaze moving from your chest to your eyes pleadingly. 

“God yes,” you pant, rising up to bring your chest to his mouth. He clasps his lips around your nipple, sucking and pulling, swirling his tongue around the peak before letting it go with a pop. Your back arches, your weight settling firmer against him when he nips his way across your chest, taking your other breast into his mouth and suckling. Your hands snake underneath his shirt and run across the plush of his stomach petting your hands across the smattering of hair across his belly. 

Joel buries his face between your breasts, breathing you in and groaning against your skin, his hands grab your hips and push your body firmer against his half hard cock still clad in his sweatpants.

He’s fully dressed, your teensy pair of lace panties do very little to stop your cunt from dripping onto the light gray fabric of his sweatpants. Your hips begin to grind against the shape of him, begging for contact. He ruts his hips up to tap against your core pulling a moan from you. 

He snickers teasingly, “We goin’ to third base already baby?”

You whimper a measly yes, rocking yourself harder against him. Fuck the pace of game, it’s going to be a quick one. You’re so needy for him, you can’t believe this is happening with Joel “hot dad” Miller. Your roommates are never going to believe you. 

You reach for the hem of his shirt, bunching it up before he chucks it off and throws it across the couch. You lean back, eyes widening at the sight of him. Good LORD, he’s perfect. His skin glows in the late afternoon light beaming in from the front window. His shoulders and arms are toned from all of the manual labor you always watch him accomplish. Your hands roam his soft muscles, exploring the plains of his body. He’s the whole fucking package. He looks at you with a smug smirk while you take him in. 

You want to taste him and see if he tastes like the sweat and sunlight. Your lips find his collarbone, licking and sucking, tasting the slight salt of the sweat the heat leaves on everybody’s skin on days like today. Delectable.

His throat groans against your tongue, he shivers underneath you, you’ve never wanted someone so badly before. 

“Fuck me,” you plead against his skin, “please.”

“Not yet, not yet baby, we’re still at third, you’re still learning all about baseball. I need to enjoy a game as sweet as you,” he implores, sliding a hand between your legs and petting your soaked panties. “This all for me?” 

“Yesss,” you hiss, licking your way up through his scratchy beard to his mouth. 

You gasp against his lips when he slides a thick finger inside. He chuckles a deep breath against your mouth, “So fucking wet aren’t you pretty girl?” 

Your only answer is a garbled moan and a clench around his second finger that stretches you. 

His fingers languidly fuck you while his thumb teases soft circles against your clit, you’re writhing from his touch, breathing mews into the air. He licks into your mouth swallowing every shattered breath that escapes from your throat. So many nights you’ve fallen asleep to the thought of this moment laying alone in your bed, gazing out the window at the Miller household. What would Joel Miller’s overworked hands and plush mouth feel like against your body? Well, now you know, and it feels even better than you could have ever imagined.  

He licks his way down to your neck, asking “Can I taste you?” against your skin. 

“Yes,” you cry out. 

Joel lifts you with a grunt and lays you down against the couch cushions. He stands over you, running a hand across your body, mapping his way from your breasts down your stomach to the trim of your panties.

“You’re gorgeous,” he muses, his eyes turning black as he pulls your panties down, exposing your pussy to him. You spread your legs open encouraged by the possessiveness of his stare. He tosses your underwear behind him before settling on the couch between your legs with a deep growl. Your legs are lifted over his shoulders. “Fuck,” he sighs, planting a kiss against your thigh, “you’re so fucking hot. Let’s get to third base sweetheart.”

His eyes flutter shut at the first taste of you when he parts your folds with his tongue. Everything about Joel Miller is wide- his fingers, his shoulders, his chest. Right now, his wide tongue is driving you crazy as it swirls against your clit. He devours you, licking and laving all over your drooling pussy, drinking you down and savoring you like you’re his last meal. His eyes stay on your face the whole time, watching you fall apart against his mouth. Your fingers wrap around the dark waves of his hair pulling him in closer, hips undulating against his mouth getting yourself off on the feel of the bristle of his beard against your sensitive flesh. His tongue flattens and runs up and down the shape of you before he dips two fingers into your entrance and buries them knuckles deep. Your back curves at the overwhelming sensation of his tongue on your clit as your soaked walls clench around his thick fingers. 

“Mm, close,” you whimper while your feet thud repeatedly against his strong back. He nods against your core, dark brown eyes still focused on your face. Your heart races at the way he watches you under his thick eyebrows creased in concentration. Of course Joel Miller is good at eating pussy, he’s a hard worker. You wail his name out when you orgasm against his mouth, your body tightens as you flood his fingers and throb for him. He kisses your swollen clit gently, letting a deep moan and chuckle out while you spasm underneath him. 

Joel’s face glistens with you when he lifts his head up, “Welcome to third base.” 

“You haven’t gotten here yet,” you arch an eyebrow and lick your parted lips, still panting for air.

He kisses each thigh with a loud smack before getting up. 

He looms over your blissed out body on the couch and yanks down his pants and boxers, a gulp rolls down your throat at the sight of him. So fucking thick and engorged with a sweet drop of precum rolling down his shaft.

“Wow,” you gasp, rolling to your side to bring yourself eye level to his twitching cock. Your eyebrows rise in awe when he wraps his hand around himself and strokes.

“Yeah?” his voice smolders through you. 

“I’ve thought about what you looked like naked, and now that I see it… wow.” You can’t believe the confession just left your mouth.

“Funny,” he collects a drop of precum on his fingertip and rubs it against your bottom lip,” I thought the same thing.”

Your tongue darts out to taste him, salty, bitter, so fucking manly. You want to taste more of him. 

You bring your lips to the crown of his cock, kissing the tip and running your tongue along the length of his shaft. He gasps, leaning forward to rest his hands on the sofa back. 

“Fuck sweetheart, that’s good,” he drawls when you suck him into your mouth engulfing the thick length of him in the wet heat of your mouth. 

You cup the heft of his balls in your hand… thick cock, big balls, of course Joel Miller has big balls. 

“You’re good at this sweetheart, really fucking good,” he huffs, rubbing his thumb against your cheek as you hollow them and suck him to the back of your throat. 

Your eyes flutter up to watch Joel snarl down at you while his hips buck into your drooling mouth.

“Can’t keep lookin’ at me like that sweetheart, or else we’re not going to get to homebase.”

Your pussy clenches at his words, begging to be filled like your mouth. It’s as if Joel can read your mind, his hand lands in between your thighs and begins petting your aching cunt. 

“Feels like she needs to have my cock in her, doesn’t she?” he says, tapping his fingers against your entrance. “Think maybe we should get to homebase?”

He pulls his cock out of your mouth and lifts you off the couch into his arms, he’s so fucking strong. 

He leaves a searing kiss on your lips before settling on the couch, still holding you close to him. 

“You ready for homebase?” he asks, gazing into your eyes. 

“Put me in coach, I’m ready to play,” you smile, giddy at the anticipation of getting fucked by Joel Miller.

“Go ahead sweetheart, fuck me,” his drawl drips in arousal as you slowly sink yourself down on him, gasping at the feel of his thick cock stretching you. 

Your hips rock back and forth to adjust to the size of him spreading you open. 

“Knew you’d feel so good sweetheart, knew it as soon as I saw you,” he says, peppering kisses across your face and neck. “So pretty, so soft, feels so fucking good.”

Joel Miller always seemed too intimidating, too closed off, too attractive to ever be interested in a neighbor much too young for him, and yet here he is ignoring the baseball game he wanted to watch, instead burying his cock into your pussy.

You ride him, your pace turning more frenzied and desperate the more he chants your name.

The ticks of the fan chains clanging against one another accompanies the sound of your pussy bouncing up and down on his dick. Hips meeting hips, skin hitting skin, breath gasping breath, chain knocking chain. Your fingers wrap around his curls pulling his head up to kiss you. Your breaths puff against his, you can’t hide the blissed out smile that lights up your whole face as he pounds into you.

Your body begins to tingle and quiver when his cock hits the gushy spot that makes you see stars. 

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Joel grits against your neck biting and sucking, marking you with his mouth and owning you with his cock. 

You scream a choked sob when your orgasm lights through you, your walls clutch Joel’s cock as you come undone. He grips you harder, pushing you into his chest and holding you as close as he can with his tense muscles as he lifts you and pulls out painting your pussy lips with his cum. You collapse against him, gasping for air against his sweaty skin, darting your tongue out to lick some of the sweet salt so you can always remember the taste of playing ball with Joel Miller. 

“Can I tell you something?” Joel asks, his voice radiates through your ear resting against his chest. 

“Hmm? Yeah,” you sigh.

“My TV still works,” he sheepishly says. You sit up at the shock of his words. “I just really wanted to watch the game with a pretty girl.” He sends you a sultry, guilty smirk that you cover with your lips. 

___ Tagging people who showed interest in my WIP a couple weeks ago for this. Along with my camp coven friends who helped.

@luxurychristmaspudding, @sizzlingcloudmentality, @sawymredfox, @magpiepills, @yxtkiwiyxt

@beefrobeefcal, @ace-turned-confused, @yopossum, @mothandpidgeon, @bitchesuntitled

@maggiemayhemnj, @jennaispunk, @timelordfreya

[becgenius]

BIKER!SYLUS WHO...

!! street racing au, reader not mc, female reader, established relationship, petnames, reader has hair, smut, semi-public sex not rlly, size kink, m!receiving oral, dacryphilia, helmet stays on during sex, hair pulling kinda, cum swallowing, masturbation, lightly proofread, lowercase intended

wc. 1.5k

nsfw under the cut. minors dni.

biker!sylus who invites you to every one of his street races.

he says it's because you're good luck. it's really because the one thing he loves more than winning these races is seeing you proudly run up to congratulate him after doing so.

you both know he doesn't need 'good luck' to win; winning has always been a guarantee for him.

biker!sylus who gets you your own set of bike gear when you start dating.

your own pair of gloves, your own jackets, boots, helmets, body armor, balaclavas - you name it.

not to mention that he buys you multiple of each. a set in your favorite color, one in the color he loves seeing you wear, and one that matches his own gear.

biker!sylus who, nonetheless, thinks you look the best when wearing his gear.

biker!sylus who therefore loves to give you his leather jacket to watch his races. he wants everyone to know that you're his; that you’re there for him, and him only.

the cold air of the night nips at your cheeks as you stand watching the race. you're pretty sure there are five racers in total on the track, but everyone's focused on the two bikes practically leading the race.

you know that sylus is one of them. however you aren't sure if he's on the first or second bike. definitely the first, who were you kidding.

the fluorescence of the colorful traffic lights and blaring headlights contrasts sharply with the night's darkness and overwhelms your vision, and there’s the bass-boosted music from a nearby sports car clashing with the conversations of strangers and screech of tires against asphalt.

it seems that tonight's commentator - some guy with a megaphone - is also having a difficult time distinguishing the two leading racers. the sound is all distorted and you can only catch phrases at a time. you hear him refer to the racers as bike a and bike b. not helpful at all.

mentally scolding your past self for underdressing, you hug sylus's gifted jacket closer to your body and press your legs together as you stand among the crowd: your best attempt at preserving body heat. you're beginning to get annoyed with the loud audience around you and the way the wind is blowing strands of your hair into your glossed lips.

eventually, thankfully, one of the bikes ahead wins. you still haven't identified the driver; nevertheless, you approach the finish line… and so does what seems like every other person around you.

he sees you before you see him. you're about to call him but he catches your attention by a simple flash of his bike's headlights.

you see him leaning against his bike, stuffing a wad of cash into his jacket's inside pocket.

"there you are, dear. did you enjoy the race?" he removes his helmet, in turn revealing the sweaty, sticky mess of hair underneath, and holds his free hand out to you.

"sy! i almost lost you!" despite your outcry, you still manage to take his hand and allow him to help you onto the back of his bike.

"don't i always tell you to look for me wherever the winner is?" humble as always. but you can't blame him.

he slips the helmet he had just worn over your head and adjusts the chin strap. from your neck up, you're enveloped in the heat that was previously trapped inside the headgear. finally, he flips the visor down, and your vision tints black as your breath fogs up a spot on the glass.

biker!sylus who thinks it’s the cutest thing, seeing you perched atop his huge bike, wearing not only his helmet but also his jacket, both much too large on you.

biker!sylus who is more than happy to humor you when you tell him that you have a reward for him after winning a particularly close race.

biker!sylus who, after parking and turning his bike off in his private garage, stays put, because you told him to. he’s suspicious, curious, but never doubtful.

with the amount of vehicles parked within, it may as well be considered parking lot. fortunately, all you see are sylus’s insane collection of cars and bikes. no people in sight.

he's, again, leaned up against his bike, holding you upright as you press your chest against his and kiss him.

the kissing is deep and passionate and he loves it because he loves the feeling of your lips on his. but the kiss is also too short.

he is confused when you abruptly pull away from him wearing a sly grin. he's even more confused when you take the helmet from his bike seat and place it over his head, concealing his face.

"what's all this now, hm sweetie?" he asks.

biker!sylus whose eyes widen in both shock and understanding when you slowly lower yourself before him; not that you can see it though, from your tinted reflection in his helmet.

" 'm giving you your reward, of course."

biker!sylus who helps you undo his belt and shove his pants down enough to where you can comfortably hold his exposed erection in your hands.

he's dense and girthy, and it takes two of your hands to fully grasp him.

you look up, innocently smiling, to his concealed face as you kneel below him, soft cheek pressed against his hard dick before you slide his tip into your now open mouth.

he groans from above. loud. the helmet does nothing to muffle his noises, you learn.

"i love seeing this side of you, baby…" you feel his fingers run across the sides of your head, pulling hair out of your face and into a makeshift ponytail.

there's something that turns him on so much about seeing your seemingly innocent eyes gaze up at him while doing such a crude act as sucking his dick. he becomes impossibly harder inside your mouth.

you give him an agreeing hm in response, lips still surrounding his cock, and the vibrations send shivers down his spine.

tears run down your sore cheeks when you begin to pick up your pace. your jaw hurts from forcing it open so long and hollowing your cheeks for this amount of time has made them sensitive.

your head bobs itself efficiently up and down his length. you’re mindful of your teeth, and you use your tongue to swirl around his girth.

the only noises heard in sylus' garage were his moans, your gagging, as well as the squelching and slurping of you sucking him dry.

you don't notice that he releases your hair to wipe your fallen tears, and you gladly accept the attention. "such a good girl. you look so pretty sucking my cock like this."

his sweet, albeit vulgar, words were getting to you, and you feel yourself becoming more and more aroused.

so while your dominant hand is wrapped around sylus' dick, jerking off the length around his base that your mouth couldn't reach, your free hand slips down under your waistband and between your thighs to relieve your aching clit.

you continue sucking him off at that same pace, until he suddenly gets impatient. his hands find their way back to your head and guides it back and forth at a much faster pace.

at this point, you relax, fully allowing sylus to take control. your only focus is to keep your lips wrapped around his cock and to not choke; that, and your hand in your pants.

"fuck, princess, i'm gonna cum." he spits out in between pants. he flips his visor up to breathe in the fresh air and you notice that the screen's been completely fogged. "i want you to come too. think you do that for me?"

his head falls back after he sees your nod and a loud moan escapes from the back of his throat. your fingers move faster and press harder on your clit as you let sylus direct your head at whichever speed he pleases.

his cock twitches in your mouth, a telltale sign, before his hand on the back of your head stops moving and your mouth is suddenly filled with sylus's cum instead of his dick, which he pulls out with a pop.

you reach your own climax in seconds, eyes rolling and mouth hanging open as your fingers speed up and your cunt spasms around nothing.

sylus's cum is close to spilling out from the corners of your mouth as you fully take in your orgasm, but he stops it from doing so when he presses a gentle finger under your chin, sealing your lips and commanding an authoritative "swallow" that makes you do so without thinking twice.

he fully removes the helmet to catch his breath, chest dramatically heaving. you finally make eye contact with his dilated pupils.

he smirks at your dazed state, finding the whole situation amusing.

"who knew you had it in you?" he chuckles, shaking his head, "you're a naughtier girl than you look."

biker!sylus who wins street races, but only considers himself a winner as long as he has you to show him that he is!!!!!!

[db0xtae]

Winning the Breakup | Chapter 3

- Minho (Xo Kitty) X Reader

⋆˚࿔ Summary : Y/N, a talented and athletic after an intense breakup, Y/N reluctantly agrees to fake date Minho, to make their exes jealous. What begins as a mutual arrangement soon turns complicated when their fake relationship starts to feel all too real. With humor, bickering, and tender moments, Minho and Y/N's journey proves that sometimes the best way to heal from heartbreak is to allow yourself to fall in love.

⋆˚࿔ Warnings : None

⋆˚࿔ WC : 975

⋆˚࿔ Previous Chapter : 2

⋆˚࿔ A/N : Hope you enjoy!!!

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Chapter 3: The First Date

Sunday arrived far too quickly for Y/N’s liking. She’d spent the better part of the morning pacing around her dorm room, second-guessing her outfit for what Minho had so helpfully dubbed their “first date.”

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Y/N muttered, staring at herself in the mirror. She’d settled on a simple yet cute outfit: a cream cardigan over a fitted tank top, high-waisted jeans, and white sneakers. It was casual enough not to scream “I’m trying too hard,” but still flattering enough to fit the fake girlfriend image.

Her roommate, Hana, raised an eyebrow from her bed. “You’re talking to yourself again. What’s the big deal? It’s just Minho.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s Minho! The most insufferable guy at KISS. And now I have to spend the entire afternoon pretending I don’t want to strangle him.”

Hana smirked. “You’ll survive. Besides, isn’t he, like, ridiculously hot?”

“Hotness doesn’t make up for his personality,” Y/N retorted, grabbing her bag. “Wish me luck. Or don’t. I’m doomed either way.”

Minho was already waiting for her at the park, leaning casually against a bench like he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot. He was wearing a black turtleneck, tailored jeans, and a designer jacket, his hair perfectly styled.

Y/N approached him with a sigh. “You’re overdressed. This isn’t a K-drama.”

“And you’re underdressed,” he shot back, smirking. “This is supposed to be a date, Y/N. Put some effort in.”

“I look fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Wow, your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” Minho said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, we’re going for a walk.”

The two of them strolled through the park, trying to look like a couple while keeping as much distance between them as possible. Minho, apparently noticing the gap, grabbed her hand without warning.

“What are you doing?” Y/N hissed, yanking her hand back.

“People are watching,” he said simply, nodding toward a group of students from KISS sitting nearby. “You want them to believe us, right?”

Reluctantly, Y/N let him take her hand again. “This is the worst idea ever.”

Minho grinned. “You say that now, but by the end of the day, you’ll be thanking me.”

After walking for a while, Minho led her to an ice cream stand.

“I’ll take vanilla,” he told the vendor, then glanced at Y/N. “What about you?”

“Chocolate,” she said.

Minho paid for both, handing her the chocolate cone. “See? I’m a great fake boyfriend. Generous and thoughtful.”

“You’re literally just doing the bare minimum,” Y/N replied, taking a bite of her ice cream.

“Details,” he said with a shrug.

As they sat down on a nearby bench, a little girl walked up to them, staring at Minho with wide eyes.

“Are you a model?” she asked shyly.

Minho beamed. “Why, yes, I am.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.”

“What?” Minho said defensively. “She asked!”

The girl giggled, then ran back to her parents, leaving Minho looking oddly pleased with himself.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Y/N said, shaking her head.

“I’m just giving the people what they want,” he replied, flashing her a wink.

As they continued their “date,” Y/N couldn’t help but notice how many KISS students they kept running into. It was almost suspicious.

“Did you tell the entire school to hang out here today?” she asked as another group of students waved at them.

“Of course not,” Minho said innocently. “But if people happen to see us together, who am I to stop them?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming,” he corrected.

She ignored him, but when they passed Alex and his new girlfriend, her heart skipped a beat. Alex froze when he saw them, his expression shifting from surprise to something that looked suspiciously like jealousy.

“Y/N?” Alex said, his tone laced with disbelief.

“Alex,” she replied coolly, tightening her grip on Minho’s hand.

Minho, ever the opportunist, pulled her closer, slipping an arm around her waist. “Hey, man,” he said casually. “You doing okay?”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “Fine. You two are…together?”

“Yep,” Minho said, smirking. “Crazy, right? Guess we were meant to be.”

Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, we should get going. See you around.”

As they walked away, she glanced back to see Alex watching them, his expression unreadable.

“You’re welcome,” Minho whispered, clearly pleased with himself.

“For what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For making your ex jealous, obviously,” he said. “Did you see his face? Priceless.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Y/N muttered, but she couldn’t deny that it felt oddly satisfying.

Later that evening, after their “date” was officially over, Y/N found herself sitting on the steps of her dorm, reflecting on the day.

To her surprise, Minho appeared, holding two cans of soda.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Thought you might want a drink,” he said, handing her a can.

She took it, eyeing him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, sitting down beside her. “I’m just being nice. Shocking, I know.”

Y/N snorted. “You, nice? That’s a first.”

“Hey, I can be nice when I want to be,” he said, opening his can.

They sat in silence for a moment, the awkwardness of the day fading into something almost comfortable.

“Do you think this is actually going to work?” Y/N asked finally.

Minho glanced at her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Yeah, I do. But only if we’re both all in.”

“All in,” she repeated, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

He smirked, his usual cockiness returning. “Just don’t fall for me, darling.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.”

But as she looked at him, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just made a promise she couldn’t keep.

[borderlandbabe]

hhey if u taking request, I just read 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐎𝐔𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 and were wondering if you could do the same with the AIB boys

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐁 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇

Ryohei Arisu

He finds out when you casually pay for both your meals—with a metal card that makes the waiter bow.

Arisu blinks. “Wait. That’s not just a credit card, is it?”

You just smirk. “Nope.”

He’s lowkey shook but not because you’re rich—because you never acted like it.

“You could’ve told me you were a secret heiress, you know.”

Then he laughs and pulls you close. “But I gotta admit… you being rich just makes you hotter.”

Daikichi Karube

Karube finds out when you pull up in a custom sports car and casually say, “My fourth favorite.”

He stops mid-beer sip. “What do you mean fourth?”

You hand him the keys. “Wanna drive it?”

He’s into it.

“Damn, babe. You mean I’ve been dating a billionaire baddie this whole time?”

He’s proud, too. “You being rich? Just means I gotta work harder to deserve you.”

Chota Segawa

Chota is gobsmacked.You tell him you own a company,and he just stares.

“You’re what?! A CEO?!”

He panics like he’s underdressed just talking to you. “Do I need a suit? Should I bow?!”

You laugh and kiss his forehead.

He eventually calms down and gets so soft about it.

“I don’t care how rich you are… you’re still my angel. And I’d love you even if we lived in a cardboard box.”

Tatta Kōdai

He’s incredibly humble and down-to-earth, so when he finds out, he’s overwhelmed.

“You’re… rich? Like really rich?”

You nod, and he gets so flustered. “Why… why are you with someone like me?"

You hug him and say, “Because I don’t care about money—I care about you.”

He tears up. “I’ll never let anyone treat you like a wallet. You’re my love, not a checkbook.”

Oki Yaba

Yaba smirks the moment he finds out. “So that’s why you smell like success.”

He loves a powerful woman, especially one that can outbid countries on rare art.

“Damn. All this time I thought I was the dangerous one.”

He definitely starts plotting how to protect you from gold diggers and snakes.

“You’re rich, hot, and mine. The world should be afraid.”

Sunato Banda

He stares silently when he finds out. Just one long look.

“…Interesting.”

Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t praise, doesn’t insult. Just tucks that info into his mental arsenal.

“I’ll guard you like a vault,” he finally says. “Rich or not, you’re mine. And no one touches what’s mine.”

Then walks off like a shadow—already planning who to eliminate for looking at you wrong.

Kyuma Ginji

Kyuma finds out and grins."Well damn, sugar mama. That explains the private concert tickets.”

He jokes, but deep down he’s impressed.

“You could’ve told me I was dating royalty. I’d have worn silk.”

He doesn’t care that you’re rich—he loves that you still dance barefoot in the rain.

“Money or not, I fell for your heart. The cash just makes our adventures sexier.”

Kuzuryu Keiichi

Kuzuryu doesn’t react much. You tell him, and he just nods.

“I suspected.”

You blink. “What?”

“Your shoes cost more than my law school.”

He respects your status but never treats you differently. “If anything, it makes sense. You carry yourself like someone born to lead.”

But he does subtly get more protective. Especially with people who might want to use you.

Takeru Danma (Hatter)

Hatter lives for drama. When you casually mention your family owns islands, he gasps theatrically.

“You’re a goddess! A queen! A deity among mortals!”

He throws himself on the couch like you just gave him a heart attack.

“Babe. Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve taken your yacht to Venus!"

But truthfully? He’s madly in love with you—not the money. He just thinks the fantasy of it all is fabulous.

Niragi Suguru

Niragi hears it and just grins.

“So you’re loaded, huh? That’s hot.”

He’s impressed. Not because of the wealth, but because you never needed him—you chose him.

“You’ve got the world in your hands… and still picked a monster like me. I’m honored, babe.”

Also, he lowkey fantasizes about wrecking your mansion in very... unholy ways.

Aguni Morizono

Aguni takes it seriously. When he finds out, he goes quiet for a bit.

“You’re rich? As in target-rich?"

You nod. He steps into protection mode immediately.

“We’ll need better security. I don’t trust people.”

But he also gets soft.

“You’re strong. You’ve built an empire. And I’ll make damn sure no one tears it down.”

Takatora Samura (Last Boss)

You tell him you're rich and he doesn’t even blink.

“Of course you are. You have queen energy.”

He starts referring to you as “The Empress”and offers to be your royal bodyguard, advisor, and executioner.

He also paints dramatic, gothic portraits of you in fur and gold.

“You belong on a throne. And I’ll build it in blood if I have to.”

Shuntarō Chishiya

Chishiya gives you a long, unreadable stare.

“You’re rich? Huh.”

He’s calm, cool, and maybe a little smug.

“I always knew you were above average.”

He doesn’t care about the money at all. He loves how smart and powerful you are.

But he does smirk more often. “So… wanna buy a private island and name it after me?”

[teenag3z0mbi3]

The tuplar crew reacting to their s/o being a former model.

Mouthwashing x Fem! Former Model! Reader HCs

Masterlist & Request Rules Warnings: None Author's Note: I just assumed you meant a fashion model. Also, sorry if this isn't good; I know absolutely nothing about modeling, and this was kinda rushed.

Anya

☆ : She thought you were STUNNING! When you told her you used to be a model, it explained everything. Your good looks, your ability to always look good with minimal effort, and how you were able to style any piece of clothing. She found it admirable.

☆ : Even though you are no longer in the modeling industry, you still keep your old habits of how you carry yourself, and she makes

☆ : She was never really the type to care about dressing up; she’s always been happy with her sweaters, but since being with you, she’s started to broaden her wardrobe and asks you for advice all the time.

☆ : As much as she admires the work you used to do and doesn’t see why you would ever be insecure, she knows the high and unrealistic expectations and beauty standards the modeling industry can set, so she makes sure to let you know how beautiful you are.

Curly

☆ : When you first told him about your past modeling experiences, he had a hard time picturing it. Not that he didn’t find you attractive, but he never saw you as the type to put yourself out there like that.

☆ : When you showed him pictures and magazines you’d been in, he was speechless, in a good way. 

☆ : He couldn’t understand why you would want to leave that life behind because, in his mind, no other model could compare to you.

Daisuke

☆ : As someone who likes to have his own unique style, he finds your past modeling career so cool. He thinks you look so good, and he wants to look good with you. 

☆ : He loves to dress up with you and likes to help you with your makeup and nails. Even if his skills don’t compare to yours, he still finds it fun and wants to learn from you. 

☆ : He sometimes wishes you would have stayed a model because you had such a unique look and wonders what it would be like to be with you while you were in the industry.

Swansea

☆ : You and him are solar opposites when it comes to how you carry yourselves, but it creates an interesting dynamic. Overdressed Wife vs. Underdressed Husband trope. He stopped caring about his appearance once he reached a certain age, but he was definitely very well put together when he was younger.

☆ : He’s quite proud of himself for being able to pull someone like you, but still doesn’t understand why you would go for him and not someone more like you.

☆ : He doesn't entirely understand the whole model thing and doesn’t often ask you about it, but he is still proud of your achievements and appreciates someone who can be successful.

Jimmy

☆ : When you told him, and he came to the realization that he was able to pull a hot model of all things, his ego was through the roof. 

☆ : Trust that he is bragging about it to impress his guy friends, which can be a little overwhelming at times.

☆ : Despite him bragging about you, he’s glad you’re no longer modeling. He’s the jealous type but claims he’s just being protective. He hates the thought of people ogling you, especially when it’s other men. It’s a bit confusing the way he wants to show you off but then gets bothered by other people looking at you.

[howdoyousleep3]

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Vampire Daddy Steve/Baby Bucky Word Count: 4.9K Tags: Established Relationship, Daddy Kink, Light Dom/Sub, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Age Difference (lol), Human/Vampire Relationship, Vampire Sex, Vampire Bites, Public Sex, Orgy, Size Kink, Praise Kink, Blowjob, Public Blowjob, Consensual Somnophilia Subspace, Anal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Angst and Romance, PDA, Drinking, Porn with Feelings A/N: It got weepy at the end! I couldn’t help it! Song Inspo 😭

Read here on Ao3

Bucky is once again grateful for the size of Steve. 

Normally Bucky is grateful for the size of Steve’s cock, but tonight he is grateful for the size of his presence. 

People are barely bothering to come over to where they’re seated on a luxurious, deep red loveseat, surrounded by people Bucky has slowly been introduced to. The low lighting and the bass of the music makes the purposeful distance difficult to pick up on, but it’s there, the undercurrents of formalities Bucky is unaware of, signs of respect people are showing Steve as they walk by and enjoy the party themselves. 

As uncomfortable as Bucky has been since they arrived half an hour ago, Steve’s presence in this room has made him feel less anxious. It’s obvious Steve is important to these people with the way they duck their heads in greeting, with the bubble of space they show Steve. 

The closeness and affection Steve has been pouring over him helps ease Bucky’s anxieties as well, which is something he’d normally be more reserved about, especially when they’re surrounded by people on all sides. 

Bucky suspects it’s because they’re surrounded by his kind. 

He isn’t sure how many humans are amongst the crowd. 

As Bucky takes his time looking throughout the group of people, in each corner of the room, the last of his anxieties twist into something regrettably familiar. 

“You’re sure I’m not…underdressed?” he mumbles into Steve’s neck knowing he will easily be able to hear his concern over the noise of the crowd. He isn’t sure if it’s because they’re amongst the unliving, with their ethereal grace and otherworldly beauty, but surely not all of these people are in fact vampires. 

Living or not though, everyone looks wildly glamorous. Clothes or not, something Bucky was not ready for even if he was given a heads up, everyone looks wildly glamorous. So much so, they’re all almost difficult to look at.

Bucky glances down at his dark jeans, maroon sweater, and worn boots with a critical eye. 

He then looks over at Steve’s dress pants and polo, his sparkling dress shoes that Bucky is certain cost at least three digits, maybe four. 

“You didn’t believe me the first three times I answered this question?” Steve murmurs into his ear, squeezing Bucky’s thigh possessively and reassuringly. Bucky doesn’t bother looking up at Steve; his blush already begins to grow without his chiding eyes and he’s sure Steve can sense it.

“I told you,” Steve begins again, tone gentle and pace unrushed. “You're the most gorgeous, most naturally flawless person I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Steve.” 

“Sweetheart.” 

“I’m almost certain you’ve been alive for centuries.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth curls up as he feels Steve’s hand land on the nape of his neck, cool to the touch and grounding. 

“Therefore the flattery should outweigh your feeling of inadequacy.” 

When Steve pulls at the curls at Bucky’s nape, a silent demand to see his eyes, Bucky moves easily. 

His heart kicks up into his throat when he’s met with the expression on Steve’s face, dark and so obviously wanting. The thrill he feels from being under such an intense gaze is not misinterpreted for fear on Steve’s part, especially not when he can smell Bucky’s arousal on him. 

As if it weren’t obvious in his eyes. 

It’s as if the crowd around them momentarily melts away, the overwhelming noise of the room, the flashing lights diminishing as well. And then it’s just them, the two of them sharing a connection Steve has told him is without equal. This is how it always is, how it’s been from the moment they locked eyes for the first time across the bar, this bond that Bucky feels deep, deep in his soul. 

It makes him equal parts emotional and hard. 

Steve’s eyes glitter like the night sky in this lighting, and Bucky swears the wine he’s been given makes him feel as if he’s falling into them. 

You know you’re the only one for me, he hears Steve tell him, feels the stroke of unsaid words along the skin of his neck. 

He bites back the thick swell of emotion in his throat by swallowing, but not by averting his eyes. Never averting his eyes. Steve squeezes at his nape again, a long pull of his thick fingers at Bucky’s skin. He knows for a fact Steve draws it out so he can feel Bucky’s pulse underneath his fingertips. 

Bucky’s emotions suddenly shift directions and he thinks he might start panting. 

Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention and anything, anything else, would keep his attention on Steve. But such a sight rocks Bucky to his core, the shock of it making him go rigid. 

Someone’s being fed on. 

A woman is being so openly and so willingly fed on, here in front of everyone, almost casually amongst this crowd.

Bucky thought the various people fucking in darkened corners was enough to stun him, but this…this is different.

Steve senses the change in Bucky’s demeanor immediately, his head turning to see where his eyes are locked onto. When he looks back at Bucky and Bucky glances up to meet his look, his eyes are impossibly darker. 

“I’m surprised they’re just now starting,” is all Steve says, bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a luxurious sip of his scotch. 

But Bucky can’t look away. He’s enthralled. 

A woman lays sprawled across a man’s lap, her back pressed against the man’s thighs, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Bucky can’t see the man’s face from where he’s bent over her lax form, but he can see this man’s bite, his teeth, sunk into her neck. 

Her eyes are barely open, rolled back into her skull, her mouth dropped open as well. Bucky swears he can hear her noise of pleasure from here, deep and drawn-out. 

When he sees the man’s hand move underneath her latex skirt, when he sees his fingers pump between her legs as he drinks from her, Bucky forces himself to look away and give them privacy. 

He’s never seen anything more erotic in his life, he think. 

He realizes quite quickly that he’s never seen anyone be fed on by a vampire. 

Including himself. 

Is that what he looks like when Steve feeds on him? 

Bucky is nearly jealous of the woman for experiencing such an abundance of pleasure. But that thought then immediately forces Bucky to think about the pleasure he goes through when Steve sinks his teeth into his skin, when he feeds from Bucky, when he– 

“If you get any more aroused from watching them enjoy themselves,” Steve suddenly purrs into his ear, lips brushing against the shell of it as he speaks. “We’re going to have to join them and make our own display.”

Bucky can barely acknowledge Steve’s threat, eyes skirting back to said display. 

The man’s mouth is on the woman’s breasts now, having pulled the ample pair out of her low-cut shirt to feed on instead. 

His hand still moves between her legs. 

A few people have gathered to unabashedly watch. 

“Is…is that what I look like?” is all Bucky can think to say as he feels himself get harder and harder in his jeans. 

“No,” Steve is quick to answer, fingers curling around the opposite side of Bucky’s jaw to pull his gaze upwards at him. “You look much, much more erotic.” 

Bucky doesn’t believe him, can’t, even being on the receiving end of such a sincere and heated gaze. There’s no way he looks sexier than that woman does. He looks better than her?

Steve gives Bucky an answer as if he can hear inside of his head. 

“Why do you think I have to fuck you every time I bite you?” 

This time when Bucky swallows, a whimper slips past his lips. 

Steve catches it on his own. 

“It is unbearable sometimes, how completely debauched you look when your blood hits my tongue. How utterly mindless for pleasure you become. Your eyes glaze over, I always have to hold you down somehow because you writhe for it. Your cheeks grow flush, your prick leaks like a faucet. You always beg me to fill you up, to break your hole, even from the tiniest bite.”

Bucky’s face goes up in flames, the crotch of his pants filling out.

“That’s why we are the way we are now, because you pleaded for it so hard the first time I bit you. You whined and begged Daddy for more.” 

He’s right. The night Steve disclosed what he was to Bucky in hopes that he’d be afraid and run away was also the night he bit Bucky for the first time. In the doorway of Bucky’s apartment, Steve growling so deeply into his bite Bucky felt it in his toes, Bucky all but screamed out for his new Daddy. 

He barely remembered doing it, but he wasn’t at all upset at the outcome. 

Bucky feels the weight of submission settle onto his shoulders, the arousal he feels swirling and mixing with it in his head as well. 

His next few blinks are slow as he looks down at Steve’s mouth, not bothering to glance back up at his eyes.  

His Daddy’s lips are on his the next second. Cool to the touch but molten as they work and move together fluidly, Steve works his mouth against Bucky’s like he owns it, like he wants everyone to see that he owns Bucky. Coaxing Bucky’s mouth further and further open, moving to take a long suck at Bucky’s tongue before allowing for Bucky to follow suit, their sighs sounding more like gluttonous moans.

By the time Steve pulls his lips back by half an inch to allow for Bucky to catch his breath, his mind is made up. 

“Bite me,” he husks into Steve’s mouth, the older man immediately smirking and breaking their contact to look back across the room. 

When he doesn’t answer, Bucky moves to suck on the bearded hinge of his jaw. 

“Just a little. Gimme a little bite, Daddy. I’ve been so good, so brave.” 

As discreetly as one can while amongst the throngs of partygoers, he reaches for the obscene bulge between Steve’s legs, presses his hand over it. 

Steve barely reacts. 

Bucky finds it blindingly hot. 

“And you had to ask if you were hotter than that,” Steve chides in a gravelly tone, pointing back across the room. “Look at you– you’re wet for just the thought of it, my love.” 

Bucky barely bothers to glance back across the room, but is still shocked to find the vampire fucking the woman he had drank from on all fours across the couch she is bent over, their knees on the floor. She barely moves as he fucks into her brutally, her body nearly limp, but Bucky can hear her noises now, can hear how loud and ragged they are. 

Noises that indicate just how much she’s enjoying the treatment she’s being given. 

Bucky squeezes at Steve’s cock through his dress pants, eagerly turning back to him. 

“Do it. Please,” is all he can think to whine, voice breathy and needy. Steve pins him with another intense and serious gaze, fingers curling into his scalp once more. 

Bucky feels like prey. 

What a familiar and fond feeling it’s become. 

“It’s going to be more intense for you. You’ve been drinking and your mind is already there. You’ll likely drop.” 

Bucky suddenly wants to drop. 

“Daddy…” 

“I’ll take care of you– you know I do,” he promises Bucky, voice so hushed Bucky wonders if he’s imagined it. 

“You want people to see? You want them to see what we do to each other?” 

Bucky moans. 

“Let people see,” he murmurs against Steve’s mouth, blood turning molten, dick aching in his pants. “I trust you.”  

He swears Steve growls. 

His face is in the crook of Bucky’s neck the next second. Bucky grabs onto whatever part of Steve he can manage to, fingers slipping under his shirt to his muscled back. He goes limp the moment Steve presses his canines into his neck, a warning, just like he’s been taught. 

“You’re so goddamn perfect,” is all Steve says before he’s latching onto the tender skin of Bucky’s neck and pressing– 

Bucky feels blinding and familiar pleasure shoot through his limbs. 

And then everything goes black. 

When Bucky comes to, he’s in Steve’s lap. 

His thighs are spread around Steve’s waist, his bare torso pressed tightly against Steve’s own clothed one, his face tucked into the crook of Steve’s neck. 

His shirt is off. Did he take it off? 

When did he take his shirt off? 

People surround him on all sides from where they sit on this couch, so close he can almost feel them on his skin, the heat of them, their presence. He senses the music reverberate throughout his body before he hears it, it almost sounding as if he’s underwater. 

Steve feels so good against his body, against his skin. He moans, open-mouthed, and presses in impossibly tighter.

Steve’s cool hands skim up his sensitive back, stopping to curl his fingers around the nape of his neck. 

He can feel Steve talking, the vibration of his voice moving against Bucky’s bare chest, but once again it’s hard for him to discern words. He feels drowsy as he pulls his head back just enough to place his lips at Steve’s ear. 

He bites at it. 

Steve’s grip on his nape goes tight. 

“Daddy,” is all he moans, his head swirling with an onslaught of sensations and sounds and feelings. 

He feels Steve’s lips at his own ear. 

“Darling. Your skin is impossibly warm. How are you feeling?” 

Bucky doesn’t answer; Steve would know if something was wrong. Instead he sucks on the hinge of Steve’s jaw and pumps his hips against– 

“Ohh…” 

He can feel Steve’s smirk grow on the skin of his cheek. 

“My my…look at you,” Steve purrs, one of his big hands skirting down to cup Bucky’s ass. “Well, others sure are taking the opportunity to get an eyeful of you, aren’t they?” 

Are they? 

Bucky lets Steve’s words process long enough for him to decide he doesn’t give a shit. 

Let people see him like this. 

It’s all for Daddy anyway. 

Daddy. 

He must say it out loud because Steve is rumbling in an instant, pulling Bucky against him by the handful of ass he has in his palm. And Bucky begins to move like water against his much larger, much cooler form, like the push and pull of waves, as if he were fucking himself in Steve’s lap. 

Tears form in his eyes, he’s so overcome with his sudden and all-consuming need to do just that. 

He barely manages to slide down to his knees, mouth already watering, moving as if he’s wading through molasses. His fingers find their way to Steve’s slacks, the zipper of them, curling around the impressive bulge they find there. When he feels Steve’s cock against the palm of his hand, he drops forward with a moan, mouth falling open as he sucks on the fabric of Steve’s dress pants, on his cock through them. 

Steve doesn’t stop him, doesn’t pull him up off what is surely a dirty floor beneath him. He doesn’t reach for Bucky in the slightest, doesn’t move from where his back is pressed against the back of the couch, thighs spread wide. Bucky’s own dick leaks just looking up at him. The confidence and power Steve exudes is heady, keeps the fog swirling around the inside of his head. 

That’s his Daddy. 

This is his cock. 

Steve allowing Bucky the privilege to suck him off in front of onlookers, the immense trust burning between them, forces a guttural groan from Bucky’s mouth. 

He turns and digs his teeth into the meat of Steve’s thigh. 

Steve doesn’t even blink. 

He reaches for Bucky’s chin. 

“Don’t make me come,” is all Bucky hears, voice intimate for the two of them alone. “Because where does that go, huh? Where does my cum always go?” 

Bucky’s eyes fight to roll back into his head. He leans forward for the purpose of finding something to rub his dick against, his chin still in Steve’s grip. 

“My pussy,” is what Bucky slurs, his dick finding contact with Steve’s shin. “Your cum goes…in my pussy.” 

When Steve’s thumb finds its way between Bucky’s lip, he bites down onto it. 

Hard. 

Steve smiles. 

“That’s right. You have at it, sweetheart. Get your fix.” 

What’s left of the room, the party, the crowd that reaches past the fog in Bucky’s brain dissipates in full the moment Steve’s cock is on his tongue. 

Bucky moans around his mouthful once he has Steve out of his pants, eyes nearly crossing with appreciation of the girth of his Daddy’s cock. The way it fills Bucky’s mouth to the brim, the way he could gag around it if he took a deep breath with it in his mouth, makes him whimper appreciatively around it. Daddy likes it wet, this Bucky’s been taught over time, so when he pulls his mouth off of Steve’s cock with a lewd noise, he purses his lips and spits on it. 

He thinks he hears someone to his left gasp. 

But he only sees Steve, leaned back into the couch, eyes darker than sin and intense, zeroed in on Bucky between his legs. 

Cupping Steve’s impressive sac, knowing Daddy also thoroughly enjoys feeling the warmth of Bucky’s hands on his balls, Bucky slides his mouth back over the tip of Steve’s cock. He slides Steve to the back of his throat, swallowing around him before pulling back and pressing forward once more. Slowly, he lets the slip of Steve along his tongue, in and out of his mouth, hypnotize him. 

And after a few minutes, he’s so lost in fucking Steve’s cock with his mouth, he barely notices Steve reaching for the hand he isn’t using to hold onto his Daddy. 

When he feels Steve’s mouth at his wrist, the sudden prick of his teeth, his moan is garbled and wet around his mouthful. 

He feels Steve moan raggedly against his skin. 

And then everything goes blissfully black for the second time. 

When Bucky comes to once more, he is able to notice two things right away, the first being their change in location. 

The second change being Steve is now inside of him. 

This corner is much more secluded, pulled away from the party and darker, the flashing lights unable to reach back this far. They’re still on a couch, but this time they’re alone. Bucky isn’t surprised by this; Steve likes to show Bucky off but there comes a point where he doesn’t want others to see just how far their connection goes. 

He’s grateful for the privacy, but he’s more aroused by Steve’s possessive antics. 

He groans into Steve’s neck, clenching his hole down around the girth he was just appreciating in his mouth. His head isn’t necessarily spinning, but he doesn’t feel entirely present. It’s a very specific feeling that only belongs to when Steve drinks from him and it’s one that Bucky yearns to feel most days. 

He can barely lift his head, use his arms against Steve’s chest to push himself back. 

Steve must have taken more this time. 

It’s then the dots connect for Bucky and he realizes his pants have come off too now. 

Right. Steve is inside of him. 

Steve is inside of him. 

This time when he moans, he can feel the noise grate against the front of his throat. He digs his own teeth into Steve’s neck when he feels Steve’s big, cold hands run up the sensitive skin of his back, strong sweeps of a touch. 

He clenches his hole around Steve again, milking his Daddy and appreciating his dominance and strength and care. He’s wet down there, this Bucky can feel, and the thought of Steve taking care of Bucky in such a way while he had dropped adds an alarming amount of eroticism to this already heady moment. 

No one else is more fit to be his Daddy than Steve. 

No one will ever come close to Steve. 

Don’t. 

He digs the fingers of both hands into the skin of Steve’s throat, cupping it harshly, his arms pressed between their chests. He rocks his hips forward, tests the feel of Steve’s cock inside of him, whines appreciatively when he’s met with only unadulterated pleasure. 

“There’s my boy,” Steve bites out into his ear, hands grabbing and squeezing as they make their way back down to Bucky’s ass, sweeping up and down his back and shoulders. “There he is.” 

“Daddy,” Bucky tries, but even the one word sounds garbled, slurred. Steve doesn’t seem to mind, seems to quite like the reaction given how harsh his grip becomes on Bucky’s ass. When his fingers reach for Bucky’s rim, when they rub at his stretched hole all wet around Steve’s cock, it spurs Bucky’s mess of movements on. 

He arches his back further, allowing for them both to feel the strain of his pussy around Daddy’s cock, trying his best to begin bouncing on it. 

“You’re a goddamn marvel. You know that?” Steve whispers into his ear, pressing the words into his skin as he uses his handfuls of Bucky’s ass to guide him, to encourage his shallow bouncing. “You know how many people I had to fight off to not follow us back here? How much security was needed to help find us a dark corner I could fuck you in? Huh?” 

Bucky mewls, whimpering as he quickly finds it more and more difficult to bounce on his Daddy’s cock, what little energy he has left nearly drained in full. 

When Steve smacks at his ass, a noise that can no doubt be heard over the outrageously loud music, Bucky whines again. 

And when Steve easily scoots them back, maneuvers them to a more horizontal position on the couch, Bucky’s whines turn into moans. He knows what this means. 

He nods his head, his brain feeling like a bundle of loose marbles as he begs for cock. 

“Yes, Daddy please, please. I can’t…please, Daddy. Give it to me, Daddy…” 

Steve has no problem holding Bucky’s limp body up enough to fuck into him from below, has no problem holding him up enough to use him as a toy. Bucky merely lays there against the slope of Steve’s chest as Daddy begins to fuck up into him, useless and willing. He doesn’t fight his eyes when they begin to roll back into his head. 

“They were fucking fighting one another to get a look at you full of cock, to see your Daddy stuff your pussy full after you spent a drop with your mouth full of it.” 

Bucky’s moans sound more and more ragged, more pathetic, the more Daddy uses his pussy. His dick is trapped between their bodies, Bucky’s naked one and Steve’s still clothed one, and he Bucky thinks he’ll come embarrassingly fast if it continues to receive the friction it currently is. 

“One would think this party is for you, that all of these people have gathered here to watch the show you put on with awe. So many people want you, Bucky. So many people want to fuck your little body, want to mark you up, want you for themselves.” 

Bucky shakes his head, eyes filling with tears. He’s surprised by them, by the sudden emotion he’s feeling, but he isn’t sure if it’s the way his Daddy is making his body feel or if it’s from his words. 

It’s surely both. 

“Daddy…” 

“That’s exactly right,” Steve growls, digging his cock into Bucky’s sweet spot masterfully, spreading his ass cheeks as if people were in fact watching. “Tell them. Tell them this is all for me, that no one else can have you. Tell them this is all for your Daddy.” 

Bucky squeals, digging his teeth into the skin of Steve’s collarbone, sucking on it messily and Steve splits him open. 

“No one,” he mumbles. “No one else can have me. I’m…m’yours. I’m Daddy’s.” 

Those words make the emotion he feels swell in his chest. 

His breath hitches in his throat. 

Oh no. 

He can’t stop himself. 

“I’ll always be yours, Daddy. Always. F-forever.” 

Steve’s bucking hips rub Bucky’s dick just right between their bodies, just right against his dress shirt. His balls suddenly draw up tight, painfully tight, against his body, Steve’s cock brushing against his sweet spot once more. 

He doesn’t give Steve a warning, but he doesn’t have to. 

Steve knows. 

He drops Bucky back down onto his lap in full just in time for his orgasm to rocket through him, for it to shatter his resolve and his weak body, stretching his hole out to the point of the bite of pain Bucky craves. He clings to Steve as he sobs and shakes against him, clings to him as he comes apart all around him, all over him. The pleasure this climax pulls from him is otherworldly, is mind numbing. He thrashes against it, as if it’s almost too much, but Steve is there to hold him down, to make him take it. 

Quite literally. 

“Milk it out of me,” he groans wildly into Bucky’s neck. “Start milking it out of me, sweetheart. You know what that does to me, you know what you vowing yourself does to me. Goddamnit, you know what that does to me.” 

He does. The two of them rarely profess their love for one another so deeply and to the point where they mourn the lives they’re living, both together and separately. They rarely discuss the fact that Bucky continues to age, day after day, while Steve has remained the same age for decades, centuries. They don’t talk about how the pressure of keeping time on his body keeps Bucky awake at night as he tries again and again to figure out how to ask Steve to let him stay with his Daddy  forever. 

What they have now is bliss, is magic, is meaningful. 

But Bucky wants forever. 

He wants forever. 

His body listens to his Daddy, does as he asks like always, but he doesn’t help Steve to his climax without tears. 

He tells himself it’s maybe the wine, definitely the plethora of bites he’s received tonight, but there’s no use; he knows exactly why he’s sobbing into Steve’s neck. 

It must be the amount of blood Steve’s drank coupled with the scotch and maybe the headiness of the evening that have him digging his teeth into Bucky’s neck as he rides his orgasm out. No fangs, not the sharpness Buckuy craves, but it’s enough to shock him. He’s never been bitten by Steve this hard. 

When he goes to pull away, Steve growls into his skin and holds him in place by a hand on his nape. 

Bucky openly weeps, growing dizzy. 

“I know what you want,” Steve tells him, husks out into his ear when he’s finally pulled back, voice heavy with emotion. “I know what you want from me, what you’re too afraid to ask for. And I swear to you, Bucky, I swear to you I’ll give it to you one day.” 

Bucky can only sob out one word, the throb in his neck pulsing– 

“Daddy…” 

“We both want it, we do. Not once have I come across someone in my life who I wanted to join me on this side, in this world. You are the one I’ve waited for. You are the one who’s brought purpose into my wretched life. You are the one for me and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else have you, Bucky Barnes. I want to be selfish with you. You are mine and you will remain so forever.” 

Oh. 

Oh yes. 

Relief Bucky has never felt lifts from his shoulders, his mind, his being. The noises he lets out are mournful almost. Mournful for the time he’s spent worrying about the outcome of their relationship, the purpose of it, of one day losing Steve. It was for nothing. 

It was all for blessedly nothing.

When Steve pulls at his nape, pulls his head up in order to lick into his mouth, he yields to Steve willingly, easily. 

“If you think I’m turning you in this grungy warehouse with even a single onlooker, you’re mad.” 

Bucky laughs wetly into where his mouth lands on Steve’s bearded cheek, tears continuing to fall. 

“Take me home then. Take me home, Daddy,” he barely manages to murmur out. 

He swears Steve purrs. 

“With pleasure, my love.”

[lovedrruunk]

It would be so cool if you could write a venture x reader where Y/N is too nervous to speak to Venture so Mercy wingmans for them‼️

‘The best wingwoman ! ଘ(˵╹ᴗ╹)━☆

Venture (Overwatch) x GN reader

Authors note!; super cute request!!! Did I tell u guys I'm a mercy main…. DISGUSTING I KNOW!! But I also main Ana so it cancels out… also tbh there’s a lot of requests that I haven’t gotten to *YET* simply bc idk how to go about them :( but this one came to me rlly easily !! Ty!!! also finished this whole thing while listening to phantom of the opera on repeat for 2 hours (i need 2 write a moira fic omg...) UPDATE: HELLO??? THE MERCY MYTHIC? okok ill stfu now sry!!

Earlier today, you were dragged to a work party by your colleague and guardian angel, Angela Ziegler. You begged her to let you stay home, but she refused, saying she wouldn't be able to go without you since you were the only coworker she actually enjoyed spending time with. And so, being the amazing friend you are, of course, you agreed to go to keep her company!... Just kidding!

Angela knew you too well. Once she mentioned that the cutie from the Wayfinder Society was attending, you did a complete 180, now asking her what you should wear. She couldn't help but laugh at your reaction, amused at how predictable you were when it came to romance.

Sloane Cameron, also known as Venture, also known as the cutie from the Wayfinder Society, had quickly captured your attention ever since you first met them a couple of months ago when the Wayfinder Society was adopted by Overwatch as a sub-branch. Being the head anthropologist for Overwatch led you to spending a good amount of time with Venture and their team. Granted, it was just work and sharing data and all that, but you couldn't help but find them super intriguing. They were funny, lively, and so passionate about their work! But as badly as you wanted to get to know them, you just couldn't. Their confidence was a blessing and a curse, being the cause of why you liked them and the cause of why you were so terrified of talking to them.

Every week or so, you and Angela meet up at the cafeteria at Overwatch's headquarters to catch up while drinking your morning coffee/tea/whatever, which you of course just use as time to gush about your overwhelming crush on your new coworker. But last week... last week, you had decided enough was enough. You made a promise to Angela that by next week, you would at least ask them if they'd want to hang out outside of work. Feeling pumped and confident, you had excitedly gotten all dolled up for the party.

And now, here you were. The party was in an old Victorian mansion with lots of expensive art and chandeliers, nothing less for Overwatch, of course. The first time you had attended a work party, you were extremely underdressed, assuming it was a casual get-together, not at all expecting it to be an elegant and serious "ball" like party. You cringed at the memory before Angela snapped you out of it, handing you a glass of champagne.

"So? Is today the day?" she questions as she leans against the back wall you had been standing next to.

"I don't know, Angela..." you whined as you not so discreetly stared at them from across the room.

It was the first time you had seen them in formal attire, and you couldn’t help but admire how they looked good in everything.

"Go ask them to dance!" She suggested happily.

"What!? No way! I can't dance, especially not with them!"

“Oh, don't give me that! The worst they could say is no."

"'No' is definitely not the worst they could say. They could say 'get away from me' or 'why are you talking to me about something other than rocks' or 'your foundation doesn't match your neck.. and no I would rather drop dead than dance with you'."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious!- Wait!! Did you see that? They smiled at the new rookie! What if they like her!? What if they came here together!? What if they're dating!? Married!!? Oh my god, and now they're chatting it up with Tiff from communications! They're laughing, what's so funny!?"

"You have got to be kidding me..."

"Right!? She's not even funnier than me..."

Catching you off guard, Angela grips your shoulders, forcing you to face her.

"Shut up," she says sternly, fighting off the urge to smack you in the face. "Just ask them. You'll never know until you do... And if you don't, I owe that infuriating geneticist twenty bucks..." She murmurs the last part to herself angrily.

"Y'know what? You're right!"

You quickly finish the glass of champagne, putting it on the table next to you. Feeling encouraged by your friend, you take a deep breath before marching towards Venture... right before turning your heel and marching straight back to Angela.

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up..."

"You haven't even said anything!!!"

After a bit of back and forth, Angela is fed up and tells you that if you weren't going to do anything about it, then she will.

As she makes her way towards Venture, you whisper yell at her, begging her to come back and let you give it another try. But knowing you, she decides to ignore your desperate pleas as she continues to happily strut towards them.

From the distance, you can't make out what they're talking about, and it's driving you nuts. Angela's back is facing you, but Venture's face lights up, so you decide to take that as a good sign. And just as you start to smile... Angela turns around and points at you.

You freeze in place for what felt like a year before your eyes focus again. Venture is grinning as they wave to you, and Angela uses her hand to call you over. You force a wide smile (not aware of how crazy you look) as you timidly walk up to the two of them.

"Y/N! I was just mentioning to our sweet Cameron over here how you love to dance! They've never been to a party like this, isn't that crazy!"

"Yeah!! Wayfinder never had the funding by itself to afford something like this! I've never really had a reason to learn how to dance, so I have no clue; was hoping you could teach me!?"

"Me? Oh, sorry! I don't know how to dance!"

"But... Dr. Ziegler just said.."

"I know! Poor little Angie... ever since her last birthday, her memory has been terrible!! Must've confused me with Lena!"

You could feel the death glare Angela was giving you, but you continued to smile innocently at them.

"Well... I guess this would be a good opportunity for us to learn, don't ‘cha think?" Of course. Of course, they would somehow find a solution to your excuse.

"Great idea!!" Angela claps her hands together happily. "Why don't you two head to the dance floor? You'll only learn from experience!"

"I agree!"

Before you can say anything, you're dragged by the hand of a very excited Venture, and although your palms are sweaty and your head is spinning, you can't help but feel so much excitement.

. . .

And so as the dancefloor clears and the two of you are making your way out to the gardens, you spot a grinning Angela and a scowling Moira putting away her wallet.

[aussiexlovexaffair]

secret!bf ash performs a song about styles!reader in front of her brother words: 2k! request fill: anon ask! tags: secretbf!ashton, styles!reader tw: suggestive themes ig? author’s note: if you have any tips on how to write the 1d boys better, i’d appreciate it!! I was never really in that fandom, so i don’t know much about how each of them talk/act/etc. listen to: “english love affair” by 5 seconds of summer

“I’m glad you came to one of these things, I’ve been trying to get you to go for months.” 

Your eyes dart around the arena, trying to take in the sheer amount of people— mainly fans of your brother’s band— packed into the seats above. It had to be claustrophobic in those seats. Luckily, Harry had suggested you sit with his band in the artist section in the pit. While you appreciated the bottle service it came with, you couldn’t help but feel out of place amongst such talented people. All of them had millions to their name and you were living in a tiny apartment working a typical 9-to-5 job. 

“It’s not really my crowd.” You reply honestly, raising your glass to your lips. Even the water tasted expensive. Suddenly you were all too aware of how underdressed you were for the award show. The dress you’d picked out— your fanciest one— still didn’t compare to the designer gowns and tuxedos in the crowd around you. “Don’t you ever get overwhelmed with all of this? The people, the lights, the cameras…”

Carding his hand through his dark curls, Harry gives you a slight shake of his head. “At first, yeah. It’s tiring for sure. But you get used to it after a while.” You can’t imagine how he possibly could get used to it. One Direction’s management worked them to the bone and then some.

Louis, seated to the right of you in the red, leather booth, nudges your shoulder a bit. “I just like to imagine everyone naked. ‘Helps loads.”

Niall groans from across the table and kicks the boy’s shin under the table. “Of course you imagine them all naked, you cheeky bastard.” The brunet gives Niall an eye roll and ignores him.

“Well it does. It helps me, anyways.”

With his hands covering his face, Harry interrupts Louis. “Can you maybe not tell my sister to imagine people naked? It’s weird, thanks.”

Reclined with his arms crossed, Liam picks up on the sudden change in Harry’s mood and points it out. “What’s got your panties in a twist, then?” He sits up and waves a hand in front of your brother’s face to get him out of his thoughts. He swats Liam’s hand away dismissively and looks away from the group.

“I think I know.” Zayn watches how Harry’s eyes keep flickering over to the stage where Ashton, Luke, Calum, and Michael are preparing their gear to perform in a few minutes. Every so often, the boy on the drum kit allows his eyes to wander over to your table. “Ashton keeps lookin’ over at his sister.” 

Oh shit. 

Initially, you didn’t think sitting this close to the stage was going to cause a problem, even if your seat gave you an unobstructed view of the stage and all four of them. The hook-up happened almost a month ago, after all. He couldn’t have still been thinking about you after all that time, right? What a stupid thought that was— Ashton might have been a gentleman, but he was anything but discrete. 

“It’s just a coincidence.” Harry states calmly. He finally breaks his gaze away from the boy and looks back at his bandmates. “Besides, he has no reason to.” Liam laughs a bit under his breath and earns a death glare from your brother. “What’s so funny?”

The boy shrugs and looks away. “I don’t know, would it be that crazy if he had the hots for your sister?” 

Harry scoffs and crosses his arms defiantly. “No, but he shouldn’t.” 

Niall leans over to Louis. “He absolutely does.”

Your brother’s eyes fall on you once again. “Well, do you have anything to say?”

You stay quiet for a moment, determining how you want to respond to his question. Lying wasn’t something you two did often to each other. For the most part, your relationship as siblings was relatively strong. But you weren’t the best at hiding your guilt, so you lower your eyes and shrug. “How would I know?”

The lights in the stadium flicker. The performances of the night are about to start— the opener being 5 Seconds of Summer. Luke approaches the microphone in the front, garnering cheers from just about every person in the stadium. Placing a hand on his guitar, he begins to play the intro to their most popular song, “She Looks So Perfect” alongside Calum, plucking away at his bass, and Michael, walking around his side of the stage and leaning forward into the crowd. Ashton slams his foot down on the base drum rhythmically, admiring the crowd from behind his set up. Again, his eyes always find you.

The song gets the crowd cheering and singing quickly. You can hear the fans in the wings screaming along to the song and even some celebrities in the pit bobbing their heads along to it. You don’t blame them, the song is an earworm. 

After the song ends, however, they don’t immediately segway into their next one. Instead, the boys take out their in-ear monitors and lean into their microphones. “We’re gonna do something a little bit different today.” Luke announces, his hand wrapping around the base of his microphone.

“A song sandwich, if you will.” Michael jokes, making the others giggle. 

“A song sandwich.” Calum repeats with a giggle, glancing over towards the right side of the stage where the guitarist stands. He recenters his focus soon after. “Before we got on, we actually changed the set-list. We wanted to play three really well known songs of ours but—”

“Ashton had other plans, so we’re playing two popular songs and one song in the middle that hasn’t come out yet.” Luke interrupts, earning laughter on stage and in the crowd. The boy on the drum kit sits up a little, untying the bandana from around his forehead and shaking out his hair. The action results in a loud cheer from the wings. With a big smile on his face, he flips his hair back and drapes the cloth over his microphone. “Oh, Ash’s got something to say..”

Ashton laughs a little into the mic and tucks the wire of his monitor behind his ear. “I do. I wanna talk about it. It’s my song. I’m proud of it.” He brings a water bottle to his lips and takes a sip, leaning back to avoid the sound being picked up. He sets it down by his feet and continues. “Funny story, it took three weeks to write this song and it didn’t make it to the actual album, but we’re gonna include it in the B-Sides— right? Is that what we’re doing?” 

His eyes travel to Calum and the bassist nods in agreement. “Right, but I wrote it so quickly because something happened. I met a girl…” He pauses, knowing that the crowd would go insane hearing about his love life. Naturally, they do. “And it’s funny because I actually know her brother. We’re pretty close.”

You swear your heart stops when you hear Ashton mention that. You can feel Harry staring at you out of the corner of his eyes. Desperate to avoid his questions, you pretend to be unaffected by his words.

“And one day, maybe we got a little too close.” 

Oh my God.

“A little too close?” Michael repeats with a sly grin. 

Ashton nods in response, a nervous laugh falling from his lips. “A little too close and maybe…”

Oh. my. God.

“Maybe something happened between us...” The crowd practically explodes with screams. The drummer looks around the pit, eventually settling his gaze onto you and your brother. 

“And I wrote this song about it because I knew that no one would ever believe me when I said it. And it’s called ‘English Love Affair’, I hope you guys like it!” He settles back into his stool and waits for the whine of Michael’s guitar. Upon hearing his cue in his in-ear, he begins slamming his foot down onto the footplate of his bass drum, his drum sticks hitting the middle of the batter head. 

“It started on a weekend in May. I was looking for attention, needed intervention. Felt somebody looking at me— with a powder white complexion, feeling the connection.”

The leather of the booth squeaks as Harry shifts his weight to face you. Even his bandmates throw confused looks over at you. You urgently bring your glass of water to your lips and sip down some of the contents quietly, hoping your brother takes the hint and looks away. He does, albeit very suspiciously. The song continues to play in the background of your embarrassment. Ashton locks eyes with you.

“Dragged me out of the bar to the back seat of her car.. ”

You nearly choke on your water. Your brother is quick to jump on the opportunity to address the lyrics. “Problem?”

“Nope.” You rasp out through muffled coughs. You set down the glass and sink back into the booth. Louis elbows you and smiles. You ignore him out of pure mortification. The song continues, much to your displeasure, and you can feel eyes on you from every direction, or at least from every member of One Direction.

“Next thing we were back at her place, a hideaway in Mayfair, all the great and good there.”

At this point, the song wasn’t even discrete. He couldn’t have been a little bit vague? A few of the members give Harry a knowing look. “Mayfair.” Harry points out with a confused look on his face. “You live in Mayfair.”

“A lot of people do.” Your argument was weak and you knew it.

“Drinking all the way to third base, Princess getting naked.”

“Falling on their faces!”

“The storyline was so ridiculous, every single step had me beggin’ for the next. Before I knew it, it was serious. Dragged me up the stairs and it wasn’t ending there.”

Louis snorts at the lyrics and Harry glares at him. Harry rests his head in his hands on the table in thought. Zayn, who was waiting for your brother to look away, catches your attention from across the table. “Busted…” he whispers, making Liam laugh quietly. 

“So, when are you having him over for dinner?” Niall inquires childishly. The entire band, except for your brother and yourself, giggle incessantly. 

“Oh, come off it…” Harry mutters into his palms. Sparing yourself from the humiliation, you recenter your focus on the stage. 

“When the lights go out, she’s all I ever think about. The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain. No, I can’t forget my English love affair.”

“Today, I’m seven thousand miles away. The movie playing in my head of her king-sized bed means I can’t forget my English love affair.”

The song ends abruptly and to no one’s shock, the audience roars loudly. Even the other members of One Direction cheer and clap, poking fun at Harry and you. Sitting up straight, your brother faces you. 

“Y/N.” He forces a fake smile onto his face that barely conceals his horror, anger, and his confusion. 

You manage a weak nod, your cheeks the color of cherries. “Mhm…?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about an English love affair? Would you?...” You shake your head immediately and he sucks in a deep breath. “‘No?’ ‘No.’ Well, please tell that to the Australian boy walking over here with flowers.” Your head whips around to find Ashton hopping off the stage with a small bouquet in his hands. Leaning over the back of the booth, he presses a kiss to your temple and drops the flowers into your lap. “Oops.” Ashton smiles mischievously at you and waves at your brother as he climbs back onto the stage and the performance continues, leaving the whole table in hysterics.

[climbthemountain2020]

Chaos // Revelry - Chapter 7

Elucien | Ch. 7 | Ao3

After a series of heated dreams and strange visions send Elain to The Human Lands, the bond she's been pointedly ignoring for years suddenly becomes too overwhelming to push aside. The close proximity and the mission at hand bring her and Lucien closer, even with new enemies and danger behind every corner.

Elain’s skin was covered in sweat and sticking violently to the sheets when she lurched awake. She could still feel his hands on her body, fingertips pressed bruisingly tight against her hips, his mouth between her legs while she gasped for air.

She pressed her eyes closed, refusing to open them just yet. Part of her hoped she’d open them and be in his bed again just for the excuse, but her cotton sheets knotted in her hands told her that she wouldn’t be getting any help on that front. 

If she wanted Lucien, she’d need to be the one to do something about it. That much had been made clear. She’d wanted it so badly that night at the card table, then again when he’d taken her to the place in the woods littered with porcelain. It had been where his dreams had manifested last night. She could still smell the woods, still hear the cracked china beneath their feet as he’d pushed her gently against rough bark and lifted her skirts to press his tongue between her–

A knock on the door made her eyes slam open finally, the light streaming through the windows making her hiss and pull the sheet up. 

The knock sounded again. 

“Just a moment!” she called, grumbling as she got out of bed and pulled her dressing robe from the back of her desk chair. It had to be Lucien or, less likely, Jurian, since the sun was up. She did her best to smooth her wild curls, swiping her fingers beneath her eyes before she cracked open the door.

In the hall, Lucien stood looking as sharp and lovely as always. 

How in the Cauldron’s name had he gotten dressed so quickly?

His eyes quickly roamed up and down her body, the lightest tinge of dusky pink smattering across his high, golden cheekbones as he realized how underdressed she was. Though her first instinct was to be embarrassed and pull her dressings more tightly around her, she quite liked the effect she had on him. 

“Good morning, Lucien.” Her voice was still covered in the low rasp of sleep, and she didn’t miss the minute shudder that ran through him.

“Good morning, Elain,” he responded, holding up a piece of parchment. “Tarquin and Cresseida have welcomed us to Summer at our leisure.”

My, that was certainly fast.

He grinned. “--provided that you conduct yourself better than your sister upon her first visit.” The laugh bubbled out of Elain before she could stop it. She knew all about Feyre’s first visit to the Summer Court. Lucien smiled down at her, looking delighted by her reaction.

“That sounds lovely. I still haven’t been to Summer. It will be an adventure.” The warmth on his face settled in her own stomach.

“An adventure for us both, then.” They were caught up staring for a moment, the silence not uncomfortable between them, before Lucien spoke again. “Would you like to join me for breakfast? Or lunch? Jurian’s gone into town for the day.”

“I’d love to. Give me just a moment to dress?” He eyed her again, his brows raising. 

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be out here.” 

Elain grinned, shutting the door quietly. She’d never heard Lucien struggle for words around anyone but her, his speech and presentation always impeccable. The truth was, she loved how she disarmed him, loved that he was only nervous around her and even then, got glimpses of his bold and rakish charm between. She loved when he was nervous, but she loved when he was bold, too. 

Frankly, Elain was finding she enjoyed a great deal about her mate. She shoved that miserable vision away when it reared its ugly head as though by habit. She wouldn’t think of her tears, and she wouldn’t think of that jacket. 

Vassa’s words had constantly been in her mind since their conversation.

You can’t live your life based around fear.

She was right, of course. Elain had spent the last few years doing just that. In fact, the more thought she’d given to it, the more she understood she’d spent her whole life doing that. That vision had scared her so profoundly that she’d denied herself something that seemed so lovely–something she wanted so badly sometimes that it hurt. She still wasn’t convinced that giving in was the smart choice, but every day spent here with him chipped away at her resolve. Lucien was absolutely everything she’d never dared to dream or hope a husband might be for her. Sure, he had the qualities that she’d always expected to be matched with–he was gentlemanly, kind, and proper, raised in society and able to navigate the complexities of noble social circles with ease. But there was more to it than that. She’d never imagined her husband could want her just as badly, could so clearly seek her own pleasure with his own. True, there were only his dreams to go off of, and they could mean anything. But if they meant something, she imagined it was that he was just as invested in her enjoyment as he was his own. 

She flushed as she finished buttoning her dress, fanning her face with a hand. Those dreams of his were going to be the death of her.

When she emerged into the hallway, he was still waiting, back rested against the wall beside his door and copper hair falling into his face. When his eyes met hers, she swallowed the butterflies that threatened to break free from her stomach. 

You can’t live your life based around fear.

Maybe she needed to stop.

She enjoyed her tea, made perfectly as always, while Lucien grabbed some toast, butter, and jam to place on the table for them. They spent breakfast talking about Feyre, comparing stories of her former life, and how far she’d come. Elain wondered, at one point, if she might be jealous of the way Lucien spoke of Feyre’s time in Spring. But she was pleased to find that he spoke with a sort of pride about her sister, in seeing how far she’d come. 

They may have had their differences, and they certainly continued to, but it was easy to see that Lucien had a genuine care for her sister that warmed Elain. 

“I don’t imagine we’ll find her back in Spring anytime soon,” Elain mused, sipping the last of her tea. Lucien’s face seemed to drop at this. 

“No, I don’t suppose we will.” 

Elain wasn’t sure what spurred her to say anything, but the words were out before she thought better.

“It wasn’t handled as well as it could have been.” Elain knew all about the situation, from visions of her own, from the twins, from snippets of conversation she’d heard when no one had thought she was listening. It was amazing what you could learn when people thought you were uninterested. Everything in Spring and after had been horrifically mishandled on both ends, and it seemed, even now after everything, that things were damaged so irreparably that even Rhysand didn’t know how to alter the course.

Lucien seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Both of them came from homes where they weren’t shown a healthy way to love. It’s hard to learn that on your feet when others are depending on you.”

Elain weighed the words, turning them over and over in her mind. He certainly wasn’t wrong about her own family, though she’d been fortunate to have her father. The memory stung. 

“You came from a home like that, as well,” she responded instead. It was a statement, not a question. There was no hiding the Vanserra lineage or what everyone in Prythian seemed to know about them.

“And I have mishandled many, many things because of that. I don’t excuse my actions because of it, and I’ve had many chances to refine how I handle things. Tamlin and Feyre had not. I am glad to see Feyre has been able to move on from it.” He inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. “I don’t know if Tamlin ever will.”

She’d seen him more than once in her visions, just small glimpses of an animal prowling slowly through the woods–aimless and haggard. 

“Tamlin knows where to go for help, but he chooses pride again and again.” Lucien sighed like that sentence alone carried enough weight to crush him. “Enough of that, though. When would you like to leave for Summer?”

Elain was surprised he was leaving it up to her. “When’s the earliest we can?”

“Their letter said any time. It’s just a short winnow.” Lucien looked almost as excited as she felt, though she assumed he’d been many, many times.

“Perhaps tomorrow? Is that too soon?”

Something that looked like amusement and excitement flashed across Lucien’s face before he smiled. “Tomorrow, then, my lady.”

Since then, she’d been filled with a restless excitement. She’d gone to her room after breakfast and packed a small bag. She’d intended to read, but she couldn’t sit still long enough to focus. She’d written a short letter to Feyre explaining she’d be out of touch for a few days and where they’d be going, then she gave up on keeping herself settled. Instead, she found herself changing into trousers that she’d finally come to accept and making her way to the garden, which was quickly becoming one of her favorite places in the manor. The greenhouse was always warm, the heavy air teeming with the floral smells of life and soil. Vassa had given her free reign of the garden, and she’d taken liberties to move a few things for optimum growth. She’d also requested a few more seeds and clippings from Feyre that she knew would be appreciated here–spices and greens and edible plants that she could contribute to their dinners. Feyre had already sent two batches that Elain planted immediately–Elain was certain she was growing tired of scouring the River House garden on her behalf.

With her hands in the dirt and the vines around her, Elain felt closer to her powers than she ever did. Though her Seeing was mostly the only manifestation she’d seen so far save for the accidental winnowing, she hadn’t expected the way the earth had bloomed around her the night she’d encountered Graysen, and she hadn’t been able to recreate it since. At least not intentionally. She wondered if it had something to do with the way she gravitated towards the plants. It had been something she’d loved even as a human, but things thrived in a new way beneath her hands now. If that was an added bonus of becoming fae, she certainly wouldn’t shirk it off. She never felt more at home than she did within a garden, surrounded by the promise of new life.

She sighed, brushing her hand over her brow and patting the last of the moist soil down around her newly potted mint leaves. They’d be lovely for tea, and she was glad to contribute. Things felt good here, settled, and only a few weeks in, she already felt more at home here than she ever had when she’d actually lived here. She felt more like she belonged here than she had in Velaris, either. 

She pushed the thought aside, halfheartedly vowing to examine it further another time. She nearly jumped from her skin when she heard Lucien speak. 

“What are you planting?”

She fell back on her tailbone, hand over her heart while he rushed forth from the doorway to help her back up.

“I’m so sorry, I thought you heard me there.” He held his hand out to pull her upright again, and heat sparked through her palm at the touch.

“No apologies necessary. I was lost in my own head.” She stood and dusted herself off, already missing the feel of his hand in hers. “Mint leaves. I thought everyone might like them for some tea.” She suddenly remembered she had something to show him. “Oh, do you have a moment?”

He nodded, and she led him back towards the side of the garden they kept constantly irrigated. They were the plants that required a more damp environment, and the upkeep was too much to do by hand. Before she’d come, Lucien had enchanted this area to be warmer than the others, and she’d transferred a few things here to start, namely, the first group of seeds she’d requested from Night.

They stopped in front of the bed, a variety of trees, vines, and smaller plants, already sprouting due to the magic around them. 

She saw the moment his eye focused in, familiarity seeping into his expression.

“Are these–these weren’t here before.” 

Elain nearly bounced on the balls of her feet. She pointed as she said the names, “Cardamom, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and black pepper.” She grinned as he turned from the plants to face her. “It’s for your tea. I know the spice blend is the one you always choose when you visit–” She cut herself off.

She could have smacked herself in the head. Color flooded her cheeks. She must sound insane to know the type of tea he took when she’d gone to such lengths to avoid his visits.

But watching him stand here and blink as she’d said the words, as though no one had ever cared enough to do something just for him before, her heart pounded like it was trying to escape from her chest. Lucien deserved someone who would care for him loudly. Had he ever had that? Someone he hadn’t needed to hide? The realization hit her with such stunning solidity that it nearly took her breath from her chest–she wanted to be that person so badly. She wanted to give him everything, see this look on his face each day. 

It was getting harder and harder to hold on to that one sad vision–a single scene that had been tethering her now for two years. Perhaps things could change. Plenty of visions never came to pass, circumstances changing before anything ever materialized. And she hadn’t had the vision once since she’d arrived here. Maybe coming back here had shifted something. Maybe…

He cleared his throat, and Elain blinked back to the present.

To his credit, he didn’t call her out. He just looked back at the assortment of plants. “Elain…Thank you. No one’s ever…” He trailed off, brushing his fingers over the leaves of the evergreen. “Thank you.”

She cleared her throat, suddenly unsure of if perhaps she shouldn’t have shown him. “Oh, it’s nothing. Truly.” The silence swallowed the air between them. “Was there something you’d come to ask?”

“Oh, yes. I wanted to see if you felt like training today instead of tonight. I didn’t want to keep you up all night and have you tired for the trip tomorrow.” He seemed to register the double meaning in the words just as she did, a wicked smile hitting his face as the surprise registered across hers. 

“Of course. I’m already dressed for it. Just let me wash my hands.”

Training in the midday sun was much different than training at night, and even though it was still winter, the warmth of the enclosed courtyard paired with the sun’s ray had sweat pouring down Elain’s back. They’d started on defensive moves just a few days before, but now she wasn’t sure she wanted Lucien anywhere near her like this. Especially not with the horrifying fae ability to scent absolutely everything. It was already enough that she had to fight for her life every day to keep the scent of her arousal under control while Lucien paraded around shirtless. But now she’d have to do that with the added measure of him topless and sweating, all the while hoping she didn’t smell like a bag of garbage.

She was currently working on maneuvering herself so she didn’t need to touch him at all. He’d been so respectful since she’d been here, always careful, but with these defensive moves, they had to move in closer proximity. She could only place so much distance between them, and it wasn’t easy to ignore the way her body rioted against the distance.

Apparently, today, Lucien was feeling bold, the heat of the day and the heat between them lowering both their inhibitions. 

“Come on, Elain. You have to actually touch me if we're going to train.” She huffed, blowing a loose hair off her sun-reddened cheek and glaring halfheartedly at him. 

“I am touching you,” she growled, trying to fall back into the position he’d put her in while simultaneously trying to ignore the glimmer of his hair as it caught in the sun. 

Gods, he was beautiful.

“Then why are you acting so flighty about it? I don't bite.” The look in his eyes was pure challenge, his brows raising in a bet. The glint of his canines caught her eyes as he shot her a feline smile, and she tried not to think about how they’d felt running across her pulse point in the dream. Tried not to think anything about him at all. The subtext was there: but I would if you asked.

Elain wasn’t sure what possessed her, but she wanted to be bold, too.

She scoffed. “If you would keep your distracting dreams under control, perhaps we wouldn’t have these problems.” Lucien's composure broke then, a laugh barreling out of him as he dropped all pretense and abandoned his fighting stance. Elain was shocked into stopping, as well, the surprise clear as day across her face. When he'd finally stopped laughing, his eyes opened to meet hers across the space between them, suddenly aware of how close they were. His gaze could only be described as something hungry, and Elain’s heart flipped to see it. 

He took a step towards her, unhurried and purposeful, then another, the already tight space between them closing in. She froze like an animal in a trap as he halted in front of her, near enough to feel his breath on her neck and the resulting explosion of goosebumps across her skin as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. 

“Those dreams aren’t mine.” 

“What?” The word rushed out, breathless and sharp. 

“Those dreams where we’re together? Those are your dreams, Elain. Not mine. I’m just your willing participant.” 

And then he pulled abruptly away, Elain feeling his cold absence like the sun sliding behind the clouds. “See you at dinner, Elain,” he tossed over his shoulder with ease, sounding so pleased with himself that Elain just stood in the bright sun, shocked entirely into silence.

+++

Taking a bath hadn’t helped matters at all, and by the time she emerged, the sun was already sinking low beneath the horizon. She’d joined for cards and drinks most nights since the first, going straight into the living room with them after dinner though not imbibing quite as intensely. Still, after today, she was looking forward to it. 

Elain was pleasantly surprised to find things weren’t awkward with Lucien at all, and the conversation seemed mostly driven by Vassa asking about Summer Court. Elain listened with rapt attention, absorbing all the details that he shared about the beaches, the palace, and the architecture. As the drinks flowed, Elain consuming far more than she’d planned, his stories got more animated and detailed, and Elain thought she might be able to listen to him talk for hours. 

She’d never noticed how much he spoke with his hands, his expressions carrying the rest of his story. He was so into sharing the experience that his joy and excitement bubbled over and carried straight into Elain’s own veins. She distantly wondered through the pleasant haze of the alcohol if she could, in some way, actually be feeling those emotions of his through their unfinished bond. She knew so embarrassingly little about mating bonds–never wanting to ask him or her sisters for fear of giving anyone false hope. But now, now , she lamented knowing almost nothing about how they worked. She wasn’t sure when it had started feeling less like a confusing burden and more like a precious gift, but here in the firelight, watching Lucien speak amongst his friends, that golden cord vibrating in her chest, she finally admitted it to herself. Elain was a goner for Lucien. 

Even through the blurry thrall of alcohol, Elain knew it was time for her to make decisions. She couldn’t keep doing this to him–couldn’t keep doing this to herself, either. 

Her world tilted a bit as she stared at him, the urge to touch him so strangely strong in this moment. The dreams hadn’t been his, but hers. She’d wanted him so much that she’d dreamed of the things she wouldn’t let herself have, and she’d dragged him into those dreams with her. Not that he seemed like he minded, but Elain wasn’t sure whether to be more embarrassed or aroused at the thought. Her mind spun–she needed air.

She excused herself quietly, walking through the kitchen and out past the faelights into the courtyard, stealing deep breaths and sitting down on one of the stone benches. The stars were just as bright tonight, not a cloud in the sky. In moments like this, parts of her missed Velaris and her sisters. But still, she had no interest in leaving. She wanted to be here, and more than that, she wanted to be with Lucien. 

She could think of no more reasons to keep holding back. She wanted this–wanted him–so badly, and she couldn’t spend the rest of her life making herself miserable for nothing. She would tell him when they returned from Summer, and the rest would be up to him and fate.

As though the decision had been heard by the bond in her chest, it settled into a gentle, soothing hum as she closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the wall behind her.

She heard the door open and close beside her, assuming Lucien had come to find her. But as soon as the scent of pine and cedar hit her, she knew it was Jurian who had come outside. He sat beside her on the bench, and she turned her head and cracked a single eye open, the world spinning slightly.

“You alright?” he asked, oddly sincere compared to his normal gruff and teasing tone.

“I think I drank too much.” Elain was interrupted by a hiccup, pressing her fingers to her mouth to suppress the giggle that bubbled up.

He laughed, leaning his head back too and looking up.

Elain hadn’t spoken much to Jurian one-on-one, but she didn’t hold any bad feelings. Since becoming fae, she’d spent so many moments learning that the world wasn’t split into good and bad, black and white. Jurian was not the villain in her story any more than Feyre or Rhys or Lucien was. In fact, Jurian was one of only two people who might truly understand the way that Elain felt. She certainly had never spoken to Nesta about it. The alcohol in her veins made her bold.

“Do you ever dream of the Cauldron?” She didn’t look at him again, and the quiet stretched so long that she wondered if he wouldn’t respond at all.

“Not as much anymore, with Vassa here, but sometimes.” She nodded at his somber response. If nothing else, the way he loved Vassa would convince her that he wasn’t a bad person. “You?”

“No. Not so much. She talks to me, sometimes.” Not for the first time, Elain wondered if she’d said too much about her powers. She’d withheld from telling her family that the Cauldron spoke to her in her visions sometimes, knowing the look she’d receive–that endless concern like a single touch might shatter her into pieces that would never fit back together again. 

Instead, Jurian just hummed beside her. 

“I went in willingly. Well, as willingly as I could. I wanted my life back–or for it to be gone completely. I couldn’t live the way I had been anymore. I figured if it didn’t work, at least I would be free.” 

Elain couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through, and for centuries. 

“I never apologized to you, Elain. And I should have. Long before you came here, I should have.”

She supposed he hadn’t, but after everything, she hadn’t really blamed him. He’d been on their side, or at least not on Hybern’s. The words were still nice to hear. At one point, she would have held it against him, but things were different now. Without being Made, she would be living such a different life. And now, after everything, Elain was certain the life that had awaited her as a human wouldn’t have made her happy.

“We were all just trying to survive, Jurian. I don’t hold it against you. But I appreciate it.”

After more quiet, Elain’s head pleasantly swimming behind closed eyes, Jurian spoke again. “I still feel like I ruined your life.” At that, she did turn to look at him, his eyes fixed on her and filled with unmistakable regret. “I’m happy now–happy here with Vassa–and so often I feel I don’t deserve it for all the things I’ve done.”

Had this guilt been eating him alive?

“Jurian, you and I both know it isn’t that simple. I forgive you. There is nothing to feel undeserving about in regards to me.” And she was somewhat surprised to find how vehemently she meant it. “We were both put into the Cauldron, and we’ve both made mistakes.”

“Yes, but you were good before–wholly good. I was already well on my way to becoming a monster.” There was a self-hatred in Jurian’s somewhat slurred words that she’d never heard before. 

“You’re no monster,” she replied, and he scoffed but said nothing else.

“When we were poor, I never helped Feyre. Not once. I should have, and I didn’t. And then, I let Nesta take all the blame for it after.” The words tumbled from her, words she’d never spoken aloud and never intended to. “No one expected anything of me, so no one blamed me. And I knew that, and I still let them. Your crimes were committed during a war against enemies. You committed them fighting for a cause. My crimes were against my sisters, my own blood, and I committed them simply because I didn’t know how to be useful and I didn’t care to learn.”

Jurian’s eyes hadn’t left hers as she spoke, and she could feel her own welling with sharp tears. 

“I made those choices, and still no one blames me except myself. I will carry that guilt with me forever. So if anyone is a monster here, it’s me. I don’t know why I did it.” She swiped roughly at a tear that had rolled down her cheek. “I worry sometimes that I don’t deserve happiness either. That my punishment is the other shoe just waiting to drop. I have denied myself so much for so long because of it, and it made me miserable. So I am telling you that I forgive you, Jurian. You’ve suffered enough–don’t punish yourself, too.”

Jurian was silent, and she pretended not to see the silver in his own eyes and she shut hers and leaned her head back again. She felt shaky after her confessions in the dark, but she also felt strangely lighter.

She spoke again while the adrenaline still coursed through her, needing to say the words out loud to someone. “These weeks here have been the best I can remember since, well, ever. Even before, I don’t think I was happy.”

This time, Jurian wasn’t silent. “You can stay as long as you want, Elain. We like having you here.” He cleared his throat. “It’s not because of what you can do or out of any obligation to Night. It’s not even just because of Lucien, though perhaps you're not the only one who's been markedly happier the last few weeks. We just like having you here. We like you.”

She couldn’t answer, just reached down and found his hand, squeezing it in hers. He squeezed back, his palm warm and calloused, but missing the way that her skin sizzled when it was Lucien’s hand in hers. 

Still, the two sat in the quiet, a peace over them both that they hadn’t come searching for tonight but had gotten anyway. 

[maximotts]

Just a quick milf Wanda thought because I’m homosexual and I need to write this. Pls ignore that I had this queued for Wednesday and put it back in my drafts because of that creepy anon I got, here be the thing 💖

cw for implied smut and lingerie shopping, but there’s nothing truly explicit in this, just Wanda being flirty

Wanda asking you to run a few errands for her because she’s unexpectedly busy with the boys since Vis decided to come pick them up around dinner instead of lunch. And yeah, maybe you had a few things to do with your Saturday already, but she sounded so overwhelmed on the phone.

You could just picture Wanda slumped against the kitchen wall watching Billy and Tommy run circles around her, her sentences rushed as she tried her hardest to be quick with giving you the list of places she needed you to stop by, “Oh, for the last stop, be a peach and pick something out for me. I trust your judgment.”

She said it so innocently, you hadn’t thought of anything of it, noting her errands and setting off to start your drive around town. Each time you mentioned to a shop’s person you were you were picking something up for Ms. Maximoff, their face lit up, perfectly agreeable to help you grab whatever she asked for and praising your helpful nature.

The last place was in the next town over, a small store you’d never paid much attention to. The second you stepped through the door, you realized why.

It wasn't that the lingerie store was tacky or crude, but you certainly felt underdressed in your denim cutoffs amongst the lavish mannequins. You could barely make eye contact with the shop owner while trying to ask for Wanda's order, the older women clearly amused with your struggle.

Upon revealing there was nothing set aside for her, a reminder of Wanda's words mortified you: pick something out for me. For her. Lingerie... for Wanda. On your judgement. To your albeit limited knowledge, the only person she’d worn anything like this for lately was you.

Steam had to be blowing from your ears. If not for the fear of disappointing her, you would've run away.

Suddenly each outfit was visible on Wanda and not only was it impossible to pick, the process of being shown all the details and advantages of every choice by the shop owner left your face hotter than the sun.

As soon as you pick one, you put the purchase on Wanda's tab and sprint with the box to your car. The drive home only makes your anxiety rise, wondering if and how to present it to her, hoping your taste in lingerie isn't offensive; there were way too many racing thoughts.

Finally you settle on just putting the box on her bed and busying yourself with putting as many things from your errands away as you could. But by the time Wanda comes back that evening, you're wondering why you lingered in her empty house for so long. She hadn't asked you to do anything more than complete some tasks for her, certainly not to lurk without purpose.

Wanda doesn't care, thinks it's sweet you'd wait for her return instead of running off to some party on Saturday night. "Here to keep me company, sweet pea?"

You figure saying no sounded rude and it gave you an excuse for being in her home still so you went along with it, rattling off the completed list of tasks and explaining what you'd put where just in case you were wrong about anything. If Wanda noticed how you left out the last shop, she didn't say anything, granting you a bright smile and pulling you in for a kiss that made your heart melt.

"I'll go change into my house clothes, then we can curl up and watch a movie. Give me ten minutes!" As soon as you heard Wanda shut her bedroom door, you remembered the box you left at the end of her bed and you waited with baited breath for a scream, a gasp, any indication that she'd opened the package at all... but none came.

For some amount of painfully long minutes, you heard nothing, leaving you stone still on the sofa, feverishly wiping your clammy hands over your legs. And then, finally, her voice called out from upstairs, "Come up here, please. I need your help!"

She didn't sound mad, just... normal. You didn't know what to expect as you climbed the carpeted stairs, but then as you turned the corner you saw Wanda standing in her bedroom doorway, grinning as she toyed with the sleeve of her new dark blue gown. "So this is the kind of thing you want to see me in?"

The actual dress was a little shorter than she typically wore, ending at her upper thigh, and much lower cut, accenting the slight push the bodice's corseted fit gave her chest. "It was a hard decision. You'd look beautiful in the whole store."

"Well aren't you a charmer," Wanda beckoned you closer from where you fidgeted in place, drawing you in until you were mere inches away. "Let me pay you back for all your hard work today, sweetheart. I'll even show you how to take me out of this once I get tired of wearing it."

[justmystyles]

Now You're In My Life - Part 9

catch up here

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: you and Harry have dinner with your family.

warnings: a couple of curse words, but other than that, it's tame.

a/n: this is a very silly fluffy chapter, not going to lie. hope you enjoy it!

*i say it's a plus size reader, while i don't focus a lot on that aspect (because your size should not define you), it will come up, so i just wanted to be upfront about it.

tags: @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @lexiecamposv @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

“Are you sure we’re not underdressed?” Harry asked, as you drove through the streets of your hometown. 

You smiled over at him, squeezing his hand, which had been linked to yours for the entire ride. “Promise. My sister and I always coordinate for family dinners. We decided to use tonight as the inaugural run for our new track suits.” Your eyes travel over him, appraising his outfit. “Yours isn’t an exact match, but at least you had something on theme.” 

“Yes, well I didn’t have much warning.” He joked before turning his attention back to the road.

After sitting in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Harry brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing them softly. “I love you, girlfriend.” 

Your heart fluttered as your gaze traveled to Harry. Even though you could only see his profile, the content look on his face was possibly the best sight you had ever seen. “I love you too, boyfriend.” You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to hearing him say it, but you were certain you’d never grow tired of it. 

“So what exactly am I in for here?” Harry asked. “Will your dad be giving me a proper interrogation?” 

“Oh,” you paused thinking it over for a minute. “I actually have no idea. I’ve, well I never…”

“Am I the first guy you’ve brought home?” He asked incredulously. 

You simply shrugged in reply. “Right there, take a right,” you change the subject, pointing out your parent’s driveway. 

Harry pulled in, putting the car in park, you tried to remove your hand from his, but he only squeezed tighter. “Hey,” he tugged your arm gently, you looked up at him in response. “This is kind of a big deal, being the first guy you bring home to your parents. I want you to know that I don’t take that lightly.” 

“Yeah, well you didn’t give me much of a choice. You kind of invited yourself.” You say, trying to lighten the moment. 

Harry smirked and shook his head. “Fine, get out of the car. I’ll come back for you in a couple of hours.” 

“No way, Jose. You RSVP’d, no turning back now.” 

Harry’s expression sombered as he leaned in, resting his hand on the side of your neck, stroking his thumb over your cheek. “Don’t wanna turn back. Only forward, only with you.” He loved the back and forth the two of you shared, but he was also desperate for you to be more open and vulnerable with him. He had gotten a taste of it earlier in the day, and he wanted more.

Overwhelmed by his sincerity, you surged forward, pressing your lips against his, deepening the kiss immediately. You lingered like that before Harry pulled back with a chuckle. “Let’s put a pin in that for later, princess. Don’t know that meeting your parents half hard would make the best first impression.” 

“Valid.” You giggled, kissing him on the nose before reaching to unbuckle your seatbelt. 

“And don’t you dare touch that door young lady,” he chastised. 

“I know, I know. Always a gentleman.” You sighed sarcastically. 

Harry comes around, opening your door and helping you out of the car. Your eyes immediately travel to the front window, you see your parent’s faces quickly disappear behind the curtain. You laugh to yourself, you know your family too well. 

You turn the doorknob, stepping into the split level ranch home you grew up in, an instant wave of nostalgia and comfort washing over you. You can see your dad straight ahead in the kitchen, putting together a cheese plate, you glance to the right, your mother sitting on the couch. You couldn’t see her fully with the Christmas tree in the way, but you were sure she was trying to act nonchalant as if you didn’t just catch her gawking at you through the window. 

At the top of the stairs, your family dog is waiting for you, tail wagging uncontrollably. “My sweet little Dubby, my favorite family member.” 

“Heard that,” your mother shouted. 

“You were supposed to.” You snap back. 

Harry chuckles at the exchange. You stop halfway up the stairs so that you are eye to eye with the dog, you cradle her face in your hands, speaking in baby talk to her. 

“Um… love, are you sure she’s not going to bite you in the face?” Harry asks, a little unnerved at the Dalmatian’s teeth on full display. 

You look at him with a furrowed brow before turning your attention back to Dubby. “Oh no no no, she’s smiling! She smiles at me every time I come home!” 

Harry nods and approaches the dog cautiously, still not fully convinced. He holds his hand out, she gives it a quick sniff before licking it and placing her head underneath, encouraging him to give her pets which he eagerly takes her up on. 

“See, you’re in.” You pat him on the back before continuing up the stairs, entering the main living space, Harry following behind. 

“I’m here,” you announce. “I see Mel’s late as usual.” 

“Hey, kiddo.” Your dad comes out from the kitchen, wrapping you in a hug. “Not yet, we told her to be here later.”

“We wanted to meet your guest first.” Your mother continues as she steps up to you.

“Oh, that was actually kind of a genius move.” You nod your head in approval before hugging your mother. When you step out of the embrace, you take a deep breath before linking hands with Harry. “So, mom, dad, this is my boyfriend, Harry.” You feel yourself blush slightly. It was the first time you got to introduce him as your boyfriend, and it just felt right. 

Harry squeezed your hand gently, also loving the feeling of hearing you claim him like that, before letting go to greet your parents. “Mister and misses Y/L/N, it’s a pleasure.” He reaches out, shaking each of their hands. 

“Please,” your mother waves off his formalities. “David and Tina.” 

Harry nods in understanding as your parents lead you both to the couch. You take a seat and Harry sits down beside you, taking your hand instantly. 

“Drinks?” Your father offers.

“Water, please.” You say with a smile. 

“I’ll take the same.” Harry says. Your father nods and retreats to the kitchen. As your mother takes a seat in an adjacent armchair. 

“So, I must admit,” she begins. “You’re definitely much more normal looking than we expected.” 

Your free hand immediately flies to your face. “Starting out strong.” You mumble. Harry chuckles and leans into you, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I’m just saying,” your mother holds her hands up defensively. “We’ve never seen any of the guys you’ve dated. We just assumed they were those dirty boys with long hair and tattoos all over the place. Boys who call themselves musicians.” She uses air quotes around the word musicians. 

You and Harry exchange a look, trying not to laugh. She was practically describing him now, and definitely describing him a couple of years ago. 

“So Harry, what do you do for a living?” Your dad asks as he returns with a tray of drinks, placing them down on the coffee table in front of you. 

A single bark of laughter escapes you. You turn to face Harry with an arched brow, waiting with baited breath for his answer. 

“Well, I have my hand in quite a few things actually, I own a couple of busin–”

“No no no,” you interrupt him. “Not all the side hustles, your actual job. And maybe you should take your jacket off while you tell them.” 

He narrows his eyes playfully at you. He knew once they understood what he did and who he was, it would be different. But he didn’t want to just come out and say he was a multi platinum recording artist. 

The conversation was mercifully interrupted by the opening of the front door. “You guys always complain that I’m late, so look at me showing up early.” Your sister announces as she comes up the stairs, greeting the dog on her way by. She freezes in her tracks when she sees you and Harry sitting on the couch. “Why the fuck is Harry Styles in our house?” 

“Wait, why does that name sound familiar?” Your mother asks. 

“Because he’s like one of the most famous singers in the world,” your sister replies. “He was in that band, One Direction. You know? The poster on my wall?” 

You smirk, reminding yourself to thank your sister for the perfect setup. “Yeah, you know he’s the musician on the poster with long hair and tattoos?”

Your parents’ faces turn beet red at the revelation. “I’m very sorry, Harry. We didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” He assures your parents. “You just want the best for your daughter. I want the best for her too.” He turns to you and smiles. “Though, perhaps I went for the wrong sister if she’s the one with the poster of me.” He chuckled, standing to shake your sister’s hand.

“Nope, you got the right one.” Your sister assured him. “You’d be barking up the wrong tree here.” You and your parents laugh, your sister has always been particularly blunt. 

Harry nods in understanding as you stand, greeting your sister with a hug. 

“This explains why you were so distracted when I called the other night.” Your sister observed.”Watermelon sugar, am I right?.” She winked and nudged you with an elbow making you and Harry giggle. 

“What does that mean?” Your parents ask simultaneously. The three of you freeze, your eyes went wide, head snapping over to see Harry blushing. Your sister slaps her hand over her mouth. 

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” You say quickly. 

Your mother sighs. “You never want to explain anything to us. We’re not young and cool, we don’t just know things.” 

“I am not explaining what it means.” You shoot daggers at your sister, silently cursing her for bringing it up. 

“Oh,” a moment of realization washes over your mother. “It’s a sex thing, isn’t it?” 

“JESUS!” You shout, covering your face in your hands. You spread your index and middle fingers slightly so that you can see Harry, whose face is a deep crimson from embarrassment. 

“Nevermind, I don’t want to know anymore!” Your father throws his hand up in defeat and walks back into the kitchen. 

You take a deep breath, sinking back into the couch. “This is going great.” 

Harry plops down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him. “It’s alright princess, I think things are going just fine.” He kisses the top of your head. 

Your dad returns from the kitchen, handing your sister a drink. “Let’s all just start over,” he suggests. “Harry, how did you end up in the music biz?” 

You drop your gaze, shaking your head in embarrassment at your dad trying to sound cool. Harry laughs again, patting your thigh softly. “Well, I auditioned for this show X Factor when I was sixteen.” 

“Oh, Y/N and I used to watch that all the time!”

“You did?!” Harry says surprised, looking over at you in shock.

“Absolutely, it was appointment television for us. I loved listening to Y/N’s thoughts on the singers, she always knew what she was talking about. She has a good ear for music.” She smiled proudly at you. “Can’t sing for the life of her, but she has a good ear.” 

“And that’s why you’ll never hear me sing.” You say to Harry, before turning your attention to your mother. “He wasn’t on the one we watched though, he was on the UK one.” 

“No, we performed on the American one. A couple of times, actually.” He looks at you with a cocky grin. “Little miss ‘I never paid attention to One Direction’.”

“I obviously wasn’t paying attention if I don’t remember it happening.” You wink at him before turning back to your father. “What’s for dinner anyway? I didn’t smell anything when I came in.” 

As your father begins to explain that he called for pizza, listing off the different things he ordered, Harry leans in closely, speaking low enough for only you to hear. “You’ll be paying for that comment later, missy.” He warned as he playfully pinched your side. 

Despite the awkward start to the evening, things started to simmer down. Harry was getting along great with your family. You didn’t doubt he would for a second. Your dad and Harry seemed to be in a spirited competition to see who could tell the worst joke. You, your mother and your sister were the true losers of that battle. 

After dinner, everyone retired back to the living room except for your dad who made a stop off in the kitchen to light the candles and bring out your birthday cake. He lowered the lights and entered the room as your family and Harry sang happy birthday to you. You looked around the room, unable to contain your smile. You were glad you had never brought a guy home before. None of them would have fit in even half as well as Harry had. 

You looked over to him, he was singing with that wide, dimpled grin that you loved so much. You were so overwhelmed in that moment that you felt tears start to prick your eyes. Harry’s brow rounded in concern, you gave him a reassuring smile and thumbs up as the song ended. You turned back to the cake, blowing out the candles as the people closest to you in the world cheered for you. 

Once the flames were out, Harry pulled you close, placing a kiss on the top of your head and murmuring I love yous into your hair. Your family watched on fondly. They had never seen you so happy, and they were grateful for the boy that had permanently engraved the smile on your face. 

As you were sitting around enjoying your cake, your sister excused herself to the basement. She returned soon after with a familiar box. Your eyes went wide.

“Nope, no way, not happening.” You protested. Your parents laughed as Harry looked on trying to understand what was going on. 

“Absolutely! We always watch home movies and go through old pictures on birthdays.” 

“But this is different, I have a guest with me.” Your tone was pleading. You weren’t ready to be embarrassed on that level in front of Harry. Not yet. 

“Why don’t we leave it up to our guest?” Your mother suggested. 

Everyone looked at Harry expectantly, while his eyes locked on you. He grins, eyes never leaving yours as he answers. “I would love to see all of it.”

You cover your face with your hands and groan with defeat. He chuckles, grabbing your wrists and pulling them down as your sister sets up the videos. He leans in and places a kiss on your cheek. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your revenge when I bring you home to meet Mum and Gemma. I promise.” 

Your exasperated frown quickly became a smile. Everything had happened so quickly with Harry, that you hadn’t thought about going home with him to meet his family. But he clearly had. You got butterflies in your stomach knowing that he was excited for that to happen. 

You were pulled out of the moment by the sound of the television, you looked up to see your three year old self toddling through a petting zoo. “Oh man, you’re really going to start with this one?” You bury your face into Harry’s shoulder, and he wraps his arms around you, his eyes locked on the screen.

As the video continues you work your way around, pointing out animals to your mother who is holding the camera. For some reason, you considered every sheep and goat to be a cow, and informed your parents of that. As you approached one particular ‘cow’ it had its head down, eating some pellets. You bent over, likely to place a kiss on the top of its head, as you often did with your dog and cats at home, when it abruptly lifted its head, a horn butting you right in the nose. 

The room bursts into laughter, Harry included. He turns to face you, seeing that you’re trying to suppress your own laughter while giving him a faux stern look. He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to your pouted lips. 

The videos continued, and you knew what was happening. Because it was your birthday, and you had brought a guest, you were the main focus of the selections. There were more embarrassing moments, like the time you rocked too hard on a rocking horse and ended up falling off backwards, but there were also nice memories as well. Dance recitals, school plays, birthday parties and more. 

A video played from Christmas day when you were roughly eleven years old, the whole family was gathered at your grandparents house, and the camera panned around, getting shots of everyone. When they panned into the den, they found you teaching your grandmother the Macerena. You had recently learned it at your friend’s birthday, and you always loved showing your grandmother the cool new things. And she loved learning them from you. 

You watched on, subconsciously shifting, rubbing the tattoo on your left wrist. The tattoo you got for her. You feel Harry nudge you, and you look over to him, tears pooling in your eyes. It had been nine years since you lost her, but there wasn’t a day that went by where you didn’t think of her. There were so many moments in your life you wished you could have told her about, had her there for. So many things you felt like you still needed to learn from her. Harry cupped your cheek, brushing away a stray tear. He looked at you with a question in his eyes, mouthing the words ‘you okay?’ You nodded in response and sniffled, composing yourself before turning back to the screen. 

“Are you going to the cemetery tomorrow?” Your mother asks. 

You freeze, you had been so caught up in the bubble you had created with Harry over the last few days that you didn’t realize that the anniversary of her passing was the following day. “Oh, I didn’t think about it. I mean Harry’s only in town for a few days. Maybe I could go aft–”

“I don’t mind,” he interrupts. “I’ll go with you if you’d like.” 

“Yeah?” You look at him in question, he nods. “I would probably want to pick up my grandfather first, he’ll want to go.”

“Excellent, I can’t wait to meet him.” Harry assures you. 

“Okay then,” you say, turning back to your mother. “I guess I am.” You pause, looking back over to Harry and taking his hand. “I mean, we are.” 

Your parents watched the two of you fondly. They had always been concerned about the kinds of guys you were seeing, especially since you barely talked about them and never brought them around. But seeing you and Harry, how affectionate he was with you, how tender and kind, they knew that he was exactly what they had always wanted for you. 

The night went on a bit longer, you watched a few more movies and went through some pictures. As you were talking and reminiscing with your family, Harry listened with the utmost attention. He meant it when he said he wanted to know everything about you, and this whole night had been an amazing step in the right direction. 

At one point, when it came up that your parents had left your bedroom exactly as it was when you left for college, Harry insisted on seeing it. You took his hand, leading him down the hall to the last door on the right. 

“That door stays open, young lady!” Your mother shouted from down the hall. “No watermelon sugar!” 

“Moooommmmmm gross!” You hear your sister groan

You froze in your tracks, pinching the bridge of your nose. Harry chuckles, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. You open the door and step through. “Here it is.” 

Harry’s eyes sweep the area, taking in every detail. The walls are a pastel green, yellow and white gingham curtains match the sheets on the double bed. He runs his hand along the ornate carvings of the cream and gold headboard, and notices the matching desk and dresser. It’s definitely not the room he pictured for you, until he focuses on the wall decor. 

The first thing that catches his eye are the black angel wings hanging over the window, he then notices the posters, loaded with images of the kinds of guys your parents expected you to bring home. “It is definitely you. Perfectly punk rock princess.” 

“Yeah, well we did the full ‘big girl’ redesign when I was 12, and then my tastes changed, but my family’s budget didn’t, so we just added on.” You shrug. 

“I love it, really.” He assures you. “It’s like your beautiful brain exploded in here, it’s a little bit of everything I love about you.” He places his hands on your hips, you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck. 

“You know,” you say coyly. “You’re the first boy I’ve ever had in my room.” 

He arched a brow, and smirked. “Really?” You hummed in reply, and he pulled you closer, dropping his lips to yours, deepening the kiss instantly. 

You pull back, slapping his chest playfully. “Harry, my parents are right out there.” 

“Mmm,” he begins trailing kisses down your neck. “Now tell me we should be studying for the big test on Friday.” 

You burst out laughing, pushing out of his embrace. “You’re so fucking weird.” 

“You love it.” 

“Very much,” you look up at him, your expression softening. 

He links your fingers with his, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. “C’mon, let’s go home.” 

You nod in agreement, leading him out of your room. You both say your goodbyes to your family, Harry thanking your parents for their hospitality and promising to come back to see them next time he’s in town. You and your sister agree to get together soon.

“I think they really liked you,” you tell Harry in the car on the way home. 

“I really liked them,” he smiles. “Definitely felt like a part of the family.”

“Good,” you squeeze his hand. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for the rest of the ride home. You can’t help but let your mind drift off, thinking about how someday he may actually be your family. You know it’s way too early to be thinking like that, but you can’t and won’t stop yourself. You’re in love, and you don’t expect that to change any time soon.   

[jingyi-ma-boi]

Rule Nº1: Perform no unauthorised experiments

Alright, this is it.

Viktor steels himself with a deep breath, eyes closed for an instant, left hand moving before he second guesses himself as he uses his right hand to keep his leg in place. The metal of the injector has warmed with his own body heat, clammy with the nervous sweat from his hand. He doesn’t dwell on it, pulling the trigger and sinking the needle in a swift movement.

The high and the pain are instantaneous. All the muscles on his body becoming taught as if pulled by invisible strings, fire coursing through his veins, making his skin itch and prickle as if he was wearing the kind of wool that always made him want to tear his skin off. He wants to tear his skin off now too.

He’s curling in on himself, panting in an attempt to regain his breath— or at least, as much of it as he can, anyways. He doesn’t want to even think of how actual shimmer must feel like if this is the rush he gets from his own version of the medicinal kind.

Still out of breath, though not as much, Viktor can only lay his head down on his workstation. After the initial overwhelming sensation of the cold steel on his bare skin there’s sweet relief. He feels hot, underdressed down to his undergarments as he is. A couple of minutes come to pass, his breath evens out and he realizes that he needs to take note of everything.

Slight perceived increase in body temp. Mild exhaustion from the shock, rapidly decreasing.

It is with wide eyes and a sharp inhale that he notices the first, immediate effect.

Possible increased pulmonary capacity?

Viktor takes a deep breath. A really deep one and holds it in, before letting it out slowly. Nothing happens. Nothing happens.

Sweet Janna, breathing like that should immediately throw him into a coughing fit from the bronchitis he’s been battling these weeks. He hasn’t been able to breathe like this for years. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, looking around him into the lab. Just as deserted as it has been for the past six hours. Because it’s fucking two in the morning.

Frantic from the manic energy of what looks like his first breakthrough in months, and a rising hope that he tries and fails to tamp down for precaution’s sake, he takes two fingers to the pulse point under his jaw and begins counting under his breath. He reaches sixty without a hitch or skipped beat. He turns to look at the clock, waits for the second hand to reach the twelve and counts again.

Steady heart rate, 92bpm after 5” recovery period. Over 5% decrease from previous recordings of resting bpm. No apparent signs of previous arrythmias. Pending of further readings.

A few more seconds pass in the stillness of the night, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nothing happens. There’s only the sound of Viktor’s even breath, a soft cadence accompanied by the soothing moderato tempo of his heartbeat in his chest. Hope continues to bloom next to organs that seem to work properly for the first time in years as his lips stretch in a relieved grin.

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Pairing: Jayce/Viktor

Rating: E

4.2K words