#please shut the fuck up she has already gone through enough

[beanghostprincess]

I love Boa so much and people keep reducing her to the jokes about her crush on Luffy as if she wasn't literally a symbol of feminism and liberation from slavery and oppression.

[choerrypuffs]

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.” 

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier. 

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely. 

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson. 

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly. 

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.” 

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state. 

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.” 

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention. 

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support. 

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw. 

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?” 

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck. 

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod. 

.

.

.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer. 

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip. 

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood. 

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.” 

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.” 

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together. 

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw. 

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes. 

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks: 

“So, you’re hiring?” 

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question. 

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up. 

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias. 

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand. 

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say: 

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?” 

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu. 

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling. 

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.” 

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses. 

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?” 

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice. 

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.” 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup. 

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking. 

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.” 

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.” 

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.” 

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows. 

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.” 

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.” 

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in. 

But you don’t. 

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.” 

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you. 

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him. 

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday. 

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly. 

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand. 

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.” 

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease. 

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?” 

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.” 

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck. 

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh. 

“Pretty lame, right?” 

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.” 

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.” 

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently. 

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?” 

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.” 

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length. 

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Who else would I go with?” 

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately. 

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain. 

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.” 

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms. 

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile. 

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property. 

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.” 

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you. 

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt. 

“Oh my God, your face!” 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.” 

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.” 

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes. 

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself. 

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile. 

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod. 

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.” 

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.” 

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here. 

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh. 

“Why?” 

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you. 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.” 

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.” 

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that. 

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.” 

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away. 

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever. 

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.” 

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself? 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway. 

.

.

.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table. 

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice. 

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it. 

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms. 

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.” 

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.” 

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.” 

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.” 

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.” 

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too. 

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t. 

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now. 

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him. 

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay. 

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee. 

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold. 

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too. 

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?” 

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away. 

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself. 

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be. 

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise. 

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t. 

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff. 

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs. 

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.” 

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?” 

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?” 

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch. 

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.” 

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.” 

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?” 

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly. 

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him. 

But he steps back. 

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.” 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly. 

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.” 

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back. 

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.” 

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all. 

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you. 

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself. 

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless. 

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check. 

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.” 

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly. 

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.” 

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take. 

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about― 

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way. 

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.” 

You stare at him, still not sure how to react. 

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” 

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting. 

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?” 

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―” 

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath. 

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.” 

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?” 

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare. 

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich. 

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up. 

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace. 

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?” 

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.” 

[tpwk-formula1]

Kinktober Day 7 - Spanking - CL16, MV1

Charles Leclerc X Max Verstappen X Reader

TW - Spanking, punishment, double penetration, Mean Max, Mean Charles, Bratty reader, squirting, degrading terms

WC 2300+

Y/N POV

"Please, Charles! Max isn't home right now," I beg Charles for the third time in the past 10 minutes.

"Amour, you know damn well he will have both of our asses red if he finds out. Which he will," Charles tells me.

"Fine," I say while getting up with an eye roll. I make my way through our Monaco apartment with Leo hot on my trail before I make it into our shared bedroom where I find Jimmy and Sassy both happily sleeping in their cat tree.

I make my way to Max's side of the bed where I grab my favorite vibrator before quietly sneaking into our guest room and shutting the door behind me. Double checking to make sure the door is locked before stripping myself completely and making myself comfortable on the guest bed.

I decided if Charles wasn't gonna make me cum cause he wanted to be good then I would take matters into my own hands and deal with the punishment later. That is if I even get caught.

I'm not even 5 minutes into my solo session when I hear the front door open and Max announcing his arrive.

"Im home, liefde," Max announces making my anxiety peak a bit knowing exactly what is going to follow as soon as he realizes where I have gone off to and what I was doing.

At this point it was too late to turn back so I might as well make the most of it.

"Where is Y/N?" I can hear Max ask Charles while I have the vibe firmly places against my clit. I whine out at the sound of my boyfriend's voice knowing even if I find a way to cum in such a short amount of time it won't feel half as good as it would if it was Charles or Max.

"She's mad at me," Charles replies back to Max. I can only imagine the confusion that is starting to set in for Max. It was rare for me to be mad at either of the boys and even more rare to disappear when mad instead of solving the problem before it could get any worse.

"What did you do to her?" Max asks making me smile a little but it quickly drops when I remember my ass is about to be at his mercy.

"She's needy. Like so fucking needy. She begged me no less than 5 times to play with her in like a 10-minute span," Charles informs Max.

"So where is she?" Max questions again not understanding why I suddenly disappeared. I normally just continued to beg Charles knowing he would eventually break.

"I'm sure in our room. She kinda just got up and left," Charles tells him honestly. It's like I can feel the wheels turning in Max's head because no less than a second later I can hear both of my men pass the guest room door straight into our room. Then back to my door where I'm sure now that they are focusing their ears, they can hear the soft hum of the vibrator.

"Y/N you have 3 seconds to open this door!" I hear Max's loud voice ring out, making my anxiety reach an all-time high. It's not the bad kind of anxiety but the kind you feel waiting for the best roller coaster in the whole park.

Knowing my punishment is already going to be bad enough I truly don't want to test him, so I clip the power off of the vibrator and rush to open the door.

when I get the door open I find Max with his arms crossed over his chest and Charles is just shaking his head knowing it's about to be a long night because of my actions.

"Get on the bed on all fours and wait for us," is all Max says which has me a little more confused than anything. Normally when I'm about to get punished Max takes matters into his own hands and physically moves me where he wants me to be.

"Give her 30," Max tells Charles as soon as I'm situated and my ass is in the air waiting for the punishment. I have my head turned so I can watch them and I can see the confusion written all over his face.

"Why?" Charles asks clearly not excited to be the one to hand out the punishment. While Charles did occasionally dominate me he was always more about pleasure not pain.

"She wanted to play with you, not me," Max tells him like it was the most simple thing in the world.

"Max, please. You always punish us," Charles tries to reason still not understanding why it had to be him.

"Charles, you know how she is when she's needy. She's going to find a way to cum with or without either of our help. You left her alone, so you're serving her, her punishment is your punishment for letting her be alone long enough to get a toy and lock herself away in another room," Max tells him finally revealing his plan.

"Please Max, I do not want to hurt her," Charles tells Max letting his dow eyes droop a little more than normal.

"She fucking loves this shit Charles and you know it," Max tells him. I can see from here Charles is really fighting with himself. He was the good boy and did everything Max told him but this was new for him. He had never once been the one to dish out one of my punishments and he was struggling to grasp at the idea.

"Color, Charles," Max finally asks seeing the same things I'm seeing. While it was technically still a punishment we made these rules because we enjoyed the dynamic and regardless of it being a punishment or not we had safe words for a reason.

"Green," Charles finally answers softly while making eye contact with Max.

I watch as Max makes his way to the bed where strips down into nothing before sitting right in front of me just out of reach.

"No. Stay there and watch me," Max says when I try to crawl closer to him so I can take him into my mouth. I just let out a loud whine before settling in and waiting for my other boyfriend to dish out my punishment.

The first slap to my ass rings out through the room making me whine at the sudden contact.

"1" I softly count. When I felt another one it was on my other ass cheek making me gasp.

"2" I continue my counting.

"She thought this toy could make her cum just as good as we can," Max says in a teasing manner clearly enjoying watching his loves play.

"No, I just needed -" But couldnt finish my sentence before another slap was issued on my ass. One that had more force than the other too. It took me by such a surprise I lost my breath.

"3" I gasp out when I finally remember how to breathe again. While this wasn't the hardest spanking I had ever received I wouldn't have known it wasn't my dutch boyfriend if he wasn't sitting right in front of me.

"Give her 5 in a row," Max informs Charles making it clear that while Charles might be handing out the punishment he was still the one in charge.

The next five spanks rang out in the room making me whimper at each one.

"8" I count again once Charles finishes the quick 5.

"Fuck, Charlie. Too much," I whine due to how rough he was being. I loved every moment of it, was just shocked at how hard he was spanking me.

"Shut up, Cherie," Charles replies back laying another group of 3 slaps on my glowing ass.

"11" I gasp in surprise looking up at Max to find the same look of shock on his face.

I can feel Charles rubbing my ass in a rough yet soothing manner before his hand left my ass before raining down on my ass again.

"12" I say right before I felt another one ring out.

"13"

"14"

"15" I gasp lightly falling forward on the bed from the force of each slap no longer having the strength to hold myself up.

"Give her a second," Max tells Charles sternly when he aggressively grabs my hips to sit me back up.

Max leans forward stroking my hair while I let a few stray tears fall at the pain.

"Color, liefde," Max asks me making sure I'm still enjoying everything.

"green, Maxie," I whisper out before feeling another slap on my ass.

"16" I continue counting just like how I was trained to do.

I feel another series of slaps on my ass all directed in the same spot making each one hurt more than the one before.

"20" I finally gasp once I catch my breath from the shock of it all.

I start to feel a series of spanks reign down one my ass all in different spots this time all the while Charles is lecturing me.

"I can't believe you're brattiness got me in trouble. I was the fucking good one, you were the damn slut and now I'm in trouble," Charles says while finishing out my punishment.

"30" I cry out once the abuse to my ass has finished. As soon as Charles steps back from my ass I collapse on the bed and start crying softly. Not necessarily from the pain but from the fact that I had gotten Charles in trouble with me even though he had done all the right things.

I feel myself being pulled into the arms of one of my boyfriends and only know who it is from their smell.

"Amour, it's done," Charles says softly making me whine into his neck and gripping onto him a little harder.

"I'm sorry Charlie. Didn't know I would get you in trouble too," I mumble into his neck making him laugh a little.

"It's okay amour. I kinda liked watching your ass glow a beautiful shade of red from my hands. Like my own little art piece," Charles announces clearly proud of the work he had done.

When I finally come back to earth completely I lean over towards Max and pull him in for a kiss which quickly turned into him pulling me out of Charles's arms and into his lap where he instantly sinks his hard cock into my tight pussy. He slid in with almost no resistance simply from how soaked I was.

It didn't take Charles long to join us by slipping behind me where I feel his fingers slip into my ass using my own arousal to make it slick.

"Oh fuck," I moan out when I start bouncing on both Max's cock and Charles's fingers.

"Cum, you little slut," Max tells me which has me instantly shaking from the intensity of the orgasm I was having.

I'm not even fully recovered before I feel Charles slipping his cock into my ass stretching me even more.

"Fuck," I scream out from the stretch and burn I was feeling. They both allow me a few seconds to adjust to their size before they both start moving in me.

"So fucking tight. We spend so much time in these holes and you're still as tight as the first time we played with you," Charles whispers in my ear making me moan.

"Such a little whore, taking two cocks like you were made for it," Max whispers in my other ear, sending chills down my spine from his dirty words.

"Our little whore is about to cum again," Max announces as if Charles didn't know.

"Cum for us, Cherie," Charles tells me which has me letting go and falling over the edge. I feel myself start squirting all over the three of us. While I'm still squirting I try to pull myself off of their cocks but Max holds me in place and continues fucking me in a brutal pace making all of my juice stray all over.

"Next time you cum, it's gonna be when we fill you up with our cum," Charles tells me making me shake.

At their pace, I can feel myself growing close faster than I would have liked.

"Close," I gasp between moans.

"5" Max starts both Charles and I's cum count down. It wasn't something we did all the time but when we did Charles and I loved it knowing by 2 or 3 we are both ready to cum.

"4, both you little whore better hold it," Max grits out making it clear that he was also on the same edge we were on.

"3" Max finally says after what felt like forever even though it was probably only a couple of seconds.

"Please, Max" Charles moans out making it clear he wasn't gonna last much longer.

"2, Charles, you better fucking hold it," Max grits out again continuing his brutal pace on my pussy.

"1, cum for me," Max grits out which has all of us falling over the edge together. I can feel cum filling my ass and pussy helping me ride out the most intense orgasm of the night.

Once we all come down from the high of our pleasure, I feel Charles slowly slipping from my ass making me whine own from the burn of it.

"Sorry, Cherie," Charles whispers out once he's fully out. He leans down and gives the back of my head a couple kisses.

I slowly start climbing off of Max's dick making both of us hiss in from the sensitivity we were both going through.

We give ourselves a couple of minutes to regroup our thoughts before we start our aftercare routine. Which consists of plenty of kisses, reassurance, a shower, and of course plenty of cuddles with our fur babies.

[kushnovice]

Be Mine Again

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x ex! reader

Synopsis: Reader and Bucky have been broken up for a short time, fighting often and rarely seeing eye to eye. Bucky starts to fall into a bad mental space while a mission goes wrong.

wc: 2.8k

Warnings: fighting of all kinds, bucky being depressed and cold, angsty at the beginning, blood, choking, Zola being sadistic, not the best. if i made any mistakes please lmk :)

AN: Female reader, angst with little comfort (yet), lots of mistakes, self indulgent, it sucks but i had fun making it so i hope some people enjoy it. if so I'll write a part 2

"I broke my rules for you! I bended my morals for you, again! I had to change everything I believe in, yet again!" She yelled out at the tall and broad man in front of her as his hand tightened against his glass of ice water, jaw clenching.

The kitchen of the Avengers Tower was very cold and filled with tense air, thick enough to cut with a knife. Bucky deeply groaned as he placed his glass onto the table with a loud thud, "I never asked you to do that. I never asked you to care about me, you did that all yourself." Bucky's hand ran up into his hair showing how stressed out he is at the moment, he had never been one to enjoy fighting, actually he hated it. Almost as much as he hated her."Don't you care about me? About us?" She questioned with a huff as her arms swung to her hips. "Truth is," Bucky stood up, slowly walking toward her with each word, "I'm tired. So fucking tired of you that you always have been nothing more than an obligation." Bucky's lip raised in a scowl. The hurt was written on her face but immediately gone as she grumbled and pushed Bucky back by the chest. "I'm done helping you." She sucked in a breath, "Did it ever occur to you that your hurting me or are you just that selfish and arrogant?"

Before she could react, his glass that was once on the table was now shattering against the wall on the far side of the room as he stormed off quickly, slamming the door shut in the process. Bucky made his way through the winding hallways with his fists clenched tightly to the point his knuckles were white. He couldn't stand when she would act like this, after everything they had been through together, she had promised she would stay no matter what. She was always just like the others, except Bucky couldn't get her out of his mind.

Bucky swings open Steve's door and slams it behind him as he paces back and forth through Steve's room. Steve sighed as he placed his book to the side on his bed and looked at Bucky. "What happened this time?" Bucky groaned deeply, "I told her about the mission we are going on later this week and she flipped out on me." He grabbed a workout dumbbell off the ground and started to work out his human arm by doing bicep curls. "She keeps telling me that she can't deal with me trying to track down and kill every single person that was ever or is currently apart of Hydra, that this mission we are going on is a trap." His breath becomes uneven as says breathy words under his tongue as his annoyed attitude has not faltered in the slightest. Steve rolled his eyes at the drama going on between the not so couple right now. "You do realize that she's scared of losing you, especially more since she's already lost you as a partner." Steve sighed deeply, being the person that both of them had come to confide in about their problems. "And with the Hydra thing, it's tricky because I know you want to move past it, and it was such a hard time of your life but there are better ways to grow past it, Buck." Steve talked softly as his kind blue eyes pierced through Bucky, hoping he would accept his words of advice but seeing how Bucky was instantly throwing the weight around as if it weighed nothing due to his anger, Steve knew Bucky wasn't truly hearing him.

Bucky dropped the weight at Steve's words, "Better ways, huh. there're better ways for everything but does that mean it's always achievable? No." Bucky looked at Steve almost desperately, "I don't want to lose her but if I don't do this, I feel like I might lose myself." Bucky sighed as he looked at the weight on the ground before picking it back up again. "What's rule number 3, Buck?" Steve asks knowing how Bucky's rage and trauma is having a profound impact on his own mental health. "What would they think about you after you murder them all?" Steve questions, knowing that if Bucky were to kill them then people would believe that Bucky was the Winter Solider still, or just a cold killer."Who cares, they took everything from me. They took me away from myself." Bucky stormed out of Steve's room in frustration and made his way to his room with loud footsteps as he carried his empty duffle bag.

Bucky's mind was whirling with angry thoughts about how no one understands him and the one person that did, was no longer a happy part of his life. He angrily shoves his clothes and weapons as well as his dog tags and anything else he would need into his duffle bag. Bucky fit everything he needed perfectly into his duffle bag and sat it by the door before he slouched down onto his bed. He rubbed his temple as he exhaled a deep sigh, wishing he could understand life like he did back in the 40's.

"If you feel it so necessary to risk your life so that you can battle an internal fight, then I'm coming too." She swung the door open as she placed down her duffle bag with confidence and stubbornness. Bucky groaned and ran his hands through his hair again, stressed out, knowing that she won't back down. "If you keep doing that, you'll go bald before you're ancient." She giggled snarky as Bucky narrowed his eyes at her seriously. "If you're coming, you're staying in the plane. Eyes in the sky." She rolled her eyes but stayed silent knowing that putting up another fight was worthless.

They made their way to the airplane with slow steps as the tension around them stayed present even in the silence as they walked feet from each other. Bucky's eyes were unable to focus on anything other than her, her hair, her body, her clothes, the way she held herself. He knew he shouldn't think about her like this after their no so soft break up but he couldn't help himself. He was snapped out of it when Steve talked to him on the plane, "Buck, why is she joining us?" He asked as he looked at her getting comfortable in a seat on the plane as if it was her mission to be on. Bucky sighed, "I didn't want to fight her anymore. She will stay on the plane the whole time." Steve nodded in understanding, "We got this." Bucky chuckled, "As long as you don't blow the whole thing trying to 'save the world'" Steve chuckled along with him. The plane ride was silent as they quickly made it to the main hydra headquarters with Steve occasionally talking about the mission and the plan.

When they arrive at the place, Steve and Bucky easily jump out of the plane, landing exactly where they needed too to be at the top of the Hydra roof. She got comfortable on the plane with the coms on, cameras on, and trackers on but she couldn't settle the anxiety creeping up her spine. She tried to push it down as she figured that since she was watching and listening to them and that nothing would go wrong. That's what she had wished for, but not all dreams come true.

After the two men had entered the building, an alarm went off causing the rooms to blare nosies and lights to shine red and white in an emergency. They quickly move to the wall, Bucky had his gun up as his eyes glared through the top of the barrel with intense focus as he lead them through the hallway while Steve had his shield up as well as his arm to help brace himself for any situation that could happen. The lights continued to strobe with the blaring alarm as they swiftly and quietly made their way through the headquarters. As Bucky rounded a corner, there was a Hydra solider waiting for them. He fired his gun quickly multiple times causing bullets to go into his shoulder, his arm, and his stomach. Steve quickly threw his shield at the Hydra solider causing him to go unconscious and drop to the floor with a thud. "Buck?" Steve turnt around quickly as he grabbed Bucky's shoulders to help him stay up as he is loosing a lot of blood.

"What's going on?" She asked through the coms as the anxiety in her stomach started to bubble up yet again. "Why aren't you guys moving?" She impatiently waited for an answer as she tapped her fingertips against the desk, staring at the screen of their tracker and trying to find them on the camera system. "Everything's fine," Bucky growls out in a snap. Over the coms she can hear Steve groan, "Bucky got hit, three times." he explains to her and while his words are processing, her heart beat increases dramatically. "I'm fine." Bucky growled out as he continued to make his way down the hallway with Steve closely behind him. She watches as the dots move slowly down the hallway on the tracker, Her anxiety roaring.

Suddenly the screen starts to glitch out, becoming unreadable entirely. She began to panic internally as she starts to talk on the coms, "what's goin' on?" She asks to no response but loud sounds like a frequency is blocking communication. She groans deeply as her anxiety is coming up through her stomach and settling at her chest as she makes her way up and slings a gun around her torso to make her way out of the plane which is now landed at the waiting point. She runs through the clearing and gets to the door, trying to open it to no avail, she uses her body weight next to slam against the door, again to no avail. Sounds of yelling and screaming stop her in her tracks as the anxiety now feels like an elephant sitting on her chest. Looking around, she spot a window and she uses the back gun barrel to break the glass, making sure it's safe before she climbs inside. When she gets inside it is dark and eerily quiet, she cautiously take slow and soft steps and she keeps her gun up on guard as she search's for Steve and Bucky. She shoves open a door which reveals a pitch dark room, She is hesitant to go in until She hears Bucky whimpering in the darkness. She quickly makes her way inside, "Buck?" She whispered as the door shuts behind her, she hears the door click causing her to turn back to the door to see someone outside the door flick the lights on to reveal Bucky on the ground bleeding out from multiple injuries, she ran up to him immediately.

"Oh Buck..." She sighed deeply and she glare up at the person behind the door. The mysterious person presses a button with a smirk before they turn and makes their way out of eyesight from her. She hears a hissing sound causing her to look up to see a gas coming out of a huge vent in the room, the barley visible smoke filling the floor as it causes Bucky to cough an incredible amount and making his injuries worse. The smoke filled the room and eventually her lungs as she can feel the smoke burning her airway. She coughs violently in sync with Bucky, trying to stay conscious and aware but it becomes more challenging as the world starts spinning and her eyes get heavier. Bucky suddenly stops coughing causing her to know that he fell victim to the gas, she tried to fight it as long as possible as she held herself up against a table but still inevitably fail as she fell to the ground with a loud thud as she went unconscious.

When she woke up, everything was groggy and the room is spinning and her chest feels heavy with more than just anxiety. She groaned out in pain when she turn to look around to see her hands and legs tied up to the arms and legs of a chair while she was also tied around the torso. Turning her head, she saw Bucky sitting there tied up the same as her, him still unconscious though. "Bucky!" She whisper shouted trying to get him awake, whispering his name loudly multiple times in hopes of him waking up. "Bu-" She gets interrupted by the sound of a door opening causing her to fall silent as she watches the darkness to see someone emerge from it. "Well, Well, Well. Look what we have here. The world's most dangerous assassin..." The person walks towards us to reveal its Zola dressed in his white coat. "And his little toy." Zola smirks at us. "What do you want with us? Bucky isn't under your control anymore." She speaks deeply and firmly even through the anxiety and fear that is ever so present. Zola chuckles at her question as he leans down and grabs Bucky's unconscious face, holding his face up by the chin, his fingernails digging into Bucky's cheek, leaving red to glow off of Bucky's face. "I want him." Zola lets Bucky's face go with no regard for him. His head falls back down as Zola shifts his attention back to her. "I can't have him with you around. With you here. He has something to fight for." Zola leaned in close enough to her face that she could smell him the smell of rubber and overpriced Calonge on his body, he smelt like fake money. "I'm going to make him lose everything. Anything he loved or ever will love in the future, I will destroy."

Zola pushed some of the hair that had fallen in front of her face behind her ear, "And that starts with you, Darling." Zola had a maniacal smile on, his twisted face that contorted the anxiety in her stomach from anxiety into fear and anger. Her anxiety and fear had instantly turned into rage as Zola kept speaking, her jaw clenching and veins popping out of her neck and forehead. "I'll kill you." Her voice growls deeply with hatred as she struggled against the restraints roughly with harsh movements. Zola couldn't help the chuckle that escapes his lip. "Or you'll die trying, sweetheart." He exclaimed with a smirk on his face, "You'll be fun to play with." Zola runs his fingers softly down her face as she holds a scowl and her eyes bore into him with rage.

A soft voice croaks out, "Don't touch her..." Bucky's horse and rough voice speaks out as he raises his head to assess the situation as the gas wears off. Zola smirked as he trailed his fingers down her face and down her jawline and to her throat where he roughly grabs it with a tight grasp causing her to gasp out at a loss for air. "You take orders, Soldat. You don't give them." Zola says as his dark eyes meet Bucky's whose eyes are dark and cold, his glare unwavering as his jaw clenched. Bucky thrashes around in the restraints, easily breaking out as he saw you under Zola hold, anger filling his body with red heat as he stands up in front of Zola, dark eyes that would send shivers down the body of a normal person. "Let. Her. Go." Bucky's rough voices speaks out firmly as he towers over Zola, he smirks as he lets go of her but reaches into his pocket and injects Bucky with a syringe causing Bucky to be disoriented and out of it as he stumbles backwards. "Stay away from her!" He yells in frustration as he tries to move close to her despite the drugs and ultimately failing.

"Bucky! Stop trying to save me. They want you." She speaks out firmly through her coughs and deep breaths. Bucky growled at her statement, "I will never stop fighting for you, defending you, protecting you. Over my dead body will I let you get hurt." Bucky's deep voiced traveled through the room as it sent shivers down her body. Zola moved to Bucky, grabbing him by the back of the neck like a kitten and forces him down to the ground as he digs Bucky's head into the ground before quickly chaining him up, Bucky being easier to restrain with the drugs in his system. Zola squatted down to make eye contact with Bucky, his eyes digging into Bucky's with determination. "I will destroy you. You'll be mine again."

[steddieas-shegoes]

i wanna make your heartbeat run like roller coasters

for @subeddieweek day one with the prompts manhandling and accidental subspace

rated e | 3,520 words | please check ao3 for tags

⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕

Eddie gets pushed against a lot of lockers.

It’s rarely accidental.

It’s always painful.

He doesn’t exactly have a lot of meat on his bones. Every hit leaves a bruise.

So when Steve fucking Harrington does his own dirty work for once, even though he graduated the way Eddie was supposed to, it’s just a bit embarrassing that it doesn’t hurt. It feels…kinda like he should be on his knees.

Which is really not something he wanted to think about when Steve’s got a hand on his shoulder, gripping hard enough to bruise, and something like fear in his eyes. Why is he scared?

“Did you sell weed to Robin?” he asked, teeth clenched.

Jesus fucking Christ. Steve’s got himself a band nerd girlfriend. How the hell did that happen?

“No, I sold to her friend. She waited by the treeline talking to herself the entire time.”

Eddie could hear his own voice shaking, but he wouldn’t back down. Black eyes were kinda metal weren’t they?

“Which friend?”

“Dude, I don’t even know. Someone else in band.”

The hand on his shoulder tightened and he barely bit back a whimper.

Steve’s eyes were very pretty this close. They were pretty from far away, too. Honestly, having Steve this close was probably rewiring something already broken in his brain. Having Steve’s hand on him like this was making his brain do somersaults trying to stay focused.

And then his hand was gone.

Eddie breathed in, breathed out.

“Sorry. I-” Steve shook his hands out and backed away. “Sorry.”

Eddie ignored whatever the fuck was happening in his stomach. It shouldn’t be happening so it isn’t, simple as that.

“Maybe you should ask your girlfriend if you’re so worried about her buying drugs.” Eddie should learn to shut his mouth at some point. “I only sell to the people who come to me first.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I remember.” Steve wiped his hand down his face. “Sorry again.”

Eddie looked him up and down, taking in the fact that he was genuinely apologizing. No one ever apologized for knocking him around, not even when it was on accident.

“You good?” He eventually asked.

“Yeah. Just, she’s been through a lot. I didn’t really want her to get pressured into buying something,” Steve sighed. “Has she come out of the band room yet? I’m supposed to bring her to work.”

“Uh, yeah man, everyone left an hour ago.”

Eddie watched Steve’s face fall as he checked his watch and must’ve realized the time.

“Shit. Okay. I must’ve lost track of time.”

Steve looked pitiful. Eddie’s seen dogs in alleys who looked less beaten down and neglected than Steve currently did.

“I can help you find her?” Eddie offered for some unknown reason.

Well, he knew the reason, but he was choosing to ignore it.

“She’s probably already at work. It’s my day off so I ended up getting distracted with something and didn’t realize it was so late,” Steve admitted, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “Thanks, though.”

Wayne liked to tell Eddie he was too nice to undeserving people. Lord knows he gave his dad too many chances and got let down every time. He even tried to be friends with Tommy Hagan in middle school because he could sense something was going on with Tommy’s dad much like his own.

But Eddie liked to remind Wayne that Eddie is often considered undeserving and he took him in and gave him multiple chances regardless.

“You wanna smoke?” Eddie asked, despite knowing he barely has anything left after the long week of midterms for students. His busiest times of year were right before school breaks, midterms, finals, and graduation weekend. He usually stocked up, but with Rick being in prison again, he had to try to stretch what he had out.

“Uh…smoke what?”

“Weed.” Then it hit Eddie that maybe Steve was into harder stuff. But he hadn’t ever even bought from him in high school. Tommy had, Carol had, almost everyone at his parties had, but Steve never did. “I have regular old cigs too if you prefer.”

“Yeah, man, cool,” Steve sighed with relief.

“I got a spot behind the cafeteria if you wanna…”

“Sure, yep, let’s go,” Steve nodded, gesturing towards the double doors that led outside to the cafeteria and auditorium buildings.

As they walked, Eddie’s mind raced with thoughts of being alone with Steve, Steve’s arm brushing against his, Steve pushing him against the wall of the cafeteria, of Eddie dropping to his knees and unbuttoning Steve’s pants and-

“I’m really sorry about what happened back there.”

Steve’s voice shook him from his thoughts, but his dick didn’t quite get the memo. When did he even start getting hard?

“No worries, dude.” His face scrunched in disgust at calling Steve dude. What was next, the bro pat on the back? A fist bump? “Kinda jealous of how protective you are of your girlfriend.”

Okay, actually, what the fuck? Eddie needed to shut his fucking face, right the fuck now.

“She’s not my girlfriend, but uh, I don’t think you’re really her type either,” Steve gave him a look, one Eddie knew well and one he couldn’t quite believe he was seeing on Steve’s face right now.

“Right, right.” Eddie wouldn’t make him say it, especially if it was actually the look he thought it was, but maybe he could offer a little something in return. “Yeah, she’s not really my type either.”

Steve stopped just before they reached the hidden area behind the dumpster and picnic table for staff to smoke.

“Really?” Steve’s eyes were wide. “So you’re more into…someone like…me?”

Eddie was actually leaking into his goddamn boxers. Why was he getting turned on just talking to Steve?

“That would be one way of saying it,” Eddie said. Still easy enough to back out of it, at least. Could just say he likes women who wear polos and use more hairspray than Melvald’s has ever carried at any given time.

“Huh,” Steve continued walking to the picnic table, sitting on top of it and kicking some dirt off the bench by his legs for Eddie to sit. “So those rumors were true?”

“That depends on if I’m gonna make it back home to my very loving uncle if I say yes.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I’m not gonna judge you about it when my best friend is-” He cut himself off and Eddie had to give him major credit. The Steve he used to know never would’ve cared if he outed someone, or at least never would have realized that was wrong. He coughed and then looked down at the bench. “You gonna sit?”

Eddie sat down on the bench, extremely close to Steve’s legs. Almost touching. Was that heat coming from his body or was Eddie just extremely warm?

“Did you actually wanna smoke or did you just wanna get out of the hall?” Steve asked after another minute of awkward silence.

“We can smoke.” Eddie reached into his pocket, hating how tight his jeans were in the front, and grabbed his lighter. His pack of cigarettes were usually stored in his van because he rarely smoked them, but luckily he’d brought them with him all week to sneak smokes between classes. He pulled one out and handed it to Steve.

He started to light his own when Steve leaned down, his face right next to Eddie’s, breath hot on his neck.

“You aren’t gonna light it for me?”

Eddie whimpered.

He would deny it a million times over if anyone asked. He almost had himself believing he imagined it.

But Steve laughed and backed away, pulling out his own lighter and giving Eddie a second to catch his breath.

What the fuck was that? Did Steve know he was making Eddie’s brain flatline?

He watched Steve take a long drag out of the corner of his eye, his mind shuffling between ‘what if he fucked me right here?’ and ‘get the hell away before your dick pops a hole in your jeans.’

Steve’s lips were so pink, and looked so soft, and just wet enough from licking his lips before taking the next drag, and Eddie was really going through it right now.

He’d gone through his Steve Harrington phase just like everyone else, thought it was over when he graduated. Had avoided the mall all summer when he heard he was working at Scoops so he didn’t have to see him in those tiny blue shorts. Had even gone so far as to avoid being around when the kids were being picked up from Hellfire because Dustin mentioned Steve was his ride.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Except for Eddie’s imagination was impressive, and his late night thoughts turned into very vivid scenes of Steve working him to the edge and making him beg, or pushing him against a locker and making him take his cock with barely any prep, or-

“Dude, anyone ever tell you you’re kinda space-y?” Steve’s voice once again lifted him from his thoughts, though he felt a bit hazy.

“Think I’m comin’ down with something,” Eddie squeaked out. All he was coming down with was a sickness deep in his chest: Harrington Heart-itis.

“Did you hit your head?” Steve sounded concerned now, setting his cigarette in the ashtray left on the table and moving so he had one leg on either side of Eddie. His fingers landed in Eddie’s hair, pulling his head closer and inspecting it for injury. “I didn’t think anything but your shoulders hit, but maybe-”

“No,” Eddie gulped. He should pull away. “Didn’t hit my head.”

Steve’s fingers tightened, not quite painfully, but enough of a bite to it that Eddie whimpered. Again.

Steve’s grip loosened, but his fingers stayed buried in his curls, and Eddie felt pressure guiding him to rest against Steve’s thigh.

“You eat today?” Steve asked, though his voice sounded kinda far away, like he was above the surface of the water and Eddie was sitting at the bottom of a pool looking up at the sun. “Eddie?”

“Hm?” Eddie blinked up at Steve. “I ate.”

“When?” Steve’s hand was cupping his cheek. “Lunch?”

“Mmm, no,” Eddie shook his head, blinked. “Breakfast? Cereal.”

Steve cursed under his breath.

He was so pretty. Had he been told how pretty he was? Surely when Nancy was with him, she told him.

Even if Robin liked women, she had to at least notice how pretty he was, right?

Steve’s sharp intake of breath somewhat centered Eddie.

“I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Steve whispered, leaning down so his face was only inches away.

Eddie could kiss him. It would be the easiest thing in the world to lift his head the final two inches to make their lips meet.

“Eddie, eyes open,” Steve’s fingers tightened again, gaining Eddie’s full attention. “Should I call someone? Are you dynamic or something?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed. What did that even mean?

“Like the sugar thing?” Steve continued.

“Diabetic?” Eddie still felt a little hazy, but he was starting to come back to it with Steve’s hand migrating from his hair to his shoulder. “No, my sugar’s fine.”

“I’ve got some soda in my car. I can drive you home and then bring you to school in the morning. You probably shouldn’t drive like…this.”

It all came crashing down when Eddie realized how vulnerable he’d just been, how he’d actually lost track of time, not sure exactly how long he’d been sitting between Steve’s legs with his hands in his hair before he started coming back to earth. He stood up, maybe a bit too quickly, rocking a bit before finding his balance.

“Woah, take it easy.” Steve held his hands out, grasped his biceps to hold him steady. “You were pretty far out of it. Don’t rush it.”

How fucking embarrassing.

Eddie had only gone down that far one time with someone and they got freaked out when he was giggling and couldn’t walk on his own because his legs felt like jelly. But that had been on purpose. This was- Steve didn’t– Jesus Christ.

“I’m fine now.” Eddie was not fine. He knew what would happen if he left right now. Aftercare was a major part of this whether Steve was prepared for it or not. “Just, um, walk me to my van.”

Steve looked like a kicked puppy, but Eddie didn’t have the time to explain all of this to him.

Steve Harrington didn’t know how much of a freak Eddie was even if he did know he was gay. There’s no way Steve participated in any type of BDSM with the many girls he slept with in high school.

There was absolutely no fuckin’ way Nancy Wheeler let herself get tied to a bed and get fucked by Steve.

He shook his head at the thought.

“I’d feel a lot better if you let me drive you. I promise we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Steve sighed. “I just don’t know if you should drive when you went down so hard.”

“You have no idea what even happened,” Eddie argued, pacing back and forth. “I can drive. I just need to walk it off.”

“You don’t walk off subspace.”

Eddie froze. Steve was standing right in front of him now, concern in his big, stupid, adorable eyes.

“How do you even know about subspace?” Eddie whispered.

“I slept with half the high school and two guys in Indy. I know what subspace is, Eds.”

Eddie must still be in space. Or maybe another galaxy.

“Sorry, did you just say you slept with two guys in Indy?” Has Steve seriously fucked more guys than Eddie has? Eddie, the resident gay man of Hawkins, has only been with one man in his entire life and Steve has apparently slept with two?

“Well, I wasn’t gonna sleep with two men in Hawkins!” Steve threw his hands up before putting them on his hips. “I hit up a gay bar and didn’t realize it doubled as a BDSM club until I was already in it and then a nice guy showed me the ropes. Literally. There were ropes involved.”

Eddie snorted. Steve was pretty and funny. Great. Just what he needed.

“I have a quick recovery, so I’ll be fine to drive home,” Eddie tried, though even he could hear his voice still shaking.

“No one is that quick,” Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him into a hug. “Has that ever happened before?”

“Not like that.”

“We should probably talk about it.”

The last thing Eddie wanted to do was talk about how someone playing with his hair and moving his head around while showing the bare minimum of care was enough to send him into subspace, but he had a feeling Steve wasn’t gonna give up easily.

“Fine. What should we talk about? How no one ever touches me gently so the moment someone did, I slipped? How I’ve been avoiding seeing you anywhere in public because I knew it would make my crush come back full force? Oh, I know!” Eddie laughed hysterically as he pulled away. “Let’s talk about how I still think about you in your stupid basketball shorts when I’m fucking myself on four fingers, which is never enough because I can never reach the spot I need to. Or how I once cut out your yearbook photo to keep for jerking off material because my mags weren’t enough. Could even talk about how earlier I wanted you to put your leg between mine so I could rub off on you. Or maybe the weather if you’d prefer that.”

Eddie was panting, could feel the heat on his face rising as he realized everything he’d just said, admitted, to Steve.

He’d never said any of that out loud. Shit, he’d barely said most of it in his own head.

Steve’s arms were pulling him in and Eddie let himself have it, let himself feel small for just a moment. If Steve wasn’t completely disgusted by what he said, then he would at least accept this offering of kindness for now.

They stayed like that for a while, long enough that Eddie started to wonder if he could just live here, right in Steve’s arms.

“It’s looking a little cloudy,” Steve said quietly, hands still rubbing Eddie’s back slowly.

“What?” Eddie still felt a little out of it, but that was entirely out of left field.

“You said we could talk about the weather.”

Eddie snorted. “Oh my God, you’re so-” Eddie looked up at Steve, who was smiling down at him. He felt off-kilter, being the object of that particular Steve look. “Stupid.”

It was fond, probably too fond for someone who needed to protect himself from whatever the hell was happening. He needed to shut this down.

“It’s been mentioned,” Steve’s eyes flickered down to Eddie’s lips, then back up to his eyes. “You good to head out?”

Eddie started to nod, but stopped.

This was his only chance. He wasn’t dumb enough to think he’d ever be alone with Steve again. If he was gonna kick start a spiral over feelings, he might as well go all out.

He stood at his full height, almost eye level with Steve, and leaned in.

The kiss was not even close to perfect. In fact, as far as kisses go, it was probably in the bottom three for Steve. Eddie chose not to think about how he screwed it all up.

But once the initial shock wore off, and Eddie put his teeth away, Steve’s hand cupped Eddie’s cheek and he licked past his lips.

Leave it to Steve to turn this around, make it something worth the risk.

Their lips moved in sync, both of them deepening the kiss without making it too wet, too filthy for a public space.

It was, dare he say, romantic.

Most kisses Eddie had managed to have were dirty and rough, hidden away in dark bars and alleyways, not exactly prime teen romance.

Of course Steve was good at this, of course he made Eddie melt against him, and of course Eddie was going to start writing hearts around Steve’s name in his notebook as if they were high school sweethearts.

When they pulled apart, it took him a minute to open his eyes. How stereotypical.

Steve was already looking at him, softer than he probably deserved.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Eddie breathed out.

“It’s been mentioned.” Steve’s lips turned up in a smirk before he pulled away completely. “Let’s go.”

They walked back through the school, stopping at Eddie’s locker to grab one of his textbooks as if he actually would use it. By now, he didn’t really need the textbooks to get his work done. And he was actually committed to getting it done this time around.

They were quiet as they continued out to the parking lot, only a few cars belonging to teachers left, maybe a few students stuck here for football or basketball practice. Steve’s car was towards the back, but Eddie’s was almost all the way in the grass field by the main road. It was less risky leaving it further away, less likely that anyone would slash the tires or key the side.

“You’re sure you can drive?” Steve asked as they stood outside his car.

“Yeah. Only five minutes to the trailer. It’ll be fine.” Eddie shrugged like it was nothing, but he was actually a little worried the kiss set him too off balance to focus on the road. Fuck the subspace, Steve’s lips were like discovering a new galaxy.

“Can I call you later? To check on you?” Steve seemed hesitant to ask.

“Uh, yeah? Do you…have my number?”

Steve shook his head, opening the door to his car and reaching into the glovebox to find a pen and an old receipt. As Eddie wrote down the number to the trailer, he thought about how much worse this would be tomorrow, how shitty it would be to have had this absolutely out of this world experience with the one person he never thought he could and then be left with scraps for the rest of his life.

“You uh, you don’t have to call, man. Don’t feel pressured. My uncle will be home so it’s not like I’ll be alone.”

Steve took the paper and pen back, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket and throwing the pen back into the car.

“I’m gonna call.” Steve moved a piece of Eddie’s hair from in front of his face. “You got a phone in your room?”

“No, but the one we have reaches to the bathroom?” Why the hell did he need one in his room?

“Good. Need you to be alone.”

“Steve, what the hell does that mean?”

“How else am I supposed to tell you what I wanna do to you?”

Well, fuck.

Day two: ao3 | tumblr

[gothcsz]

but Javi when there’s an actual guy around neighbour readers apartment

Like the hallway smells delicious from the food she cooked and the dessert she baked for their date and he can hear the chatter and laughter and it’s getting later and later and that fucker isn’t fucking leaving 😡😡😡😡😡 so he knocks on her door pretending he needs her help with something and tries to scare the guy off lmao

Can just see him all intimidatingly strolling through the room, sizing the guy up and making some dumb af comments lmao

OKAY YOU GUYS ENOUGH!! (👀) WE CAN'T KEEP DOING THIS!! (👀) I CAN'T AFFORD TO BE OBSESSED WITH A NEW PAIRING/CONCEPT!! (👀) lore for neighbor javi keeps building

“¿Necesitas ayuda?” Javier’s voice comes out of nowhere as he sidles up behind you, eyeing the grocery bags stacked in your arms.

You exhale a sigh of relief, shooting him that bright, grateful smile that’s impossible for him not to return. “Yes, please.”

In seconds, he’s taken most of the bags, his fingers brushing yours just slightly. As you walk down the hallway to your apartment door, he gives the groceries a curious glance, an amused tilt to his brow. “This is a lot. Feeding a whole family, ¿o qué?”

Your cheeks flush. You knew you might’ve gone overboard for dinner tonight, but the comment makes you second-guess everything. You bite your lip, shifting nervously. “I... I have a date tonight. He’s coming over for dinner.”

Javier’s steps falter for a beat before he follows you inside, the sour shift in his demeanor evident. “Oh. Who’s the lucky guy?” he manages, though his jaw is tight. You, however, are too busy mentally organizing tonight’s plans to catch the strain in his tone.

This is your attempt at carving out a new path for yourself. One that isn’t attached to your job or revolved around your handsome neighbor. 

Mateo, the banker, is exactly what you need right now. You see him every couple of weeks when you deposit your check; he’s handsome, charming, and always good for a laugh.

You have this running joke about him feeding you information for an elaborate, fictional heist. It’s silly and refreshing—everything that keeps you grounded and away from thoughts of Javier.

You’ve already spent too many evenings thinking about him while he brings other women home. 

“Mateo. El que trabajo en el banco,” you say, carefully practicing the Spanish he’s been helping you with. “How was that?”

The whiplash from being irritated to amused almost disorients him. A small smile tugs at his mouth, shaking him momentarily from his jealous induced reverie. “Good. Trabaja not trabajo. That’s past tense.” He corrects you politely.

A banker? Javier can already picture him—a polished, safe, number-crunching type with a predictable routine and zero clue on what it takes to be with a woman like you. The thought turns his stomach.

“Close enough,” you shrug, but still noting his correction. You’re definitely making improvements, all thanks to him. 

“Not that it’s any of my business…” he starts, though his voice of reason is telling him to shut the fuck up. “Is it the same guy from the other night?”

You almost drop the carton of eggs in your hand. He’s still on that? “You’re right, it isn’t any of your business.” However, that same feeling you got from when he was at your doorstep, all bothered, returns, and you continue, “But yes, it is. I guess I left a big enough of an impression to warrant another visit.”

You have no idea where you’re pulling all this confidence from, but you need to pump the brakes before this little white lie of yours turns into a big, colorful one.

He watches as you crouch by the open fridge, neatly arranging the groceries, calm as ever, while his mind spirals. 

Javier doesn’t even want to dissect what you’ve just said. One night in your bed and this Mateo is being gluttonous about seeing you again.

One night of feeling your body beneath his… on top… bent over, moaning sweetly just for him, your cunt fluttering around his cock—has this asshole wanting more.

He doesn’t even realize he’s balled his fists at his sides until he feels his nails pressing into his palms.

“Look at you,” he mutters gruffly as he attempts to mask the irritation. “Scorin’ dates.” It sounds more like an accusation than encouragement, and he knows it, but he can’t help himself.

You look at him over your shoulder, surprised by his tone, eyebrow raised. “¿Todo bien?”

He clears his throat, glancing at his watch to avoid meeting your eyes. “Claro,” he says, too quickly. “I gotta head out anyway. Got a meeting.”

Probably with some woman that looks like she belongs on the front cover of a magazine. You mentally shake the jealousy away—you’ve got a date tonight that you’ve actually been looking forward to all week.

“Okay. Be safe, Javi. You can close the door behind you.”

With a disappointed sigh, he lingers a moment longer, like he’s waiting for something—a proper goodbye, maybe.  But you’re so wrapped up in thoughts of someone else and that only adds fuel to the fire he’s harboring inside.

His shoulders slump as if he’s been turned away. It’s absurd, how disappointed he feels at such a small dismissal. “Bueno… diviértete,” he mutters before finally turning to leave.

It’s late, and Javier’s pacing his apartment, unable to ignore the muffled laughter and music seeping through his walls. The hallway outside your door smells like heaven—a mix of whatever meal you put together and something sweet.

The later it gets, the more unbearable the jealousy becomes. Why isn’t he leaving? He’s not naive, he knows exactly why. Not when he has a beautiful girl like you cooking, catering to him, offering yourself up in the most desirable way possible.

Javier wonders if you’re wearing a pretty set of lingerie or if you’ve kept it simple. You strike him as a simple kind of girl, but the idea of you skimping around in sexy lacy sets in fun colors has his cock stirring. Then he remembers who you’re wearing them for.

It’s ridiculous the way his blood boils over the thought of you with some pretentious suit. Unable to take another second of it, he strides out of his place to firmly knock at your door, his mind set on only one thing: making his presence known.

Inside, you glance at Mateo with a playful smirk. “Guess the cops finally caught on to our bank heist plan,” you joke, getting up from the couch to answer.

But when you open it, it’s not the police—it’s the only person it can be.

Javier’s expression wavers just for a split second as he takes you in—his gaze running slowly down the length of your dress, fitted in all the right places, hugging your body in a way that makes his throat tighten. His jaw clenches as his eyes flick back up to your face. 

“Javier,” you say, forcing a polite smile despite his obvious stare. “Everything okay?”

Ignoring the question, he barges right in, gaze hardening as he takes in the scene—a romantic ambiance, this good for nothing on your couch, enjoying your things.

Mateo glances at you as he slowly rises from his spot, raising a brow, as though trying to size up exactly what’s going on.

You shoot him an apologetic look. “This is my very annoying next door neighbor Javier.” You tone is strained, throwing a very not so subtle hint at the agent in your living room.

“Just thought I’d check if your headboard ever got fixed.” Javi’s voice drips with mock concern, “It’s so damn noisy. Constantly banging up against the wall. Real loud.”

Anxiety floods your body, keeping you glued to your spot, eyes widening as you realize where he is headed with this. This is what you get for lying.

“A pillow might help,” he continues with a careless shrug. “Keeps it from hitting the wall. You know, a little courtesy wouldn’t hurt. No one wants to hear you fucking her.”

“Javier, stop,” you hiss, finally finding the will to step between the two of them, heart hammering at his audacity.

Mateo’s posture stiffens, and his eyes narrow. He looks between you both, a muscle in his jaw ticking as Javier crosses his arms.

“Mira, hermano,” Mateo says, holding his hands up, tone growing defensive. Javier scoffs. “Creo que estamos bien. Not sure why you think you need to be here right now.”

You feel your pulse in your throat, anger and embarrassment from his behavior prickling at you as you point to the door. “Leave. Now.”

He bites down on his tongue, his jaw flexing hard as he struggles to keep himself in check. “Fine. Just… keep it down,” he mutters, marching out as quickly as he stormed in.

You let out a breath, murmuring a quick apology to Mateo before following him to the door, catching him just as he steps into the hallway. “We’ll talk about this later when you’re not being weird,” you whisper-yell, the frustration clear in your tone.

Before he can respond, you shut the door firmly, twisting the lock and leaning against it for a second to collect yourself. You smooth down your dress, take a deep breath, and shake off the heat of the moment before returning to your date, flashing him a reassuring smile as you settle back in.

The next day, you’re heading home from work when you spot Javier leaning against the building, cigarette in hand, looking out over the parking lot. His stance is casual, but there’s something stormy about his gaze, fixed on the distant skyline.

“Still in a pissy mood?” you ask, raising a brow as you approach.

He flirtatiously drags his eyes down your work clothes, that unreadable look of his making your heart skip. He blows the smoke away from your face. “About that…”

You give him a look, urging him to go on.

“Had a rough day. Just wanted some peace and quiet but all I could hear was you two.”

There’s an apology in his tone, and despite yourself, your irritation softens, just a little. “I’m sorry you had a rough day, but that doesn’t mean you can just… do that.” The words waver under his gaze, and damn him for how easily he gets to you with just a look.

He nods, a small frown creasing his brow. “I know, cariño. Perdoname. It won’t happen again.” His voice is gentler now, his dark eyes earnest, and you feel your frustration dissolving against your better judgment.

You huff, feigning a stern look. “It better not. If it does, I might actually move out. Then you’ll really have your peace and quiet.”

His mouth curves into a smirk as he takes another drag. “You do that, I’ll never eat again, and you’ll definitely never learn Spanish.”

You can’t help but playfully roll your eyes. “Vete a la mierda.”

The smirk on his lips turns into a full blown smile. His genuine laugh is so warm, pulling a grin from you too. It’s a sound you’d do anything to hear every day, that rare openness that feels almost like a privilege.

You don’t tell him how you, too, hear every sound that slips through these thin walls, or how your heart cracks a little each time you brush past one of his fleeting lovers in the hallway.

Instead, you just tuck the ache away, choosing to stay right here, grateful for these small moments that let you be close to him.

[hirukochan]

Stood-up

A Severus Snape x fem!reader Oneshot

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x former student reader

Summary: Your former professor saves you from embarrassment when your blind date doesn't show up to the fancy restaurant you were meant to meet at.

Warnings: Smut, Loss of virginity, virgin reader

Wordcount: 5007

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

You did not expect life after Hogwarts to be…this. Whatever this is. Boring. That much is certain. You finished school five years ago with good grades and that was it. You celebrated your graduation with your friends who were already gushing about their future careers and their dream jobs, and you had nothing to offer to the conversation. You didn’t know what you wanted to do after school. And five years later you still don’t know.

You wanted to move out of your parents’ house and so you went to interviews for any job you thought yourself decently qualified for. You ended up working in a depressing little second hand bookshop in Diagon Alley. The owner, some rich fuck that doesn’t even live in London, pays you well to take care of anything that needs taking care of because the shop belonged to his wife’s grandfather, and she can’t bear separating with it. 

You also get to live rent-free in the one-room flat above the store. You have a kitchen, a bed and a bathroom and no controlling boss looming over your every move. Life is…good. It’s ok, nothing groundbreaking, but how many people get that? How realistic is an action filled, thrilling life actually?

Your friends seem content with life as it is and so you try to be content as well. 

In reality you feel lost.

You have looked into universities, but you aren’t sure if you’d be good enough and the fear of failing holds you back. Besides, what would you even study? In school charms had been your favourite, but was that because of the subject or your teacher? Professor Flitwick had made each class a delight to be in.

You shove the thoughts away, focusing on finishing up closing the store. A friend has set up a blind-date for you. Some guy she works with at the Ministry. She has gushed about him endlessly and you are sure were she not in a relationship herself - she would totally try to date him. 

That is a recipe for disaster, but you want to indulge your friend or perhaps just make her shut up and so you go along.

You lock up the shop and hurry upstairs to shower, change and put on some makeup. An hour later you are standing outside the shop, mentally preparing for the apparition. You are certain you’ll never get used to it.

Pleasant, classical music floods the street as you open the door to the wizarding restaurant and bar in central London. This is already outside your comfort zone. Too fancy and too full. Are you underdressed? Are you overdressed? Shit, what if he isn’t here yet?

“Reservation for Everett.” You say to the hostess who swishes her wand and looks through the list of reservations.

“This way, madam. Your partner is not here yet.” Shit. Of course, he wouldn’t be. You are early. Way too early. Pathetic, desperate early.

The hostess shows you to your table and you smile kindly as you sit down. A waiter hurries over to you and asks for your drink order.

“Wine. Red, please.” The waiter is gone before you can finish your sentence. A glass of wine floats to your table shortly after. You let your eyes wander over the room as you take small sips. A few couples sit at the tables, some more stand at the bar, chatting with each other.

You wait.

And wait.

Three glasses later you know you got stood up. You try to fight the tears stinging in your eyes and dig through your purse for some money to pay for the drinks and scurry out of the restaurant as fast as possible. 

How pathetic! Hot shame spreads through your chest, your guts twist at the mere thought of getting up and leaving. Your feet don’t work. They simply won’t respond to your command. With all your willpower you stifle a sob in your throat. This is your last straw.

All the disappointment over life after Hogwarts, the loneliness, being lost and left behind by the golden opportunities your future had promised you - and now not even your date could bother to show up! You didn’t even want to meet him. Prick!

“Ms. (L/N)?” You flinch. That voice. You are sure that voice would give you war-like flashbacks for the rest of your life. Running through corridors at night, blood pounding in your ears, already feeling safe as the entrance to your common room approaches just to be violently stopped by those words.

You turn and meet the dark eyes of your former professor for potions. 

Severus Snape has not changed in the five years since you last saw him. The same hooked nose, same pale skin. Black greasy hair falling into his face. The long black robes hiding every inch of his skin.

“P-professor Snape.” You reply, because you have to say something. His eyes wander over you, clearly made up for a date and then twitch to the empty seat across from you. They narrow as they see the three empty glasses and the slight redness of your eyes. Without saying anything he slips into the seat across from you.

“Two glasses of whatever the lady has been drinking.” He says as he grabs a waiter by the arm. He gestures towards the glasses. “And get rid of these. What kind of service is this?” The waiter apologises profusely and hurries away quickly. 

You stare at Snape in bewilderment. He is sitting across from you. He saw you got stood up and sat down. And he ordered drinks. 

He is looking at you. Say something. Anything. Shit shit shit.

“I was supposed to meet someone.” You say, cursing how meek you sound. You look away and try to subtly wipe the corner of your eye where a stubborn little tear tries very hard to run down your cheek. You know if you allow that one to pass your lashes, there is no holding back the rest.

“I gathered.” He leans back in his chair, his eyes still roaming over you. Instantly you feel like you are back in the dungeons of Hogwarts, trying your best to brew a potion while he stares at you, waiting for the moment you fail. You swallow hard as the familiar nervousness of being around Snape takes over.

“A boyfriend?”

“N-no. A friend set it up- never met him.”

“What do you do these days?” You blush. You were afraid he might ask that.

“I-I run a little b-bookshop in Diagon Alley…sir.” The ‘sir’ slips out before you can stop it. A smirk tucks at the corners of his mouth at the sound of it but dies instantly.

“A bookshop? And you’re happy with that?” You shrug. You aren’t, but you wouldn’t tell him that. You cling to your glass. This is worse than getting stood up and humiliated. Infinitely worse. Snape leans over the table, his dark eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

“I am not going to bite you. Unless-” You tense. Is he flirting? Merlin’s beard- You feel heat rise to your face and stare down at the wine in your hands. “I apologise. This is inappropriate and you clearly wish to be as far away from me as possible. I’ll leave you to it.” Snape says, an edge of self-loathing sneaking into his voice. He digs through his pocket and puts down a few coins on the table.

“Stay-” You have no idea how you manage to force the word out of your constricting throat but there it is. Out in the open. 

Snape stares at you in disbelief. You take a shaky, deep breath and look up to meet his intense gaze.

“Stay.” You repeat, firmer this time. That expression flashes through his eyes again and after a moment of hesitation he settles down.

“U-unless I am keeping you from meeting someone. I-” You hadn’t considered why he might be here. Shit, is he on a date? And instead of that he took pity on you? Does Snape date? 

He chuckles. The sound as foreign to your ears as kindness or praise from him. It goes straight to your core, and you gulp as you are violently tossed back into your old crush. That is the last thing you need now! 

Imagining him doing all sorts of things to you during class was bad enough already - mainly because it really messed with your grade - but imagining them now that you are no longer his student, no longer sixteen- You blush even more as you realise that - in theory - you could do these things now. 

It has been five years since you graduated, sure it is a bit weird maybe, but entirely allowed. You have not been in contact with him since graduation. He has made no inappropriate comment to you while you were his student ever- in fact he barely ever talked to you.

You feel Snape’s hot gaze burn through your skull. It’s almost like he knows. Which is entirely impossible. Or is it? He has the uncanny ability to know when students are planning mischief behind his back and such things as reading minds isn’t at all a ridiculous idea to wizards- shit.

Snape’s lips curl as you stare at him.

“Oh, yes.” His smooth voice says in your head. “I know. I know all the little fantasies you have been coming up with for years.” The colour vanishes from your face. You take a big gulp of your wine, downing the entire thing in one go to aid your suddenly parched throat. Snape swirls the wine in his glass, never taking his eyes off you.

“A-and is that some-something you’d…you’d want?” You ask. Your heart twists and turns in your chest, your insides clench almost uncomfortably. You have no idea where you take the bravery from to say it out loud. 

His grin grows, his eyes darken, snapping down to the neckline of your dress. In one smooth movement he gets up and holds his hand out to you.

This is it.

The one opportunity you’d get.

You take his hand. 

Your skin tingles where it touches him and a giddy feeling spreads through you. 

You are going to sleep with your Potions professor. Former professor. Dark, unapproachable, cruel Snape. The man you have been fantasising about since 6th grade. The man that terrifies you as much as he intrigues you.

Together you leave the restaurant. He guides you towards an abandoned alley and lets go of your hand to snake his arm around your waist.

“Hold on tight.” He whispers in his ear. You can feel his breath on your neck and a shudder runs down your spine. You take a shaky breath and put your arms around his waist. You are swept up in his scent, musky and herbal. It clouds your mind instantly and you bite your tongue so you don’t inhale deeper just so it can flood your senses more. His magic wraps around you and you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the apparition to pass. You can feel the chuckle rumble through Snape’s chest before you hear it.

“Still no fan?” 

“No.” You reply breathless and separate from him. He holds onto your waist, eyeing you as though he expects you to collapse. Right- You did. During Apparition training in your 7th year, you lost consciousness after your first successful attempt. He was one of the teachers overseeing the training. 

You blush as the memory of how embarrassed you felt waking up in his arms, your whole year watching, resurfaces in your mind. You clear your throat and look around. You’re in Diagon Alley, not far away from the bookshop. You dig through your pocket and get out the key as you walk towards it. 

You are going to have sex. 

You are going to have sex with Snape. He’s walking right behind you. Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel.

“This is it.” You say and close the door behind you. Your flat looks terribly small with Snape standing in it. 

“Do you still want me to stay?”

“Yes. I’m just-”

“Yes?” He steps closer.

“You intimidate me.”

“Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?”

“Good.” You reply breathlessly. Your mind is already foggy just from him standing so close to you. His eyes roam over your face, as though he is determined to enter all its details to his memory. Your heart beats impossibly fast in your chest, smashing against your ribcage so hard you wonder whether Snape can hear it. He leans down, inky hair falling into his face, stealing your view of the room around you. 

Your insides clench and scream for him to kiss you. Finally kiss you. You bite your bottom lip to stop its pathetic quivering. His scent floods your senses and briefly renders your mind nonexistent. 

Snape runs his fingertips over your arm, starting at your wrist and drawing goosebumps across your naked skin, all the way up to your shoulder. Your breath hitches and you barely manage to withstand the urge to hold onto him.

“You’d have to take this off first.” He says, quiet, calm. His voice sends a shiver through your body. He drags his fingers over your shoulder to your neck. He takes the zipper and slowly pulls it down, the sound resounds in your room loud like thunder. 

He barely touches your skin when he peels the straps off your shoulder and gently tugs the dress down and over your hips. It pools around your feet on the ground.

Snape takes a step back and takes in your body. You aren’t wearing a bra, you own none that would have looked good with the dress and stand in front of him only in a pair of black lace knickers.

His eyes remain as unreadable as they always are. He seems to assess your body with the same impartiality as he used to look at your potions. You shiver, cold air swirling around your heated skin, goosebumps spread across your skin and your nipples harden. Your face is burning hot though, and you barely resist the impulse of covering yourself with your arms.

Just when you begin to think this is some cruel joke, he is playing on you to embarrass you, he closes the distance between you two - too fast for your mind to catch up. He grabs your waist and smashes your body against his. His lips crash against your collarbone, his teeth graze your skin.

You gasp and sink your hands into his hair, marvelling at how soft it feels. He kisses your skin, sucks and nibbles. White hot lust seeps into your skin from the saliva he spreads across it. 

He holds your waist in his surprisingly strong arms and attacks your chest, worshipping every inch of you as though you are some ancient artefact promising prosperity and luck to loyal devotees. He groans against you, and you join with a moan of yourself, arching your back, offering your chest up to him. He accepts without hesitation, with enthusiasm even. Snape licks broad, firm strokes over your exposed breast, roughly kneading the other with his hand.

His thorough attention is dizzying. Blood pounds in your ears and waves upon waves of merciless pleasure course through you, twisting your vocal cords into the strangest of sounds you have never heard yourself make.

“Are you a virgin?” He groans against your skin.

“Y-yes-” He stops, dead in his tracks. Slowly his head tilts back, his gaze snapping in on yours.

“Yes?” Hunger flashes through his eyes and he licks his lips. “How the fuck are you still a virgin?” You blush more fiercely if that is even possible. Your shrug and drops your hands to his shoulders.

“Um- nobody was ever interested in me like that.”

“You’re what? Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-two.”

“And nobody ever touched your gorgeous fucking body?” He sounds baffled, like your words are the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard.

“Touched, yes…snogging at parties in the common room and such, but-” Your voice trails off. 

“You are telling me.” He says, his voice growing to untamed deep turmoil of unabashed desire and feral lust. “Nobody ever sucked on these dainty, splendid nipples?” As if to emphasise his words he closes his lips around one, holding it between his teeth and flicking his tongue over it. You whimper. Your legs shake under the weight of your own body, and you cling to his shoulders. His eyes never leave you, the weight of them heavy on you, buzzing on your skin. You throw your head back, moaning like you’ve never moaned before.

He chuckles, the vibration of it ripples through the tissue of your breast and sinks deep into your body, melting into your bones. He kisses his way back up to your collarbone and neck.

“Fools. Every single one of them that did not realise what they are missing out on.” He gently sucks on the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck. He steers you backwards until your calves meet the frame of your bed and you allow your body to fall back.

Snape kicks his shoes off and slips out of his cloak before he follows you, crawling over the bed, up your body like a predator about to devour his prey. A shiver rushes through you at that thought. Yes- you want him to devour you, to worship you, to ruin you and build you back up. He braces his arms against the mattress on either side of your head.

“And you still want me to stay?” The words fall into the space between your bodies, filled with heat and want, desire and fear, buzzing with anticipation. His eyes are softer somehow, less intense, but not less hungry. They tell you how much he wants you, craves you but also tell you he’d stop. You just need to say the word and he will leave. Without shaming you, without a cruel word or ounce of disappointment. 

“Yes.”

“You want to give this first experience to me? Of all people?”

“I’ve always wanted it to be you.” Snape groans and closes his eyes. His head drops, coming to rest against your shoulder, nestling to the crook of your neck.

“Do you have any idea-” He is breathing heavy, clenching his fists in your sheets, his body one large, tensed muscle. “-what you do to me?” Before you can answer he grabs one of your hands and brings it down. He presses it against his upper thigh where his cock is very hard, straining against its confines. You gasp at which Snape smirks. He rolls his hips against your hand.

“It’s big…” You whisper, more fear mixing in with your burning arousal.

“You can take it.” He leans down. His lips brush over your cheek. “I’ll make sure of it.” His breath dances over the shell of your ear, prickling. As soon as it passes your skin feels terribly cold, like it’s never going to be warm ever again just to be replaced by burning heat. Snape drags the tip of his tongue across the shell of your ear and back down to close his lips around your earlobe.

The whimper that falls from your lips at that is more of a high pitched squeak and finally, finally he kisses you. His lips are soft like silk and warm, reminding you of a mug of butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks in winter. 

You sigh and move your lips with his, threading your fingers through his hair. Despite the way he has been acting so far, he kisses you passionately, almost slow, but no less thorough. 

Severus Snape is nothing if not thorough. 

And he intends to savour you.

You part your lips for him, eager to move this along, eager to feel him and the pleasure he can bring you, but when it comes to actually deepening the kiss you hesitate. Snape senses your nervousness and takes over the decision making from you. The tip of his tongue meets yours and he slides it slowly over your own, easing you into the kiss and coaxing a small moan from you. 

You relax against him and surrender yourself to his touch once more. You have never been kissed like this. With want and need, with passion and hunger. He maps out your mouth as though he is trying to dissect a potion he has never seen into its separate components. 

His hands run over your body, your sides and stomach to your thighs. You whine at his touch and muscles twitch under your skin as if to reach out to his calloused fingers. The wool of his frock rubs against your skin when he moves. You reach out to work on the endless row of buttons but are rather abruptly interrupted by his fingers against your cunt. 

A surprised, shuddering gasp escapes you and your fingers tense against his chest. Snape chuckles into the kiss, never once stopping his assault on your mouth. Playful he circles your entrance, gathering you slick and spreading it to your clit. You cling to his shoulders and push your head back into the pillows. Pressure builds deep in your cunt, and you need him to ease it- need him to- to-

“Ahh-” You cry out and dig your nails into Snape’s shoulders. Your own fingers never felt that fucking good.

“Are we enjoying ourself?” Snape teases, watching the pleasure drunk expression on your face.

“Mhh…Snape-” You buck your hips into his hand. “Please- fuck me-”

“Patience, dear. I told you I would make sure you can take me.” He teases your entrance with a finger, coating it in your slick and then gently pushes inside you. “I will fuck you. I will fuck you so well nobody will ever compare to me, but first I’ll stretch this virgin cunt because as you so eloquently put it - It’s big.”

“There was this rumour back in school-” You murmur, blissful pleasure clouding your mind and rendering it utterly useless. “-that- that….oohhh-”

“That I’m a virgin?” He smirks. He pumps his finger inside you, curling it and pressing upwards slightly and a flash of searing pleasure explodes inside your cunt, and you squirm under him, rolling your hips into his touch to get more more more. “Does it feel like I am? Like I’ve never touched a woman?”

“Snape-”

“Dear, believe me, I know your body better than you.” You want to get offended by that statement. What a man thing to say but then Snape does something with his finger, twisting and curling at the same time or something else, interrupting your thoughts harshly with another mind-blowing ripple of pleasure. 

Snape adds a second finger, stretching you carefully and kissing you the entire time, then a third. You are hot all over. Sweat clings to you like a second layer of skin. You are shivering from unfulfilled need and the steadily building pressure deep in your cunt just outside of Snape’s reach.

It builds and builds, beyond anything you were ever able to do to yourself and you have no idea how it keeps building and where all this pressure goes because the thought of it all staying confined in you is absurd!

You whine at the loss of his touch and buck your hips in a futile attempt of stopping his fingers from leaving you. Snape looks very fucking smug, but you are to wound up and needy to even care. 

He watches you squirm, your slickness dripping off his fingers. He traces your lips with his ring finger, spreading your own arousal over them. You are too far gone to really care. Your tongue darts out and licks your lips clean, accepting his finger into your mouth. You suck his fingers clean, one after another, Snape’s dark eyes never leaving you.

“What a good girl.” He coos. His voice rolls over your skin and sinks into your body, causing your insides to clench. 

You watch Snape undo the rest of the buttons and toss the black frock away. He opens his belt, the quiet clink of the buckle echoes in your mind. You’re about to see Snape’s prick. Snape just fingered you. You’ve been kissing Snape! 

Your heart beats faster, like a hummingbird forced to forever fly on the spot in a too small cage. Anticipation takes your breath away and impossibly so, more slickness rushes to your entrance. Every second he takes to open his trousers feels like another fire being lit on your skin. 

He slides a hand in his pants and now you are sure he is doing it to see you squirm because who moves that slow?

You let out an impatient whine and squirm, bucking your hips to grind against him.

“So impatient.” He chuckles and finally, finally frees his prick. 

It’s big is a pretty accurate description, you don't know what Snape has against your eloquence. Jesus fuck, is another option but you doubt Snape would find that more eloquent.

His plush, purple cockhead is already leaking pre-cum. Snape mutters an incantation, you recognise as a contraception spell, before aligning himself with you.

“Don’t worry, dear.” He coos. “I’ll be gentle. Just relax.” You try. You really try, but Snape has your nerve endings running in circles, screaming, while on fire. Stop, drop and roll is not an option that they can think of, mainly because thinking is quite difficult when on fire. 

He pushes against you, and you tense further. Snape rubs your thigh, and you take a deep breath and try to relax your muscles. Slowly, inch after thick inch Snape enters you. Beads of sweat collect on his forehead from the strain of going slow. Inch after inch of your tight channel is mercilessly forced to yield to his girth, stretching you open with a small sting. 

Snape grunts and sinks into you to the hilt, sacking above you to give you time to adjust and also catch his breath.

You are so bloody full. How he isn’t ripping you open is a miracle to you. Your knuckles are white from holding onto his arms. The muscles in your thighs quiver. You give tentatively rolls of your hips, earning a low groan from Snape another wave of deep pleasure.

“You’re breathing really hard.” He mutters into your ear. “I like that - keep working so hard for me, dear.” Snape’s thrusts are long and controlled, massaging your inner walls and hitting just the right spots. You are reduced to a pathetic, needy moaning puddle of bliss and want. 

Snape isn’t doing too much better. His breathing is heavy and loud right next to your ear which drives you deeper and deeper into your trance-like state of ecstatic bliss. His rhythm falters more than once and his groans take on an animalistic edge. 

“So tight.” He grunts and drives back into you. “Just for me-”

“Snape!”

“That’s right. Saved yourself for me, didn’t you, dear?”

“Idiot.” You laugh against his jaw.

“No need to play shy - you can tell me.” Snape smirks and leans his forehead against yours. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.” He snaps his hips forward, hitting that spot with more force than before and your breath gets stuck in your throat. You tense and convulse, somehow simultaneously. Snape grunts when you clench around him and your inner walls spasm.

“Keep coming- keep fucking coming for me!” He reaches between your bodies and rubs your clit. A violent wave of pleasure smacks you right in the face and you scream in pleasure. Snape whispers reverent praise and fucks you through your release, coming shortly after with a long groan inside you.

Sweaty, sticky and spent you collapse on the bed, both trying to catch your breath. Snape runs his hand over your thigh absentmindedly. His cum slowly leaks out of you. Your eyelids are heavy. A heavy blanket of bliss and contentment settles over you.

“Thank you.” You whisper into the silence of your flat.

“Whatever for?” He chuckles next to you.

“It was nice.” You shrug.

“Well, I should be thanking you for even letting me touch you.”

“Let’s thank each other.”

“Fine.” You stay there a while longer, but eventually Snape disentangles himself from you and gets up to get dressed.

Lying on your side with your sheets pulled up to cover your still shaking body you watch him.

“You know-” He says but stops himself, a frown appearing on his face. “A career isn’t the only thing to measure how accomplished or fulfilled one’s life is. Your friends might think their jobs are great now, but in ten, twenty years they’ll realise they have never lived a day in their life. This job…” He looks around the flat. “It seems pretty comfortable to me. It seems to give you the freedom to do whatever you want. Create art or music, write, research or go to university. You can do whatever you want - fuck what other people think. Not everybody dreams of labour.”

“What if I’m not good enough?” Snape fastens his cloak. He looks up. His eyes seem heavy with a burden you can’t quite understand. The corner of his mouth twitches and perhaps for the first time in the years you have known him you see him smile.

“I think you can achieve anything you put your mind to. And either way. How will you know if you never try? The day will come you’ll regret having allowed your fear to hold you back.” His cloak billows behind him when he turns to leave. His hand already on the doorknob he stops.

“I hope you find happiness.”

“I hope you find happiness too, Professor.”

“For some of us it’s too late.” And with those words he disappears into the darkness of the night.

Three weeks later Albus Dumbledore is murdered by Severus Snape.

| Part 2 |

[enhaheeseung]

Come back to me - L. HS

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: mentions of smut, language, alcohol, verbal abuse, crying, heeseung is a very shitty husband.

WC: 2,274k

“My god, it’s my wife again,” heeseung sighed. He was just out trying to spend a “peaceful” night with his co workers, and here you are, blowing up his phone and spamming him about his whereabouts. “I have to go before she has a panic attack.”

“She has you so whipped,” his friend and coworker Jake says.

“We must all have the same wife,” Heeseung replies, making the rest of the guys laugh while he grabs his jacket and takes one last shot before leaving the bar.“See you guys tomorrow!” He waves to his table of friends before going home, and he dreads walking through the door and having to deal with your constant whining and complaining.

He takes a deep breath before entering his home, but nothing can prepare him for the nagging he faces as soon as he enters.

He didn’t even get to take his shoes off before you had already started motor mouthing him. “Oh my god,” he rubs his temples in frustration. He already had a headache from work, and now he has to listen to your high pitched whining.

“Where were you? Why didn’t you answer my calls? I was worried about you.” you walk over to him to greet him with a hug. You don’t mean to bombard him with questions, but you were worried sick. “Is that- is that alcohol? Have you been drinking?” You say after breaking the hug that he didn’t even bother returning.

“Yes baby, it’s alcohol,” he sighs and takes his coat and shoes off, loosening his tie while he looks at you, completely disinterested in what you have to say.

“Hee, were you drinking and dri-“

“Yes! Oh my fucking god!” he shouts, cutting you off. “I’m a grown fucking man. I can drink, I can drive, and I can definitely take care of myself. I don’t need you keeping fucking tabs on me 24/7. I’m not a child I’m your husband.” he brushes past you, heading straight for the fridge to get another beer cause the five he had at the bar weren’t quite enough to help him put up with you.

You stood there, completely shocked by what he said. You knew you could be a little over the top and overprotective of him, but you didn’t know that’s what he thought of you.

Making your way over to the kitchen, you parted your lips to apologize. “Please just don’t. I already have a headache, and I can’t do this with you right now.” You close your mouth and instead try to hug him as an apology, but he just pushes you away. “Can you get any more annoying?” He shakes his head, popping off the lid on his beer and drinking half the bottle.

To say you were hurt would be an understatement this had been going on for months, this strange behavior that your husband adopted seemingly out of nowhere. The first time you talked to him about it, he just told you he was stressed from work and had a few drinks. You thought that was the end of it, but more often than not, he’d come home late, reeking of alcohol and treating you like you had zero feelings. You weren’t trying to scold him or baby him. You were just worried about him, but obviously, he didn’t see it like that.

Things had been a little rocky in the marriage. Lately, he spent more time at work and less time at home. You two rarely talked anymore. More like he wouldn’t let you talk. Every time you tried to get him to open up, he just shut down, and now you were stressed out because now not only was your husband shutting you out, but he was treating you like absolute trash, and you couldn’t believe it the day you met him he wouldn’t have dared talked to you that way but the heeseung you married was apparently long gone and you can’t believe after five long years of a happy loving marriage it all just went to pot in the last eight months and you don’t even know where to begin to fix it cause now his rotten attitude was now rubbing off on you which is why you responded with. “I guess I wasn’t annoying in bed last night.”

He chuckles, taking another sip of his beer. “That’s right, cause your mouth was doing something useful instead of bitching”

You gasp from his foul language, and he has the nerve to laugh at your shocked face. “What is your problem? Why are you acting like such an asshole?” You say with tears welling in your eyes and a defeated tone.

“You’re my problem, and maybe I wouldn’t be “such an asshole,” he says with finger quotes. “if you weren’t such a needy bitch” he scoffs. “Like my god, give me a fucking break heeseung this heeseung that when do you ever just shut the fuck up?”

You looked at him for a solid minute, complete utter silence taking over the kitchen, and you know what, if that’s what he thought of you, then so be it. “F-fine, I won’t be your problem anymore.” you turn away from him, not before a few tears trickled down your cheek.

Once he noticed you crying, he kinda felt bad even though you were being so over dramatic. “Baby….” Heeseung sighed, walking after you and gripping your forearm.

“I’m not your baby, and don’t you dare fucking touch me!” You yanked your arm out of his grip and went to the bedroom, leaving him stunned in the hallway cause you never treated him like that before.

“Shit,” he mutters and plops down on the couch finishing a few more beers to give you some time to calm down cause he knew you were just overreacting and being emotional like you always are.

He quietly enters the bedroom a while later, stripping down to his underwear and slipping in the covers, attempting to put his arm around your waist, but you simply scooted away from him. Instead of him getting the hint, he scooted closer to you, trying to back hug you, but this time, you got out of bed, grabbing a pillow and a spare sheet to sleep on the couch. “Where are you going?” He whispers groggily. From all the alcohol he drank, you could literally smell him as soon as he entered the bed.

“The couch,” you respond, tone as cold as ice.

“Fine, be a cunt, then see if I fucking care” he turns around in the bed, throwing the blankets over his shoulder and pretending that he was alright with you ignoring his touch and sleeping on the couch.

You just shook your head back and forth and left without another thought, going to sleep on the couch cold, sad, hurt, and alone.

In the morning, heeseung felt like shit. When he woke up, his head was pounding, and his muscles were sore from all the hours he’d been working. “Morning bab-“ he stopped when he remembered the fight you guys had last night, and that just made his head throb even harder than it already was.

After getting ready for work, he came out of the bedroom expecting breakfast, but you were still asleep on the couch. It looks like you slept a little bit more soundly without him than he did without you. He was literally tossing and turning all night.

He quickly kissed your forehead before leaving for work.

By the time you woke up, it was five in the afternoon, and that was the perfect time. Heeseung wouldn’t be home till eleven, and you’d be done packing far earlier than that.

You’d be lying if you said getting a divorce hasn’t been on your mind, but you gave it a couple of months to see if things would get any better between the two of you. But sadly, it didn’t, and divorce sounded like the only option. heeseung wasn’t communicating with you, and the past few months were eating you alive. If you stayed much longer, you probably would have lost yourself even more than you already have.

You gave up on dressing nice. What was the point when your man wouldn’t even take you out of the house you barely cleaned cause you just didn’t have the energy to, showering happened every other day, and you always felt useless cause your husband was struggling and you couldn’t help him the only thing that seemed to make him feel better was having you at night but even in bed he wasn’t the same he was more demanding always concerned about his pleasure and not yours which was a turn off for you.

But luckily, that was all going to end. After tonight, it would finally be over. You were freeing yourself from eight long months of abuse.

Once you finished packing, you stood on his side of the bedroom, a single tear leaving your eye as you slipped off your beautiful wedding ring and placed it on top of the divorce papers that you had already signed.

You left sooner than later because the longer you stayed, the more it was going to hurt, and you’ve been hurting for far too long already.

Heeseung was at the bar again, drowning himself in beer after beer and shot after shot, trying to forget the argument he had with you, but nothing was working.

He kept checking his phone every other minute, keeping an eye out to see if you sent him a text cause if you did, he was gonna respond right away and head straight home, so you wouldn’t have to worry about him being stupid for the countless night in a row yet a text never came, and he figured you must be really really upset with him this time.

“Is that your wife?” Jake asked, noticing him checking his phone every few minutes.

“No, actually,” he dryly chuckled, his thumb hovering over the power button on his phone. He turned it on and unlocked it, sifting through all his messages, and still not a single one from you. And now he was starting to get worried because this wasn’t like you. He should have at least ten missed calls and twenty different texts by now cause it was past midnight, and that’s always when you really started to spam him.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be at it soon enough.” his friend Jay pours him another drink, one that he doesn’t bother touching cause he’s still too focused on his phone, waiting to hear from you. “Ugh,” Jake sighed, a ding going off on his phone. “If it’s not one, it’s the other, am I right? Jake laughs, responding to his wife, telling her he’d be home soon and not to worry cause he’s with friends.

“Yeah,” heeseung mumbled and fake laughed if he was being honest. He was a little envious of Jake cause at least his wife was texting him.

Heeseung repeated his previous actions, checking for a new message, but he still had zero notifications. “You know, I think I’m gonna head home for the night.”

“What? It’s still early, though,” Jay complains.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” he drops a fifty on the table, quickly grabs his jacket, and jogs to his car. Something somewhere deep inside him was telling him that there was something wrong, and if anything like a break in or something bad happened to you cause he was out at the bar, he swears he’d never forgive himself.

Speeding down the street, he tries calling you, but no answer, which makes him even more worried. “Fuck! Baby, please be okay.” he feels himself on the verge of tears as he runs multiple red lights to get home to you. Most people might think he’s overreacting, but you never missed a call from him ever, not in your whole five years of marriage.

His heart drops when he finally arrives and sees your car no longer in the driveway. “Baby,” he mutters and unfastens his belt. Jogging up the porch, he quickly inserted his house key, and when he comprehended what he saw when he entered, it shattered his heart. It was almost as bad as a break in your stuff nowhere to be found, your shoes gone, all your little ornaments and decorations completely wiped out. “What’s this?” He says after entering the bedroom and, his heart felt like it stopped when he saw your wedding ring on his nightstand, accompanied by divorce papers. “No,” he shakes his head in denial, slowly backing away from the nightstand until his back hits the wall. “No,” he whimpers, sliding down the length of the bedroom wall. “Baby, no,” he whispers to himself, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. He knew he could be an asshole sometimes, but he never thought you would ever divorce him. “I’m so sorry,” he cries, running his thumb over the diamond on your ring. And right now, he’d rewind time just to hear your back to back questions when he came through the door. He’d never touch alcohol ever again if it meant he got to feel your welcoming hugs, and if he had just one more chance, he’d treat you the way you deserve.

He sniffs, wiping his tears and reaching for his phone, dialing your number only for it to go straight to voicemail.

He drops the phone at his side, staring off into space as tears roll down his cheeks. “Baby, I’m sorry. Please come back to me.”

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Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night♥️

[sugawarassoulmate]

not nut november - nov 04/nov 05

after the first few days, they were feeling great. then the weekend came.

tutor!akaashi & shitty bf!daishou

word count: 423 & 290

cw: fem!reader, bimbo!reader, unprotected sex, cheating/infidelity, choking, minors dni

tutor!akaashi

who even does studying on a saturday night? akaashi does, which means you have to too

you're in one of the study rooms at the campus library, which feels a little redundant since it's practically abandoned on a saturday night

"what act and scene is this line from?" akaashi asks, cooly. he's been quizzing you on king lear for the past three hours, making sure you knew could identify the passages for your midterm

"act three, scene two?" you guess but akaashi's eyes already tell you that you're wrong. "ugh, can we take a break, keiji? my brain is turning to mush!"

akaashi would argue that your brain was mush to begin with but there's no use continuing when you've already given up

there was one way he could motivate you to keep studying — it was for your own good really, you weren't smart enough to pass this exam just by winging it

but he remembers the bet he made with his friends earlier this week something about not having sex during the whole month. it was stupid but he knew he'd never hear the end of it from bokuto if he lost

akaashi supposes he could just eat you out while you study but nothing does the trick more than making you sit on his cock, making you read out his notes while you bounce in his lap...

it's not long before akaashi has you bent over the desk, skirt flipped up and panties pushed to the side. "come on, don't just think with your pussy, recite the line for me," he says, pulling you by the hair

"ahhh, 'when thou dost ask me blessing, i'll'—fuck, keiji!" you cry when he pulls out only to slam back into you.

a slap to your ass is what brings you back to reality. "'i'll...i'll kneel down and ask of thee forgiveness' uhhh, act five, scene three?" you answered, crying when akaashi's fingers circle your clit.

"look at that, she's finally using her little brain," akaashi coos, snapping his hips harder into you. "read the next one." he says, knowing this is the only way you'll pass

he can say it's for your benefit as much as he wants to but akaashi is just as guilty of thinking with his crotch, maybe even more so

akaashi only lets you cum when you've gone through all of the study guide and he rewards you by spilling his seed deep inside your womb and walking you to your dorm with his cum running down your leg

shitty bf!daishou

saturdays are meant for your girlfriend. taking her on dates and watching shows with her

but it's not saturday and you're not daishou's girlfriend, which is why he's technically not breaking any no nut november rules right now

his friends explicitly said that fucking your girl was off limits for the entire month

which is why he turned to you the first chance he got

"sugu!" the two of you barely made it past your door, with daishou pouncing on you the second he shut it behind him

now he's got you spread out on your floor, a hand wrapped around your throat

"shhh, i know, babe," he whispers, pace never letting up as he abuses your cunt. "you're gonna take all my cum this month, yeah? be my fuckin' cum dump?"

it's so sick and your heart breaks for mika, completely unaware that her boyfriend is balls deep in someone else—someone she calls a friend

but you nod anyway because for an entire month daishou's body will belong to you

mika will have to wonder about the faint smell of your perfume on his clothes, wondering why it smells so familiar

it's pathetic and cruel and so unlike you but it's what you want more than anything

"yes, yes, sugu! i want your cum," you gasp, nails running down his back "i'll take all of it, just give it to me, please!"

and daishou just loves the desperation, grunting a quick "that's my girl," before fucking you harder than ever

and as your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you feel the warmth of daishou's cum flooding your cunt, all that goes through your head is his voice saying "that's my girl," over and over

©sugawarassoulmate 2023 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

[rainforestakiie]

Hello! Please ignore this if you wish. I promise it will be the last time I ever bug you.

I was wondering about a story in which Adam is first orchestrated to be human’s representative in Heaven. Mutely translating to Adam picking up all the work Heaven rather not bother with. First, orchestrating the residence and basic necessities that would make humans comfortable. Emily helps but angels can only understand humans to an extent.

Adam is mentally exhausted and muffed that his afterlife has been inundated into a full time job. What made it worse was Heaven never acknowledges anything he’s done. The inventions. The farming. Parenting, etc. all of it is simply expected since he’s Adam. The one that ate the apple and nothing else.

He’s already tired by the time Sera gives him another job. Consulting with Hell. The population has basically tripled in hell after the flood and it’s beginning to be a problem. Adam, has only ever been reminded about how much of a fuck up he is. How much his descendants are sinners. How Lucifer tricked him. Or when Lilith left him. It’s all that’s ever spoken to the man that, on earth, as moved passed it. He’s had a life. The worse and the best of it. He’s suffered through his own hells of diseases, injury, disasters, child death. Winters. Bad harvest. Near starvation. All of it. And his reward has been to never stop hearing about that stupid apple, Lucifer. Lilith and Eve.

Now. He has to go and talk to them once a month. Because Heaven wouldn’t want to dirty their hands even a little.

So he goes. And the moment either of them even looks at him, Adam just mentally shuts down.

And pretends not to know them. At all. Greets them like he would any representative. Never calls them by name. Never raises his voice above monotone. And if asked about anything beyond the work, he just plays dumb. He’s just Adam. Just here to do a job. Eden? What Eden? Who’s wife? Oh, apples? Nah. I prefer pears.

If Lucifer gets annoyed and tries to get a raise, Adam just treats him like a stranger. Business. Ignoring them most of the time. Till Lucifer just snaps.

Anyway! That’s my idea. Had it for a whole year. Please ignore it. I was just happy to get it off my chest.

I’ll leave you be now. Thank you!

hello! i love this idea! i think i might have gone a little crazy? i hope you like this! i worked hard on it. i really loved how it came out~

Shut Down

Part 01 - Part 02

hope you enjoy it! and so so sorry for the wait!

The golden haze of Heaven shimmered faintly, eternal daylight casting soft halos on everything, but Adam’s heart was heavy with a darkness that could not be gilded. He stood at the edge of a celestial orchard, one he had designed—by necessity, not desire—watching humans wander the perfect rows of fruit trees. They laughed, basked in a perfection he had painstakingly carved from nothingness. Each fruit held just the right amount of sweetness. Each pathway was wide enough for families to stroll hand in hand. This place wasn’t handed to them; he had built it, from the dirt up.

But none of them knew that. No one knew, or worse, no one cared.

Emily was the only one who ever said thank you. She was small for an angel, slender and fragile looking, with eyes like quiet storms. She tried to understand humanity, tried to help Adam navigate the impossible demands Heaven had placed upon him. But angels were built for praise and worship, not empathy.

“I think the fountain by the entrance could use a little lighter,” she said one day, perched on the edge of the pristine marble basin.

Her voice was tentative, the kind of careful tone you use when you know the person you’re speaking to might break if you push too hard.

Adam wiped sweat from his brow—a pointless habit in Heaven, where no one sweated, but old habits die hard. He stared at her, his exhaustion a dull roar behind his eyes.

“Do you think that’ll make anyone notice it?” he asked bitterly. “Or me?”

Emily didn’t answer. She never did when he spiralled like this. She just stayed close, her silence a quiet balm he didn’t know he needed.

Heaven, for all its glory, had become Adam’s eternal workplace. He was its reluctant architect, its farmer, its mediator. He had planted the first seeds of the orchard. He had taught the humans how to tend them, how to live in this unnatural perfection. He had invented games for the children and written laws to keep peace. And yet, the angels looked right through him, their faces serene and empty, as though all of this had simply sprung into existence the moment humanity arrived.

And why wouldn’t they? He was Adam. The Adam. The man who had eaten the apple, ruined Eden, and dragged humanity down with him. That was the only story anyone cared about.

So when Sera appeared with another task, her wings glowing with soft, celestial light, Adam felt the last thread of his patience snap.

“You’ll need to consult with Hell,” she said, her voice dripping with divine authority.

Adam blinked at her, incredulous. “Consult? With Hell?”

“They’re experiencing… issues,” she said vaguely, as though the words burned her holy tongue. “Human souls. Integration. Something about inefficiencies.”

Adam laughed, the sound sharp and humourless. “Of course. Because when there’s a problem no one wants to deal with, it’s my problem.”

Tilting her head, Sera’s expression as blank as polished stone. “You were the first human. It is your role.”

“My role,” Adam repeated, his voice cracking under the weight of his frustration. “My role was to live, to love, to die. That was supposed to be it. I didn’t ask to be some… some cosmic janitor cleaning up Heaven’s messes!”

Emily reached for his arm, but he pulled away, the movement sharp and unkind. He regretted it immediately, but he couldn’t stop the words tumbling from his mouth.

“I gave up everything for this,” he said, his voice breaking. “My rest. My peace. My soul. And for what? So I can spend eternity fixing problems no one else wants to touch?”

Sera’s serene expression didn’t waver, and that only made his anger burn hotter.

“Why don’t you send an angel?” he demanded.

“They lack the… context,” she said, as though that explained everything.

Laughing again, hollow and bitter. Adam weakly smiled, “Of course. Because understanding humanity only matters when it’s inconvenient for you.”

Sera disappeared in a shimmer of light, leaving Adam alone with Emily and his fury. He sank onto the edge of the fountain, his head in his hands.

“Adam,” Emily began, her voice soft.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands. “Just… don’t.”

But she didn’t leave. She never left. Instead, she knelt beside him, her presence steady and warm.

“They’ll never thank you,” she said quietly.

He looked at her, startled by the raw honesty in her voice.

“They’ll never thank you,” she repeated. “But that doesn’t mean what you’ve done doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t feel like it matters,” he said, his voice trembling.

“It matters to me,” she said, and for the first time, her voice cracked.

Adam looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the truth in her eyes. She cared—not because it was her duty, not because she was an angel, but because she had seen his struggle and chosen to stay.

The weight of her gaze was almost too much to bear. But in it, he found the faintest flicker of hope.

Maybe this wasn’t the eternity he had wanted. Maybe it was thankless and exhausting and infuriating. But as long as Emily was there, as long as someone saw him, maybe it wasn’t entirely unbearable.

And so, when the gates of Heaven opened, revealing the dark, twisting paths that led to Hell, Adam took a deep breath and stepped forward. Emily followed, her presence a quiet promise at his side.

Hell was nothing like Adam had imagined. It wasn’t the fiery pit artists had painted or the grotesque chaos preachers had warned of. No, Hell was a kingdom. Cold, sprawling, and alive. Its skies were the colour of bruised steel, its rivers slick with an oily shimmer that reflected the low, glowing embers scattered across its barren expanse. The weight of despair was heavy in the air, like the static before a storm.

Stepping through the gates; Adam’s footsteps silent on the cracked obsidian ground. He had been here so many times now that the surreal horror of it barely registered. Heaven’s emissary to Hell. What a joke. A cosmic errand boy for a celestial bureaucracy that couldn’t be bothered to handle its own messes. Hell’s population had tripled after the flood, and, naturally, it fell to Adam to negotiate solutions. Heaven didn’t want to “dirty their hands,” and Hell… Hell just enjoyed the game.

“Adam,” came the silken voice that made his stomach churn.

Lucifer sat on a throne of jagged iron, lounging with the kind of ease that only someone who ruled Hell could manage. Beside him, Lilith perched like a shadow come to life, her dark eyes gleaming with something between amusement and malice.

“Your Majesty. Your Highness,” Adam said flatly, bowing just enough to be polite but not enough to seem subservient.

Smiling wider, a wolfish grin that would have once made Adam’s heart race—not in fear, but in something he didn’t care to name anymore. “Majesty? Highness? Come now, Adam. When did we become so… formal?”

Adam didn’t answer. He placed his satchel on the obsidian table before the throne, pulling out scrolls and ledgers.

“The population problem is worse than Heaven anticipated,” he said, his tone devoid of inflection. “I’ve outlined potential solutions. We can start with increased partitioning of—”

“Adam,” Lilith interrupted, her voice a purr. “Don’t you even want to ask how we’ve been? It’s been, what… a century? We missed you.”

His hands stilled for the briefest of moments before continuing to unfurl the scroll. “This isn’t a social visit,” he said without looking up. “I’m here to work.”

Lucifer leaned forward, resting his chin on a hand adorned with rings that glinted like fresh blood. “Work. Is that what they’re calling slavery these days?”

Adam didn’t respond.

“You always were good at taking orders,” Lilith murmured, her tone cutting but light, like a blade wrapped in silk.

He ignored her, pointing to the first chart. “Here is where the population density is highest. If we redistribute—”

“Don’t tell me you’re still sour about what happened in Eden,” Lucifer said suddenly, his voice a low hum.

Adam didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance up.

“Eden?” he repeated, as if the word were foreign to him. “What Eden?”

Tilting his head, Lucifer studied Adam like a predator watching wounded prey. “You know. The garden. Paradise.”

“Oh,” Adam said, his tone as dry as ash. “That Eden. No, I don’t think I recall.”

Lilith smirked, but there was a flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps—in her eyes.

“Come now,” Lucifer said, leaning back lazily. “You don’t remember the apples? The tree?”

“Apples?” Adam asked, arching an eyebrow as though the word itself was laughable. “I’m more of a pear person.”

Laughing, sharp and short, but it didn’t have the bite she’d hoped for.

Lucifer’s grin faltered, just slightly. He straightened in his seat, his golden eyes narrowing.

“And Eve?” he asked, his voice soft and dangerous.

“Who?” Adam asked, tilting his head in mock confusion.

Lucifer’s expression darkened. “Your wife, Adam. The one who bit the fruit and became the mother of humanity? Surely you remember her.”

Adam stared at the chart in front of him as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Can’t say I do,” he said. “Must not have made much of an impression.”

Lilith’s smile twisted, her irritation starting to show. “You’re not very good at pretending, Adam.”

“Oh, I don’t need to pretend,” he said, finally looking up, his eyes flat and lifeless. “I don’t remember because I don’t care. Now, can we move on to the overpopulation issue, or are we going to sit here dredging up meaningless trivia all day?”

For a moment, the room was silent. Lucifer and Lilith exchanged a glance, their confidence shaken by Adam’s complete detachment.

Leaning forward again, Lucifer’s grin returning, but it was forced now.

“You’ve changed,” he said, his tone laced with faux amusement.

Adam met his gaze, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something cold and unyielding.

“No,” he said quietly. “I just stopped caring.”

The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Lucifer leaned back, his smile fading into something more thoughtful, and Lilith shifted in her seat, her sharp edges dulled by unease.

Adam turned back to his charts, his hands steady and sure. He felt nothing. Not anger, not sadness, not even relief. Just a hollow calm that carried him through the motions.

They could jab at him all they wanted. They could bring up Eden, the apple, Eve, all the failures they thought defined him. None of it mattered.

He was just Adam. Just here to do a job.

~#~

The grand hall of Hell was colder than usual, its vast expanse of jagged obsidian and molten gold eerily quiet as Adam stepped through the iron doors. His footfalls echoed, but the absence of Lilith’s pointed laughter or biting remarks gave the space an unfamiliar hollowness.

Adam’s gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on the empty throne beside Lucifer’s. His eyebrows twitched upward for a fleeting second before settling back into their usual indifference. He made a soft hum of acknowledgment, then casually unfurled the scroll of contracts in his hand.

“Well, Your Majesty,” Adam began, his voice as flat as ever. “If we could start—”

“Are you going to ask about her?” Lucifer’s voice was a low growl, the words cutting through the silence like the scrape of a blade.

Adam paused, glancing up at the fallen angel’s sharp, smouldering gaze. “Ask about who?”

Teeth clenching, the muscles in Lucifer’s jaw tightening.

“Lilith,” he hissed. “Aren’t you even the least bit curious?”

Adam blinked; his expression impassive. “No.”

He shrugged, setting the scroll on the obsidian table between them. “I don’t care enough to ask.”

The casual dismissal hit Lucifer like a slap. He rose from his throne, his wings flaring slightly, casting long, jagged shadows against the flickering walls. “You insufferable, self-righteous—”

“Are we doing this or not?” Adam interrupted, his voice carrying the faintest edge of impatience. He gestured to the paperwork. “I’ve got things to do. If this isn’t a good time, we can reschedule.”

Lucifer’s fingers curled into the armrests of his throne, his claws scraping the iron. His golden eyes narrowed, burning with a fury Adam didn’t bother to acknowledge. Finally, with a sharp click of his tongue, Lucifer hissed, “You’re really pissing me off, Adam.”

Adam didn’t even flinch. “Then perhaps we should—”

Before he could finish, Lucifer disappeared in a flash of golden flames, the heat licking at the edges of Adam’s sleeves. Adam sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Dramatic as always,” he muttered under his breath. He gathered his papers, turned on his heel, and left.

The next meeting was quieter. No jabs. No sharp comments. Lucifer lounged on his throne, his usual smirk absent, his posture uncharacteristically tense. Adam wasted no time getting to work, spreading the golden parchment Sera had drafted across the table.

“The contract outlines an extermination of souls to ease overcrowding,” Adam began, his tone monotone. “Heaven has already approved—”

“She left,” Lucifer said suddenly, his voice soft but strained.

Adam didn’t stop, his eyes scanning the contract as if he hadn’t heard.

“Lilith,” Lucifer continued. “She’s gone. Just got bored of me, I suppose.”

His tone was bitter, but there was an undercurrent of something raw beneath it. “She didn’t say much. Just… left.”

Stiffening, the faintest twitch betraying the crack in Adam’s mask, but he kept talking. “The terms are standard. A simple signature will—”

“She said I wasn’t enough,” Lucifer said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. His golden eyes were fixed on Adam, searching, waiting for something—anything—to flicker across his face.

Adam sighed, setting the parchment down. He finally met Lucifer’s gaze; his expression still as unreadable as stone.

“What does this have to do with the contract?” he asked, his voice flat. “The quicker you sign it, the quicker this is over.”

Eyes flickering with anger and something else—hurt, maybe. Lucifer stared at the golden parchment, his lip curling in disdain. “I won’t sign it.”

Adam’s patience was thinning. “Neither of us wants to be here, so—”

Lucifer’s bitter laugh cut him off. “That’s funny. Because I do want to be here.”

Raising an eyebrow at that, genuinely surprised for the first time in a long while. But Adam recovered quickly, his tone slipping back into its formal detachment. “Very well, Your Majesty—”

Chair screeching as Lucifer shot to his hooves, fire erupting around him.

“Call me by my name!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber like thunder.

Adam stared up at him, unimpressed. “You are the King of Hell,” he said flatly.

Slamming a fist against the table, the impact sending cracks spidering through the obsidian.

“Don’t play this game with me, Adam!” Lucifer snarled. “You know who I am! I’m Lucifer! Lu-ci-fer!”

Adam didn’t flinch. His expression remained blank, disinterested, even as Lucifer’s fury blazed hotter.

“You were my friend once!” Lucifer bellowed, his eyes flaring blood-red, his horns curling upward as if they were reaching for the heavens. “Do you even remember what that means? Do you remember us? Do you remember Eden?”

Folding his arms, Lucifer’s gaze cold and unmoved.

“Eden?” he repeated, his voice like a dagger wrapped in frost. “Never heard of it.”

Lucifer’s wings flared wide, and his voice rose to a near scream. “It was our home! Our home! You and I—we in it together! We were supposed to be everything!”

Meeting his blood-red gaze without a hint of fear, Adam’s tone colder than Lucifer’s fire was hot. “And yet here we are.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Lucifer’s chest heaved, his fiery aura flickering, but Adam remained still, a glacier unmoved by the storm.

Lucifer sank back into his throne, his horns receding, his eyes dimming. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Adam picked up the parchment, holding it out. “The contract, Your Majesty.”

Glaring at him but said nothing. The fire in Lucifer’s eyes burned low, smouldering with something heavier than anger.

He didn’t sign it that day.

~#~

The air in Hell’s grand hall was heavy with tension as Adam entered again, his steps slow and deliberate. Lucifer was already lounging on his throne, one leg crossed lazily over the other, his golden goblet glinting in the dim light. The contract lay untouched on the obsidian table between them, just as it had been at every other meeting. Adam’s eyes barely flicked toward it before he set his jaw and approached.

“Your Majesty,” Adam began, placing another copy of the parchment before Lucifer. “The extermination initiative—”

Waving a dismissive hand, cutting him off. Lucifer sighed. “Let’s not start with all that boring drivel, Adam. I’ve got time today. Do you?”

Exhaling quietly through his nose, a faint tick betraying his irritation, but Adam maintained his calm façade. “The contract—”

“Do you really not care about Eden anymore?” Lucifer asked, his voice softer now, almost wistful.

Pausing, Adam’s fingers twitching as they hovered over the document. Slowly, he looked up. “Eden is… irrelevant to the matter at hand.”

Laughing softly, the sound carrying a strange mixture of bitterness and fondness. Lucifer smirked, “Irrelevant? You loved Eden, Adam. I remember how your eyes would light up when you showed me your latest discoveries. Every new flower, every creature, every little thing—it was like seeing the world through your eyes for the first time.”

Adam’s expression didn’t waver, though his grip on the parchment tightened ever so slightly. “If you’re not going to sign the contract, we can—”

“You used to drag me all over that garden,” Lucifer continued, ignoring him entirely. His eyes glimmered with distant memories, glowing red and gold as he stared through Adam like he was looking at a ghost. “You’d get so excited whenever I came to visit. Remember? You’d grab my hand and pull me to show off some ridiculous little plant or how you’d taught a bird to sit on your shoulder.”

Adam’s voice was as flat as stone. “I don’t recall.”

Lucifer grinned faintly, his eyes narrowing with amusement, though there was a flicker of frustration behind them. “Don’t recall? I spent days with you at the beginning—night and day, making sure you didn’t poison yourself or drown yourself.”

He leaned forward, his voice warming. “You were so innocent. So sweet. So… human.”

“I’m still human,” Adam replied coolly, adjusting the golden feathered quill in his hand. “And this is still a waste of time. If you won’t—”

Gaze sharpened, Lucifer’s grin growing wolfish. “I taught you how to care for wings, remember? You surely used my technique on your wings?”

His tone turned teasing. “You couldn’t stop touching mine, asking a million questions. You were obsessed with the way they shimmered in the sun.”

Adam’s golden wings shifted slightly behind him, but his expression remained frozen.

“Sera taught me to care for my wings,” he said curtly. “I don’t remember an angel in Eden. Certainly not one who would let me touch their wings.”

The shift in Lucifer’s demeanour was immediate. His face darkened, his lips twisting into a sour frown. His gaze bore into Adam, intense and almost pleading, but Adam didn’t flinch.

“I was in Eden,” Lucifer snapped, his voice low and sharp. “I was your archangel. Your guardian. How can you pretend I wasn’t there?”

Shrugging, Adam’s tone dismissive. “Because you weren’t?” He said it like he was explaining something to a particularly slow child.

Lucifer bristled, his wings flaring slightly as the temperature in the room spiked. His claws tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his throne.

“Then how,” he hissed, his voice dangerously quiet, “Did you get that scar on your thigh?”

Adam’s composure faltered, just for a fraction of a second. His eyes flicked to Lucifer, then down to the table, before settling back on the contract. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Inching forward, Lucifer’s fiery gaze locking onto Adam like a predator cornering its prey.

“Yes, you do,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “You fell down a cliff. Scraped your leg open on a jagged rock. I was the one who healed you.”

His voice rose slightly, tinged with anger. “Do you remember that, Adam? Your first taste of pain?”

Adam’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone neutral. “I don’t remember falling,” he said simply.

Lucifer’s wings flared wider, his patience fraying.

“You cried for hours!” he snapped. “You couldn’t understand what had happened to you, why you were bleeding, why it hurt. I carried you back to the spring and healed you myself.”

His voice softened slightly, almost pleading. “You trusted me, Adam. Do you really not remember?”

Adam finally looked up, his face impassive but his eyes faintly cold.

“I remember plenty,” he said flatly. “But not you.”

Recoiling slightly as if the words had struck him. Lucifer’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenching as his fiery gaze bore into Adam’s unflinching mask.

For a long moment, the hall was silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then Lucifer leaned back in his throne, his expression twisting into something bitter and raw.

“Of course,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why would you?”

Adam picked up the quill again, his focus returning to the contract. “If you’re done reminiscing, perhaps we can proceed with the matter at hand.”

Lucifer didn’t respond. His wings folded tightly against his back, and he stared at the parchment with a glare that could melt stone.

He didn’t sign it. Again.

~#~

The grand hall was eerily silent when Adam entered, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor. Lucifer was already there, sprawled across his throne with a confidence that felt exaggerated, almost theatrical. The obsidian table between them bore the familiar contract, but Adam didn’t bother expecting progress. He strode forward, his demeanour calm and professional, placing the golden quill beside the parchment before sitting down.

“Your Majesty,” Adam began, his tone flat and businesslike, “the extermination contract. Heaven’s representatives are still awaiting—”

Lucifer cut him off with a gleeful chuckle, leaning forward, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, Adam, must you be so boring every time? We have centuries together, yet you insist on skipping the pleasantries.”

Adam blinked slowly, unimpressed. “Pleasantries won’t sign the contract.”

Ignoring the quip, Lucifer’s grin widening like a Cheshire cat’s. “Let’s talk about something more interesting—like Lilith.”

Adam’s expression didn’t flicker, though he adjusted his posture slightly, folding his hands in his lap. Lucifer took the silence as an invitation to continue, his voice practically dripping with smugness.

“You do remember Lilith, don’t you?” Lucifer asked, his grin sharp and mocking. “The first woman? Your first wife?”

Adam tilted his head, a faint crease forming between his brows as though he were searching his memory.

“I remember… another woman,” he said slowly, his tone detached. “But I can’t say what her name was or why she left. If she did leave, though, I suppose it was for the best.”

Freezing, Lucifer’s smirk faltering. “For the best?” he echoed, his voice incredulous.

Adam shrugged. “I don’t even remember her, so she mustn’t have been very important.”

The words struck Lucifer like a slap, and his smugness dissolved into irritation. His wings twitched, his claws tapping against the armrest.

“She was important,” he snapped. “She left because of you. You were cruel to her, dismissive, demanding—don’t you remember what you put her through?”

Adam looked at him evenly, his face an unmoving mask of neutrality. He waited for Lucifer’s rant to burn itself out before cocking his head slightly, as though observing a child mid-tantrum.

“Are you finished?”

Lucifer blinked, his eyes wide and uncharacteristically unsure. He slumped back into his throne, glaring at Adam. “Do you really not feel anything for Lilith?”

Adam shrugged again; his expression unreadable. “Obviously not. I don’t even remember her.” He paused, tilting his head. “You mean the queen, right?”

Lucifer nodded stiffly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Then no,” Adam continued smoothly, “I don’t remember meeting the queen before these meetings.”

Lucifer let out a frustrated huff, but his eyes betrayed something deeper—a flicker of desperation, perhaps. He leaned forward again, his voice softening as he pressed on.

“Lilith and I… we spent so much time together in Eden. Sneaking around, giggling, learning, experiencing everything for the first time.” His tone turned smug again, though there was a nervous edge to it. “We had so much fun, Adam. You… must remember that?”

Adam sighed, shifting his weight slightly. “I really don’t care what the king did with his queen. It’s not my concern.”

Lucifer bristled, his wings flaring slightly. “Of course it’s your concern! She was your wife!”

Adam frowned, his brows knitting together as though trying to make sense of the words.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” he asked, his tone flat and almost bored. “If what you’re saying is true, then you haven’t been much of a friend.”

Lucifer stiffened, his smug demeanour cracking. “What do you mean?”

Adam rolled his eyes slightly, twirling a finger in the air as if outlining the obvious. “Let’s say, for your sake, that your story is true. You just admitted to me that you—my supposed best friend—went out of your way to teach me betrayal. To show me what it felt like to be cheated on.”

He paused, his tone utterly devoid of emotion. “Imagine. My wife and my best friend.”

Lucifer sat in stunned silence, the words visibly sinking in. His claws dug into his knees, his wings trembling slightly as he stared at Adam with wide eyes.

“That’s… the truth,” he murmured finally, his voice quiet and almost hollow. “I’m a terrible friend.”

Adam’s gaze didn’t waver. “But hey,” he said dryly, “None of that actually happened, so who cares?”

Lucifer’s head snapped up, his golden eyes blazing. “It did happen!” he hissed. “And it should matter!”

Adam shook his head, his expression calm and disinterested.

“Not to me.” He pushed the contract forward again. “Now, about the extermination initiative—”

Lucifer ignored the parchment entirely, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and something else—something fragile.

“Did you… really hurt her?” he asked softly. “Like she claims?”

Adam looked at him sharply, his brows raising in faint disbelief.

“You know,” he said slowly, “for someone who claims to be my best friend once, to have known everything about me, you should already know the answer to that, shouldn’t you?”

The words hit Lucifer like a physical blow. He stiffened, his claws digging deeper into his knees, his wings shuddering as the weight of Adam’s words sank in. For a moment, he looked almost small, his fiery arrogance dimming.

Adam waited a beat, then tilted his head, his tone turning brisk and professional again. “Are you ready to focus on the contract now, Your Majesty?”

Lucifer didn’t respond, his wide eyes fixed on Adam as though searching for something—anything—beneath his impenetrable mask. But Adam simply stared back, calm and unmoved, until Lucifer finally slumped back into his throne, defeated and silent.

He doesn’t sign the contract then either.

~#~

Adam sat across from Sera in Heaven’s towering council chamber, his face calm but his wings faintly drooping with frustration. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, her eyes sharp as they bore into him.

"Adam," Sera began, her voice firm. "Why is this taking so long? The extermination contract should’ve been signed weeks ago."

Adam sighed, running a hand through his golden hair. "The King is being... difficult."

Sera raised an eyebrow, motioning for him to elaborate.

"He keeps wanting to go down memory lane," Adam said, his tone flat. "It’s always something about Eden, or Lilith, or Eve. He’s fixated on the past, and it has nothing to do with the task at hand."

Sera leaned forward, her tone clipped and impatient. "Then give him what he wants. Humour him. Anything to get this over with."

Adam frowned, crossing his arms. "I’m not going to play his games, Sera. This is about Heaven’s decree, not indulging the King of Hell’s nostalgia."

Sera huffed, but didn’t press further. She dismissed him with a wave, muttering something about how things always became messy when the traitor was involved. Adam left the chamber with his shoulders squared, but the weight of her impatience still lingered as he prepared for yet another meeting.

The grand hall was quieter than usual when Adam entered for his next session with Lucifer. The atmosphere felt heavier, and it immediately struck him that Lucifer wasn’t his usual smug self. Instead, the King of Hell sat slumped on his throne, his golden eyes dim, his expression unreadable.

Adam hesitated briefly before walking to the table and unfurling the parchment.

"Your Majesty," he began in his usual calm tone, "I’ve revised the extermination proposal to address—"

Lucifer raised a hand, cutting him off. For a moment, he simply stared at Adam, his cheek resting on his palm, his expression weary. Then he spoke, his voice soft and almost sorrowful.

"Do you know about Eve? About what I did?"

Adam’s pen paused mid-motion, but he didn’t look up.

"It doesn’t matter," he said simply, returning his attention to the parchment. "Let’s focus on the contract."

Lucifer exhaled sharply through his nose, sitting up straighter.

"I’m worse than a bad friend," he said bitterly. "I’m a scumbag."

Adam finally looked at him, his brows knitting in faint confusion. "What are you talking about now?"

Lucifer’s claws tapped against the armrest of his throne, his gaze hardening. "The apple…The apple of knowledge. I gave it to Eve. And afterward… I had sex with her."

Adam’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he clicked his tongue. "This means nothing to me. Why are you so keen to tell me these stories?"

"They’re not stories," Lucifer snapped, leaning forward. "They happened. And they should matter to you!"

Adam shrugged helplessly. "They don’t. I only care about the contract."

Lucifer ignored him, his voice growing louder, more desperate. "I lured Eve to the tree. Told her about the world outside Eden. Told her she was Heaven’s puppet. I offered her freedom. I offered her the apple, and she was so eager to take it. And after—"

"Your Majesty," Adam interrupted, his wings shifting as he let out a deep, weary sigh. "Please. Can we just get back to—"

Lucifer slammed his fist on the armrest, his voice trembling. "I betrayed you, Adam. I betrayed you in every way possible."

He rubbed his face, his claws dragging over his skin. His voice cracked as he went on. "I didn’t just betray you with Eve. I betrayed you with Lilith, too. I helped her cheat on you—with me. Your best friend. Your guardian angel."

Adam’s expression didn’t waver, but his chest tightened painfully at the words. He kept his face blank, refusing to let any emotion show.

Lucifer laughed bitterly, his hands trembling as he looked down at them. "I should’ve known it was all lies. The moment Lilith told me you were hurting her, bossing her around—I should’ve known. You wouldn’t even know how to do that. You were pure, untouched by sin. There were no sins in Eden."

He looked up at Adam, his golden eyes glassy. "And I failed you. I failed as your friend, as your guardian angel. I believed her lies because of my own pride. I didn’t question her. I didn’t think. I just… gave in."

Lucifer’s voice dropped to a whisper, filled with shame. "I stained you with Lilith. I stained you with Eve. I stained everything I touched. I’m a terrible friend, Adam. A terrible guardian. And I’m so sorry."

Adam’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to remain still. He wanted to cry, wanted to scream, but he wouldn’t allow himself to break. He cleared his throat softly and said, "If I accept your apology, will you be serious?"

Frowning, Lucifer’s wings shifting uneasily. "I am being serious."

Shaking his head, Adam gestured to the parchment between them. "Then sign the contract."

Lucifer’s expression darkened, his sharp teeth bared as he hissed, "Is the contract all you care about?"

"Obviously." Adam snorted softly.

Lucifer let out a growl, his claws digging into the table. "I’ve had enough of this game, Adam! I get it, okay? I’m a shitty angel. A shitty friend. Just… shitty in general. But come on!"

His voice cracked, and his wings drooped. "Enough’s enough!"

Adam didn’t react to Lucifer’s outburst, his face calm and dull. He leaned back in his chair, waiting for the storm to pass.

Once Lucifer’s anger burned itself out, he slumped in his throne, staring at Adam with wide, almost pleading eyes. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Finally, Lucifer’s voice broke the silence, quiet and trembling.

"Do you seriously not care about anything?"

Adam looked at him steadily. "I care about one thing."

Lucifer’s face fell, his shoulders slumping further.

"It’s not the contract," he muttered bitterly. "You don’t care about the contract."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "What do you want, then?"

Lucifer’s golden eyes glistened as he stared at Adam, his voice breaking. "I want you, Adam. I want my Adam back."

Adam rolled his eyes, his tone flat. "You are acting childish."

Lucifer shook his head, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know I’ve fucked up. I know I have a lot to make up for. But please… please, Adam, stop this game. It’s killing me."

Adam said nothing, only pushing the contract forward again. Lucifer stared at him for a long moment before golden flames erupted around him, and he disappeared without another word.

Adam sat alone in the grand hall, his chest tight, his wings heavy. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. Then, with a shake of his head, he rose and left the room.

Adam barely made it to the quiet sanctuary of his chamber before the dam broke. As soon as the heavy door shut behind him, sealing him off from the endless corridors of Heaven and the prying eyes of the angels, he crumpled to his knees. His wings drooped low, their golden feathers dragging against the pristine floor.

The first sob escaped his throat before he could stop it. It was raw, ugly, and filled with years of pain he thought he’d buried deep enough to forget. But Lucifer’s words from their meeting echoed endlessly in his mind.

"I failed you."

"I betrayed you."

"I stained everything I touched."

Adam clutched at his chest, his fingers curling into the fabric of his robes as though trying to dig out the ache that burned there. It hurt—a deep, soul-crushing hurt that he couldn’t suppress anymore.

Lucifer’s confessions had ripped open old wounds Adam hadn’t even realized were still there. He didn’t want to care, didn’t want to feel anything for the King of Hell. But hearing Lucifer lay himself bare like that—seeing the raw guilt and sorrow in his golden eyes—it was unbearable.

Memories flooded his mind, unbidden and sharp. He remembered Lilith’s laughter, her soft voice, the way she used to press her hand to his chest as though she could feel his heartbeat. He remembered the warmth of Lucifer’s wings as they shielded him from Eden’s rains, the way the archangel had always been there to steady him when he stumbled.

And then, he remembered the betrayals. Lilith’s coldness as she left him for Lucifer. Lucifer’s smug grin the first time he had bragged about it. Eve’s wide, curious eyes as she stepped closer to the forbidden tree, her hand reaching for the apple.

Adam’s sobs grew louder, shaking his entire body. His wings twitched and trembled, the golden feathers ruffling as though they shared his pain. It wasn’t just the betrayals that hurt. It was the weight of it all. The weight of knowing he was supposed to be the first, the purest, the perfect creation. And yet, all he’d ever was a pawn in someone else’s games.

His fists slammed against the floor, the impact sending dull echoes through the room.

"Why?" he choked out, his voice thick with tears. "Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?"

He hated Lucifer in that moment. Hated him for dredging up the past, for forcing Adam to remember things he didn’t want to remember. But more than that, he hated himself for still caring.

“Why couldn’t you have just gone alone with the game?”

The tears wouldn’t stop. They poured down his face, soaking the floor beneath him as his sobs wracked his body. He felt raw, exposed, as though every part of him had been torn open and left to bleed.

How much longer could he take this? How many more meetings could he endure before he shattered completely?

He pressed his forehead to the cool floor, his wings splayed out around him in a mess of gold and white.

"It’s too much," he whispered brokenly. "I can’t… I can’t do this anymore."

But he had to.

Sera was counting on him. Heaven was counting on him. And no matter how much it hurt—no matter how much Lucifer’s words ripped him apart—Adam couldn’t let them see him falter.

After what felt like hours, his sobs began to quiet, though the ache in his chest remained. He wiped at his face with shaking hands, his movements slow and deliberate as he tried to compose himself.

Finally, he pushed himself to his feet, his legs weak and unsteady beneath him. His wings twitched, and he forced them to fold neatly behind his back, though the effort made his muscles ache.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room. His eyes were red, his face pale, and his hair dishevelled. He looked like a man on the brink of breaking.

But he couldn’t break. Not yet.

Straightening his robes, Adam took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He wiped the lingering tears from his face, forcing his expression back into the calm, stoic mask he’d worn for so long.

The pain was still there, sharp and suffocating, but he shoved it down. He had a job to do.

His pain could wait.

~#~

The moment Adam stepped into the throne room, he knew something was…off. Lucifer was sprawled sideways across his throne, one leg dangling over the armrest, and a half-empty bottle clutched loosely in his hand. His grin was wide and childlike, eyes half-lidded and gleaming with a mischievous light.

"Adam!" Lucifer exclaimed, his voice slurring slightly as he waved the bottle in greeting. "It's been forever!"

Adam stopped in his tracks, his wings twitching behind him.

"It’s been three days," he said, frowning.

Lucifer cackled, the sound rich and full, echoing in the cavernous space. "Forever!" he insisted, dragging out the word as he swung his legs around to sit upright—barely. He swayed dangerously and only just caught himself on the arm of the throne.

Adam’s eyes narrowed. "Are you… drunk?"

Lucifer gasped theatrically, clutching his chest like Adam had just stabbed him. "Me? Drunk? How dare you insinuate such a thing, Adam!"

He tried to look offended but immediately broke into a wide grin. "Okay, maybe just a little."

He held up his fingers, barely an inch apart.

Adam stared at him, baffled. He’d never seen anyone drunk before, let alone Lucifer in such a state. Heaven didn’t have alcohol—there was no reason for it. And yet, here was the King of Hell, giggling like a child and swinging a bottle of what smelled suspiciously like something sweet and fermented.

"Your majesty," Adam began cautiously, "We have business to discuss. This contract—"

"Business, business, business!" Lucifer interrupted, waving his hand dramatically as if to physically push Adam’s words away. He sat up straighter—or tried to—and pointed at Adam with the neck of the bottle. "You’ve got to read it to me! I wanna hear your angel voice say all those long, boring words. It’s so cute!"

Adam blinked. "You want me to read—?"

"Yes! Read it! Read it!" Lucifer chanted, giggling uncontrollably.

Sighing, Adam unrolled the parchment and began to read aloud, his voice even and measured. But every time he said something particularly formal or legal-sounding, Lucifer erupted into giggles, his hand covering his mouth like a mischievous child.

"Clause thirty-two subsection B states—"

"Pfft! Subsection!" Lucifer wheezed, doubling over and nearly toppling off his throne.

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience fraying.

"You’re drunk," he said flatly.

Lucifer gasped again, this time more dramatically than before.

"I am not!" he declared, though his lopsided grin and glassy eyes betrayed him. He leaned forward, his face inches from Adam’s.

"Okay, maybe I am. Just a little," he admitted, his grin turning sheepish. "But that’s only because it makes me feel better."

Adam’s brows furrowed. "Feel better about what?"

Lucifer didn’t answer. Instead, he reached behind his throne and, with a flourish, produced another bottle. He held it out to Adam. "Here. You should try it!"

Adam raised an eyebrow and pushed the bottle away. "No, thank you."

Lucifer huffed, setting the bottle aside and slumping forward onto the table between them. He rested his chin in his hands, staring up at Adam with a dreamy smile.

"You’re so serious all the time now," he said, his voice softer but still tinged with that drunken lilt. "It’s not fair."

Adam crossed his arms. "What’s not fair?"

Lucifer sat up suddenly, pointing at him with a pout. "Before, we used to snuggle! Under the sun, under the moon! You used to play with my wings and my hair! You loved my hair!"

Adam froze, his wings twitching nervously.

"That… never happened," he said stiffly.

"It did!" Lucifer insisted, his voice rising in pitch as he nearly climbed onto the table. "You’d brush my feathers and laugh at my stupid jokes and—oh!"

His attention shifted abruptly to Adam’s golden wings, his eyes lighting up with childlike wonder.

Before Adam could react, Lucifer was reaching out, his fingers tangling gently in the soft, shimmering feathers.

"Your wings," Lucifer murmured, his voice filled with awe. He ran his fingers through them, his touch light and teasing. "So beautiful. Are they as sensitive as mine?"

Adam jerked away, his wings folding tightly against his back.

"Your majesty," he said warningly.

But Lucifer only pouted, ducking under Adam’s arm and pushing himself into his lap. Adam stiffened, completely frozen as Lucifer wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug.

"You don’t love me anymore," Lucifer mumbled, his voice muffled against Adam’s chest.

Adam blinked, utterly at a loss.

"Your breath stinks," he said flatly, his tone the only defence he had against the absurdity of the situation.

Lucifer pulled back just enough to grin up at him, his face far too close.

"You used to like my hugs," he said, his tone playful but tinged with sadness.

Adam opened his mouth to retort but snapped it shut when Lucifer began to purr—a soft, rumbling sound that was entirely unexpected. Adam stared down at him, his mind racing for a way to handle the drunk, overly affectionate King of Hell currently snuggled against him.

Lucifer’s grin widened as he nuzzled closer, his purring growing louder.

"Missed this," he murmured, his voice thick with drunken sincerity.

Adam sighed deeply, his wings twitching with barely restrained frustration. "Your Majesty, you’re drunk. And ridiculous."

"And adorable," Lucifer added, giggling.

Adam didn’t respond, his mind spinning as he tried to figure out how to extract himself from the situation. But as Lucifer’s purring softened and his grip around Adam loosened, Adam realized the King had fallen asleep.

For a moment, Adam just sat there, staring down at Lucifer’s peaceful face. His heart ached, but he shoved the feeling aside.

"Ridiculous," he muttered again, carefully shifting Lucifer off his lap and onto the table. Lucifer barely stirred, mumbling something unintelligible before snuggling into the smooth surface.

Adam stood, straightening his robes and wings with a sigh. This was going to be a long negotiation.

Clearly, Lucifer did not sign the fucking contract that day either.

~#~

The tension in the air was thick as Adam entered the meeting room, his steps slow and deliberate. His golden wings drooped slightly, betraying his exhaustion. He had endured over a year of these tiresome meetings with Lucifer, each one feeling more like a test of his patience than a genuine negotiation. The King of Hell refused to take anything seriously, flitting between drunken antics and cryptic ramblings. Adam’s patience was wearing thin, and Sera’s growing frustration with him only added to his burden.

This time, however, as Adam stepped into the room, the sight that greeted him was unexpectedly… mundane.

Lucifer sat at the table, two steaming cups of tea before him, his demeanour oddly calm. His piercing eyes lit up when he spotted Adam, and he gestured grandly to the tea.

"Adam!" Lucifer chirped. "Perfect timing. I’ve prepared tea!"

Adam froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at the setup.

"Tea?" he repeated, his voice flat.

"Green tea, to be specific," Lucifer said cheerfully, lifting his own cup and inhaling the fragrant steam with exaggerated delight.

Adam stared at him, his exhaustion mingling with disbelief. "Are you drunk again?"

Lucifer gasped, clutching his chest as though Adam had insulted his very existence.

"Drunk? Me? No, no, no! I’m as sober as a judge," he declared, then winked. "Well, maybe not one of Hell’s judges, but you get the idea. It’s tea, Adam. Harmless, non-poisoned, entirely respectable tea."

Adam’s sceptical gaze shifted to the cups. "Non-poisoned," he echoed.

Lucifer leaned forward, grinning like a cat. "One little tea with me isn’t going to hurt anyone, angel."

Adam sighed, the weight of the past year pressing down on him. Against his better judgment, he sat down and picked up the tea. He took a cautious sip, and though he refused to acknowledge it aloud, the tea was… surprisingly good.

Lucifer beamed, watching Adam drink as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "See? No explosions, no hexes, no sneaky curses. Just good tea and good company."

Adam set the cup down with a soft clink and straightened his posture.

"Enough distractions," he said, his tone firm. "Let’s discuss the contract."

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair and cradling his tea.

"Actually," he said, interrupting Adam before he could dive into the terms, "I want to add something."

Adam blinked, his wings twitching.

"You want to add something?" he repeated, his disbelief evident.

Lucifer nodded, his smile warm and genuine, catching Adam off guard. "Yep. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now."

For a moment, Adam was at a loss for words. In over a year of meetings, Lucifer had never once shown interest in altering or even acknowledging the contract’s terms. His sudden change of heart was… unexpected.

"Like what?" Adam asked, his tone cautious.

Lucifer took a leisurely sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving Adam. The intensity of his gaze made Adam grunt softly and take another sip of his own tea, as if the act might shield him from the King’s scrutiny.

This seemed to please Lucifer, who chuckled softly before finally answering. "I want to add a clause that states Heaven isn’t allowed to touch the Hellborns during the Extermination."

Adam frowned, his brows knitting together. "The Hellborns?"

Lucifer nodded, his expression unusually serious. "They have no part in this war between Heaven and Hell. They’re innocents, Adam. This mess between us is our fault, not theirs."

Adam stared at him, waiting for the punchline, the sly smirk, or the teasing remark that would reveal Lucifer’s true intent. But none came. The King of Hell seemed completely sincere.

After a moment, Adam nodded slowly. "I’ll run it past Sera…But I can’t imagine her rejecting the condition."

Lucifer’s face lit up, and he clapped his hands together.

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed, his cheerfulness returning in full force.

As Adam made a note of the amendment, Lucifer leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin in his hands as he watched Adam with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"You know," Lucifer began, his tone light and teasing, "This tea really suits you. The golden glow of your wings, the calm, regal way you sip it… you’re practically a painting come to life."

Adam glanced at him, unimpressed.

"You’re being ridiculous," he said, returning his focus to the parchment.

Lucifer grinned. "Am I? Or am I just appreciating the finer things in life?"

Adam didn’t respond, his attention firmly on the contract.

Undeterred, Lucifer continued, his voice softening. "You know, back in Eden, I always thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot, Adam, I’d truly like to have a closer look someday.”

The words went straight over Adam’s head, as they always did, and he simply hummed in acknowledgment without looking up.

Lucifer’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He knew Adam wouldn’t catch on immediately, but the anticipation of Adam eventually realizing the meaning behind his words was a delight in itself.

"One day, you’ll figure it out," Lucifer murmured, more to himself than to Adam. He leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea with a contented sigh.

For now, he was happy to play the long game.

~#~

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candles casting warm shadows on the ornate table set with a spread of fruits, bread, and cheeses. It was absurd, and Adam knew it. Meetings with Lucifer had become increasingly ridiculous, but this one took the prize. Candles? Food? Was this some kind of prank?

Lucifer sat across from Adam, lounging with a lazy grin on his face, looking far too pleased with himself. He reached for a grape, popping it into his mouth as his crimson eyes glimmered with mischief.

"Are we really doing this?" Adam muttered, his golden wings shifting as he glanced at the table in exasperation.

Lucifer leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Why not? You’re always so stiff, Adam. Meetings don’t have to be boring. Relax for once."

Adam frowned, the corner of his mouth twitching as he struggled to keep his composure. "I’m here for business, not… whatever this is."

Lucifer sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "You wound me. I go through all this trouble, and you call it whatever this is?"

He gestured at the table, his fingers trailing dramatically through the candlelight.

Adam rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, but Lucifer cut him off.

"Wait, wait," the King said, his grin widening. "I have an idea. Let’s play a game."

"A game?" Adam echoed, sceptical.

"Twenty questions!" Lucifer declared, clapping his hands together. "I ask a question, then you, and so on. Simple, harmless, and you might even have fun."

Adam’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Or, we could finish the contract."

Lucifer whined, reaching across the table to grab Adam’s hand. His touch was warm, his claws tracing light circles over Adam’s skin.

"Please," he whispered, his voice soft and pleading.

Adam’s frown deepened, his golden eyes narrowing at the King’s unrelenting smile. Despite himself, he sighed deeply and sank back into his chair.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But only to get this over with."

Lucifer purred, his grin so wide it almost looked innocent.

"Wonderful!" He leaned forward, practically buzzing with excitement. "I’ll start. What’s your favourite colour?"

Adam blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the question. After a moment, he muttered, "Blue."

Lucifer’s smile softened. "I thought so," he murmured. "It suits you."

Adam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Your turn, then. What’s your favourite colour?"

Lucifer laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Green," he said without hesitation.

"Oh," Adam said, blinking.

The game continued, the questions starting out sweet and innocent. Lucifer asked Adam about his favourite flowers (he didn’t have one, he loved them all) and favourite food (he didn’t really eat). Adam, in turn, simply repeated Lucifer’s questions back to him, unsure of how else to participate.

Lucifer didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed delighted by Adam’s awkwardness, his grin never faltering.

But then, the questions shifted.

"Have you been in a relationship since Eve?" Lucifer asked, his tone light, but his eyes watching Adam closely.

Adam frowned slightly, the question catching him off guard.

"No," he said honestly. "I haven’t been in a relationship ever."

Lucifer tilted his head, a soft, almost sad sound escaping his lips.

Adam, feeling obligated, asked, "Have you been in a relationship since the Queen left?"

Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with amusement, his grin turning sly.

"Nope," he said, popping the "p" for emphasis. "I don’t want any repeats."

Adam blinked, confused. "Repeats?" he asked.

Lucifer shifted closer, his fingers tracing faint lines over Adam’s arm, the touch sending an odd shiver through the angel’s body. His voice dropped into a low, teasing tone.

"I’m only interested in one of a kind," he said, his eyes locking onto Adam’s, “The first, you could say.”

Adam leaned away, his frown deepening. "You’re the weirdest king ever," he said flatly.

Lucifer laughed, his grin nothing short of radiant. "Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment."

The two sat in silence for a moment, the flickering candlelight dancing between them. Then, Lucifer’s expression softened, his gaze turning almost wistful.

"You know, Adam," he said quietly, "it’s been almost two years. And you still won’t call me by my name."

Adam frowned, confused. "You’re the King of Hell. Why would I—"

Lucifer pouted, the expression oddly endearing.

"I miss the way you used to say my name," he murmured, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

Adam shook his head, unsure how to respond. He felt an odd tightness in his chest, but he quickly shoved the feeling aside.

"You’re impossible," he muttered, reaching for his tea again.

Lucifer only smiled, his gaze lingering on Adam as though he were the only thing in the room that mattered.

“Let’s eat Adam, I made ribs for you~”

“I don’t eat meat,” Adam grunted.

Lucifer paused in thought. He didn’t know that. It made sense.

So, Adam’s a vegetarian?

~#~

The next meeting caught Adam off guard the moment he stepped into the chamber. The table was spread with an elaborate feast, a stunning array of vegetarian dishes carefully plated like works of art. Brightly coloured fruits shimmered like jewels, crisp salads were adorned with edible flowers, and warm loaves of bread sat beside steaming bowls of soup. The centrepiece was a towering platter of roasted vegetables, perfectly seasoned and garnished with herbs.

Adam stopped in his tracks, his golden wings twitching slightly as he stared at the display. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and he turned his gaze to Lucifer, who stood nearby, beaming like a proud artist unveiling his masterpiece.

"As a vegetarian," Lucifer announced with a flourish, "I’ve prepared the best for you~"

His crimson eyes twinkled with mischief, and his voice was thick with pride.

Adam tilted his head, staring at Lucifer as if trying to decipher some grand puzzle.

"You’re a vegetarian?" he asked slowly.

Lucifer chuckled, shrugging with mock modesty. "Of course! I couldn’t possibly harm a single creature. It would ruin my delicate charm." He winked.

Adam didn’t even try to hide his scepticism. "I’m beginning to see these meetings are becoming... weird," he muttered, folding his arms.

Lucifer snickered, crossing the room to stand beside Adam. "Weird?”

“Weird in what way?" His voice was light, teasing, but there was a softness in his gaze.

Adam didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the food, his stomach betraying him with a low growl. It did look good. More than good. The spread reminded him of the vibrant, abundant meals he and Eve used to share in Eden before… before everything fell apart.

Lucifer, ever perceptive, leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a playful purr. "Please, Addie~" The nickname rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, it made Adam’s wings twitch. "Please try my cooking! I’m sure you’ll like it. And I’ve made some beautiful pancakes for dessert."

He gestured dramatically toward the corner of the table, where a stack of golden-brown pancakes rested, dripping with syrup and adorned with fresh berries.

Adam sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "First of all, stop calling me that," he grumbled. But when he glanced up at Lucifer, the King’s wide, hopeful grin made it hard to hold onto his irritation.

Lucifer clasped his hands together, swaying slightly. "But it suits you so well! Addie sounds so sweet, just like you~"

Adam rolled his eyes, his face heating slightly despite himself.

"Second," he said, attempting to steer the conversation back on track, "We’re supposed to be discussing the contract, not… indulging in whatever this is."

Lucifer waved a dismissive hand. "Business can wait. You look like you haven’t eaten in centuries. Come on, Adam. Just a bite?"

He stepped closer, grabbing a plate and holding it out like an offering. His grin softened into something gentler, almost pleading. "For me?"

Adam hesitated, his golden eyes narrowing. But the aroma wafting from the table was too tempting, and his stomach protested loudly again. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he grabbed the plate from Lucifer’s hands.

"Fine," he muttered. "But only because you won’t shut up about it."

Lucifer’s entire face lit up as he watched Adam sit down and reach for the nearest dish. The angel piled his plate with roasted vegetables and fruit, poking at the food with his fork as if expecting a trap. Lucifer sat across from him, chin resting on his hands, watching with an almost childlike anticipation.

Adam raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to stare at me the entire time?"

Lucifer smirked, not even trying to deny it. "Maybe. You’re adorable when you’re flustered."

Adam ignored him, taking a bite of the roasted vegetables. The flavours hit his tongue like a revelation—perfectly balanced, rich yet light, with just the right amount of seasoning. He blinked, caught off guard by how good it tasted.

Lucifer’s grin widened. "Well? What do you think?"

Adam chewed slowly, swallowing before muttering, "It’s… fine."

Lucifer gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Fine? Just fine? That’s the best you can do?"

"It’s food," Adam said flatly, though he couldn’t hide the slight twitch of his lips. He reached for more vegetables, trying to focus on his plate and not on the way Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with delight.

As the meal continued, Lucifer chatted away, his voice light and teasing. He asked Adam about his favourite foods, about his memories of Eden, about anything that came to mind. Adam, still wary, answered in clipped sentences, but Lucifer didn’t seem to mind.

When they reached dessert, Lucifer slid the plate of pancakes toward Adam with a flourish.

"And now," he declared, "the pièce de résistance."

Adam eyed the pancakes warily before cutting into them with his fork. He took a small bite, and his eyes widened slightly. They were… perfect. Fluffy, sweet, and melt-in-your-mouth good.

Lucifer leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand as he watched Adam.

"You like them," he said softly, his tone more serious now.

Adam paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. He looked at Lucifer, who was gazing at him with an intensity that made his chest tighten. "They’re… good," he admitted.

Lucifer’s smile softened, a rare flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. "I’m glad," he said quietly.

For a moment, there was silence between them, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Adam shifted uncomfortably, his golden wings twitching as he focused on his plate.

"Next time, I’ll make something even better. Maybe I’ll teach you how to cook!" Lucifer’s voice broke the silence, light and teasing again

Adam groaned, shaking his head. "There isn’t going to be a next time."

Lucifer just laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "We’ll see, Addie. We’ll see."

Later, Adam stood in the grand chamber of Heaven’s council, his golden wings folded tightly against his back as he faced Sera, whose cold, steely gaze seemed to pierce through him. The light of Heaven filtered in through the crystalline windows, casting shimmering reflections across the marble floors, but the warmth of it was lost on Adam. Sera’s displeasure was tangible, and the weight of it pressed heavily on his shoulders.

“It has been three years, Adam,” Sera said, her voice sharp and unyielding. She stood behind a towering desk, her silver wings spread wide, a sign of both her authority and her frustration. “Three years, and we have seen no progress on this matter.”

Adam shifted uncomfortably; his hands clasped in front of him as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Sera,” he began, his tone measured but tinged with weariness, “Lucifer is being… unreasonable. Every meeting is—”

Sera cut him off with a raised hand, her icy glare silencing him instantly. “Do not make excuses, Adam. It is your duty to secure his agreement. You were chosen for this task because of your… connection to him.”

Adam’s jaw tightened. “That connection doesn’t exist anymore,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then rebuild it,” Sera snapped, her tone cutting through the air like a blade. She stepped around the desk, her robes billowing as she moved closer to him. “You are an angel of Heaven, Adam. You were created for a purpose, and you will fulfil it. That traitor’s antics are no excuse for your failure. He may be the King of Hell, but he is not above persuasion. You simply aren’t trying hard enough.”

Adam’s wings twitched, and he glanced away, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice low but firm. “He’s not just being difficult—he’s acting… strange. These meetings aren’t about the contract to him. He doesn’t take it seriously. He cooks meals, he laughs and talks with me, he—”

“Flirts?” Sera’s eyebrow arched, her tone laced with disbelief and disapproval.

Adam felt his face heat slightly, and he cleared his throat. “That’s not the point. The point is, he’s using these meetings to… distract me. To toy with me. He’s not acting like a king or a ruler—he’s acting…”

“Like the Angel you once knew?” Sera interjected, her voice quieter now but no less pointed.

Adam froze, his golden eyes snapping to hers.

Sera’s gaze softened slightly, but her voice remained firm. “Whatever game that traitor is playing, it is your responsibility to rise above it. He is trying to delay, to manipulate you. You cannot allow yourself to be swayed by his charm or his tricks.”

“I’m not,” Adam said quickly, though the words felt hollow even to him.

Sera sighed deeply, turning away from him and gazing out the window at the endless expanse of Heaven. “This contract is not just a document, Adam. It is a pact that will shape the balance between Heaven and Hell for eternity. Every moment you delay, more souls are lost. Do you understand the gravity of this task?”

Adam lowered his head, his shoulders slumping under the weight of her words.

“I understand,” he murmured.

“Then act like it,” Sera said sharply, turning back to him. “You cannot let your history with the traitor cloud your judgment. If he won’t cooperate, find a way to make him. Do whatever it takes to secure his signature, or I will find someone who can.”

The threat hung heavily in the air, and Adam’s heart sank. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, to explain that Lucifer wasn’t just being stubborn—he was being Lucifer, the infuriating, unpredictable being who had once been his friend. But Sera wouldn’t care about that. All she cared about was the contract.

“Yes, Sera,” Adam said finally, his voice flat.

Sera studied him for a long moment before nodding curtly. “You are dismissed.”

Adam bowed slightly, turning on his heel and leaving the chamber. As he walked down the golden corridors, his mind churned with frustration and exhaustion. He had tried everything to get Lucifer to take the contract seriously, but the King of Hell was impossible to pin down. And now, with Sera breathing down his neck, the pressure was unbearable.

When he finally reached the quiet solitude of his own chamber, Adam sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. Lucifer was breaking him in ways he hadn’t thought possible, and now Sera’s expectations were threatening to crush what little resolve he had left.

For the first time in centuries, Adam felt truly lost.

The silence pressing in on him as Sera’s words replayed in his mind. His wings drooped, and his golden eyes stared blankly at the polished table in front of him. The phrase “He is flirting with you” hit him like a thunderclap, louder with each repetition in his head.

Lucifer. Flirting.

“What?” Adam said aloud, his voice echoing faintly in the room.

He frowned, sitting up straighter as if the realization itself had physically jolted him. His mind began rifling through the past few years of meetings, replaying Lucifer’s behaviour, his words, the touches, the ridiculous closeness…

Adam’s heart sank.

“No…” he muttered, shaking his head as if trying to dismiss the thought. “He wasn’t… he couldn’t have been…”

But the memories refused to be ignored.

Lucifer leaning across the table, his sharp grin teasing and playful. “Addie~ You’re so serious all the time! Relax a little—this is our meeting, isn’t it?”

Lucifer tracing his claws over Adam’s arm, the sly purr in his voice as he murmured, “Only interested in one of a kind…”

Lucifer cooking extravagant meals, beaming as Adam reluctantly tried them, his eyes sparkling like he’d won some kind of game.

Lucifer crawling onto his lap during that drunken meeting, clinging to him with a pout and whispering, “Why don’t you love me anymore?”

Adam’s wings twitched, feathers ruffling uncomfortably as the memories piled up. Each one felt like another punch to the gut. He had been so focused on getting the contract signed, so focused on enduring Lucifer’s antics without letting them get to him, that he had completely overlooked… that.

Lucifer had been flirting.

Adam felt heat rise to his cheeks, his jaw clenching as a mix of emotions churned inside him. Confusion, disbelief, and a faint undercurrent of horror all warred for dominance. He buried his face in his hands, groaning loudly.

“Why?” he muttered, his voice muffled by his palms. “Why is he doing this? What kind of game is this?”

He sat back, running a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of it all. Lucifer was the King of Hell, the former Morning Star, the fallen archangel. And yet… he had spent the last three years acting like—like—Adam groaned again, this time louder.

“He’s messing with me,” Adam concluded, his voice firm despite the uncertainty swirling in his chest. “That’s what this is. He’s trying to distract me, trying to throw me off so I can’t finish the contract. Typical Lucifer. It has to be that.”

But even as he said it, the memory of Lucifer’s soft smiles, his gentle touches, and the way he had looked at Adam—like Adam was the only thing in the room that mattered—gnawed at the edges of his reasoning.

“No,” Adam said firmly, standing up and pacing the room. His wings fluttered slightly as his frustration grew. “It’s manipulation. That’s all it is. He doesn’t mean any of it. He’s just trying to get under my skin.”

The idea of Lucifer genuinely… liking him in that way felt impossible. It was absurd. It was—

Adam stopped pacing, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he felt completely overwhelmed. Why now? Why after everything? Why would Lucifer even—

“Ugh,” Adam groaned, flopping back into the chair with his head tilted toward the ceiling. “This is ridiculous.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He needed to focus. Sera was right about one thing—he had a duty to fulfil. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by Lucifer’s games, no matter how confusing or disarming they were.

And yet, as much as Adam tried to push the thought away, the lingering question gnawed at the back of his mind.

What if Lucifer wasn’t playing a game?

~#~

Adam stormed into the meeting room, his golden wings spread wide, their shimmering feathers casting an almost blinding glow across the dark marble floors of the hall. His eyes were sharp, jaw tight, and his steps echoed with determination. Lucifer, of course, was already lounging at the table, leaning back in his chair with an amused smile as he rested his chin on his hand.

“Addie! You’re so tense again,” Lucifer greeted, his voice lilting and sweet like honey. The tiny crown perched on his head caught the candlelight as he waved toward the spread he’d prepared—a small table with tea, pastries, and some fresh-cut flowers.

Adam didn’t falter. “Enough games, your Majesty. Sign the contract.”

Lucifer’s smile widened, his eyes twinkling with that mischievous glint that Adam had come to both dread and anticipate.

“You’ve come to see me after all these weeks, and this is how you greet me? No hello? No ‘how are you, Lucifer?’” He sat up, folding his hands under his chin as his tail curled lazily around the chair’s leg.

“I don’t have time for this,” Adam snapped, pulling out the rolled parchment and slamming it onto the table. His frustration poured out in the furrow of his brow and the tension in his voice. “Three years. Three years of these meetings, and you still haven’t signed it.”

Lucifer tilted his head, a faux pout playing on his lips.

“Three years, indeed,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost wistful. “Imagine how much time we’ve spent together, Addie. Doesn’t it make you wonder?”

“Stop calling me that,” Adam growled.

Lucifer ignored him, leaning forward with a playful grin. “It’s sweet, don’t you think? All this time you could have sent anyone else, but you didn’t. You kept coming back to me. Why is that, hmm?”

Adam blinked, caught off guard by the way Lucifer’s voice dipped into something almost intimate. His sharp response caught in his throat, and he quickly shook his head, scowling as he tried to refocus.

“Stop trying to distract me,” Adam barked, glaring down at Lucifer. “Sign the contract. Now.”

But Lucifer only chuckled, low and warm.

“Distract you?” he echoed, his lips curling into a sly smirk. “Darling, if I’m distracting you, that’s entirely your problem, isn’t it?”

Adam opened his mouth to retort, but his mind snagged on that word—darling. His wings bristled slightly, and for the first time, his voice faltered.

“Y-you—don’t call me that,” he managed, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

Lucifer froze for a second before breaking into a delighted laugh, the sound rich and melodic as he clapped his hands together.

“Oh, Addie,” he purred, practically glowing with glee. “Was that… did you just stutter?”

His crimson eyes gleamed, and his tail flicked behind him with excitement. “You did! You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

“I—what?!” Adam’s face flushed, and he instinctively stepped back, his wings twitching as he tried to compose himself. “I am not—this is absurd—sign the damn contract!”

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, beaming at Adam like he’d just won a prize.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” he mused, his voice thick with satisfaction. “I’ve been waiting years to see you crack just a little. And now? Oh, Addie, I’ve barely even started.”

Adam clenched his jaw, glaring at Lucifer with a heat that should have been enough to make him stop, but the King of Hell was unbothered, basking in Adam’s attention like it was the sun.

Lucifer reached out, gently tugging at the edge of Adam’s golden sleeve with his clawed fingers.

“You really are magnificent when you’re angry,” he murmured, his tone dipping lower, warmer, enough to make Adam’s chest tighten. “Do you know that? The glow of your wings, the fire in your eyes—it’s breathtaking.”

Adam swatted Lucifer’s hand away, stepping back as he struggled to steady his breathing. “That’s enough!” he barked, though his voice cracked slightly at the end.

Lucifer grinned wider, leaning forward again, his head propped on his hands.

“Tell me, Addie,” he began, his tone dripping with playful curiosity, “When was the last time someone complimented you like that? Or touched you? Or…”

He trailed off, his grin turning sly as he let the words hang between them.

Adam’s face burned, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. His mouth opened, but no words came out—just an unintelligible sound of frustration as his wings flared out behind him.

Lucifer’s laughter filled the room again, but this time it was softer, more indulgent. He rested his chin on his palm, looking at Adam with a gaze that was almost fond.

“You’re precious, Addie,” he said softly, his smile turning gentle.

Adam exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he turned his back to Lucifer, needing a moment to breathe. His heart was racing, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

“Sign. The. Contract,” Adam said through gritted teeth, his back still to Lucifer.

Lucifer didn’t respond right away, and when Adam glanced over his shoulder, he found the King of Hell watching him intently, his expression unreadable for once.

“Maybe,” Lucifer said finally, his voice quiet but firm, “But only if you promise me one thing, Addie.”

Adam frowned, narrowing his eyes. “What now?”

Lucifer smiled, a softer, more vulnerable one than Adam had seen in a long time. “Promise me you’ll stop pretending you hate being here.”

Adam froze, his breath catching in his throat as the words sank in. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the silence settling heavily between them.

Then, as always, Lucifer broke it with a playful grin and a wink.

“After all,” he added lightly, “You wouldn’t keep coming back if you really hated me, would you?”

Adam’s face burned again, and he turned away, muttering under his breath as he tried desperately to refocus on the contract. But Lucifer’s words lingered, far longer than Adam wanted them to.

“I keep coming back because I have to!” Adam snapped, his voice sharp and laced with frustration.

Lucifer, lounging lazily in his chair, only grinned, his devilish tail swaying behind him like a satisfied cat. The glow of the candlelight danced in his ruby and gold-flecked eyes as he leaned forward slightly, his chin resting in his palm.

“Come now, Addie,” he purred, his voice dripping with teasing sweetness, “we both know that if you really didn’t want to come here, you wouldn’t.”

Adam’s golden eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “I don’t have a choice. Sera says—”

Lucifer interrupted him with a soft laugh, the sound smooth and amused. “Oh, please.”

He waved a hand dismissively, his long claws catching the light. “You and I both know that if you really put your foot down, even dear Sera couldn’t force you into this room. Admit it.”

His grin widened as he leaned back, his posture infuriatingly relaxed. “You like coming here. You like spending time with little old me.”

Adam stiffened, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth. He didn’t respond, refusing to dignify Lucifer’s claim with a rebuttal.

Lucifer took full advantage of the silence, his grin softening into something almost tender.

“And, if I’m being honest…” He stood, his movements slow and deliberate as he closed the distance between them.

“I keep coming back too, Addie.” His voice dropped into a low, velvety murmur. “Because I like spending time with you.”

Lucifer’s hand brushed lightly against Adam’s arm, his claws grazing just enough to send a shiver up the angel’s spine. He slid his palm upward, his fingers tracing a deliberate path before settling gently against Adam’s cheek.

“It reminds me of Eden,” he whispered, his voice warm and nostalgic. “When it was just you and me, under the sun, without the weight of Heaven and Hell between us.”

Adam stared at him, frozen in place, his heart pounding.

“I—I don’t remember that,” he managed weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer let out a soft snort, his smile turning mischievous.

“Now, now,” he said, his voice a playful hum. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not—” Adam started to protest, his tone sharper this time, but before he could finish, Lucifer silenced him in a way that stole his breath.

Lucifer leaned in, his lips brushing softly against Adam’s. The kiss was gentle at first, testing, but quickly grew firmer, more sure of itself. Lucifer’s lips moved with practiced ease, coaxing a response, though Adam remained stiff, his mind spinning. The warmth of the kiss, the weight of it, felt impossibly familiar, like a memory long buried yet suddenly unearthed.

For a fleeting moment, it was perfect.

But then, just as Lucifer began to deepen the kiss, tilting his head and brushing his claws softly against Adam’s jawline, Adam snapped back to reality. With a sharp shove, he pushed Lucifer away, his movements quick and forceful.

Lucifer stumbled, letting out a startled yelp as he grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. His wings flared slightly behind him, his golden and ruby eyes wide with shock as he looked up at Adam. “Adam—” he began, his voice soft, almost pleading.

But Adam was already turning away, his golden wings twitching with barely contained energy as he bolted for the door.

Lucifer remained frozen in place, staring after him as the sound of Adam’s footsteps faded into the distance. The door swung shut with a heavy thud, and the room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Lucifer’s shoulders slumped, the tension draining from his body as he lowered himself slowly back into his chair. His fingers drifted to his lips, tracing over the place where Adam’s had been moments before. The warmth lingered, but it wasn’t enough to mask the sting of rejection.

His heart, the thing he thought he’d buried deep and locked away, thudded anxiously in his chest. His claws curled into his palm as he stared at the door, half-expecting Adam to come back, to burst in with an apology, to say something—anything.

But the door didn’t open.

With a heavy sigh, Lucifer leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant as he wrestled with the ache in his chest. After a moment, he stood, his movements slower, less confident than usual. A swirl of dark energy enveloped him, and he disappeared from the room, leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of brimstone.

When he reappeared in his chambers in Hell, the oppressive silence of the space wrapped around him like a cloak. The usual comfort of his lair—the flickering flames, the plush velvet, the distant echo of infernal laughter—felt hollow. Lucifer made his way to his massive, intricately carved bed and collapsed face-first onto the mattress.

Lucifer lay sprawled across his luxurious bed, his face buried in the cool silk of his pillows. The room around him was grand, as befitting the King of Hell—a chamber of dark velvet, glowing embers, and twisted beauty—but it felt emptier than ever. His claws dug into the fabric beneath him as his chest heaved with frustration and longing. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment in his mind: the soft press of Adam’s lips against his, the way the golden-winged angel froze beneath him, and then—the shove.

The harsh, rejecting shove.

His lips still tingled; his cheeks still flushed from the contact. Lucifer groaned, flipping onto his back as his tail thrashed against the edge of the bed. He stared up at the intricately carved ceiling, the glow of the fiery sconces casting shadows that twisted and danced, mirroring the chaos in his chest.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. His other hand—traitorous thing—lingered near his lips, brushing them softly as if trying to relive that fleeting, perfect moment.

It hurt. It really hurt.

Lucifer wasn’t accustomed to rejection. He was the King of Hell, the first of the fallen, the Morning Star. He could have anyone he wanted with a snap of his fingers. And yet, here he was, sprawled out and sulking because one stubborn, infuriatingly beautiful angel had pushed him away.

But it wasn’t just anyone, was it?

It was Adam.

Lucifer let out another groan, throwing an arm over his face as if to shield himself from his own thoughts. His mind raced, thoughts colliding and tangling into a mess of emotions he wasn’t used to feeling. He’d thought—no, hoped—that they’d been making progress. The past year, things had felt… different. Warmer. Adam didn’t hate him anymore, or so he’d thought. They’d shared conversations, tea, even quiet moments where Lucifer could pretend, just for a little while, that things were as they once were.

He had been so sure that Adam was softening, that the walls Adam had built between them were finally starting to crumble. And then today… that kiss.

Lucifer’s heart clenched at the memory. It had been everything he’d imagined and more. Adam’s lips were warm, soft, and for one blissful moment, it felt as if the universe had aligned. But then the push came, and it was like being cast down from Heaven all over again.

His clawed hand clenched into a fist against his chest, his tail curling tightly around his leg as he let out a shaky breath. He didn’t blame Adam. He’d hurt him in the past—so deeply that it was a wonder Adam even tolerated his presence now. The betrayal in Eden, the way he’d let Lilith manipulate him, the way he’d turned away from Adam when Adam needed him most…

He deserved the rejection.

But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Lucifer sat up abruptly, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light as he stared across the room. The purple curtains swayed gently, and for a moment, he thought he could see Adam standing there, his golden wings catching the light just so. His heart ached, and he pressed a hand to his chest as if he could physically calm its frantic beating.

“This isn’t a game,” he whispered to himself, the words tasting foreign on his tongue.

It wasn’t. Not this time. Lucifer had played plenty of games in the past, but this? This was different. He didn’t just want Adam to fall for him, to become another conquest, another trophy. He wanted… everything.

He wanted Adam’s love, his trust, his companionship. He wanted to see those radiant golden wings spread out beneath him, trembling with pleasure as Lucifer showed him the depths of his devotion. He wanted to hear Adam laugh—really laugh—without the weight of Heaven’s expectations on his shoulders. He wanted Adam to stay by his side, to rule with him, to build something new together.

He wanted Adam to be his.

Lucifer’s cheeks burned at the thought, his hand flying to his mouth as he whispered, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He hadn’t felt like this with Lilith. Or Eve. Or anyone. It was overwhelming, all-consuming, and it terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

Lucifer’s tail flicked against the bed again as a determined smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He’d messed up in the past—royally, catastrophically—but he was determined to fix it. Adam might not realize it yet, but they were meant to be together. Lucifer could feel it in every fibre of his being.

“It’s not over,” he said aloud, his voice firm as he pushed himself off the bed. His reflection in the dark mirror across the room stared back at him, and he straightened his crown, his crimson eyes burning with resolve.

Adam might not have been ready for him yet, but Lucifer was nothing if not patient. He’d waited centuries to fix what he’d broken; what was a little longer?

Sooner or later, Adam would come to see things his way. He would come to Hell, where he belonged. By the time the year was up, Adam would be his—mind, body, and soul. Lucifer grinned, his tail swishing with anticipation.

And if Lucifer had his way? Adam would be carrying his child, golden wings shimmering as they ruled together.

“Soon,” Lucifer whispered, his grin widening as he disappeared into the shadows of his chamber, his mind already spinning with plans for their next meeting.

“Oh Addie. Our wedding will be memorable~”

With a purring moan, Lucifer slipped a hand down his front. He slid his hand between his legs, his eyes sliding half-lidded. His long snake-like tongue slithered out from his lips as his mind immediately filled up with Adam.

Oh. He bet Adam would make the cutest sounds~

Lucifer lay back on the plush velvet sheets, fully spent and not quite satisfied, his golden hair was a mess. He gazed up at the ceiling, his mind swirling with memories. His golden and ruby eyes, normally so steady and unshakable, flickered with confusion and regret as they focused on the ceiling above him. His clawed fingers dug into the fabric beneath him, grounding him, though it did nothing to quell the tumultuous thoughts swirling in his mind.

He had been so sure of himself, once. The King of Hell, the master of his domain. He had everything he could ever want—power, wealth, respect—yet he had never felt emptier. And it had taken him far too long to realize why.

Adam.

The thought of him, always lingering just out of reach, was what fuelled his every action now. His feelings for Adam had been growing for years, unnoticed at first, perhaps even unrecognized by himself. It had all started with the first time he was drunk, that one fateful meeting when his guard was down, and Adam had been there. He’d been so gentle, so calm, so… unwilling to yield to Lucifer’s charm. It had irritated him at first, that resistance, but as the weeks passed, Lucifer found it… endearing.

And then it grew into something more.

He hadn’t meant to feel this way. At first, it was just loneliness. Lilith had left him, disappeared without a word, and he had no idea where she had gone. She had been everything to him, once. But then, she’d betrayed him, just as he had betrayed her. When she’d left, he’d been swallowed by the void she’d left behind, unsure how to fill it. And when he saw Adam—saw his golden wings and unshakable resolve—he realized he could use that. He could use Adam to fill that void.

But that wasn’t what it had become, was it?

Lucifer rolled onto his side, staring out at the darkened room, his thoughts racing. His feelings for Adam went beyond loneliness now. They were something rawer, deeper, more real. Something that terrified him. At first, it had just been a distraction, a passing fancy. But the more time he spent with Adam, the more he realized how much he needed him.

Needed him. Not just for companionship, but for something more. For Adam’s forgiveness, for his love. For something Lucifer had long since forgotten: peace.

The King of Hell chuckled bitterly to himself. He had been a fool. A scumbag. He had let Lilith manipulate him, cloud his mind, make him think the only thing that mattered was control and power. He had seduced Lilith, used Eve—he had ruined everything. The shame burned inside him, a constant reminder of how wrong he had been. He hated himself for it. He hated himself for letting his pride and desire control him. He hated himself for being a blind fool who couldn’t see what was right in front of him.

Adam had always been right there, in front of him, and Lucifer had never appreciated him the way he should have. He had taken him for granted. He had acted rashly. He had been disgusting.

Trash.

No. Worse than trash. He had been a monster, and monsters didn’t deserve love. He didn’t deserve Adam’s forgiveness. Hell, he didn’t deserve to even be in the same room as him. But Lucifer couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t stop thinking about Adam.

The way Adam’s wings fluttered when he was nervous. The way his eyes softened when they spoke about things they both cared about. The way Adam would stare at him, like he didn’t understand why Lucifer couldn’t just leave him alone.

But Lucifer couldn’t leave him alone. He couldn’t.

At first, Lucifer had convinced himself it was all just a result of his loneliness, that Adam was nothing more than a temporary distraction. But then the dreams had started. He would wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, his heart racing, because Adam had been there. In his dreams, Adam had been everything he wanted. He had kissed him, had held him, had loved him. And when Lucifer had woken, his body aching, he realized he didn’t want it to end.

When Lilith returned, Lucifer had been so thrown off by his own emotions that he couldn’t even think straight. She had tried to speak to him, tried to rekindle their relationship, but all he could think about was Adam. He hadn’t even heard what Lilith had said—only that she was standing there, in front of him, demanding his attention. But all he could see was Adam. He couldn’t think of anything but the golden-winged angel who had captured his heart without even realizing it.

And when Lilith had left again, Lucifer had made his choice. He told her, without hesitation, to fuck off. He had no more use for her, no more desire for her. He had finally seen it for what it was. Lilith had never been what he truly wanted.

What he truly wanted, Lucifer realized with a bitter smile, was Adam.

The realization had hit him like a freight train. He had wanted Adam for years—he had just been too blind to see it. Too caught up in his own pride and his desire for control. Adam had always been the one, the one he had pushed away, the one he had hurt.

But that wasn’t going to happen anymore.

Lucifer sat up, running his claws through his hair as his chest tightened. He wanted Adam. And not just for a night. He wanted him forever. He wanted to make him his partner, his lover, his equal. He wanted Adam to carry his children. He wanted Adam to be by his side, forever.

But Adam didn’t remember him, did he? Adam didn’t even call him by his name. After all this time, after everything they had been through, Adam still didn’t see him the way he saw Adam. He still thought of him as just the King of Hell.

That hurt more than anything.

But Lucifer wasn’t going to give up. He couldn’t. He had made mistakes, yes. But he would make them right. Adam would come around. Lucifer would make sure of it. Because no matter what, Adam belonged to him.

And Lucifer was going to have him, even if it took everything.

[daycourtofficial]

please PLEASE one STEAMING hot caramel cappuccino + a pumpkin spice americano with marshmallows…(the modern au of her finding out she’s pregnant with atlas? make it angsty? like it’s a big family fight esp because she’s unmarried maybe…IDK HOWEVER YOU IMAGINED IT QUEEn!)

omg modern gf pregnancy reveal honestly iconic I went with her finding out but if someone wanted a huge family blowup I could absolutely do it 👀

Order a coffee for Gingerfucker week here

“Az, I can’t look.” Your words were spoken through the door, apprehension lacing every word. The wood felt so solid beneath your back, but you needed more support than it offered. “Can you- can you come in here?”

You heard shuffling from the other side of the door, scooting forward off the door to allow Azriel to slip in. You leaned against the wall instead, letting his large body slip inside. He shut the door behind him, keeping his eyes on you, not once even looking toward the bathroom counter.

“I’m not touching it.” He slowly sank down next to you, his long legs scrunched together in the cramped space. You slightly leaned into him, already feeling braver with his support.

“Why not?” You moved your gaze from the wooden cabinets in front of you, looking up at him.

“You peed on it.”

“I only peed on part of it and the part I peed on has a cap on it.”

“Every relationship has a line.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You looked away from him, taking in the perfectly cleaned tiles of the floor. He was right - you couldn’t help wondering if Eris was that line.

“I’m not looking.” You knew what he was telling you. He couldn’t be the first to know the results. You had to know first. He couldn’t be the one to tell you this.

“Okay.”

“We can sit here until you’re ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

Azriel thought over your words, chewing them around in his mind. He took a moment, wanting his words to be right when they came out.

“I know you. I’ve known you for a long time. There has never been anything you haven’t been able to handle.”

His eyes held such sincerity, his strong gaze enough to help push you up off the floor. You closed your eyes, letting out a deep breath. You and Eris had been so careful when sneaking around, multiple layers of birth control potentially ineffective.

You squeezed your eyes shut, deciding if it was positive, you would call Eris. You wanted him here, but it would have been impossible to sneak him into your family’s lake house. If it was positive, you’d make some excuse to leave. You had to see him. This wasn’t a phone call conversation.

It was a long weekend, most of your family out of the house on an alcohol and grocery run. Azriel came in this morning, unable to leave the city until a few hours ago. You had called him, asking him to stop at a pharmacy on the way in and to make sure everyone was gone before he crept in.

He hadn’t asked anything, only wanting to know if you wanted to be alone. You thought you had, initially keeping him on the other side of the door. But Eris couldn’t be here and you weren’t sure you could face this completely alone.

You looked at the stick, the word ‘pregnant’ in bold letters looking back at you. It felt like a turning point in your life - nothing would be the same, everything would have to change. You would have to come clean - no more lying, sneaking, or hiding.

“I’m pregnant.” The words tumbled from you, your brain trying to rationalize this outcome. You had realized this morning you were late, your period overdue by several weeks. How had you not noticed until now? You cut in before Azriel could say anything. “Don’t ask. You can’t ask.”

“Was it consensual? Because I will-“ you cut him off, unable to listen as his voice rose slowly, his brows knitting at the thought.

“It was consensual. But you can’t ask.”

“Okay.” You could hear how much he wanted to know, your best friend’s constant need to know everything practically yelling at him.

The two of you sat in silence, but you felt Azriel moving slowly, as if warning you of his impending touch. His scarred fingers wrapped your hand, squeezing softly as he spoke.

“If you need someone to, you know. Whatever you choose. I’ll be there for you.”

Doubt began creeping in. If he knew it was Eris’, would he? Or would he never wish to see you again?

“Thanks Az. But I think- I think I want it.”

You wanted it all with Eris - the baby, the publicity, the scrutiny, the fallout from your family. You wanted every last bit of it as long as he was right next to you.

You wanted it all - your family, Eris, this baby. But if you had to pick sides, you’re picking Eris over and over again.

[thetriumphantpanda]

where have all the good men gone? | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Three

Chapter Summary | A date, supposed to get your mind of Javier, goes terribly, and he's the only person you can think to call that will make anything better.

Chapter Warnings | Mutual pining, slow burn, sexual tension, flirting, alcohol consumption, protective!Javi, misogynistic comments (not from Javi), (1) man being a pushy douchebag (also not Javi), swearing, mentions of the drug trade - nothing else I can think of.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3k

Authors Note | I am truly having the most fun with these two and I hope you're enjoying their story so far! Things are definitely going to be heating up soon, so please hang in there, it'll be spectacular when they finally do get spicy with each other! If you're enjoying this then comments, asks and reblogs are my lifeblood and if you'd like to support me further, please consider a donation to my  Ko-Fi.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

“I promise he’s good fun,” Liv’s voice speaks through the phone, cradled to your ear by your shoulder as you skim through your wardrobe, “Nice, and age appropriate.” She teases. 

“Shut up,” You grumble, still annoyed that you’ve allowed her to talk you into this at all, “This is still a terrible idea.” 

“You were the one complaining about Javier Peña being a bad idea,” She defends herself, “And you also could have said no, too late now.” 

You sigh because she’s right. You’ve been trying for the past week to convince yourself that finding someone else might make wanting Javier go away, even just a little bit. Someone your age, not entangled in your family dynamics, or at least you’re hoping anyway. Liv had suggested someone she knew from work, a nice boy, two years older than you, his head screwed on, a managerial position at work. Sensible. 

“I have no idea what to wear.” You groan down the phone, there are plenty of dresses you could choose, but somehow, it feels like this person you don’t know doesn’t deserve that of you. 

“Put those jeans on,” Liv speaks, crunching coming down the phone line, clearly she’s snacking like she always does, “The tight ones, makes your ass look phenomenal, and the lowest cut top you own.” 

“Liv,” You chastise, “I’ve never met him before, I’m not fucking him tonight.” 

“I didn’t suggest you did,” She chuckles, “Just give him a taste of what’s to come.” 

“Unbelievable,” You mutter, but follow her advice anyway, pulling out a shirt that cuts low, scooping out your jeans from the drawer, “Right, I gotta go and get ready, but if this is awful, you’re entirely to blame, okay?” 

“Hearing you loud and clear girl,” She chuckles, “Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“Goodbye!” You chuckle, hanging up. 

It’s still light out, so you opt to walk to the bar in town. It’s not all that far, and the air has cooled enough by the time you leave that it doesn’t feel too stiflingly hot. The bar is not one you would have chosen, one of the more upmarket establishments in town. You wish you could go back to your normal dive bar, with its slightly sticky floor and the smell of fried food. You give him the benefit of the doubt though, maybe he’s just trying to impress you and you can’t fault him for that, can you? 

Liv told you he’d be sat at the bar in a blue shirt, and there’s only one person it can be when you get close enough, “Victor?” You ask, stood next to him. 

“The one and only,” He smiles at you, standing from the barstool to give you a hug, which you allow, “You look hot.” 

“Thanks,” You chuckle, sitting down on the stool next him, noticing a drink already there for you, it’s a cocktail, bright pink, and you know you’ll already hate it, and you do when you take a sip, wincing as the fruity blend moves down your throat, “Oh, it’s very sweet.” 

“I thought it was a safe option, most girls love this drink.” 

You’re tempted to make a comment about this clearly being his favourite place to bring his dates but you bite your tongue, working through the necessary small talk as you try and drink it as fast as you can so you can choose something you might actually enjoy. 

“So, Liv told me you’re a journalist,” He comments, sipping his glass of whiskey, “What kind of things do you write?” 

“I mainly cover news about the drug trade and how that affects the town.” You explain, taking the last sip of your drink, flagging the bartender down. 

“Pretty morbid,” He shrugs, ordering himself another whiskey as you opt for a margarita, “Surely a girl like you should be writing about fashion or something.” 

You scoff, “So I can’t write about things that are important to our town because I’m a woman?” 

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” He tries to backtrack, “Just that it’s intimidating, is all, might put people off,” He chuckles then, “Although not me, like my girls with a bit of personality.” 

You roll your eyes and don’t even try and hide it as you sip at your margarita, much better, you think. It carries on like that for another hour, Victor and his thinly veiled misogyny and his boring, surface level conversation. He tries at some point to put his hand on your knee, but you jerk away, moving so he can’t touch you. 

“You want another?” He asks when you finish your third drink, “The night is still young.”

“No thank you,” You say, trying to be as polite as possible, “I have work tomorrow so probably best to head home.” 

You try and insist that you pay for your part of the bill, but to his only credit, he insists on covering the tab but does then try and wrap his arm around your waist to walk you outside, which makes you want to hit him more than anything. 

You stand next to him on the pavement outside the bar as the doors close behind you. You can still hear everyone else talking inside, but you have no idea what to do. You want to go home, but it’s dark, and you know you’d told your dad that Victor would walk you home, but you don’t want to spend another minute in his company. 

“So, am I gonna get my goodnight kiss?” He asks, trying to take hold of your wrist to pull you into him. 

He’s stronger than you, so he does sort of succeed in pulling you into his body, but you manage to put your palm against his chest to push him back. 

“I don’t think so.” You cringe a little, trying to lean back as far as you can with his hand pulling your wrist. 

“You’re joking right?” He scoffs, “I paid for your drinks, try and be interested in what you said and you’re going to refuse me?” 

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” You speak, trying to talk the situation down, “I just don’t think this is gonna work.” 

“Don’t need to tell me,” He snaps, “Such a fucking tease turning up dressed like this, but you’re really just a prude.” 

“Oh fuck off man!” You try and push him again, succeeding in doing it enough for him to let go of your wrist so you can put some distance between you, “I don’t owe you shit.” 

“Forget it,” He turns around and walks away, leaving you on your own, “Probably would have been a shit lay anyway.” 

You’re tempted to call back but realise it’s not worth it, so you let him wander off, leaving you on the sidewalk on your own with no idea what to do now. You would walk home, but if your dad see’s you on your own, he’s going to kill you for being silly enough to walk home alone after dark, and then find Victor and kill him too for being a jerk. 

You slump against the brick wall of the bar, rooting through your bag, there’s enough cash to go back in and get a drink and try and calm down a little, then, your fingers brush against the card you’d slipped in there a few days ago. The name and the number, and the few coins in the bottom of your bag, draw you to the phone box at the end of the street. You’re putting the money in and dialing before you can convince yourself it’s a silly idea. 

He picks up on the third ring. 

“Peña.” It’s so formal. 

“Javi?” You ask, trying to keep your voice level, but ultimately failing. 

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing he asks, and he sounds frantic. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, I just-” God this seems so stupid now, mainly because you don’t want to admit you were on a date, you don’t want to make yourself seem unavailable to him, “I was on a date and it didn’t go well, he was meant to walk me home and well, I don’t want him to, but I don’t wanna call my dad.” 

“He hurt you?” He seems cross, protective even, which makes your tummy flutter. 

“N-no,” You sigh, “He got pushy when I wouldn’t kiss him but I’m fine.” 

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the phone, can hear the jangle of keys, “Where are you?” 

“I’m at the phone box at the end of Grant Street.” You say, you’re about to speak again when Javi beats you to it. 

“Stay there, go inside a store or something and wait for me, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” 

“Okay,” You nod, like he can see you, “Javi?” 

“Yeah, querida?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t you dare,” He scoffs, “Never apologise for needing my help, okay?” You can hear the sound of his truck engine in the background, “I gotta hang up to drive, but I’ll be there soon, promise.” 

“Okay,” You sniff, “Thank you.” 

You can hear the dial tone before he can reply, so you hang the receiver back up and head into the liquor store on the other side of the road. You smile at the clerk, who asks if you need anything, you shake your head, tell him you’re just waiting for someone and then spend the rest of the time looking out of the window. 

He’s parking up in a worryingly short amount of time, and as you walk from the store you worry that he put himself in danger driving so fast to get you. He’s opening his door and climbing down from the truck. As soon as you’re close enough, he’s got his hands on your shoulders, searching your face to make sure you’re alright. 

“I’m fine Javi, I promise,” You insist, holding gently to his arms, giving him a smile, “I’ve probably overreacted.” 

He lets his arm drops and signals for you to get into the truck, following swiftly, “If he made you uncomfortable it’s not an overreaction,” He speaks, turning the truck back on and pulling away, “He still around?” 

You shake your head, “I don’t think so.” 

“Good.” 

It makes you wonder if he means good because he won’t bother you anymore, or good because it means he won’t be tempted to do something about his blatant disrespect. You decide not to probe that one, but file it away for later. You’re driving down the street when your stomach grumbles, reminding you that you’ve not eaten since lunch. 

“You hungry?” 

“I could eat,” You mumble sheepishly, “I’m sure there’s something at home.” 

Javi nods, but drives straight past the turning he would need to take you home, driving straight on instead and turning off a little later. You’re about to ask where he’s taking you when he pulls into the parking lot at McDonalds. He parks up and tells you to stay where you are. 

You watch him as he walks away, perfectly broad back, shirt tucked into his jeans. He really is a vision in every way when you look at him. He’s striding back out a little while later, brown paper bag in one hand and a soda cup in the other. He passes them both to you as he climbs back into his seat. 

“What’s this?” You ask, taking a sip of the cold soda. 

“Cheeseburger, extra pickles and a Sprite with extra ice.” 

Yet again, he’s managed to amaze you with his observation skills. There was a time where he’d taken a trip with you and your parents, just a day out of town somewhere, and you’d stopped to get food on the way home, you’d made this exact order, turned to him and told him it was your favourite, and somehow he’d filed that away for right now, when you needed it the most. 

“Thank you.” You speak simply, reaching in for the burger, unwrapping it carefully before taking a bite. 

Javi can’t help but watch out of the side of his eye as you eat. God, you looked beautiful. Jeans that looked like they’d been painted onto your skin, showing off all those perfect parts of you. A shirt that was enticing without being too much. Fuck, he wanted to reach over, use his thumb to wipe away the tiny bit of sauce that had gathered in the corner of your mouth, push it into your mouth and let you lick it off his thumb. 

You ball up the wrapper your burger had come in once you’ve finished, dropping it into the paper bag, picking up the cup of soda to suck the Sprite through the straw, “You alright now?” He asks. 

You look at him, small, sad smile on your lips, “Just can’t help feeling there’s something wrong with me.” You shrug, offering him a sip of your drink which he declines. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, wanting to reach over to you, put a comforting hand on you, but deciding against it for now. 

You shrug a little, leaning your head back against the seat, “No-one ever looks at me in that way, I suppose,” You answer honestly, and he wants to tell you it isn’t true, that he thinks of you exactly like that, no matter how much he shouldn’t, “I’ve been with one guy in my whole life and I don’t think he ever really liked me, was only with me because I was the only one left out of my friends.” 

“Did he say that?” 

“He didn’t have to,” You shrug again, “He never really made an effort, never took me out, never really wanted to sleep with me much either, I guess I was just easy for him,” You say, “Convenient.” Is what you finish on. 

“It isn’t you,” Javi speaks, turning his head to look at you, resting it against his seat in much the same way you are, “First of all, college boys are always idiots, don’t let that be your base line,” You snort and turn your head to look at him now, “What did tonight’s idiot do?” 

You shake your head at him, “He was just a misogynistic asshole,” You add a shrug, “Apparently because I’m a woman I should write about fashion and not anything that actually matters.” 

Javi scoffs, because in his experience, women make the best journalists, quiet, unassuming but they always knew how to pull strings and get what they wanted and he doesn’t doubt you’re the same, “Take it as a compliment,” He offers, “Sometimes it’s best to intimidate boys, and the ones that you don’t?” He asks as a rhetorical question, “Those will be the men worth your time.”

You chuckle a bit, rolling your head on the headrest behind you to look back out of the front of the car, “You’re just saying this to make me feel better.” 

Javi reaches over, takes hold of your hand and gives it a slight squeeze before he’s letting it drop again, almost like he’s been burnt, like he knows he shouldn’t have done it, “I am saying it to make you feel better, that’s the whole point, but it’s true,” He shrugs a little in his seat, “Don’t feel like you’ve got to rush into that side of life either, you’re still young, there’s plenty of time for you.” 

You hum in agreement because you know he’s right, it’s what everyone always says to you in these circumstances, but somehow, coming from him, it means more. He’s older than you and although you’ve no doubt that he’s known plenty of women in his time, he’s in just the same predicament as you are. 

“Will you take me home?” You ask softly, “I’m tired.” 

He nods, starting up his car, pulling out of the parking lot and finally driving you back home. 

He pulls his truck up just down the street from your house, far enough away that your dad won’t be able to see, but close enough that he knows he’ll be able to sit and wait to watch you get in safely. He cuts the engine and turns to you, giving you a soft smile, trying to tell you that it’ll all be okay. 

“Thanks,” You speak softly, “For all this, made a shitty night not so bad in the end.” 

“Always,” He smiles back, “I mean it when I say you don’t ever need to worry about calling me.” 

“I know,” You smile, and he feels his heart swell at the sight, “Well, goodnight Javi.” 

He doesn’t really register what’s happening until it’s too late. You drag your body across the truck instead of moving to the door to open it and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. It would be innocent enough if it wasn’t for the fact your lips press into the skin just far enough away from his mouth so as not to cross a line, but not right in the middle of his cheek either. It’s the softest way he’s been touched in a long time, and he can feel himself wanting to grip onto you, smash his mouth to your own and finally scratch the itch that’s sitting under his skin. 

You pull away, but before you can open the door, he’s taking hold of your wrist and moving closer, pressing his own kiss to your cheek right back, further up your skin than you had done to him, but it’s a kiss to your skin none-the-less, one that floods his chest with hope, a feeling he hasn’t really felt in years. He keeps his mouth there probably for a little longer than he should, committing the feel of your skin on his mouth because he knows this is as far as he should push things, but he also knows that he now needs to know what the rest of your skin feels like under his mouth. 

He pulls away and when he looks at your eyes, all full of hope and want, the same look he’d seen countless times in Colombia, whether he was promising a visa or led next to someone in bed, and he knows he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged these kinds of feelings, but he’s done it now, he can’t take it back, wouldn’t want to if he could either. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, querida,” He says softly, “Nothing wrong with you at all.” 

[angegiarratanawriter]

Too Long

Warnings: Smut, GP!Character

Word Count: 4676

Summary: When you sit on Angela’s lap during a Smosh Live, you end up getting a little more than you bargained for

A/N: Instead of writing for Angela's birthday, I wrote for my own. Happy Halloween everyone!

Five days. It’s been five days since the last time you had sex with your girlfriend. While that isn’t necessarily a long time, it’s well above the average time you go between sleeping together, and it has you frustrated. It doesn’t help that Angela has been teasing you all week, either. It’s just a few sly little comments here and there, nothing that would out your relationship to the rest of the cast or the viewers, but enough that it’s driving you crazy.

Figuring that it’s time to get Angela back for everything that she’s done this week, you formulate a plan that is sure to rile her up in the best way possible. The live stream happening right now is the perfect opportunity, so you head down to the stage where it’s shooting. You open the door and quietly shut it behind you, then turn around to see your girlfriend sitting on the games couch playing video games with Shayne, Chanse, Courtney, and Amanda.

“Hey, Y/N,” Alex says as you walk deeper into the room. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” you reply. “Was just curious about what they were playing this week.”

“Mario Party. Winners version.”

“Nice.”

“You want to hop in?” Alex asks. “They could all use some help.”

“Sure. Do you want me to mic up?”

“Please.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be back in a minute.”

You walk over to the other side of the room, where the sound team is monitoring the live stream. One of them immediately comes over with another mic and helps you put it on, clipping it to the front of your shirt before handing you the transmitter. You slip it into your back pocket as you turn around and head back over to Alex. He waits until Chanse finishes his turn, then nods at you to go out.

“I heard you guys could use a little help,” you say, smiling as your castmates look up from the television. “Who’s winning?”

“Shayne, of course,” Amanda says with a little eye roll. “The rest of us suck.”

“Hey, do not!” Chanse says, half offended. “But I would not be opposed to a team up.”

“Alex, who do you want me with?” you ask, looking back at the director.

“Who ever’s in last place,” Alex replies.

“That would be me,” Angela says with an adorable pout on her face.

“Oh, this is so not fair,” Courtney says, throwing her head back. “She’s a professional gamer.”

“I’m really not,” you murmur, blushing a little bit.

“Really? What’s you CoD ranking again?”

“3rd? But it might have gone down because I haven’t had as much time to play.”

“3rd in the country is pretty good,” Shayne says.

“Uh, I’m not-”

“She means third in the world, babe,” Courtney says.

“Well, we’re fucked,” Amanda breathes out.

“Wait a minute, do we have CoD?” Chanse asks.

“I think we have Modern Warfare,” Alex replies from behind the camera. “Why?”

“What if we played that instead?”

“You’re just saying that because you’re in forth place,” Amanda teases.

“No, think about it. We have one of the best players in the world right here and we’re gonna play Mario Party? I mean, I just think it would be cooler to see if we can beat her.”

“I’m down,” Angela says. “Let’s see what Chat says.”

“They’re down,” Alex says as he scrolls through comments on his laptop. “Alright, let’s switch it over to the PS4.”

When two of the tech guys come onto the stage and get to work on switching the consoles, you decide that now is the perfect time to shoot your shot. You walk over to where Angela is sitting on the couch, but instead of plopping down next to her, you sit on her lap. She lets out a strangled gasp behind you, but she recovers quickly enough to play it off when she catches a couple of confused looks.

As soon as everyone’s attention is elsewhere, you subtly shift your ass back so that it’s pressed directly into Angela’s cock. It’s already semi-hard, which isn’t really a surprise, but as you settle into position, you can feel it getting harder. A flood of warmth rushes to your core, and it takes every ounce of self control that you have to keep yourself from rolling your hips back into her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Angela whispers, leaning in to your ear.

“Sitting?” you reply, shooting a purposely confused look over your shoulder.

“Don’t be fucking smart with me. You won’t like what you get from it.”

“Really? Because I think I’m getting exactly what I want.”

“And what’s that?” Angela grits out, trying to keep her voice low.

“Revenge,” you say, sending her a smirk over your shoulder. “I’ve had to take care of myself the last two nights. I think this is the least you deserve.”

“Wait, what?”

“Sex, Ange. We haven’t had any since Sunday morning.”

“Fuck, it can’t have been…”

“It was.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Angela says, looking genuinely upset. “How can I make it up to you, baby?”

“I have a few ideas.”

Angela opens her mouth to reply, but one of the tech guys comes over and hands you each a controller, and then Alex is getting everything set up. He loads up the game, and from there goes into the multiplayer server. Everyone connects their controllers to the console, and then you all start selecting your weapons. As soon as you’re done with that, you choose one of the easier 6 vs 6 maps and start the game.

Over the course of the next half an hour, you find yourself picking off enemy fighters one by one. It’s easy, none of your castmates play at the level that you do, and neither do any of the other players that are on the multiplayer server. You rack up a number of double and triple kills before deciding to turn it down a notch so that some of your teammates can have the fun.

Once you pull back a little bit, you start manhunting for individual castmates on the enemy team every round. You start with Courtney, who ends up being relatively easy to track and take out from a distance, and then you go after Shayne, who you sneak up on while he’s trying to kill Chanse. After a few rounds of honing your hunting skills, Alex calls for the last round and you decide that it’s time to go after your girlfriend.

Trying to hunt down Angela is a little bit harder than hunting down everyone else, if only because she had played with you enough times to know most of your tricks. She manages to avoid any open spaces, instead posting up inside a building that only has one entrance. You managed to sneak inside while she distracted by an enemy combatant out the window, but she manages to turn around just in time to shoot you at the same time you shoot her.

“NO!” you say, watching the kill screen flash across your part of the TV.

“Holy shit, Angela!” Chanse says excitedly. “You just killed her!”

“I think we might have found the one video game you’re actually good at,” Shayne says.

“If I was actually good at it, I wouldn’t have died,” Angela says, though she’s smiling.

“You should give yourself more credit,” you say, looking over your shoulder at your girlfriend. “You’re only like, the fourteenth person to kill me.”

“Fourteenth?” Amanda asks, impressed.

“Yeah, I don’t die often, especially in multiplayer.”

“That’s impressive,” Shayne admits. “You want to sign us off?”

“Sure!” you say, turning to look at the camera. “This was so much fun guys! Please let us know what you want to see next, or if we should do this again. Don’t forget to subscribe and turn on notifications so you never miss a live stream. Until next time, bye guys!”

“Bye!” your castmates echo.

The little light that indicates that the video feed is live goes off, and you immediately let out a sigh as you sink back into Angela. She puts her hands on your waist to steady you, but you know that you have to get up within the next couple of seconds if you want to avoid questioning from your castmates. With a heavy breath, you get up and then reach back to offer your girlfriend a hand. She takes it, letting you help her up with a small smile.

“How’d you get so good at CoD, Ange?” Chanse asks. “You and Shayne were the only two people besides Y/N who could play. I expected him, but you…”

“We play together a lot,” Angela replies with a shrug. “Usually we’re on the same team, so playing against her was a little different, but I think it was fun.”

“It was,” you say with a smile. “I’m still major league impressed that you killed me.”

“It was a lucky shot. I just happened to turn around with with my finger already on the trigger.”

“Still, it was impressive,” Amanda says.

“Maybe,” Angela says with a shrug. “Anyways, we should probably head out. The crew is gonna wanna go home at some point.”

“True,” Courtney agrees. “Shayne and I were gonna grab some drinks at the bar down the street, do you guys want to join us?”

“Yeah, I’m down,” Chanse says. “Manda?”

“Sure,” Amanda replies, before looking over at you and Angela. “You guys in?”

“Sorry, but I’ve got a couple things that I need to finish up for a project,” Angela replies.

“And I have a meeting with my agent, so I’m out,” you reply, feeling a little bit guilty for the blatant lie that just came out of your mouth. “Rain check?”

“Of course, any time,” Courtney says. “Well, good luck with your stuff, see you all next week.”

Everyone says their goodbyes, and then you all start heading out towards the main office space. You stop by your desk to grab your bag, then head over to meet Angela by hers so that you can head out together. As soon as she’s gathered her stuff, you walk out to her car together in comfortable silence. You climb into the passenger side as she hops into the driver’s seat, shutting her door as she puts the keys in the ignition. Before she starts the car, though, she turns to you.

“I’m sorry,” Angela says softly.

“Baby, it’s fine,” you reply, reaching over to take her hand. “I get it, we’re both busy, and sometimes we forget about things that are important to us.”

“Maybe, but I never want to forget to take care of you. You deserve better than that. I truly do want to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

“Of course I will. I love you, and even though this week has been frustrating, I don’t blame you.”

“So, what can I do?”

“You’re going to fuck me until I can’t feel my legs,” you say, smiling as you see your girlfriend’s eyes darken. “And the only thing that I can remember is your name. Sound good?”

“Definitely,” Angela says, swallowing hard. “Can I add one thing?”

“Of course.”

“I want to wake you up with head every morning for the next week. How does that sound?”

“Fucking amazing.”

“It’s a done deal, then. Let’s go home.”

The drive back to the apartment that you share feels like it takes forever, the tension between you and Angela becoming nearly overwhelming. You spend most of the time in your head, letting your thoughts drift to how sore you’re going to be tomorrow. It isn’t like you mind, you have no obligations past your Zoom meeting with your manager, and honestly, you kind of want your girlfriend to carry you around. It’s incredibly sexy, how strong she is.

Reality comes flooding back in when the car comes to a stop, Angela having just pulled into her designated spot in the underground parking garage. You take a deep breath as you open the door, climbing out and shutting it behind you. Your girlfriend circles the car to take your hand, then she leads you to the elevator. The ride up feels just as long as the drive home, and you can feel your heart start pounding in your chest the higher up you go.

By the time the elevator gets to your floor, you are just about ready to jump Angela. It takes every bit of self control that you have to wait and walk calmly down the hallway to your apartment, but you manage it. You unlock the door and walk inside, immediately kicking your shoes off and hanging your jacket up on the coat rack in the front hall. Angela follows in behind you, getting rid of her outer wear as well.

“I know we need to have dinner, but I really kind of can’t wait to get my hands on you, so-” Angela says, only for you to cut her off.

“Dinner can wait. Take me to bed.”

Angela doesn’t hesitate for even a second, taking a step closer to you and pulling you in for a heated kiss. Her hands move to your waist before traveling down and hooking around your thighs, and you let out a squeak of surprise as she lifts you up off of the ground. You immediately wrap your legs around her and push your chest into hers, wanting as much body contact as physically possible.

As your girlfriend starts down the hallway, you remove your lips from hers and start pressing kisses along her jawline and down her neck. The action is just distracting enough that after a particularly hard nip, Angela tangles her fingers in your hair and pulls you away from the skin that you had been lavishing. Before you have time to pout, she’s kicking open the door to your bedroom and tossing you onto the bed.

You immediately sit up, not wanting to miss anything, and you feel your mouth go dry as Angela slowly pulls her tank top over her head. She smirks as she walks over to you, reaching down and tugging at the t-shirt you’re wearing. Nodding rapidly, you lift your arms above your head and she rips it off before leaning in and attaching her lips to your collarbone.

“Fuck,” you whine, feeling her nip at a particularly sensitive spot that has your hips bucking. “Baby, I need you. Please.”

“Okay,” Angela says, coming up to leave a soft kiss on you lips as she pushes you to lay back against the sheets. “Okay.”

When Angela pulls away, she starts moving down your body, her lips cascading down the valley of your breasts before her tongue traces the soft lines of your stomach. Your hips buck up again, and that seems to get your girlfriend moving, because she reaches down and undoes the button of your jeans before pulling the zipper down and ripping them off. As she works your panties down your thighs, you arch your back and undo the clip of your bra, taking it off and tossing it to the side.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Angela murmurs, pressing a kiss into your thigh.

“All for you,” you whine, biting your lip to try to keep your desperation at bay.

Angela hums in appreciation before leaning in and licking a stripe up from your entrance to your clit. A harsh moan escapes your lips, and you find yourself reaching down to tangle your fingers in your girlfriend’s hair, urging her on. She works you up expertly, spreading you with her tongue one minute and then sucking on your clit to bring you to the edge the next. It’s all so much, but it’s too soon to come, so you use every trick in the book to shove your high down.

As Angela moves from sucking to rapid flicks of her tongue, you feel her push two fingers into you. The sensation of being stretched is almost enough to throw you over the edge, but you manage to hang on by a thread. Your self control don’t stay intact for long, though, because as soon as she curls her fingers and hits that spot along your front wall, your thighs are clamping shut as waves of pleasure roll down your spine.

“Fuck,” you whimper, your free hand twisting in the bedsheets. “Baby…”

“So good for me,” Angela says as she starts to work you down from your high. “Such a good girl.”

An aftershock wracks through your body at the praise, and you feel yourself blushing at the visceral reaction. You bring your arm up over your face to cover it, trying to hide the embarrassment you feel as you breathe deeply, trying to steady your rapidly beating heart. It doesn’t work, mostly because you can feel Angela pressing soft kisses to your stomach before she works her way up and ends at your lips.

“Mmmm,” you moan, tasting yourself on your girlfriend’s tongue.

“Good?” Angela asks, pulling away.

“More than. My turn?”

“Not tonight. I don’t want to waste time on something that isn’t giving you pleasure.”

“Making you feel good is never a waste. Please?”

“No,” Angela says, shaking her head. “I still have a lot of making up to do, and I want to be able to give you everything you want. I might not be able to do that if you suck me off.”

“Fine,” you say, pouting. “Can I make another request, then? It’s kind of a big one, so you can say no.”

“What is it?”

“Can we not use a condom?”

“Baby, we’ve never…” Angela bites her lip and looks down. “I’ve never…”

“I know it’s a lot, but I want to feel you,” you say, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “But, hey. If you aren’t comfortable or just don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

“If we do this, I have a condition.”

“Anything.”

“We need to get the morning after pill. I love you, so much, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to have a baby with you. I plan on at least having asked you to marry me before we think about you getting pregnant.”

“Deal. And I love you too, by the way.”

Angela smiles sweetly at you before leaning down and pressing her lips to yours in a gentle kiss. When she pulls away after a few seconds, you whine and try to chase her, but she climbs off of you and stands up. You push your elbows up underneath you, watching as your girlfriend unclips her bra and tosses it away before getting rid of her jeans and boxers. You swallow hard as she walks back towards you, a smirk pulling at her lips.

“Up against the pillows,” Angela murmurs, and you scramble to comply. “Good girl.”

“Fuck, Ange,” you whine. “Stop teasing and get up here with me.”

Your girlfriend doesn’t hesitate to comply, climbing onto the bed and crawling up it until she’s hovering over you. As she gets herself settled, you wrap your legs around her hips, shivering when you feel her hard cock press against your stomach. A new coil of heat forms in your stomach, and you bite your lip as you look up at Angela, practically begging her to do something, anything, with your eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” your girlfriend asks.

“So sure,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss her softly. “I love you.”

“And I love you. Still want it hard?”

“Fuck, yes please.”

With a nod, Angela reaches between your bodies and lines her cock up with your entrance. Your breath hitches as you feel it brush up against your clit, and you end up choking on a moan a few seconds later when you feel her start to stretch you. She leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips as she pushes into you slowly, making sure that she’s not going to hurt you. As your hips connect, a soft whine pulls its way from your throat.

The skin to skin contact feels sinfully good. You can feel Angela’s warmth and the slight curve of her cock that makes it hit your g-spot just right, and you can tell by the way she’s already breathing shallowly that she can feel your walls squeezing her, wanting to pull her in deeper. It’s an amazing feeling, one that you could definitely get used to if you both decide that you love it.

“Fuck, can I move?” Angela asks, sounding breathless.

You nod, and your girlfriend doesn’t hesitate to start rocking her hips into yours. She begins slow, but soon she’s worked up to a pace that is knocking all of the breath out of your lungs. Between the friction against your g-spot and the attention that Angela is giving your neck, you feel your high approaching much faster than you would have liked it to. You try to shove it down, push it to the side, but when your girlfriend sucks on your pulse point, you’re a goner.

A harsh moan rips itself from your throat as your entire body shudders, waves of pure ecstasy cascading through your body as white flashes behind your eyelids. It takes a minute for you to come down, and when you finally do, you realize that Angela has stopped her movements and is looking down at you with pure affection in her eyes.

“How are you doing?” your girlfriend asks, pushing a strand of hair out of your eyes.

“Good,” you reply, your breathing uneven. “So good.”

“Can I suggest a position change?”

“Sure. How do you want me?”

“Face down.”

“Doggy?”

“No, I want you laying flat. Is that okay?”

“More than.”

Angela nods and pulls out, then moves onto the other side of the bed so that you can get into position. You roll over easily, laying flat on your stomach and tilting your head to the left so that you can breath. As soon as you glance over your shoulder and nod, your girlfriend is climbing on top of you and pushing back in.

The stretch in this position is different, the fullness that you feel bordering on uncomfortable as Angela starts to roll her hips gently into yours. She knows that it takes you a minute to adjust when you’re face down, and you’re very grateful for the steady pace that she’s setting to get you ready for the real thing. After a minute, you feel things start to loosen up, so you reach up and grab the pillows before looking back at your girlfriend.

“I’m good,” you say, breath hitching as she hits a sensitive spot. “You can fuck me.”

“You sure?” Angela asks, caressing your ass.

“Yes.”

As soon as you give your confirmation, you feel a hand collide with your ass, a harsh smack echoing around the room. You bury your face in the pillows as you feel yourself clench at the sensation, a soft moan just barely managing to slip out. It’s quiet, but you know that Angela hears it based on the way she immediately does it again, this time thrusting her hips roughly into you at the same time.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, fisting your hands in the pillows.

“Feel good?” Angela asks, picking up the pace.

“Yes, baby. So good. You’re fucking me so good.”

Angela lets out a strangled moan behind you, and suddenly her hips stop moving. You can hear the sound of her breathing heavily, and when you turn your head to look at her, you see that she has her eyes squeezed shut and her hands fisted in the sheets on either side of her. If you weren’t so annoyed that she’d stopped, you would take a second to admire just how sexy she looks right now.

“Baby, why did you stop?” you whine.

“Don’t wanna…” Angela stutters out. “Come yet.”

“Baby, it’s okay. You can come.”

“No. Not yet. Not done. Just…need a minute.”

“Okay,” you say softly, reaching one of your hands down to take hers.

“Sorry,” Angela says after a minute, her eyes fluttering open. “I got really close there, but I’m good now. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Without so much as a warning, Angela goes back to slamming her hips into your backside at a bruising pace. It feels so good, but it’s not enough, and you find yourself trying to lift your hips so that you can slip a hand between your legs to play with your clit. Angela seems to have other ideas though, because she shoves you back down and then leans her her body on top of you, effectively changing the angle as she starts to roll her hips instead of thrusting.

The difference is immediate, and you start to feel heat coil in your stomach again, building up with every stroke that brushes against your g-spot just right. Your orgasm crashes into you as Angela bites down on your shoulder, and you find yourself trying to muffle your cries of pleasure in the pillow.

This time when you come down, your girlfriend has already pulled out of you and is leaving distracted kisses along your shoulders and spine. A sigh of contentment escapes you as you feel her start making her way up your neck, and you turn your head in time catch her lips with yours, pulling her into a soft kiss as you roll over underneath her. She smiles as she kisses you back, only pulling away when you both need to catch your breath.

“Hey,” Angela says softly.

“Hi,” you reply back, a smile pulling at your lips.

“Can you take another?”

“Yes, but I think that’s going to be it for me. My legs are starting to feel tingly.”

“Good. This position or a different one?”

“This one. I want to be able to see your face when you come.”

Angela blushes lightly but nods, lining her cock up with your entrance and pushing into you. She immediately starts up at a fast pace, and you can already tell that neither of you are going to last long. You can already feel another knot forming at the base of your spine, and she has her eyes clenched shut as she ruts her hips into yours.

As Angela starts to fuck you harder, she surprises you by grabbing your leg and throwing it over her shoulder. This allows her to sink deeper into you, hitting a new spot that you’ve never felt before. The pleasure is white hot, but it’s staying put for now, building higher and higher with each thrust. As it gets closer to snapping, you feel your girlfriend’s hips start to stutter, and then there’s a hand pressing down on your stomach and then-

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cry out.

All of your muscles contract, and your body tries to vault you into a sitting position, only to be blocked by Angela. She pushes you back down and ruts her hips a few more times before you feel her spill into you as she goes completely still. Another wave of pleasure rips through you, and you feel tears start to run down your cheeks as your body shudders. Coming down takes a long time, but when you do, you smile as you feel a thumb gently wiping at your cheeks. You open your eyes to see Angela staring down at you with an expression of awe on her face.

“What?” you ask, suddenly feeling shy.

“Nothing, it’s just…I don’t think that’s ever happened before,” Angela says.

“What’s never happened before?”

“Baby, you squirted.”

“Oh, uhm, sorry?” you say, blushing heavily.

“Don’t be,” Angela says, leaning in to kiss you softly. “That was so fucking hot. I can’t wait to make you do it again.”

“Not tonight.”

“I know, baby. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and then figure out what to order in.”

“Chinese?”

“Whatever you want,” Angela says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you murmur softly.

[saxxxology]

Nonstop | Drabble

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: 809

WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, smut, oral sex, multiple orgasms, creampie

NOTE: This story was posted to Patreon in October 2023. To get access to dozens of new stories like it, click the link below to become a Patron!

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I do not consent to minors (17-) reading my work. This story is 18+ only. Do not save, download, or repost my work on any other sites.

It had started out slow — gentle touches under the covers as they allowed their bodies to wake on their own time. It was meant to be quick, maybe five minutes of grinding and thrusting until they got what they wanted, and that’s exactly what had happened.

But it hadn’t stopped.

Neither of them can remember the last time they woke up with this much desire in them, or the last time they’d been able to make it work this good, but when they’d ended round one with even more lust and need in them, they’d just gone with it, ignoring the two alarms he’d set for work the night before.

He’s made her cum twice, the first time on his cock, the second time when he’d slipped down beneath the covers and tongued her until he felt her thighs shake and she’d squirmed away with a plea for a quick break that he barely gave before shoving her legs apart and sliding back inside.

“Holy fuck—” she tips her head back, reaching up to grab hold of the pillow above her head, “Sam, please…”

“What?” He leans back, skimming his hands down her ribs and over her belly, “too much?”

“No, no,” she takes a quick breath, and he watches her rock her hips up to feel him move inside her, “don’t wanna make a mess.”

He chuckles, leaning down just enough to kiss her, “we made a mess already, don’t know how we could make it worse.”

She doesn’t get a chance to respond before he’s fixing his grip on her waist and pinning her in place against the mattress. The heavy slap of his hips hitting hers fills the room, and she only makes it a few rough strokes before she can’t hold back the sweet whimpers and moans that drive him absolutely crazy.

Her nails dig into his skin, and he grits his teeth at the sting, letting out a grunt that makes her tighten around him. She loves it when he’s loud, and he doesn’t hold back on giving her what she wants. He can get one more out of her if he really works for it.

He’s almost lightheaded when he feels her start to tense up again, and she tips her head back, mouth open as she works a hand down between her legs and touches herself just enough to help him out. Her thighs shake, and he collapses over her, thrusting through the strong waves of her orgasm as she whimpers and moans in his ear.

She lets out a breathy giggle when he rolls her over and tugs her hips up into the air. Two pillows get stuffed under her waist to keep her propped up, and he takes a moment to sit back and stare at the mess they’d made between her legs, where there’s just a little bit left of his first release mixed with the slick of all three of hers. He wants to knot her so fucking bad and and it kills him that he’s not going to be in rut for another month.

She lets out a heavy breath when he pushes in, teasing her inch by inch until she’s stuffed full of him and he can feel her squeezing around him, teasing him right back.

“Go harder,” she whimpers, “please—”

He shifts his weight behind her, catching his breath as his hands slide up and down her sides. “Y’sure?”

She nods eagerly, sucking in a deep breath that almost makes her dizzy. “Yeah, I can take it.”

“Good girl.” He squeezes her hips, and she clutches at the bedsheets when he finally gives in to his own lust and ruts forward as hard as he can. She bites down on a knuckle, eyes shut tight as she takes every heavy thrust that has her practically crying from the overstimulation.

“Fuck—” he curls over her, one arm wrapping around her waist to keep her against him as his orgasm starts to peak, “gonna come in you, baby, you want that?”

She nods as best she can, lips parting as his teeth graze against the side of her neck. “Yes…”

“That’s my girl.”

She braces herself for it, unable to move her hips or legs as he uses his weight to keep her pinned underneath him. She can feel the start of it, a quick throb that’s matched with a deep grunt, and then a soft rush of wet heat inside her that makes her almost want to come again. He holds himself deep, fucking everything he’s got into her until she feel him relax. He stays inside her, moving up close to keep himself tucked deep as he dots her neck and shoulders with kisses that have her squirming.

“I’m calling out today,” he whispers against the back of her neck, “I’m not done with you.”

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[jknox11]

jeremy put on another fake smile on his face, hoping it was convincing enough to everyone there. the fancy and big dinners organized by his family always felt like a chore, today wasn't different. jeremy could see his older brother glaring at him from across the room.

he had showed up vibrant and charismatic as always. he wore the suit tailored for him, he hid his natural curls the way his mother liked, he complimented and smiled to everyone in there. he engaged in conversations. he did everything he was asked to do. and even then, nothing seemed enough to his family.

he knew part of the disapproval this time was due to his new blonde hair. it was the first time jeremy showed it to anyone who wasn't his friends and team. and his family clearly wasn't happy about it. they made sure he knew that, the day he got home with his hair dyed. and they made it clear they expected him to have it dyed back to "normal" the day the current dinner he was at came.

he didn't.

tired of feeling like a deer caught in headlights, he excused himself out of the house. the night air touching his face. he barely had time to properly enjoy his five seconds alone when a voice said behind him.

"running away already?"

jeremy froze, already regretting his decision. at least inside the house his brother wouldn't have how to insult him.

"i just needed some air." his voice sounded so small even to his own ears. he hated feeling like this. this wasn't him.

"so you can lead a whole team different seasons of the year with no problem, but can't spend more than an hour at least pretending to like your family?" his brother's voice raised a bit. jeremy hated how he flinched. "what? not gonna say anything? you out of all people? the one who never knows how to shut up? you who has ruined this family exactly for never shutting the fuck up."

his brother was closer now, his anger made jeremy feel dizzy. he knew this outburst wasn't just because of today. he knew his brother was waiting for an opportunity to get him after jeremy's many successful attempts of sneaking out of the house to not have to talk to him.

"bryson, please, i don't wanna do this now."

"you can't keep running and hiding like a coward forever. look at me." jeremy did, carefully. like any wrong move done by him would start a war. "you always have been so pathetic. i never understood why this family even cared about protecting you in the first place. why they even bothered to help you after everything you caused that night."

jeremy tried to walk away from his brother, but he was faster and grabbed his arm. jeremy did his best to not wince, knowing his brother would thrive from the sensation of hurting him.

"you are such a pest in this family. ruining everything with your stupidity that one time was not enough, you keep on embarrassing yourself. embarrassing us."

"i haven't done anything. i can't and won't change who i am. it doesn't make me ashame-"

"SHUT UP." the grip on his arm tightened. but jeremy went on. he was so tired of accepting the insults, dirty glares and accusations towards him without defending himself.

"you say i'm a coward because i've decided to live and be who i really am and still find happiness in it, while you hide yourself behind this family day by day. hoping to be given the crumbs they're willing to offer you disguised as the promise of a successful future that you never even got to choose yourself."

"im warning you, shut up. you're nothing but a disgusting fa-"

"that's enough, bryson. leave him alone." a third voice interrupted them. their sister. his brother gave him one last glare before letting him go with such force, jeremy almost lost his balance for a bit.

"i despise you. i wish you had gone through with it that night. i wish you successfully had killed yourself."

"bryson!" his sister's voice was almost hysterical now. she went to jeremy's side and their brother finally walked away and entered the house again. "hey, jeremy..."

jeremy didn't notice he had started crying until he felt his sister's fingers on his face trying to wipe away his tears. if possible, that just made him want to cry more. it had been so long since she showed him anything else other than indifference or disapproval.

"he didn't mean it." jeremy's hands were shaking as he gently removed his sister's hands from his face.

"we both know he did. it's okay." do you feel like that, too? do you also wish i wasn't here anymore? was what he wanted to say, to ask.

his sister opened her mouth, but closed it again. there was nothing else to be said. there hadn't been anything to be said between them anymore for a while now.

"get back inside, i'm sure everyone has noticed your absence by now." he tried to give her a smile, his shaky hands searching for his phone in his pocket.

"you're not getting back in?"

"i can't." he could feel his sister ready to argue with him, but whatever she saw on his face made her change her mind. jeremy wondered if he was hallucinating the tears that filled her eyes.

"text me when you get to them safe?

that was the first time the whole night the smile that grew on jeremy's face was genuine. them. laila, cat, jean. jean.

"okay."

his sister nodded and hesitated for a second before walking past him and getting inside the house.

"jeremy? everything okay?" laila's voice filled his ears as she picked his call.

"i'm going home."

"jeremy's coming!" laila warned to probably a very curious cat and jean sitting next to her. "we're waiting. hurry! jean made us a french dish for dinner, can you believe it? this giant ass french man is finally warming up to us!"

giving one last look at the big mansion beside him, jeremy scrubbed on his face to make sure any trace of tear on his cheeks was gone. his hands undoing the gelled hairstyle he had and finally freeing his curls again.

home. he was going home.

[aidemint]

To Break A Habit | Routine Doesn’t Get You Kisses Like These

Summary: You kinda-actually find out he wasn’t joking about the spider stuff. Okay. But you’re totally cool about it. Totally.

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: Hobie Brown/GN!Reader

Notes: 5 minutes of screentime and i’ve already wrote more about this guy in a week than i usually write about anything in three months jesus christ

Masterpost | AO3 |  Part 1 | Part 3

“40081’s got this hoodoo shit goin’ on.” Hobie sighs as he makes his way down the main hall of Spider-HQ, recounting his mission discoveries from days prior. “Some sort of bad luck spell that’s making the world lose its plot.”

Gwen paces beside him, listening intently. “Sinister Six behind it?” she asks with a frown. “Or do you think it’s something else?”

“Not certain,” Hobie responds with a shrug. “But I’m close to catching the anomaly. Things should reset once it’s out of the fabric.”

“Hope it gets resolved soon.” Gwen sucks in a breath from between her teeth. “Miguel’s not looking too happy these days.”

Oddly enough, the mission so far had been almost deceptively easy—three days into the operation Hobie had already located and shut down a multitude of energy pockets emanating from certain parts of the city. A variant of Mysterio or Osborn was bound to show up soon, as the sites were likely siphoning vitality from the dimension. Now he just needed to gather intel about the effects of the magic while playing the waiting game. Luckily for him, he has a direct source.

“Relax Gwendy, it’ll be fine. I even got in touch with one of the locals for—” Hobie starts assuredly, turning to address his drummer, but pauses and swivels around when she’s noticeably no longer keeping up with his stride.

“You what?” Gwen stands frozen in the middle of the walkway, eyes blown as large as dinner plates with her mouth slightly ajar. She readjusts herself with a shake of her head, though her hands and shoulders remain raised and stiff. “Hobie, please tell me you’re not getting to know a civilian. ”

“Then I won’t tell you that I’m ‘getting to know’ a civilian.” A roll of his shoulder and he’s back walking, half-lidded eyes peering at Gwen when she inevitably joins again, bobbing and weaving through a downcurrent flow of Peter Parkers. “And I won’t tell you that it’s strictly for information about the mission.” A coy smile tugs the edges of Hobie’s lips upward. “Probably.”

Gwen looks just about ready to explode at the last quip. “You just told me— Oh my God, you know that, out of everything, is against protocol. Very against protocol,” she hisses, her voice lowering as her lip curls and she leans further into the privacy of only each others’ company. “What will you do when Miguel finds out?”

“You gotta live freely past the propaganda, Gwendy,” Hobie replies nonchalantly, patting a palm on her shoulder as a point of reassurance. “Just think about it.”

The best Gwen can offer him is a wary glance and a moment of hesitation, but he takes it with a grin anyhow. He’s certain she’ll eventually come around—the extent of their friendship isn’t something so miniscule that a few words of indoctrination would ever be enough to turn her.

It’s a nice notion to have, but he unfortunately doesn’t get much time to dwell on it—suddenly, his watch buzzes with an alert.

Hobie checks the device. “Someone’s ringing me, gotta bounce.” A few taps of an orange screen and a twist of a dial, then a portal opens up just shy of his left arm. “Been fun, Gwendy. Don’t blame me if I come back late.”

No matter how hard she rolls her eyes, Gwen can’t help but give into the smile that creeps onto her lips. “Stay safe, loser,” she responds, bumping her fist against his.

“Safe is practically my middle name.” With that, Hobie ducks into the gateway, and disappears.

How the fuck do you accuse someone of having spider powers without sounding like you’ve gone insane? Since morning you’ve been stuck in a cycle of decision-making for a seemingly hopeless situation. You thought the hard part was over after seeing the guy in the costume swing away on white silly string, but the mostly sleepless night and brainstorming the resolution to be had was another beast altogether. What doesn’t help much either is the fact your favorite pair of jeans are now stained to shit because an idiot thought it would be a good idea to trickshot a half-full Starbucks drink into a trashcan you were standing right next to.

Oh, New York, how it surprises you each day. You swear you’ve never had bad luck like this in your life—and now you’re twenty minutes late, punching in your timecard and hurrying to tie on an apron.

Even through your shift the anxiety doesn’t go away, despite how you try to ignore it. Nervous energy bleeds into your work, shaking hands spilling and dropping drinks; your preoccupied mind is nowhere near as focused as you need to be for the rush—you remake a drink three times in a row before being on the receiving end of a tired lecture from an angry customer.

“Something on your mind?” one of your coworkers ends up asking after most of the crowd has dissipated. “Or just tired?”

You’re on the verge of bursting into tears actually, but you manage to stifle it with a deep breath in. “A lot of both,” you mumble in response. You can’t tell her about Hobie, and it’d be too winding to describe the entirety of everything. She’s pretty good at giving looks of pity and she’s already shot you one following the complaining customer. Honestly another one is the last thing you want to deal with right now. “Maybe I should’ve just skipped work today.”

“Don’t worry, we all have bad days,” she offers with a consoling pat on the arm. “How about you just calm down for a bit and take your break? I’ll make you your favorite drink and get a bowl started for you.”

The gesture does ease your nerves, even if only by a little. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and give your coworker a grateful smile. Parting ways then, she returns to her station to honor her word and you make your way to the back to punch in the start of your break.

Exhaustion starts to seep in when you catch yourself staring blankly at the time card machine, watching the hands of the clock tick away second by second. There hasn’t been significant progress in terms of settling the whole “Hobie Brown is a superhero” dilemma, you realize, just a lot of pain and aching on your part. Maybe it’s time to put the matter to rest just for a brief half an hour—you’ll pick it up later. There isn’t even a guarantee Hobie will show up to the shop anyhow.

Yeah, you have time.

The chunk sound of the punch machine brings you back to your senses and you put away your slip before making your way back to the front of the house.

“Drink’s ready and bowl’s on the way. You can enjoy that while you wait,” your coworker chirps, sliding a cup to you when you emerge from the back. You’re just about to voice your thanks before she cuts in again, gesturing to a spot just beyond the counter. “Oh, and someone asked for you. He’s right over there.”

Your eye is already twitching before you even look. But you suppose you hate yourself and the world at this point, because you slowly turn to where her hand points regardless and find the one man you just made a pact with yourself to not think about.

Hobie greets you by name and gives you a friendly wave. Out of courtesy, you force yourself to return in, lips pressed together in a tight smile with the short extension of your hand.

“Heard it was your break,” he says, approaching the glass panel between the two of you. “Mind if I intrude?”

Yes! you scream internally. Yes I do mind very much!

“No, it’s alright,” you end up saying to him, staving off a growing impulse to whack yourself upside the head.

“Sick,” is all Hobie replies with before he retreats to a nearby table. “I’ll be waiting here—don’t rush yourself.”

It’s right about now that you’re wishing he wasn’t so nice and you didn’t like him so much so that this process of confrontation would go about smoother. Your gaze lingers on him and you bite in the inside of your cheek as you think about the validity of what you witnessed yesterday.

The option to not tell him and maintain your chances of still potentially becoming friends like normal exists. Dodging the awry reputation that comes with the manic conspiracy theorist persona is always good. You’ll get over it one day, right? Leave the suspicions behind and assume that the image was just a hallucination brought about by stress; convince yourself that Hobie Brown is just your average British punk-rocker.

But you can’t fight the feeling in your gut, how it burns, and suddenly you’re leaning over the counter, over the glass.

This is a bad idea. “Hobie,” you call in his direction.

He looks up. “Yeah?”

Shit, this is a bad idea. “I have something to tell you.”

“Wah’gawn?”

“It’s… I think it’s a matter best told in just our own company.” You look around apprehensively, a slight crease in your brow. “Mind going somewhere more private?”

Trying your best to ignore the suggestive look your coworker shoots at you from your peripheral, you beckon Hobie to come into the back. Walking through the kitchen, you usher him into the storage pantry and shut the door behind you when you join him.

“I’m guessing we’re not just here to kotch?” Hobie teases with the sideways tilt of his head.

“Unfortunately.” Your gaze lowers to the ground at the admission, fingers finding one another and squeezing. “Been thinking about something for a while.”

Hobie lets the change in the air stew until it thickens before responding. “Ready when you are.” His voice is softer, malleable, lost of all its previous playfulness and replaced with a certain kind of sincerity.

The slightest incline of your chin brings your stare back to him. You wish it served the simple purpose of just admiring the slopes and angles of his face, but your lips part and your curled hand trembles, and it all reminds you of the gnawing insecurity.

“I need you to tell me the truth.” You say it slowly, sincerely, keeping your voice as steady as you can despite the way your heart rate thunders. “Please.”

In your supplication, you aren’t certain how to appraise the extent of your desperation, but Hobie’s gaze does not leave yours. He nods wordlessly, a glint of something in his eye and it looks a lot like deference.

You take it as permission to continue. “When you brought up Parker”—you swallow thickly—“you were talking about something real, weren’t you?”

A beat of silence. There isn’t any external reaction from Hobie, standing as still as he had the moment he stopped in front of you, face lax and hands tucked away in his pockets.

“Ain’t got a Scooby-Doo what you’re talking about,” he says plainly, unfaltering in every word. Even then he doesn’t move, fortress-like in his disposition.

Perhaps he truly doesn’t know what you mean, you think. The chance is present, albeit slim, though present nonetheless—and how tightly you clutch this sliver of hope. But for a moment, in your hesitancy and under Hobie’s untelling stare, doubt creeps in—your palms grow clammy against the material of your pants, sweat assisting the glide of your fingers against one another. Your eyes search those of the man in front of you, wishing his look could change so you could find the courage to ground yourself.

What if you’re wrong? What if it’s all a fallacy, some trick of the light? New York is no stranger to oddities but even this seems too extreme. Coincidental talk of Spider-People leading to an impossible accusation. Fucking Spider-People don’t—shouldn’t—exist. The idea grows more absurd the longer you question it. Peter Parker got the short end of the stick, if there was even a long end in the first place, so what the hell are you doing?

But what if you’re right?

A breath rattles through you. “Hobie.” With a new waver in your voice and a tremble to your hands, you stand unsure of how your conviction bleeds through what you say but you try anyhow. “I know you’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I saw a masked man walking on the side of a building yesterday.” The admission comes quickly, riddled with cracks, but you’re entirely too focused on the followup to care. “After the conversation we had about Spider-People, after the whole thing about superheroes, tell me that it wasn’t you up there. Because I saw your— your fucking pins and I’ve never— God, I don’t even know! I’ve never seen something like this.”

Your fists clench, fingers digging crescent-shaped craters into the flesh of your palms. The marks bite, angry red and stinging—perhaps aching even more the absence of Hobie’s response, the seconds you give him to reply.

“Who are you?” Dry—your throat is so dry. Your voice can’t be anything above a whisper with how hoarse the question comes, flaking away with every shallow breath you take.

Silence blankets the both of you then, soundless space a limbo between comfort and unease. Unsure of what to do with it, what to make of the situation you stand in now, you let it hang listlessly, drawing upon an empty room and an even emptier conversation.

It takes a handful of moments for Hobie to even look like he’s processed all that you’ve said. Under your scrutiny, the smallest movement of his eye is the only discernible change to the testament. Whatever goes on inside his head is a complete mystery to you for the few minutes that elapse before he speaks.

Finally, he shifts in his stance. “You want me to just come out with it, yeah?” he asks, not sounding terribly happy, but not as nonplussed as you expected. He sighs when you nod slowly. “Alright. I’ll start from the top, then.”

He tells you his name is still in fact Hobie Brown, and he was bitten by a radioactive spider three years ago. Formerly a runway model, though not a role model, he’s been protecting the streets of his hometown against the PM. When he’s not playing shows, antagonizing fascists, or staging unpermitted political “action-slash-performance art pieces,” he’s out partying with his friends.

“And don’t call me a hero,” he ends with a frown. “Hate the label. Calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologizing, narcissistic autocrat.”

When he stops, you have both hands to your temples, pressing down hard. You can deal with his anti-authority spiel just fine—some part of you even agrees with the sentiment—but there is so much to unpack prior to the statement.

“So you— you have actual spider powers? Oh my God?” you sputter, eyes blown wide in an expression of surprise you’re sure looks exaggeratedly dreadful. “What even— that’s— what even are spider powers?”

“Dunno really.” Hobie gives a shrug. “Enhanced hearing, speed, vision, and sticking to walls are the main perks. Also links up to my—”

“Can you shoot webs out of your butt?” you blurt in a sudden horrible realization.

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Hobie bursts into laughter, arms crossed around his torso to hold himself, shoulders bunched to his ears. The ring of his joy through the air lifts a weight from it and suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t feel as crushing as before.

Witnessing his state, it doesn’t take long for unease to fade away and for you to start softly chuckling with him.

“You’re so jokes,” Hobie cackles, a hand over his eyes as he leans back. A long, shuddering breath tears through him in his attempt to calm down. “But to answer your question, no I can’t shoot webs out of my arse.”

“Thank God,” you breathe, clutching your heart. “Wouldn’t have looked at you the same if you said you could.”

“I don’t think I can look at you the same after you just asked that.”

“Hey, in my defense it was just to get to know you better.”

“I’m sure that’s all it was.” Hobie gives you a pointed look, but is quick to smile after. “Speaking of which, I came in to ask you something as well.”

“Oh?” You blink. The sudden shift in conversation is unprecedented, taking you slightly by surprise, but suspicion is quick to replace your wonderment when you notice a change in Hobie’s features. A squint narrows your eyes. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing, it’s just I have an excuse now that you know me better.” He pauses briefly, staring at you for a moment. “I wanted to ask if I could know you a little better.”

Your lips purse in confusion at the phrase, forehead pinching. “But you already know me?” you ask, brow raised. “Don’t tell me you forgot everything already.”

“I didn’t,” Hobie reassures gently. “I was just thinking instead of talking over a counter we could do it over dinner? Maybe a movie, if you have the time?”

A beat passes and suddenly realization sets in, drawing all the air out of you. The smallest groan escapes you as you bury your face in your palms, the skin of your neck and cheeks burning hot. Every inch of you seems more sensitive in your mortification—were you always this close to Hobie, and was his cologne always that strong?

“I’m an idiot,” you whisper from between the gap in your hands. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

Hobie supplies a soft chuckle to ease your embarrassment. “You’re not. It came out pretty corny anyways.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting asked out by a guy with spider powers.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

You groan again, a tight breath pressed against your fingers. “You are so lucky you’re cute, Hobie Brown.”

It is as endearing as it is exasperating that you can practically hear how big his smile is. “You free tomorrow?”

“Anytime past five,” you reply softly, slowly inching your hands away from your face to peer at him. “Where should I meet you?”

Hobie’s grin tilts sideways at the query, a new sparkle of mischief brightening his eye. “I’ll come pick you up.”

Dates aren’t exactly a new concept to you—you’ve been on a handful, and they all go about the same. The first time, someone shows up with flowers or a small gift to start the evening right, then you’re whisked away for three hours to some place to hang around and have fun. It’s conventional, it’s safe—sometimes you enjoy the company more than the actual activity, leading to a second or third outing, but there’s nothing too special about the dance you do with routine.

Along this line of reasoning, Hobie crash-landing on your balcony with one of the most ridiculous offers of transportation isn’t exactly the way you imagined your date would start.

“You are not web-swinging me to Manhattan,” you tell him, still inside your apartment, arms crossed and shaking your head vigorously. “I don’t care what you have set up, I’m not gonna risk going splat on the damn concrete.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Hobie pushes playfully. “Promise I won’t drop you.”

You frown, brows furrowing and lips pursing as you glare at him. He returns the look as calm as ever, a slight smile edging the corners of his mouth and stance open in invitation. The way he holds himself has uncertainty creeping to you, forcing out your fervent disagreement in favor of consideration in a rather slick way of persuasion.

Perhaps you should’ve known you wouldn’t win, with the sheer difference in your demeanors. Your staredown continues for a couple of minutes before you sigh, breaking eye contact with a reluctant drop of your chin and a gentle moan of diffidence.

“Can I at least close my eyes?” you mumble, walking out and shutting the balcony door behind you.

“You can do whatever you want,” Hobie replies, sliding on his mask and gloves. “Just hold on tight.”

Stifling a breath when his arm wraps around the small of your back and under your thighs, you cling to his shoulders as he lifts you up and climbs on the railing.

“You ready?” His chest rumbles under your touch when he speaks, and you can only give a small nod in your position, heart pounding against your ribs and face buried deep in the nape of his neck.

Hobie laughs—a deep, warm sound—and then launches off your balcony.

There are no words to truly describe the feeling that swallows you while in freefall. Wind blasts past your ears in violent howls, gravity pulls your figure down but your insides up, and the only thing you have to ground yourself is the feel of Hobie as you clutch him with every bit of strength you possess. Adrenaline thrums through every vein, lighting your nerves on fire and prickling your skin with gooseflesh; even your energy to scream depletes into fueling the rush that floods your senses.

Upon the first pull up, Hobie’s web catching a surface to swing from, your gut lurches and a serrated gasp shudders through you. Your arms pull you impossibly closer to him, fingers clawing to dig deeper into the back of his vest.

“Easy now,” he chuckles, sounding miles away with how loud your heart beats in your ears. “I promised I wasn’t gonna drop you, didn’t I?”

“D-Doesn’t make it better,” you gasp, shivering now that the breeze whips against your back.

“Try to relax—we’ll be there soon.” Though he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, it proves contrary to the way his grip tightens around you with the next swing.

Despite how comforting the gesture is, you find that you can’t relax much while still flying through New York a hundred feet in the air.

After what seems like days of travel, Hobie finally lands on solid ground, giving you a moment to catch your breath before setting you down gently. His arms are threaded underneath yours as you try to balance on shaky legs, knees bent and feeling all too much like jelly for your own comfort.

“I feel like a newborn deer,” you sigh, voice trembling from the withdrawal of adrenaline. Jitters quiver your fingers, lightly chatter your teeth, and shake the thin chamber of your chest. “My God, how do you even get used to this?”

“Gotta learn to trust yourself,” Hobie hums smoothly. “First time’s always a tad tricky.”

You only nod, gaze now pinned to the ground as he gradually guides you forward, step by step, until you’re stable enough to slowly walk on your own. From there, the slightest incline of your head brings your attention to a small spread of food and flowers laid out nicely on a patterned blanket. A warmth comes to settle in your core at the sight, softening your eyes and easing the tenseness in your limbs—contentment reaches you and the stress gained from the ride here begins to fade, if only by a little.

“Hobie, this is so sweet,” you coo, pleasure lightening the tone of your voice.

His rings just as sweetly through the evening air. “Good to hear—would’ve been gutted if you didn’t like it.”

You laugh at the response, casting an affectionate glance at him that just grows fonder upon meeting his charming reciprocation. The bend of his brow, the part and curve of his lips, the crinkle of his eye—all of it has you transfixed for a generous moment, barely able to notice the way your navel aches with longing in your stupor.

The feeling persists throughout the evening, present in every winding conversation and instance of quiet shared between the two of you. It’s rather freeing to be unconstrained by the formalities usually held by the label of a first date and to sense such endearment for the whole of it. There is no talking to only talk—every sentiment has meaning, every word punctuated by some semblance of tenderness; there is no awkward atmosphere brought about by nervous tension—you rest comfortably, leaning back on your hands, as does Hobie, elbows on crossed legs, positioned towards you.

Hours pass by easily in the space, kissing the sky with hues of orange and gold and violet as they bid a teary farewell, trails of light following in the wake of their departure. Yawning clouds push to the east, unlined shapes dissipating with the fleeting luster. Soon, the New York city skyline is only a bleak, black horizon that cradles a half-yolked sun just shy of its surface.

Golden rays grace your skin, full and temperate and real. You’re just about to gush to Hobie about how this is your favorite time of the day when you’re stopped by the shallow movement of his arm.

He shifts to pick the carnation laid closest to your hand, snaps off the longer part of its stem, then tucks it delicately behind your ear. Wordlessly, he adjusts the petals, and grins when they seem to his liking.

You’re practically bursting at the seams when he retracts his hand, fingers ghosting the curve of your cheek on their path back. Heat rushes to your neck, white-hot on a quick shot up to heat every inch of your face. The sensation catches your breath, widens your eye, tucks the tip of your bottom lip between your teeth, and all you can do is sit and watch Hobie as he admires you.

There’s a look in his eye that you hope is reflected in yours, how beautiful he is. The warm vermillion hue of the sun hits his complexion and it’s like there’s nothing else in the world to behold but him.

Suddenly you find yourself reaching for the flowers on the blanket, clasping multiple in one hand and halving the stems with the other.

Leaning forward, palms stained with sap, you place the carnations in each of Hobie’s wicks, uncaring of the smell of chlorophyll or the tremble of your fingers. You only return to your seat and wipe your hands when you finish, the expanse of his head dotted in small blooms, all that’s left of the original bouquet messily cut stems and loose leaves.

A breathy laugh escapes you at the sight, light and happy and bright. “You are so pretty, Hobie,” you whisper, your heart swelling with adoration. “And I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

He smiles. “I’m not going to stop you,” he says, then wraps his arms around you when you crush your lips to his.

You feel you must be drunk on something, but are entirely too far gone to care the slightest bit. Hobie is every bit as soft and warm as you imagined, his hold homely, his scent familiar. Breathing him in, bergamot, plum, and sandalwood filling your lungs, a dreamy sigh stutters out of your nose before you start to move.

The kiss takes on a steady rhythm then, perhaps the easiest thing you’ve had to follow. Each press of your lips against his finds just the right amount of resistance, the feel of his piercing snug as it nudges you in every shift. Your hands find purchase in cupping his face, fingertips smoothing the silver studs that line his ears and thumbs stroking his cheeks.

Hobie’s touch rests just shy of your waist, the bend of his elbows against your ribs, palms flat against your scapula. His chest rises and falls with every breath, a slight hitch in the motion when you crawl to his lap, sitting in the space between his legs.

The two of you share your own pocket of heaven for a minute longer, then with one last kiss, you part. As your eyes flutter open, Hobie slides a hand off your back to thumb your lip, swiping a finger across your bottom one.

You make a questioning noise but remain unmoving as he works, sliding his digit across sensitive skin.

“My lipstick got on you,” he explains when he finishes, showing you black makeup smeared on his thumb. “I liked the look of it, but didn’t know if you did.”

A gentle laugh spouts from you at his kindness. “I’m all for you giving me a makeover next time,” you say with a grin.

Hobie gives a small chuckle back, delight sparkling in his eye. “Good.”

The afterbuzz of the date still tingles the back of Hobie’s neck even hours later. It’s ten o’clock, the moon at highrise and not a single star in sight in the muddy violet pool that overhangs New York. He’s in the middle of a stakeout, monitoring an energy station reopened as bait for whatever, whoever, might come out in response. The task of fully focusing proves rather hard in the wake of remembering the warmth of you as you held him, the brush of your lips against his, and your small gasps of breath, but he tries anyhow.

Hobie’s just finished shaking off the image of your face in the light of dusk when his watch buzzes. He looks down with a frown, noting the peculiarity of receiving a call this late.

“Gwendy,” he greets, an orange hologram of Stacy appearing with the twist of a dial. “What are you ringing me for?”

“Hey Hobie,” she returns flatly, not providing much else before quickly casting her gaze askance.

From her projection, Hobie can gather that something seems off—Gwen’s stance is completely closed, arms crossed and feet together. What looks like nervousness twists her features, pinches her forehead, pulls her lips tight together. She’s never been good at hiding her emotions, but even this seems exaggerated.

Sobriety seeps into Hobie then, the high of hours ago eroding. “Something wrong?” he asks, voice dropping low.

Gwen pauses, hesitating. “Miguel wants you back at HQ,” is what comes from her after a few seconds. “Now.”

“What about the mission?”

“He just says to leave. There’s been some new intel. That’s all I know.” Gwen swallows thickly, her eyes flickering back to Hobie. “See you soon.”

“Alright, see ya.” The hologram blinks twice, then disappears. Hobie taps on his watch to open a portal back to Earth-928, dubiety sinking its teeth into his thoughts. Miguel was ever the autocrat, so he was never quite fond of the guy, but the way Gwen had come to him—with a fresh feeling that extended beyond terror etched in her expression—that doesn’t sit well. He doesn’t need a spider-sense to recognize that something is amiss.

Somehow, he can’t elude the feeling of dread that creeps to him when he’s swallowed by the vortex.