#prequel to a fic coming in the next few days

[eelnoise]

only this moment

zoro x gn!reader cw: fluff, first kisses, you and zoro are a little drunk an: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY BEAUTIFUL BELOVED AMAZING SWEET BOY. sorry it's a day late :( high key the prequel to this fic and it's sequel (both nsfw!) but more a fun fact than a requirement btw. wc: 4.2k

It's Zoro's birthday, and while he's never been one to make a fuss about it, this year the ship is conveniently docked for the night, giving the crew the perfect opportunity to celebrate. He doesn’t exactly mind—and it’s not like he can avoid it—he’s not used to the attention such a day brings. Leaning against the railing and staring off into the sunset, he remains quiet, distant in the way he always is. 

But there’s a softness in the way his gaze lingers on the crew, their laughter and warmth filling the air beneath the fading light of the setting sun. The comfort it brings doesn’t feel strange anymore. It’s simply a part of his world now, like the rising and setting sun—familiar, irreplaceable, and quietly essential.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by the unmistakable sound of your footsteps approaching, your voice cutting through the noise of the crew. “You alright? Are they too much for ya?”

Zoro glances over his shoulder, his usual deadpan expression in place, but there's a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as they land on you. "Nah, they’re not botherin’ me," he grumbles and shakes his head, his act deliberately nonchalant. “I’m alright.”

He’s good at hiding it, at playing off the unfamiliar tug in his chest every time you speak to him like that. But the truth is, he’s not used to the way your presence settles something in him, not used to how easy it feels just to be near you.

You smile, and it’s effortless, like you’ve known him for years, and maybe you have, but there’s something different about it tonight. Something that makes him feel strangely exposed, even though you’re only a few feet away. He’s used to being left alone, used to carrying the weight of his thoughts without anyone noticing, but with you, it’s like he can’t hide behind his usual walls.

Coming to a stop just next to him, Zoro turns around to properly face you and notices that you’re holding something behind your back. His brows furrow slightly, his eyes narrowing in a way that makes you think he’s already figured it out, even when he hasn’t.

“What’re you hiding?” he asks, his words slow and steady, but there’s a hint of curiosity beneath the surface—he’s trying too hard to play it off, and he still can’t quite mask it.

“I know you don't care much for gifts or whatever but—” His attention sharpens, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he just crosses his arms, a half-smirk tugging at his lips, like he’s willing to let you have your fun for now. But even then, his eyes don’t leave you, waiting, just a little too interested.

With a sly grin, you reach behind your back and pull out two bottles of sake, one in each hand. “I remembered how much you liked that sake from the island we visited last month,” you say, holding up the bottles for a closer look. “Thought it’d make a good birthday gift. Y’know, some good memories.”

You glance at him, offering a small, almost shy smile. There’s no big gesture, no over-the-top presentation—just something simple that you thought he'd appreciate.

Zoro is speechless, his arms still crossed over his chest, trying to keep his composure and not let on to how much the gesture seems to throw him off. He’s not used to being on the receiving end of things, and gifts are especially new territory. For a long moment, he just stares, his eyes flitting from the bottles in your hands to your face, like he’s waiting for the punchline. But it never comes.

He wasn’t expecting anything. He didn’t want anything. Still, as you stand there before him, looking so genuine and kind and truthful, something within him swells. A warm feeling blossoming in his chest.

Zoro swallows, his words a little rough, more vulnerable than he wants them to be. “Didn’t have to do that,” he mutters, but there’s a quiet fondness in his expression that contradicts his words. He holds out his hand, silently asking for the bottles, waiting patiently for you to hand one to him.

You offer a bottle, and he takes it from your hands, his fingers brushing yours for just a second. He hesitates, clearly unsure of how to respond, before muttering, “Thanks...” in that awkward way he does when he’s caught off guard. But then, as if a thought suddenly strikes him, he looks up, a hint of something softer in his eyes.

“Hey... you wanna share a bottle?” he asks, his tone casual, but there's an underlying sincerity there. He quickly clears his throat, as if the offer itself was a bit more vulnerable than he meant it to be. "I mean, you went out of your way to get it for me. Least I can do is share."

The way he says it—slightly gruff but definitely not uninterested—makes it clear that he doesn't want you to walk off just yet. It's not just about the sake. He wants you to stick around.

You grin, “Of course I do, in fact…” trailing off, you quickly produce two shot glasses from your back pocket—stashed just for this very instance in mind. The small glass makes a soft clink against the wood as you slide one over the railing to Zoro with a knowing look. “I figured you'd be in the mood for a drink," you add, gesturing for him to have the first pour.

He catches the glass between his fingers and uncorks the bottle to pours the clear liquid gently into the small glass. Raising it to his lips, he swirls it slightly before taking a sip. The alcohol burns pleasantly down his throat, warming him from the inside out. He lets out a satisfied sigh, his shoulders relaxing a bit.

"Not bad," he comments, raising his glass in a silent toast before taking another drink. His eyes linger on you, studying your face in the fading light. "You know me well," he adds, his expression  thoughtful, as though he's still processing the simple truth in the words. 

Zoro tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that's both casual and strangely intense before handing the bottle over to you. He watches you closely as you fill your glass up, his focus once again lingering on your face, as if trying to read you.

You take the bottle with a small, knowing grin, your fingers brushing his as you accept it. Your glass is already in hand, and you pour a generous amount, the clear liquid catching the last of the fading sunlight. As you bring the glass to your lips, you meet his gaze, holding it just long enough to make him wonder whether you’re savoring the moment or just being playful. The warmth of the alcohol spreads quickly, but it's not enough to dull the sharpness of the connection between you both. 

The night stretches on and the deck clears out, leaving  Zoro and you settled into a comfortable rhythm, now relaxed with your backs against the hull, the warmth from the alcohol fighting the chill of the crisp sea wind. The conversation has shifted from casual banter to deeper, quieter exchanges, though neither of you is particularly worried about keeping things serious for long.

But now, his eyes are fixed on you in that way he always has when he's trying to figure something out—or just when he's being his usual teasing self. You’ve had a few too many, and while you’re not exactly stumbling, your laughter has taken on a loose, carefree quality—and for a moment he’s so taken with you he doesn’t catch the smile in his cheeks.

Zoro’s expression doesn’t escape your notice, making your brow furrow. “What’s with the look?” you ask, flashing a playful grin.

He smirks, taking another swig from his glass before leaning against the railing. “You’re such a lightweight, ya know that?”

“Anyone’s a lightweight compared to you, dude.” You reply, rolling your eyes slowly, but with a touch of amusement, you let out a little laugh. It’s hard to stay annoyed with that smug grin of his.

There's a dare in his poise, playful and teasing, but with an edge of something else—a spark of excitement, a hint of mischief. With his back pressed against the cool, rough wood of the wall, he shifts just enough so his gaze locks with yours.

Zoro chuckles, low and deep, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Maybe so, but I bet I could still outdrink you any day."

There's a challenge in his tone, playful and teasing, but with a hint of something else—an edge of excitement, a spark of mischief. With his back pressed against the cool, rough wood of the ship, he shifts just enough so his look meets yours.

"What do you say? Think you can handle a little competition?" he asks, a hint of teasing in his words.

You nod eagerly, your eyes lighting up with the same mischievous energy. A slow grin spreads across your face, the alcohol lending you the courage to match his boldness. "Oh, I'm game," you reply, shifting slightly closer, your thigh brushing against his as you adjust your position. "What are you thinking?"

Zoro's eyes glint with mischief, his lips curling into a sly smirk. "Simple," he says, his voice low. "We take turns guessing something about each other. If you're wrong, you take a shot."

He tilts his head, his gaze never leaving yours. The mischief in his eyes still lingers, but there's a lighter edge to it now, a playful gleam that makes the moment feel less intense and more... electric in its own way. The air between you shifts, not a spark, but something that quickens the beat of your heart.

The thought of being so close, trading secrets and truths, sends a little thrill through you. Even in the dim light, you can see every detail of his face, his expression open, his eyes sharp with interest. It's intimate in a way both familiar and new, and your heart hammers in your chest. 

“You're on," you reply, the words coming out a little more breathless than you intended. "But don't think I'm gonna go down easily."

Zoro’s smirk deepens, his stare never wavering from yours, the tease in his eyes sharp and unwavering. He leans in slightly, a flicker of amusement dancing in his look. “Let me guess," he says smooth and confidently. "Your biggest fear... it’s not something simple, right? Nah, I bet it’s something that really gets under your skin." He pauses, studying you with a critical eye, before letting out a slow breath. "I’m gonna say... it’s being helpless. Not being able to protect the people you care about."

His words hang in the air, his eyes still locked onto yours, as if he's daring you to confirm or deny it. The intensity of his gaze is almost too much, but you can’t help but feel a strange warmth at the fact that he’s thought so deeply about it.

A shiver runs down your spine at how close he is, the way his voice wraps around the words, and the sheer truth of it all. You swallow, trying to keep your expression neutral as you meet his eyes.

“Damn," you murmur, a hint of surprise in your voice. "That's more accurate than I care to admit. How the hell did you guess that?"

Zoro laughs, "Maybe I just know you that well, eh?" He playfully nudges you, the alcohol, and you, are calming him more than he'd like to admit. He's very comfortable in this moment, and it's something he can't deny to himself, so why not indulge in the rare privacy? "Drink up." He adds with a nod.

A soft laugh escapes your lips, the sound a little shaky. "Seems like it," you mutter, the reality of how well he knows you sending a strange wave of heat through your chest.

Following his instruction, you swallow down a hefty gulp of liquid courage, the burn of the alcohol sliding down your throat. You exhale, the feeling only adding to the flutter in your stomach.

"All right, my turn," you say, trying to steady your voice despite the flutter in your chest. "I've got a pretty good guess for you, too."

Zoro leans back slightly, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "Alright, let's hear it," he replies, low and curiously, the challenge in his tone still present but tempered by an edge of amusement.

"I think..." you begin taking in his relaxed, more casual expression. It makes you smile, and you don't think about trying to hide it, either, "You're a big softie, and I think that you know it."

The  smile falls, and he looks almost surprised, like he wasn't expecting you to be so perceptive. But then, his eyes narrow, and his smirk returns, only with a flicker of something softer. "Oh, so we're gonna play like that, huh?" He chides, his playful act never faltering.

Mhm," you confirm with a nod and a sly grin. "Now answer the question, softie."

Zoro clicks his tongue in annoyance as he realizes you’ve caught him in a rare moment of vulnerability. He runs a hand through his hair, his chuckle low and almost reluctant.

“Dammit,” he mutters, shifting against the railing with a sigh. He falls silent, studying you in the dim light like he's weighing whether to keep up the act. His gaze softens just slightly as he exhales. “Alright, fine, you got me,” he admits, the words gruff but unavoidably sincere. “Guess I do have my moments.”

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with that," you note, tilting your head slightly and softening your tone, a playful glint in your eyes. You scoot a little closer, your inflection gentler now, as if you're letting him in on something only the two of you share. "Makes you human, you know? And honestly, it’s kinda... nice, seeing you let your guard down for once."

Zoro's lips twitch in response, a strange vulnerability in the way he responds to your words.

"Yeah, I guess it does," he replies, scratching the back of his head. He looks away as if embarrassed by the admission. "Still, I'm not about to go around announcing it to the world—I have an image to maintain, ya know."

You catch the flicker of that vulnerability, and the teasing smile on your lips softens just a bit. “Your secret is safe with me,” you assure him with a wink. “You can keep being the big, tough guy on deck, but I won’t spill.” You give him a playful nudge, your tone light but warm. “Now drink up, softie—let's see how long you can hold onto that image.”

Zoro lets out a rough laugh, the sound just a touch shaky, as if he's more affected by the moment than he'd like to let on. He takes the glass and tips it back, taking a long swallow. "All right, then. My turn to guess, huh?

A soft hum of amusement escapes your lips as you watch him drain the glass. "Mhm," you confirm with a nod, a small, satisfied smile on your face. "Let's see what you've got."

Zoro sets the glass down with a soft clink, his eyes locked on your face. A smirk twists at his lips, and he leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, his expression sharp and playful.

"I think..." he begins, his voice dropping slightly, "you're a lot more observant than you let on. You catch things that I wouldn't dream of, and sometimes, you just know what I'm thinking before I do. But, you're also pretty damn stubborn."

Your eyebrows arch at his observation, both impressed and slightly taken aback. It's eerily astute, and you know you can't deny it. With a sigh, you lean your head back and tilt your head toward with a wry smile.

"Oh? What kind of things do you notice that I catch?," you murmur, unable to hide the hint of surprise in your reaction. "And someone has to be stubborn to put up with you." You add with a tease.

Zoro chuckles, the sound low and throaty. He leans in close, a teasing smile on his lips. "Oh yeah? And who said I need putting up with?"

He tilts his head, studying your grin for a moment  before continuing. "You're smart," he remarks thoughtfully. "You pick up on things the rest of the crew doesn't, like when I'm irritated or when I'm lying. It's a pain in the ass."

The truth falling from his lips hits you hard, he feels genuine. Totally real and just honest with you right now. It dawns on you that Zoro lets you see him this way, and to deny the butterflies in your stomach would be a lie to the world.

"Leaves an impression though, yeah?" You force out, though the words are slightly sheepish. "I mean, we're here talking now, so you must like me enough to keep around."

Zoro's laugh is softer this time, a hint of something warm and almost fond in his expression.

"Yeah, I guess I do," he admits, shaking his head slightly. The night's quiet around you, except for the soft sound of the waves lapping against the hull. "You're stubborn and annoying as hell, but... yeah, I like you."

"I'm glad," you reply, letting the playful tease linger. You shift a little closer, your voice softening, but the warmth is still there. "It's nice 'putting up with you,' even if you make it way harder than it needs to be." You let out a small laugh, meeting his gaze with a fond smile. "But I guess someone has to deal with you, right?"

Zoro rolls his eyes playfully, as the gesture makes you giggle. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't get too cocky about it," he replies, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

But then there’s a stillness between you two. A quiet that feels different from the rest of the night. His attention lingers on you, the air thickening in a way that makes everything feel closer—heavier, more intimate.

You’re not sure when it happened, but suddenly, you’re sitting so close that you can feel the warmth of his body against yours. His breath brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as he tilts his head down, his eyes locking intently onto yours. He can’t help but notice how your presence seems to fill the space between, how the world around you fades to just the soft rhythm of your breathing, the quiet pulse of the moment.

Time seems to slow as your proximity to him registers fully. Zoro's heart skips a beat as he realizes how close you've gotten, the feel of your warm breath against his skin causing a shiver to race down his spine. Instinctively, he wants to pull back, to distance himself from this vulnerability, but something holds him in place.

Despite every instinct screaming at him to pull away, he finds himself stuck in place. Your proximity is intoxicating, making his heart race in his chest. And then, without a thought—pure impulse—he leans in.

His lips meet yours, firm and sure in a kiss that's both unexpected and exhilarating. The rest of the ship falls away, and now, it's just him and you, the alcohol loosening his inhibitions and fueling the fire that's been quietly building between you.

Zoro's hand moves almost on its own, reaching out to tangle in the soft strands of your hair, pulling you closer against him. The heat of the moment, fueled by the alcohol and the low thrum of tension that's always hung between you, is overwhelming. It feels both familiar and completely new, and his mind struggles to keep up with the onslaught of feeling.

It's slightly awkward, he isn't sure exactly what he's doing but gets the jest of it, the initial clumsiness rapidly melts away as he gets lost in the kiss. It's clear he's never been in this exact situation before, yet his instincts guide him as he lets himself be swept away by the moment.

His other hand moves to your waist, pulling you flush against him, the feel of your body against his suddenly more electrifying than anything he's ever felt.

As he pulls you against him, his arm wrapping around your waist, a low rumble of appreciation escapes his throat. The feeling of your body against his is electric in a way he's never experienced, the heat between you growing hotter with each passing moment. It's different from a fight, but the adrenaline feels just as battle would. 

He pulls away from you and there’s a beat of silence. The world seems to pause around you both, and for a moment, neither of you knows what to say. Zoro’s hand is still tangled in your hair, his fingers brushing lightly against your scalp as if he’s holding onto something grounding. His breath comes out in a shaky exhale, his eyes never leave yours and they’re flickering with something unreadable.

"I... I, uh..." he mutters, his words stumbling in a way that's completely out of character for him. The usually confident, aloof first mate is blushing like a damn tomato, and it makes something warm stir in your chest.

You can't help but smile, the cool night air doing little to quell the warmth spreading through you from that kiss. It's an unexpected, but not unwelcome, shift in the air between you. "It was nice," you say, your voice soft but steady, letting him know you're not about to make this more awkward than it already feels, "But I understand, we’re both probably a little... off balance right now."

Zoro glances at you, a flicker of relief in his eyes before he looks away again, clearly trying to regain some of his usual composure. "You... should probably get some sleep," he mutters, his gaze darting to the deck, clearly embarrassed by his own reaction.

You chuckle softly, though there's no judgment in it—just a quiet understanding. "Yeah... yeah, you're right. But no worries, I’m not going to hold it against you," you tease, the teasing lightness still there, but without any pressure. You're still floating somewhere between cloud nine and feeling completely grounded in the moment.

Zoro exhales, a little too sharply, before he slowly releases his grip on you, his hand drifting back to his side. There's a beat of silence as he clears his throat, looking sheepish for the first time tonight. It’s kind of cute, honestly.

"Here, let me..." he starts again, his words are rough but calmer than usual. "I’ll help get you to bed."

He reaches out for your hand, his fingers firm but careful as he takes it in his own. The gesture feels different now—gentler, more deliberate—and it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s endearing, how much he’s trying to be careful with you, and for once, it’s nice to see him not so sure of himself. You feel a little giddy, but you don’t pull away.

He guides you slowly across the deck, the atmosphere still charged with unspoken tension. As you walk, you can feel his gaze flick to you every so often, as if he's checking to make sure you're alright.

The sound of footsteps on the deck is the only break in the silence. Finally, you reach the door to your quarters, and Zoro stops, turning to face you.

He stands there, still holding your hand, clearly at a loss for what to do next. The low light catches his features in a way that makes him seem more vulnerable than usual, and for a brief moment, he seems unsure of himself—something you don’t see often. His mouth opens and closes as if he’s trying to find the right words but keeps getting stuck.

“You… you, uh, you get some sleep, okay?” His voice sounds softer than it’s ever been, a little awkward, sure,  but there’s a gentleness to it that you weren’t expecting. It's like he wants to make sure you're okay after everything.

You smile, your heart fluttering at how cute he's being. "You too, Zoro," you reply, squeezing his hand lovingly and flashing him a warm, sweet smile. “And happy birthday.”

Zoro’s face flushes a deeper shade of red, and his ears go a bit pink too. It's so obvious now how much the night has affected him. He quickly looks away, mumbling something too quiet for you to catch.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, his demeanor a little gruff but still somehow tender. He glances at you again, then looks away quickly, embarrassed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?.”

You give him one last smile before you turn to leave and Zoro watches you disappear into the room beyond, his heart beating a little faster than usual, and the warmth from your smile lingers with him long after you’ve disappeared into the night. He stands there for a while, staring at the spot where you were standing, and when he finally heads to his quarters, the usual brash first mate is nowhere to be found.

When he settles in his own bunk, Zoro's mind keeps replaying the moments with you. He can't help but smile—just a little, but it's there, soft and real. He lies in the dark, still feeling the warmth of your hand in his, and it brings an unfamiliar but comforting warmth to his chest. It’s not something he’s used to, but... it feels nice.

Zoro drifts off to sleep with a small, genuine smile still on his face, the first real one he’s had in a long time.

@tetzoro here is ur tag hehe

[thatonetwig]

"Ugh...where the hell am I?", Void said as he stood up.

As he dusted himself off, he looked around and saw nothing but darkness as far as he could see. He tried walking straight but was met with the same result. He tried walking in all other possible directions, but still, nothing.

"Hey! Is anyone here?", he shouted into the darkness.

He got no response.

"Hey! Can anyone-"

"Yeah, I hear you, bud. Don't gotta say it twice."

Startled, Void jumped slightly as he turned around and saw A.C. floating before him. Annoyed, Void stared down his counterpart with a piercing glare.

"You again? What do you want?", Void asked.

"Guess.", A.C. replied.

"Cut the bullcrap and just tell me what you want.", Void said, almost growling.

"Aww...you're no fun. But if that's what you want, sure."

"I just wanted to talk to you about that happy-go-lucky guy you've got for a boyfriend. Hood, right?"

Void began to feel his annoyance shift into anger upon hearing this.

"What about him? First, I gotta deal with your ass at least once a week, and now I gotta hear your inputs on him?!", Void shouted at him.

"Aye, chill. This ain't even about him. It's about you.", A.C. said.

"What do you mean?", Void asked.

A.C. chuckled before he harshly grabbed Void by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up.

"Don't you understand? Your time with him is numbered."

Void stopped struggling against A.C.'s grasp to stare up at him.

"What?"

"It's only a matter of time until he finds out what you've been keeping from him. How do you think he'll feel when he finds out his beloved boyfriend has been lying to him all this time?"

The implications of his words hit Void like a meteorite as he struggled to reply back to this.

"I-I..."

"I wonder if he'll leave you when he realizes what an awful partner you are. Hmm...I look forward to finding out. Hehe...", A.C. chuckled before letting go of Void and letting him drop to the ground.

"Oh well, it's not like you care about him all that much anyway, right?"

"I-...shut up...", Void muttered.

"Welp, that's all I wanted to say. See ya around.", A.C. said before teleporting away.

Void sat on his knees on the cold, hard ground with his eyes closed; he was left alone with his thoughts and at a loss of what else to do.

"Void? Void!"

He heard a voice call his name out repeatedly as it got louder and louder before he opened his eyes and saw Hood in front of him.

"Void! There you are! Sorry if I woke you up, but it looked like you were having a nightmare!", Hood said, oblivious to what just transpired.

Void stared at him for a second before smiling.

"I'm fine...Hoodie.", Void said while taking Hood's hand.

"Say...", he began while pulling Hood into a hug.

"...we...trust each other, right?", he asked.

"Of course! We tell each other everything, remember? We don't keep secrets!", Hood said while hugging Void back.

Void felt butterflies in his stomach after hearing that.

"Why? Is there something wrong? Or something you wanna tell me?", Hood asked while looking down at him.

Void stared into Hood's large, white eyes.

"No...just makin' sure.", he replied.

"Oh, okay then!", Hood said while hugging Void tighter.

"Well, just wanted to make sure you're okay. Goodnight, Void. Love ya.", Hood said while kissing Void on the forehead and burying his face into his hair.

Void crawled up and kissed Hood on his cheek before crawling back down and nuzzling his head into Hood's face.

"Mmm..."

"I love you too, Hood...so much..."

[disaster-writer]

Tear You Apart (Prequel)

Pairing: Dabi x Reader x Shigaraki

Summary: Before you had found out who had been drugging you, Dabi had invited Shigaraki to come and watch one of these occasions

Word Count: 3.6k

Rating: X 18+

Warnings: Dark fic, smut, noncon, drugging, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masochism… dead dove: do not eat

A/N: This is a prequel, read the first part here —>

Tear You Apart (Part 1)

Dabi took a long drag on the cigarette that hung loosely from his fingers before blowing out, the smoke billowing in front of him.

He looked over lazily at the male companion he sat with at the bar.

”You like her~” he lilted, mocked even, watching Shigaraki stare over his shoulder at the pretty woman that sat in the booth in the back all by herself.

”Like who?” He asked, not bothering to look away.

It made Dabi scoff, “Don’t play dumb, makes you look like a fuckin’ idiot.” He muttered, taking another drag.

It was odd being trapped in this limbo, not knowing what the fuck to do as the days passed, waiting for Shigaraki’s master to tell them what to do next.

But at least some of the fuckers in the league were out searching for recruits for once and the ones that weren’t were already asleep.

It was just Dabi and Shigaraki.

And you all alone in the back.

”She’s falling asleep,” Shigaraki idly commented, watching your eyes fluttering shut and then open every few seconds.

Dabi looked over his own shoulder. 

You were falling asleep.

He then looked at your drink that you completely drained.

”She had two drinks tonight,” Dabi offered as an explanation.

”She doesn’t drink alcohol. They’re mocktails.”

Dabi sucked on his teeth, “Someone pays attention, huh?” he taunted.

It pissed him off how much Shigaraki paid attention to you. Dabi was never fond of sharing.

”She said she used to be an alcoholic,” he added.

He may as well have been removing the staples from his seams and peeling the flesh back himself with how deeply he was getting under his skin.

”Or it’s just fuckin’ late, speaking of which, maybe you should go to sleep too. Huh Shiggy? Heard we had another long day of doing fuck all.”

Dabi needed him gone, he was already cutting into his schedule for the night by hanging around, staring at you.

”We have a meeting in the morning,” he muttered into his shoulder. His unwavering eyes never leaving your huddled form, curled up in the booth. “Someone should take her to her room.”

”And by someone I’m sure you’re talking about yourself, huh?” He muttered, stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray, “Wanna try touching little miss ‘can’t touch me’ don’t’cha.”

”She has clothes on. It wouldn’t hurt.”

”Just trying to cop a feel then?”

Shigaraki didn’t respond.

Dabi tapped the bar impatiently, he was really starting to get on his nerves. 

Fuck— why didn’t you just go to your fucking room before falling asleep like last time. 

He guessed he was lucky that more people weren’t around, at least he knew Shigaraki’s thoughts were just as depraved as his… actually he wouldn’t put it past the fucking creep to think up even more disgusting shit than he does.

Dabi looked back over his shoulder.

You were asleep.

Shit.

You drank a lot of that shit tonight, the pineapple juice he spiked being the base of both drinks. He’d be lucky if he was able to get you coherent at all.

He looked at Shigaraki and he was still just fucking staring.

Dabi needed a plan to get you into your room.

Ah, fuck it.

Dabi turned back towards the bar, fingering the rim of his own empty glass.

”I slipped her something.”

At that Shigaraki was looking at him for the first time the entire night.

”Why?” 

He didn’t seem put off, just curious.

Fuckin’ perv.

“I conducted a little experiment of mine the other night and I wanted to do it again.”

”What was it?”

”I wanted to see what would happen if I touched her.”

Shigaraki eyed him. Dabi looked fine and he had listened in on some of your own depressing stories growing up, like how your mother stabbed herself to death in front of you after you touched her or how you watched a dog ram it’s head against the side of a building until it died, after you tried petting it as a child.

He didn’t remember Dabi going through any bizarre episodes like that.

“What happened after you touched her?” 

Dabi looked up from his glass, looking right into those little beady red eyes of his, “I fucked her.”

“How?” He breathed out, curiosity bleeding from the single word.

He started scratching his neck.

“Come with me and I’ll show you.”

”Okay.”

Dabi stood up, hands shoved in his pockets as he made his way over to your curled up body, sleeping with your head against the wall.

He slid in beside you as Shigaraki stood off to the side awkwardly.

”Hey, crybaby,” Dabi hummed. He grasped your shoulder, pulling you to lean on him instead.

You didn’t even hum, still fast asleep.

Fuck, you were really out of it tonight. But you were so pliable right now he couldn’t be too stressed.

”Crybaby?” Shigaraki asked.

A knowing smirk painted Dabi’s lips, “You’ll find out.” 

There was no point spending time right now trying to wake you, so instead he slipped back out of the booth, managed to pull you towards the end before hooking an arm under your knees and around your back, lifting you out of the booth.

”Let’s go,” Dabi muttered to Shigaraki as he began walking towards your room.

Shigaraki followed after, staring at your face as your head hung back with no strength to hold it up.

His cock stirred.

Reaching your room, Dabi shouldered the door open and Shigaraki shut it behind him.

Only a dim lamp was on, lighting up the room.

Shigaraki didn’t look around, he didn’t need to. There had been more than one occasion he had slipped inside while you were out quirk training, to lay in your bed… to touch himself while surrounded by your scent and the things you’ve touched with those wonderfully destructive hands of yours.

Dabi walked over to your bed, laying you down flat on your back, seating himself between your legs, dragging his hands over your clothed hips and thighs.

“Sit down or something,” Dabi snapped at Shigaraki, “I don’t need you looming over my shoulder like a fuckin’ creep.”

”I want to see you touch her.”

”You can do that from the floor you freak.”

He sat down, a bit too close for his liking but Dabi let it be. 

Dabi leaned over you, raising his hand and smacking your cheek a couple times. “Time to wake up crybaby.”

Shigaraki watched in curiosity, Dabi didn’t seem to be in any pain from touching your cheek. “Did that hurt?”

”Yeah,” Dabi grinned, watching your heavy eyelids trying to peel back, “It fuckin’ hurts all right.”

You groaned, deep in your throat as your head lolled to your shoulder. “Da… Dabi…” you murmured, trying to focus your tired eyes on him.

“That’s right baby, enjoy your nap?— hey, no“ he smacked your cheek again, harder this time as your eyes started drooping. “Look who’s joining us tonight,” he pushed your head to the side, making you look at Shigaraki.

Your face screwed up cutely, you were just so confused, “Sh.. Shh,” was all you managed to get out.

”I know,” he said condescendingly, “It’s a hard name to say. But that’s okay, you only need to know mine tonight.” He dragged his hand down, squeezing your tit and pulling out a surprised grunt from you. “Let’s get you out of these ridiculous clothes, always wearing this baggy shit.”

He pulled you up, holding up your dead weight as he started yanking your hoodie up, pulling it up and over your head, body slumping back down against the futon as it came off.

You had no bra on, leaving you in your gloves that you always wore and your sweatpants.

Shigaraki’s hand twitched as he eyed your tits.

”Ah, ah, ah,” Dabi tsked, noticing the movement from the corner of his eye, “Can’t touch remember.”

Shigaraki was getting annoyed, “Why can you?”

He ignored him, hooking his fingers into your sweats and panties, pulling them down your hips and legs until they flopped back down around him.

You groaned again.

Then came your gloves. 

And that woke you up— or at least as close you could come to waking up in this state.

”No, can’t,” you grunted, trying to pull your hands from Dabi’s grasp, “Can’t,” you whined louder.

“There you go,” Dabi sighed, pulling the second glove off, “Feel better without all those clothes?”

You were completely naked but Dabi had barely touched you, and it was pissing Shigaraki off, but he’d admit the sight of your perky nipples in the cool air did something to cool off the annoyance simmering deep within.

“Touch her,” he ordered.

Dabi raised a brow, looking at him for the first time since coming here, “You saying that as my boss?”

”Yes,” he hissed, starting to scratch his neck again.

”Fine. You got it boss.”

Dabi sighed, rolling his shoulders back. He pulled his jacket off, tossing it behind him before pulling his shirt off, tossing it at Shigaraki with a laugh who only decayed it without a word as it landed in his hand.

”Funny ain’t it?” Dabi asked, hovering above your sleepy face. He looked over to Shigaraki, “You can’t touch her because you’re both the same side of the same coin, but us,” he looked back down to you, nose almost brushing against your own, “We’re two sides of the same.” He dipped down, locking his lips with your own.

He groaned loudly against your mouth, a sharp, piercing pain erupting throughout his mouth, radiating outwards, needles being threaded in and out of his skin. They stabbed his eyes and eardrums.

It made his fucking cock throb and he needed more.

He licked into your mouth, swallowing all the little whimpers you emitted, panting into yours as he breathed through the pain.

His hands ached as they dragged along your sides feeling a sharp, stabbing pain as if two knives had been stabbed straight through his palms and he dragged them down, down, down.

You whimpered, body jolting in shock at the feel of him cupping your cunt.

You shook your head, pulling away from the kiss and looking to the side as your breathing began picking up.

Dabi started kissing down your neck instead.

Your eyes opened, looking all over the room before landing on Shigaraki.

His breath hitched as he watched you, hand slowly moving towards his crotch.

”What… What’s happenin’” you asked, staring at him with such large, watery puppy eyes.

Shigaraki stared at you, he had never seen an expression like this on you. Lost, vulnerable, seeking comfort, assurance. He started scratching harder. “Dabi’s going to show me how he fucks you, crybaby—“

Dabi tsked, “Come up with your own fuckin’ pet name.”

Your eyes lolled in your head, landing on the fluffy mane on Dabi’s head.

”How—“ you cut yourself off with a gasp, hips jerking.

Shigaraki’s eyes snapped down to where his hand disappeared between your legs. “What are you doing?” He asked impatiently, trying to inch forward and see what was going on, now grasping his cock through his pants.

Dabi dragged his lips up to your ear, “Shiggy wants to see how I make you feel good. You wanna show him your cute little pussy, show him how you cream around my fingers crybaby.”

Tears started falling, too overwhelmed by what was going on and not being able to grasp any of it.

He sat back up, leaning away from you but keeping his fingers inside. 

Shigaraki’s eyes widened, taking in every last inch of your perfect pussy, “Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, shoving his hand into his pants watching as Dabi played with you. “Does it hurt inside?” He asked, not being able to keep the curiosity at bay. He often wondered, when he lay in your bed and stroked his cock, if the inside of your cunt would hurt as much as the outside must’ve.

”Fuck, yeah it does,” Dabi breathed, placing his thumb on your clit. “It’s like her pussy’s full of fuckin’ razor blades.”

Your hips jerked again at the sensitive little button being played with.

They both watched every little reaction you made with rapt attention. You wriggled weakly, attempting to get away as each whimper and sweet little moan climbed higher in pitch. Your fingers curled weakly against the bed sheets, head tilting back.

Shigaraki sucked in a breath. “I think she’s gonna—“

You were cumming, hips weakly humping the air, grinding against Dabi’s hand with every stutter.

”That’s it baby,” Dabi encouraged— patronized. His free hand stroking your hip. Shigaraki didn’t miss the way his hand twitched as he touched your skin. “Feels good don’t it?”

Your breathing was labored as you fell steadily from your orgasm.

Shigaraki stared intensely at the way your pussy clenched as Dabi dragged his fingers from you, covered in a shiny wet gloss, sticky strings connecting his fingers to your cunt.

”Let me taste.”

Dabi cocked his head towards Shigaraki, lifting a brow, “Finding loopholes already—?”

”Just let me taste,” he spat.

With a roll of his eyes, Dabi was reaching his hand out, to which a very eager Shigaraki shuffled forward. He grabbed Dabi’s wrist, lifting his pinky finger high in the air as he shoved his fingers into his mouth.

He sucked them clean, moaning at the taste. He had never tasted pussy before and it was intoxicating. He swirled his tongue around both digits, licking and sucking every last drop of your heady taste from his fingers.

”Alright,” Dabi scoffed, yanking his hand from Shigaraki mouth and tight grip, wiping his spit off on your futon,“I’m pretty sure you got it all.”

”Fuck her,” Shigaraki hissed through his teeth, smacking and licking his lips.

Dabi turned back to you, ”Hear that crybaby? Shiggy wants to see how I rail this pretty little pussy,” he started undoing his belt, “Ready to put on a show?”

You looked at him tiredly, eyelids drooping, watching but not really watching as he stood up and took off his pants. Your glassy eyes stared at his cock with no recognition behind them. 

You had no idea what the fuck was going on.

Realizing just how lost and weak you were had Shigaraki’s hands trembling as he undid his own pants to pull his cock out, gripping it the only way he alone ever has.

Dabi may have been able to touch you, why and how he may never know, but Shigaraki understood you in a way he never could.

You and him were one and the same.

Both his and your hands left a trail of carnage wherever you two went.

He barely registered Dabi moving, situating himself in a new position to fuck you silly, Shigaraki was too enraptured by those lost, glassy eyes. 

He could’ve gotten off to that look alone. He would’ve if it wasn’t for Dabi’s annoyingly raspy voice pulling him from his thoughts.

”If you wanna last more than two minutes, you may wanna slow down there boss-man.”

Shigaraki tsked in response.

Dabi was laying himself beside you, gripping your waist and turning you onto your side. He was acclimating to the pain, the sharp, stabbing sensations you caused to wrack throughout his body and make his head spin was dying down.

He was ready to take more of the punishing sensations only you could give him.

He pressed his chest flush against your back, causing another pleasantly painful thrum throughout his body, making his cock twitch against your ass.

He was hooking his hand behind your knee, opening you up, spreading you open with one leg raised in the air baring you so Shigaraki could see every detail, complete and undeniable proof that he was the only man that could fuck you like this.

Complete and undeniable proof that you belonged to him.

And if he was going to put on a show then he was going to make sure it was a worthwhile watch.

He bent his knee, hooking your leg over his as he lined himself up with your cunt. The sensitive tip against your gummy hole felt like a needle was being shoved through it.

He looked down at you, your glassy eyes stared at Shigaraki.

He grabbed you by your cheeks and turned your head, “Eyes on me,” he grunted, staring down at you as he lifted your leg again.

His heart started pounding against his ribcage as he remembered what happened the last time he shoved his cock deep inside you. The way he came without any ounce of self control, as if your cunt knew exactly what it wanted.

He stared down at your teary eyed face and sucked in a breath.

He drove his hips forward in one fluid motion, completely sheathing himself inside you, pushing past the resistant muscles in your cunt.

You cried out at the sudden pain and intrusion as Dabi shook and trembled beside you, hips spasming before stilling, emptying his balls into you.

”Ah—fuck,” he groaned raspily into your ear, pain and pleasure blending into one full bodied sensation, rendering him completely useless as he fell to the mercy of your cunt.

His head was hazy, barely registering a single fucking thing Shigaraki was going on about. 

He was done for if you ever figured out how much power your pussy had over him. He never wanted to be in another cunt ever again.

His eyes started focusing on your face once more, reveling in the tears that streamed down your cute little cheeks, and the way your pouty lips blubbered with sobs. 

He dipped down, meshing his lips with yours in another bruising kiss, drool leaking between your lips as you continued to cry into his mouth.

Dabi lifted your leg again, high into the air as he started shallowly thrusting, overstimulated and already starting to get hard, your unforgiving cunt barely giving him a chance to think clearly between orgasms.

He shoved his tongue down your throat, messily licking and moaning into your mouth.

Dabi completely forgot about Shigaraki practically kneeling over him, getting as close as he possibly could to the futon you were both on.

He was staring— leering at the point you two were connected. He watched as Dabi’s cock disappeared and reappeared inch by inch in your greedy cunt, Dabi’s creamy white seed gushing out of you the more he pumped his cock inside.

Shigaraki had to grip the base of his cock tightly so he wouldn’t cum too soon.

Dabi slowly started to increase his pace as he started to somewhat regain some of his bearings.

Fuck— the sounds.

Shigaraki moaned pitifully, leaning forward on one hand as the other matched the pace of Dabi’s thrusts on his own cock, listening to the wet slaps of skin on skin. 

If he focused hard enough he could imagine it was him that was fucking you, getting ready to blow his load in your tight cunt instead.

There was blood, tinting the white mess pink.

”’M gonna cum,” Shigaraki choked out at the sight, “‘M gonna cum on her.”

Dabi released your mouth, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. “Wait til ‘m done.” He grunted, “You better fuckin’ hold it.”

”I’m your boss remember?” He hissed, stroking his cock faster, “I give the orders.”

”When you can put your crusty fuckin’ dick in her without keeling over, then you can give all the fuckin’ orders you want. She’s mine.”

It would have been so easy to reach a hand out and touch Dabi— watch him decay before his eyes.

But given the circumstances and the fact that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to touch you the way Dabi could, he didn’t.

Now that he had this he couldn’t just go back to watching you around the LOV base— he couldn’t go back to only touching himself in your bed while you were out.

A particularly loud moan escaped you as Dabi angled his hips.

”Fuck, that it crybaby? That feel good?” He grunted, full attention back on you now.

He started fucking into you harder, jackhammering his cock against your g-spot.

Yours, Dabi’s, and Shigaraki’s moans and grunts bounced off the walls of the room along with the slick sounds of his cock thrusting in you to create a lewd cacophony. 

You were suddenly shaking and crying harder than before, digging your nails into the futon.

Dabi threw his head back and cursed, fucking you through your orgasm as you squeezed his cock like a vice.

Shigaraki nearly came as you squirted all over the futon.

Dabi was cumming soon after, adding more to the mess between your legs. 

The moment he came down from his own high he was pulling out in seconds, the feeling of you too intense and overstimulating now that he came twice.

”’M gonna cum on her face,” Shigaraki moaned, shuffling upwards, kneeling above you with his cock shoved inches from your face.

You stared up at him all teary eyed and lost, panting and shaking from your climax.

Seeing you part your lips, trying to say his name was all he needed to cum. White strings of sticky seed painting your pretty face and hair as his vision went white.

Refocusing his eyes he found the depraved scene before him.

It was enough to make his cock twitch again.

You sniffled, laying there covered in both his and Dabi’s cum 

“I want to touch her, how do you do it,” he panted, continuing to stare at your cum covered face.

”You don’t,” Dabi grunted, shaking beside you.

He grit his teeth. Both hands came up to scratch at his neck as he stared down at you with unforgiving eyes, watching you trembling before him. A hostility towards you and the body he couldn’t touch began growing deep within him.

”Then get it back up and fuck her again.”

”Whatever you say boss.”

[themultifanshipper]

Monaco. A truly magical place where anything can happen. Including potentially ruining your friendship with Max. With a plot twist.

The prequel to this fic.

Warnings: exhibitionism(technically), smut, choking, PinV sex, drugs and alcohol

"Max Verstappen wins the 2021 Monaco Grand Prix!"

You were pretty sure you were crying. Your best friend Max had just won the Monaco grand prix for the first time. A huge achievement in the world of F1. He lifted the trophy high above his head as you cheered from below. The whole Redbull garage was in chaos, everyone singing and cheering for Max. He winked at you before spraying champagne all over the podium, crowd, Lando and Carlos, all laughing and cheering at each other.

You couldn't help but feel sorry for Charles though, a DNF at your home race is always a hard pill to swallow. Hopefully he wasn't so bummed out that he wouldn't come out and party with you and Max, after all they had patched up their relationship since 2019 and he should be happy for his friend's win.

You, Charles and Max were close, often hanging out whenever you were staying with Max in Monaco. Usually ending up at parties until ungodly hours, you all finding company and going your seperate ways for the night, then meeting up the next day at a café, hungover and full of juicy gossip.

However this particular party felt a bit off for some reason. You'd managed to convince Charles to go out to a club instead of moping alone in his apartment. But there was a vibe. You weren't sure quite what the vibe was yet, but it was definitely there.

He was having more shots than usual, even after bad races. He was also hanging more around you instead of going to find girls to grind on and take back to his ridiculously giant bed. Not that you were complaining about it, you always welcomed Charles' company. But his arm found itself around you a little bit more often than usual. And you swore you saw him staring at your lips a bit too much for a public setting.

At one point Max found you and informed you he'd recieved a text from George, inviting you all to join him and a few other drivers at a yacht party. So you, Charles and Max went stumbling around the harbour trying to find this party.

Well, it wasn't exaclty hard.

It was the biggest yacht you'd ever seen, and in Monaco that was quite an achievement. It was more like a small cruise liner with so many people on it you were almost wondering if yachts could have a weight limit. It must have been some mega rich guy here just for the grand prix or something.

Before you could dwell on it too much however you heard a screech from above you up on the second deck.

"AYOOOO MAX! UP HERE MAN! AND YOU BROUGHT CHARLES WOOOOO! "

The three of you stared at Lando where he was hanging halfway over the railing, shirt way too open for decency, sunglasses almost slipping off his nose, and waving his glass around, getting himself quite wet. Nothing out of the ordinary, really.

Once you got onto the boat it was surprisingly easy to find the small group of drivers consisting of George, Alex, Lando, his friend Max, Lance, who was obviously selling something around the place, Carlos, who had obviously taken whatever Lance was selling, and Checo in a corner feeling up a girl who was definitely not his wife.

Anyway, you quickly lost both Max and Charles as you all mingled around and made acquaintances. But after a a few hours, a few drinks, and a few of whatever the fuck Lance had sold to seemingly half the boat, you got a bit lonely and set off to find people you knew.

The first person you came across was Lando, who had also taken something if the way he was incapable of focusing on your eyes as you spoke to him was any indication. He informed you that Charles had been looking for you, before going to look for some peace and quiet in the upper decks,

You got him a glass of water as thanks before going off to find Charles. It took you fucking forever. The place was huge, and you even bumped into Fernando during your quest, who greeted you with a big sloppy kiss on the cheek before sauntering off. Wow.

You found Charles sitting in one of the many upstairs rooms that sort of overlooked the deck below, where most of the crowd was, visible through massive windows.

By the time you'd finished ogling the layout you looked at Charles and found he was already staring intently at you.

"I know that look, Charles" You scolded him.

"I know you do. That's why I'm doing it" He grinned.

"Are you really that bored?"

"It is not about being bored. I want you"

You rolled your eyes. He always knew how to pick his moments, and he knew you could never resist him.

"But also..." he continued slowly, grabbing your hips and pulling you towrds him; his face changing into something more vulnerable "I want to have something Max does not"

Oh . This was a new development. Charles was jealous??

For a while now you and Charles had been fooling around. Max knew about it of course, you weren't exactly discreet, and you'd stopped counting the amount of times Charles had mentionned it off-hand in front of him. It usually happened when neither of you could find someone to take home and needed some good sex. And by god the sex was good. But that's not the point. The point was that you didn't really want this to happen on a random yacht, where anyone could see you if they looked hard enough up at the windows.

Add to that the fact you were pretty off your faces, and were possibly abandoning Max at this giant party, and it was shaping up to be the worst idea you'd ever heard.

"Because I thought this would finally be the year I would win at my home race."

"So I'm a replacement trophy?" You teased.

"Of course not" He grinned up at you "I want to give you all the pleasure that Max took away from me..."

So, you ended up on top of Charles on the bed, facing the door, riding him like your life depended on it. At some point, his hand had made it's way around your throat and was squeezing as your eyes rolled back and your rhythm faltered and your legs began to shake. He took it upon himself to grab your hip with his other hand and start slamming into you from below. You moaned loudly, not caring about all the noise you were both making as the music downstairs pounded through the walls. After all the times the two of you had done this, he knew your body like the back of his hand, expertly fucking you speechless with minimal effort.

Then, you realised with a start you hadn't locked the door when a shadow appeared under the crack and the handle turned, door swinging open.

Of course it had to be Max. Life would be two easy otherwise.

As your eyes met, his widened and you gasped, pussy tightening briefly around Charles, who took it as a sign of you being close. Embarrasingly, the idea of Max seeing you like this turned you on so much you almost came on the spot. His eyes staring you up and down, at the way your tits bounced as Charles rammed into you, at the way Charles's cock was splitting you open, and at the way you were drooling all over yourself and down Charles' wrist, your own eyes fixated on Max's.

He looked more turned on than anyone you'd ever seen. You were probably quite the sight, being dragged up and down Charles' cock like ragdoll. The thought made you clench again, so Charles groaned and tightened his hold on your throat, hips never faltering.

"Fuck- so tight. My god- rub your pretty little cunt for me and come on my cock, baby"

Max's jaw dropped as you did what you were told and started circling your clit fast and hard. He'd never seen you take orders from anyone, much less Charles. And he'd never expected Charles to talk like that, especially to you.

"Good Girl, fuck! Come on my cock." He slammed into you a few more times "That's my good girl..."

You moaned loud and you came hard around Charles, not able to keep your eyes open any longer as you rode out the waves of pleasure as he spilled deep inside you.

When your vision returned, Max was long gone, and Charles looked pretty blissed out, not realising what had just happened.

Tomorrow's debrief over coffee was going to be awkward...

[ghouldump]

Just read your Armand fic and it was SO good, I was wondering if we could get a prequel or separate piece on vamp reader in the theatre?

Masquerade | Lestat x Reader

ෆ even with your horrific background, he fell deeply for your heart.

thank you, i enjoyed this very much. the fact that this is a month old is embarrassing. someone else requested loustat + Claudia w/ vamp reader and theater but i accidentally deleted it. also in this Lestat hasn't had Akasha’s blood yet.

“Mr. De Lioncourt, you’re on in five,” the stage director said nervously, peaking into the dressing room.

Staring into the mirror, he couldn’t stop the heavy weight on his lifeless core. Perhaps it was due to the homage he had been contemplating.

Fixing his soft hair, he stood, adjusting the half-buttoned top. Taking large steps, his walk emitted confidence, his head held high, in his mind, a recessed warfare.

The piercing screaming became louder as he moved closer to the stage. After months of traveling and backlash from other vampires, as well as the media, he was finally at his last show of the world tour.

“Lestat! I love you,” he could hear his fans screaming.

Smirking, he chuckled, while his thoughts drifted to the ancient days, enjoying the sight of mortals marveling at his presence. In Paris, the city adored him with a love so great, while also managing to shred his heart into pieces. Stopping next to the backstage staff, one of them held the box, protecting the precious relic of his. Opening the lock, he carefully placed the delicate mask on his face.

Holding his head elevated, he closed his eyes, it all seemed like only a little while ago when he met the one who would make him fall deeply in love, through music.

“Y/n, do you have any new songs written? We will be having a special guest joining us tomorrow,” Armand asked, as you slowly met his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve made a few ideas,” you nodded, timidly.

“May I see them?” He asked you, smiling as you hopped out of your seat, handing him the papers with haste.

“Thank you, my love,” he told you, leaning to place a soft kiss onto your lips.

“You’re welcome,” you nodded.

“The others will be hunting later, you are free to join them,” he said, reaching for your veil, and covering your face, before walking away.

Once Armand was out of sight, you slowly sat back down, your fingertips lightly brushing against the piano keys. Humming the melody, you smiled, knowing he would be satisfied with the song that went beautifully in his play.

He was a few decades away from being two centuries old when you first met. In a sideshow, you were the most popular act of the next night. The circus was traveling throughout Europe when they finally arrived in Paris. ‘Come and see the Devil’s Mark’, they called out, catching the interest of people passing. Inside the large tint, they'd gasp at the sight, confused by the sight.

“Why does she have that on her head?”

“She was kissed by the devil himself, and it left her with the face of a monster, Y/n, entertain your guest,” hearing the sound of the whip cracking, your fingers moved on their own, against the stringed instrument.

A few left out of boredom, some through peanuts at you, while others through coins. You were seen as nothing more than a show, no more than the animals kept. Although you knew better than to act against them, this place, these people, they were all you'd ever known.

Suddenly, a scream broke out, filled with agony, others rushed out, wanting to either get away or find out what was happening. You could see the shadow of people, running further away, some of them getting tackled, screeching for help. When the man came into the tint, your trainer, backed away, turning to run, before the man quickly killed him.

Your eyes widened, seeing the man move quicker than the blink of an eye. Lifting his head, he looked your way, and instantly, he was in front of the cage, tearing the door off. Staring at him, you watched his milky white teeth, dark red blood covering his mouth, and icy blue eyes.

Slowly moving to the ground, he tilted his head at you, before ripping the sack from your head. Immediately, you turned your face, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him.

“This face is something else,” he laughed. Moving his hand, covering the left side of your face, his grin widened.

“You aren't so bad on the eyes, as long as this side is covered, maybe I should keep you, how old are you?” he asked, you struggled to understand him, through his thick broken English.

“18”

“Beautiful and you want to die?” he smiled, listening to your thoughts, the entire time you had been bracing yourself, waiting for the final blow to take you out of this life and into the next.

“Yes,” you admitted. Stiffening as he caressed your cheek with his glass-like nail.

“Those who love their life will lose it, and those who hate this life gain anew, your greatness will make up for the misery this face has brought you,” he told you before his fangs sank into your neck. Draining every ounce, you could hear your heartbeat escaping your body, as you weakened. Pulling away, he cut his wrist, pressing it against your mouth for you to drink.

“Do you have a name, child?” he asked you, as he pulled his arm away.

“Y/n,” you mumbled, lying on the ground, your stomach was beginning to churn.

“My name is Nicolas, and I am your maker,” he smiled at you, as you began groaning.

“Nicolas, is there a reason you're hunting in territory that isn't yours?” hearing the voice, he turned around, facing the brown man, or boy, he couldn't tell from the youthful face.

“What are you talking about?” Nicolas asked, frowning.

“My coven resides here and you have been wreaking havoc, never once making your presence known, it is punishable by death,” the man explained, meanwhile, you began puking up your insides.

“My apologies, I could sense others nearby, but it didn't cross my mind that it could be a coven-

“You are careless, to kill by the hundreds out in the open and thoughtlessly create a fledgling, you are unworthy of the gift, and a threat,” he said, fire appearing in his hand, before Nicolas was set ablaze.

Dropping to his knees, you watched as he turned into ash before he could completely hit the ground. Wiping the vomit from your mouth, your maker, whoever he was, was now gone. Armand’s gaze went to you, and lifting from the ground, he floated to you.

While his face held no emotion, he thought of himself, and his past, feeling a bit of compassion for you.

“Would you like to join our coven?” he asked you. Nodding, you didn't know what you had become, whatever Nicolas was, but you knew you didn't want the same fate from this man.

“Then come along, we will find a place for you in the theater,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows as you grabbed the sack, placing it onto your head. Slowly standing, you felt like a new creation, your head lowered under the man’s gaze.

“You will feel very hungry, but I will show you how to hunt adequately, what is your name?” he asked.

“Y/n,” you whispered.

“I am Armand, come now, the others are waiting,” he said, turning as you attempted to keep up with his steps.

Armand was not only the coven’s leader, but the director of a popular theater. Humans came nearly every night to them all, everyone having specific roles. The others weren't the nicest to you, but they also weren't mean. You stayed to yourself, and they let you be.

It wasn't until one night, the theater was closed, and you were supposed to be cleaning, everyone had left for hunting. Cleaning each seat, you scrubbed any dried food under the chairs. Humming lowly, you couldn't get a certain tune from an earlier play from your mind. Making up your own lyrics, you continued humming the melody. Standing from your knees, you jumped, seeing Armand standing on the stage.

“That was you singing?” he asked, surprised.

“I-I’m sorry,” you cowered.

“I never asked, why you wear this?” he motioned at the sack.

“I was born different, no real reason, my old trainer, Agnes, said I was probably kissed by the devil,” you said.

“May I see your face?”

“I don't kn-

“Please?” he asked. It was the first time I heard the word, someone saying it to you or even coming from Armand’s mouth.

Sighing, you pulled it off, shutting your eyes, bracing for the nefarious critiques. However, he didn't say anything, his hand softly holding your jaw. The entire left side of your face was in short observations, scarily scarred. Briefly after birth, you had been in a terrible incident, leaving the left side of your face comparable to a healed fourth-degree burn.

“This isn't as horrible as you make it out to be, and to be wearing this old sack on your head,” he told you, grinning.

“I don't want to scare anyone,” you told him.

“I think that is scarier than your face, you obviously didn't hear it enough, but you are beautiful with an angelic voice, would you like to be in the play?” he asked.

“I don't feel comfortable-

“If we found a way around that, would you be willing?” he asked, smiling as you, hesitantly nodded.

And so, he stuck to his word, surprising you with your very own custom masquerade mask. Fitting perfectly against the side of your face, while leaving the other side free. You felt more confident with the mask, as it hid that side of you. Soon after, Armand introduced the veil to you, along with the equally theatrical dress.

His reasoning, he said he would make you the star of the stage, without anyone pointing out the mask or having questions about your face underneath. You went along with his words, trusting him, and onward with practicing the lines.

The show was a captivating success, with roses being thrown at you, along with whistles and claps. Bowing, you thanked everyone, waving your gloved hands. Later that night, when you were helping clean up, Armand scared you.

Sneaking up on you, he congratulated you, while you blushed, your face burning profusely. Praising his judgment, you thanked him, before he kissed you. Ending your night in Armand’s coffin wasn't a part of your plans, but it seemed right.

Your relationship, despite blossoming, was unconventional. You acknowledged it, overhearing a few coven members gossip about you. In your eyes, Armand became your idol, he taught you new abilities, helped learn new instruments, and provided intimacy. You eventually recognized that he wasn't as serious about you, as you were about him, but rather possessive.

He forbade you to form any other companionships, persuading you to wear your stage costume continuously. While a piece of you was hurt by these actions, you had no experience before him, and were sure you would have none after, so naturally you accepted his terms.

Now over a century since then, you remained at Armand’s side, being the lead vocalist in nearly all the the plays. If only you knew, how much things would change in a matter of months.

Standing from the piano, you went to your coffin, the others would be returning soon, and the sun would be rising. You were interested in seeing the special guest Armand spoke of, but you would have to wait and see.

“What are you doing? Use your fucking brain?” you could hear Armand yelling at the coven members. They were setting up the stage, as he stood in front of the chairs.

You sat alone in a booth, far off, a small xylophone in your lap. Tapping each key, you hummed the tune of your song. Opening your mouth, you began to sing lowly, your eyes widening as you felt a gust of wind behind you.

“Is this an original piece? It sounds lovely,” the voice said, making you turn around, revealing the handsome man. Lofty, blonde, sharp jawline, full lips, you had never seen him before.

“I-yes,” you said, moving your eyes to floor, as he squinted trying to catch a glimpse of your face.

“Lestat,” Armand called out, turning to face the two of you.

“I told you I’d come,” The man named Lestat said, a smirk in place, as he bowed.

“And you are?” he asked you.

“Busy, Y/n, go read over your lines,” Armand said, watching as you nodded, appearing in front of him, accepting the papers from his hand, and disappearing into his office.

“Keeping her to yourself?” Lestat asked, tilting his head.

“Y/n is a century older than you, she isn't interested in a newborn like yourself,” Armand grinned at him.

“But you are,” he said, making the older vampire roll his eyes, walking to continue making preparations.

You could feel the eyes of Lestat on you, as it was time for you to come from Armand’s office. You never had actual words for the play, rather allowing your singing to move the audience. The others complained and muttered that it was Armand’s way of not forcing you into reciting with everyone.

Sitting on the prop, you looked towards Armand, as the curtains opened. Singing to him, for the people, is how you always looked at it. He smirked in pride, satisfied with how everything played out. Your role, the grim reaper, serenading your victims as they pleaded with the audience to save them. Finally, death came to collect, the coven members attacked their prey, while the crowd cheered loudly for you.

Bowing your head, you waved at everyone, as the curtain closed. The show was now over, and it was time to hunt. You didn't exactly hunt with the coven, despite everyone sticking together like a pack. Even after over a hundred years, you didn't feel confident to lift your veil around anyone, except your targets. Armand was a bit lenient, letting you stray away from the others.

Watching the young man leave the bar, you followed him, leaving a bit of distance between the two of you. He was beautiful, doll-like, with youthful features on his glowy skin. The further he walked, the more empty the area became. Slowly lifting your veil, as he approached a nearby alley, you attacked, dragging him into the darkness. As his body went limp, the flames appeared in your hand, before you burned his body.

“Did Armand teach you how to do that? Is he your maker?” you heard as you covered your face, turning to face Lestat.

“Yes and No,” you said, going to past him, when he blocked your way.

“Why do you cover your face? Like…a bride,” he smirked.

“Armand will be expecting me back”

“With a voice as beautiful as yours, you shouldn't hide your face, everyone should see the countenance behind the magnificent voice-

“Y/n,” Armand stood behind Lestat, slowly walking around him.

“Oh, I think he's jealous Y/n, he wants to keep you locked away for himself,” Lestat told you, as you approached Armand.

“Meet with the others, straight to your coffins,” he instructed, reaching for your cheek. Nodding, you kept your head down, leaving as quickly as possible.

As you closed your coffin, comfortable, mask off, you smiled, thinking of Lestat. He was carefree, he didn't care about rules, and wasn't scared of anyone, or anything. If only you could be like him, maybe one day.

“Everyone get in your positions,” Sam ordered, as everyone ran around.

Armand was away for business, meaning you had the night off until he returned. You never complained, accepting the rare days, and watching the plays from Armand’s booth. Sitting comfortably, you smiled as the lights dimmed.

“Hello, ma chérie,” you heard, a hand pressing against the veil to stop you from gasping.

“You frightened me,” you mumbled.

“Shall we go out for a walk?”

“I'm watching the play,” you whispered.

“The same play that ends the same way every single night, it won't do you any harm to miss one,” he said, sounding persuasive before you took his hand, allowing him to take you away.

“Now that we're alone, will you tell me why you wear this veil?” Lestat asked as he walked in the direction of the park, your hand still in his own.

“If you knew the reason, then you wouldn't be so nice to me,” you told him.

“How will I know, until I see,” he said.

“You have no reason to see it,” you put your head down, taking your hand back, and speed-walking away.

“I yearn to see the face behind the beautiful voice?” he smirked, as he was instantly in front of you.

“Armand said you are a newborn, when were you turned?” you asked him.

“A year or two ago, I lose count,” he shrugged.

“You sing too? Why not travel outside of France?” you asked him.

“I could ask you the same thing”

“I am a part of a coven, I couldn't just up and leave” you shook your head.

“Armand wouldn't approve”

“Is Armand your maker?”

“…No, but he is dear to me”

“But are you to him? I've heard a few things about your…situation, you're not even his companion, but he keeps you to himself, why?”

“He has had compassion for me”

“And so you feel you owe him everything?”

“I do”

“Even denying yourself more, more than simply being his doll, that he can play with and toss the side whenever he wishes,” he said, as he moved closer to you, his body centimeters from pressing against your own.

“Just a peak, ma chérie, I won’t utter a word after,” he said, as you slowly stared at him, unmoving as he lifted the veil.

He gazed at the mask but didn't say anything, as his cool fingers touched your cheek.

“You exceeded my expectations,” he said, as he took in your facial features, your skin texture, marks, moles, freckles.

“No need to lie,” you said, a bit harsher than you intended.

“I have seen men and women of all kinds, and I have no reason to lie when I say, you are beautiful,” he said, as he grabbed your hand, pulling you back.

“I need to get back to the others, it is best that we stay away from each other,” you told him, turning back to the theater.

“I can't promise I will be as obedient to your leader's commands,” he said, watching as you walked away.

Lestat kept his distance for a while until you received the sudden news he'd be joining you in a play. It was a renowned success, something the theatre hadn't experienced in years, bringing humans to tears at the heavenly duet, before punishing your victim of the night.

He became a recurring guest, who refused the idea of joining the coven. Everyone was surprised Santiago wasn't jealous of him, but he admired him too much to be bothered by him taking the position of leading actor.

You steered clear of him, outside of your performances, to avoid upsetting Armand. Yes, he was jealous, and no, you may not have been companions, but you didn't blame him. He was extremely traumatized from his past and for that became controlling and untrusting to most, but once you gained his trust - he was a godsend, and you didn't want to ruin that for a newborn vampire you'd just met.

Then it happened, after the usual set, you found yourself sitting on the roof, watching as the others left to hunt. Holding the small music box, you humming the melody, your heart aching. You'd overheard a few members gossiping about you, questioning your secretive nature.

Masquerade, Paper faces on parade

Masquerade, Hide your face so the world will never find you

Masquer-

“You don't think sitting up here alone is a bit gloomy,” Lestat spoke.

“It will sound different once it is performed,” you mumbled.

“Then I hope you don't mind me joining, perhaps I can add my touch,” he said, moving to sit next to you before you could answer.

“Lestat, Armand won't be pleased,” you shook your head.

“It is ridiculous how much you care for his feelings, considering he isn't your companion”

“He has been more than generous to me”

“By making you wear a masquerade mask, along with a gown as if you are a widow, I trust your judgment,” he said, sarcastically.

“He spared me, he could have killed me, as he had done to my maker, but he helped means taught me how to even live as a vampire,” you confessed.

“But he did not give you your talent”

“No,” you shook your head.

“Then I see no reason for this appearance, you have a voice unlike any other I’ve ever met, your eyes-

“My voice has nothing to do with my eyes, my face, he saved me and in return it is his”

“What could have happened to you for you to willingly settle for so little?”

“Excuse-

“Take off the mask,” he said, catching you off guard.

“No,” you said, awkwardly.

“We won't be able to fix this deep-rooted insecurity, whatever it is until you remove all of the layers that hide you,” he said, standing up, and hovering over you.

“Or you could mind your own business,” you said, seconds before screaming. Lestat had quickly taken the mask off, watching as your hand covered your face, nearly clawing in disgust to cover up.

“Please, I beg of you, give it back,” you cried, holding out your other hand, your head down.

“Y/n, look at me,” his eyes softened, it was one thing to see you quiet and standoffish - that was normal. However, seeing you bitterly weeping, your nails almost piercing into your face, he was concerned.

“Please, I’m sorry, just-give it back, please,” you said.

“Look at me first,” he said sternly, inaudibly gasping as lifted your head.

“Are you satisfied? Am I still the beautiful star you thought me to be, or do you finally see the monster hidden under the veil,” you spat, the blood-stained on your cheek.

“Is this what he has told you? This is nothing comparable to a monster, if anything, it makes you stand out. A beautiful voice, with an equally beautiful face, you just HAPPEN to be unique,” he told you, reaching to hold your chin, making you look at him.

“That isn't true, I don't want pity-” You were caught off guard as he pressed his lips against your own.

“You are very beautiful Y/n, you haven't been reminded of it, but you are. I haven't been able to get you out of my head since that night, you lifted your veil for me. You tug at my heart, with the simplest glances, don't ever think I am saying anything about you for pity,” he said, pulling you into another kiss.

“Come with me, to my place, we wouldn't want your leader interrupting,” he said, in between kisses, as he kissed along your neck.

The last thing you expected was for his place to be a dark abandoned dungeon, but his attentive skills made you indifferent to the environment. Finally, the passionate tango, you straddled his lap, your head on his chest, as he sat up leaning against the wall. Reaching for your mask, he stopped you.

“You don't have to be so quick to put it back on, I enjoy seeing you this way,” he said, kissing your scarred skin.

“I have to get back soon,” you told him.

“I want you to leave with me, be my companion, and we can travel the world, you can be the star I know you are,” he said, wrapping his arms around your body.

“You want to be my companion?” you asked, confused.

“I want nothing more than to be your companion, to love you for an eternity”

“What about Armand?”

“How he feels is irrelevant to me, he has kept you around as his toy, but I will lick your wounds if you accept me,” he said, wiping your tears. Nodding, you mumbled, ‘Yes’, as he kissed your lips.

“I have to get back now, we can start planning after tomorrow night,” you said, as he nodded in agreement, kissing your lips, before you look the mask, pressing it to your face.

By the time you were in the basement of the theatre, everyone was in their coffin, but Armand. He sat in his office, the light dim, looking up at you, as you came down the stairs. In an instant, he was in front of you, going to speak, you stared confusedly, as he lifted the veil, smashing his lips against your own.

“I missed you,” he said.

“Sorry, I changed my mind and ended up going hunting,” you lied.

“It is alright, will you join me tonight?” he asked.

“I’m too tired to do anything,” you put your head down, but he quickly lifted it, pecking your lips.

“And that is fine, I will hold you, come,” he said, grabbing your hand, and leading you to his coffin.

“I don't tell you too often, but I am proud of what you've become,” he wrapped his arms around you, as he shut the top.

“Thank you”

“No, thank you”

Watching from behind the curtain, you peered at Santiago as he recited his typical lines. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your lower back, making you turn around, your eyes widened, seeing Lestat.

“Why are you all the way over here?” you asked, but he ignored the question, pecking your lips.

“You look perfect, it will only be a short while before we are together away from this place,” he said reassuringly, lowering your veil, moving to the side, as the curtain opened, closing behind you. Looking towards the crowd, before setting your eyes upon Armand, you began to sing. However, mid-song, a commotion could be heard backstage, as the music sped up.

Glancing at Santiago, you noticed the unusually dark gleam in his eyes. The curtains opened again, revealing coven members, dressed as judges. Your heart immediately sank, as others brought Lestat onto the stage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the true show of the night has begun,” Santiago chuckled. Going to rush to Lestat, you fell to your knees as pain shot through your body.

“This, my dear friends, is Y/n, our grim reaper, she takes hold of souls that face judgment, but who judges her, you will,” he said, making the audience cheer.

“What are you talking about? Armand, what is he talking about?” you asked, but they both ignored you.

“The gracious vampire Armand has done nothing but save her, she was in a freak show, her maker, she didn't even know, and instead of killing her, he took her in as his own, kept her secret,” he smirked, as you realized this was real.

“Armand-

“The ancient vampiric laws, she has broken number two, and while it wasn't her fault, she chose to leave with this secret,” he continued, watching as the audience cheered in anticipation.

“Y/n, be a doll and take off your veil,” he said. Frozen in your mind was all over the place, trying to understand why this was happening, how you could save Lestat, how you could save yourself.

Taking too long for the judges, with a simple glance, you began screaming, pulling the veil from your hair.

“Stop it,” Lestat screamed, trying to get up, but they seemed to have had him stuck in his seat.

“The dark gift, it shall never be given to children, the crippled, OR THE MAIMED,” he screamed, ripping the mask from your face, cutting your cheek in the process.

Lestat grunted and growled, trying to get up, but the more he fought, the more pain he felt.

“I’m okay,” you tried to reassure him, yelping as Santiago picked you up by your hair.

“See this hideous face, a face, not even a mother loved, yet Armand cared about this abomination, and in return, she went behind his back, planning to leave with a newborn,” he spat.

“Armand, I’m sorry,” you cried, but he kept a straight face, watching from his book.

“And Lestat de Lioncourt, from the moment he has stepped into this theatre, he has been puffed up with arrogance, and while that isn't a sin, he was willing to be an accomplice to help Y/n escape, despite seeing her monstrous face, so we will begin with him, guilty or not guilty?” he asked.

Using all of your strength, you controlled every human in the room, blood leaking from your eyes.

“Not guilty,” you muttered.

“g…NOT GUILTY,” everyone screamed, catching Santiago by surprise, but Armand saw you, and it only infuriated him, even more, to see you protect Lestat.

“And Y/n, her pathetic excuse of a maker is thankfully dead, but she is nothing more than an abomination that should have never been created, so I ask you, guilty or not guilty?”

“GUILTY”

“and her punishment?”

“DEATH”

“The jury has spoken,” he said, tossing your mask onto the floor.

“I am sorry Armand, that I didn't leave you sooner, I’ve allowed myself to be used for far too long for your benefit. I am grateful for your compassion, but only because through it, I was able to meet my companion. I love Lestat and I have no regrets, all I ask is, for you to do it the same way you did to my maker,” you said, smiling, as Amrand clenched his jaw.

His thoughts were loud and clear, you were his, and he could do whatever he wanted with you, sure, this ideology partially came from his own maker, but you knew this already. You could never leave him, your loyalty was owed to him alone, he hadn't made you his companion but he cared about you, in an unhealthy way, and for you to want to up and leave him for some guy you only known for a few months, he would rather see you dead than for you to leave Lestat.

Facing Lestat, you kept the sad smile on your face, taking in his face one last time.

“I love you, mon chér,” you said, before Armand set you ablaze. Your screams of agony flooded Lestat’s mind, as he cried, trying to come to you, but you quickly turned to ash, leaving nothing more than the remains of your gown and your mask.

Releasing him from their hold, he grabbed your mask, before rushing out of the building. Due to his judgment being not guilty, none of them could stop him, as he went to the dungeon. Your lingering scent only made him cry harder, as he clutched the mask. He would keep this mask, as an heirloom, as remembrance, as a promise. He’d love you always, and never forget the feelings you brought upon him.

As the song ended, Lestat opened his eyes, the fans screaming loudly for him. Reaching to remove the mask, he bowed, but seeing the figure in his peripheral, his eyes began to sting. Rising, he fought the urge to cry, seeing you standing next to him, bowing alongside him.

“I couldn't be more proud of you, mon chér,” you told him.

“I’m sorry, my love, I-

“No, you are seeing the entire world, and they love you, that is all that matters to me,” you smiled.

“I love you,” he said, reaching out for you, as you faded away.

The once heavy feeling has left his body, now replaced with sweet memories, you looked just as beautiful as the first time he'd laid eyes on you. He could go on, knowing that maybe, just maybe, you had been with him all along.

[petit-etoile]

everything i see, everything i feel (you are my universe)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 8746 content warnings: astarion is not a vampire nor ascended & tav is not the dark urge but i use pet names from his ascended route because i think they fit & some of the dark urge connections are necessary, brief mention of tav being raised as a child soldier by gortash, tav is gender neutral, nearly 8k of pure smut other tags: alternate universe - royalty, character study, porn with plot, dom/sub undertones, mi.ssionary style, do.ggy style, riding, cr.eampie, marriage proposal, sort of archiveofourown: here. note: depending on reception & if i have time, there may be a part two or a prequel. i ended coming up with lore for this verse so i like it a lot. summary: ‘We are the Prince and his Shield,’ Astarion tells you sweetly, voice melodic in your ear. ‘This will be our world. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we will do as we are meant to do.’

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You can already tell what kind of evening it will be just from the way Astarion looks at you from beneath his eyelashes, so coy and pretty and unabashed in the way he glances over you. Whatever happened tpday at court has pleased him. He practically purrs when he steps past you to enter the sanctuary of his expansive bedroom.

‘You’ll come,’ he murmurs, ‘won’t you, darling?’

You’ll play his game because he likes it. You keep your lips pressed together in a firm line despite the way his hand slides gracefully across your waist, warming the chainmail that you wear dutifully every day so that you can keep the crown prince safe. He pouts when you pretend to not notice the playful mood he’s in. And when you change your mind after only a few minutes, Astarion will wear the same mischievous frown and think he has claimed victory over you once more.

You recite your vows to yourself to keep your mind from wandering, but it’s difficult. I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm. I serve no one but the Rightful King, the First of His Name, the Soul of Truth, Astarion Ancunin. It’s…admittedly hard to remember the rest. You’re distracted by the most impure thoughts. Memories of nights before. The taste of him on your tongue, the feel of him between your thighs, the sight of him as he grinds above you, the gleam of his skin as dawn begins to creep over the horizon. You squeeze your thighs together and try to wait out at least five minutes before you cave.

You peek down the hallway. There are no other guards skulking around at night. You’re not technically supposed to leave your post, but if the prince commands it… Well, it’s an excuse. You rush inside before you can feel the call of your valor and close the door after you with a soft click. Astarion sits with his legs crossed at the edge of his bed. He grins. It’s almost as predictable as you are, but you would never admit it.

‘You called, my prince?’ you ask carefully, trying to keep your tone even.

‘I did,’ he says with a delicate shrug. ‘I thought I could use entertainment, and you were there…’

You smile beneath your helm. You were always there. Astarion tries to hide it a little too much, but there’s no one else he would seek out to keep him entertained when his mood is like this. He tries to play into the expectations everyone has of him. That he’s ambitious, unpredictable, easy to rile up. The truth of the matter is that Astarion longs for you in a way that he will never admit except into the curls of your hair when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. You care for him  —  love him  —  and there’s nothing you adore more than the way he laughs around you as though you were born for him and him alone.

‘I take it the court wasn’t too uneventful,’ you say.

He grimaces. ‘I saw Lord Gortash, unfortunately. I believe the sight of him has ruined my week.’

‘So cruel,’ you hum. You touch the buckles of your cape and release it from your bodice.

‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Astarion asks defensively, playfully.

You touch the latch of your armor. ‘He’s head of the city guard.’

‘I ought to fire him,’ the prince says darkly. ‘Hire a new one.’

‘Who would protect the city instead?’

‘You,’ Astarion says without pause.

‘Alas, I am duty bound to serve the prince,’ you disagree. You pull the weight of your chest piece off your shoulders and drop it to the floor. ‘How can I serve the city when my mind is filled with nothing but you?’

Astarion smiles, a true smile. ‘Oh, you honor me. You truly mean every word.’

‘Without question,’ you promise.

You think about kneeling before him and looking up at him, but your chest piece is still in the way. You pull and untangle and twist until it all slides to the floor, leaving you in a simpler top. His honor, a single white rose, is pinned to the front of your shirt. You can still remember the day he gave it to you, the day you knelt in the throne room and he pressed his sword to your shoulder to claim you.

‘You are mine,’ Astarion says slowly.

‘I am yours,’ you repeat fondly.

‘Until the end of time?’

‘Until the end.’

‘And,’ Astarion begins playfully, ‘if I asked you to please me?’

‘I would be duty bound,’ you reply.

‘Then may I ask you to please me?’ he murmurs, eyes dangerous.

Astarion practically preens under your careful attention, his eyes unwavering as he watches you. You take your time. You remove the rest of your armor slowly, savoring the hungry way he watches. Even in court when you are his shadow, Astarion barely hides it. The hunger. The longing. The darkest of desires. He would claim you in public if it wouldn’t be a scandal.

You lower yourself before him, groveling on your hands and knees. You place your head in his lap and sigh when he threads his fingers through your hair. These are the moments you live for. When he is no longer a prince and you are no longer a knight. You are you, and Astarion is Astarion.

You don’t have to wonder where his mind is. Not during times like these. He’s anxious to feel you, but you take your time in this. You slip his fancy boots from his feet then take your time undoing his belts and buttons, sliding everything down his lean legs with careful intent. His cock greets you, already half hard and growing still.

It still makes you nervous, deep down inside. Astarion is a prince and the pinnacle of perfection. He could have any duke or duchess he wanted, yet it’s you he takes care of when the standing watch for hours on end from dusk til dawn has caused your bones to grow weary. The least you could do is love him like this. You lean forward and kiss the side of his cock, and Astarion’s fingers tighten in your hair.

‘Please, your highness,’ you whisper.

You are perched at his feet still awaiting commands. Like a good little pup. You shiver.

‘Go on,’ Astarion encourages.

You barely stick the tip of your tongue out and watch as his cock throbs in anticipation. This is dangerous. Obscene, even. You’ve seen him hundreds of times yet it still excites you. Carefully, you take him into your mouth and admire his debauched moan.

You have half a mind to tease him, but when you glance upwards at him, he’s as pretty as an aasimar. Or something worse, but you don’t give yourself much time to think about it. You know his desires. What he enjoys. What he tolerates for you. You know Astarion likes your little hums as you glide your mouth over his cock. He likes being pampered more than anything.

Astarion’s hand is tender as he moves your bangs out of your eyes. It’s the eye contact he wants. He likes to see and always acts like it’s the first time. He holds the edge of your jaw while you rub the tip of his cock against the inside of your cheek, eyebrows scrunching. It’s divine for you as well.

Astarion lives for the pomp and circumstance, absolutely devours court rumors with a delight you barely understand  —  but he would let his kingdom fall into the Underdark if it meant he could spend every hour of every day fucking you.

It’s the same for you.

It always has been ever since your coronation.

You were not like the other knights who were born into houses of servitude, second born sons and daughters who were the spares of their family names. You were given to Astarion by Lord Gortash as a way to buy favor from the crown. You were once his favorite, well-trained dog.

But unlike Lord Gortash, you are coveted by the crown in a way no other knight has been before. Astarion kisses you every morning and finishes against your spine every evening. But he is your salvation, your savior, and you are on your knees to show what that means to you.

Astarion stirs beneath your ruminations, his thighs tensing beneath your elbows, his hips doing those unconscious lusty jerks that you like so much. His head falls back as he gets lost in the feel of your tongue and mouth and he moans so sweetly that it almost distracts you from your ministrations. You take his cock as far back into your mouth as you can manage, closing your eyes to squeeze out any embarrassing tears that might threaten to fall. Like the prettiest bird, he sings for you.

‘Wait,’ he moans. ‘Not yet, I want  —  ’

You pull away from him as commanded, licking your lips clean of spit. His hands dance frantically against your shoulders as he pulls you up against him, cock hard against both of your bellies. He kisses you hotly, one hand fisting in your hair and the other tugging uselessly at your shirt.

‘You are needy today, my prince,’ you whisper against a barrage of kisses.

‘You were too perfect,’ he whines. ‘Always perfect for me.’

You laugh against his cheek. ‘You did say to please you.’

‘And now I’m saying to get on the fucking bed,’ Astarion fusses. ‘Oh, and clothes off. I want to see you.’

‘Yes, your  —  ’ you begin.

‘You,’ Astarion accuses with an affectionate pinch to your side, ‘are being quite the obstinate charge tonight. I want to taste you and be tasted in return, but be familiar with me, my love. Come back to me. Share my bed.’

You are in the middle of doing as he requests, sitting with one leg on either side of his thighs when he slides his hands to your waist and forces you to roll to the side. He pushes you further into the many adorning pillows of his bed and starts devouring you, his mouth dancing from your neck to your collarbones while he tears your shirt apart with his hands, though he does slow down enough to place the white rose on the bedside table. He pushes his palms flat against your chest and leaves bite marks and bruises across your chest and down your belly, chasing after you as you try to squirm away. Astarion finally takes interest in leaving his mark on your throat.

You set to work pushing your leggings and small clothes down your thigh, but Astarion, in all his impatience, gets in the way of that too. He presses his thigh between your legs on purpose, rolling his cock against your hip while his thigh applies almost perfect pressure to the most sensitive parts of you.

You moan and turn your face away, but Astarion chases the sound. He nuzzles your noses together until you look at him, bleary and dazed, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He rolls his hips again with intent. He catches the sound of your moan on the tip of your tongue and returns it, his own ragged breath warm against your cheek.

‘There you are, my love,’ he whispers deliciously. ‘I’ve missed you. My treasure, my pet…’

‘Yours,’ you moan.

‘Mine,’ Astarion agrees. ‘All mine.’

He drags his fingernails across the swell of your hip, and you can’t help but chase the curve of his wrist. Your cheeks burn, but you’re tempted to beg him. To ask if he’ll please you with his hands. You want to feel his fingers pressed up inside you, to feel them curl and twist. You want it more than anything else you’ve ever wanted to. Astarion watches the way you twist and turn with a small smile on his face. He pets your hip and slides his fingers between your thighs. You can feel the cool of his jeweled rings against your heated flesh.

Astarion is grateful for your reckless display. He acquiesces to your silent begging, brushing his fingers between your folds and pressing the tip of his middle finger against you. He watches with delight as you grind against the pressure. His cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears are ruddy, and though he’s pretending to be controlled right now, you can hear how shaky his breath has become.

And then, like a god answering a prayer, he presses a finger inside of you so painstakingly slow it’s almost maddening. You mewl, watching his expressions in fascination, because his own mouth falls open as he cranes his next to watch. He adds another. He twists and twirls his fingers as deeply as he can reach it. His eyes flutter with desperation. He’s so beautiful that you can hardly stand it. You want more, so much more, and you press your wrist against your mouth to keep from begging.

‘Don’t hide from me,’ he says hoarsely. ‘I want to hear everything. Please, sing for me.’

‘More,’ you whisper thickly. ‘More, I need more, I want more.’

He kisses your jaw sloppily. ‘I’ll give you everything.’

‘It’s not enough!’

‘You’ll take it,’ Astarion tells you. ‘You’ll take what I give.’

‘Astarion,’ you weep. ‘I want you. I want  —  ’

This time, he might as well have ripped the rest of your clothes with his haste. You aren’t sure what he does with them, you just know that you’re naked and in his bed, surrounded by all his pillows with your thighs slick from how wet you are.

Your eyes watch your star’s every movement. He rids himself of his finery as well, shrugging out of his layers until there’s nothing left. The moonlight hits his skin prettily, almost as dainty as the way his eyes catch in the candlelight. He chases you, chases your mouth, presses his cock against you and ruts for a moment. You can’t help but be dizzy with lust yourself. You leave your own marks across his collarbones and chest, mindful of his neck and what skin would peek above his elegant collars. You wonder how he’ll take you. Astarion has always been the creative type. Sometimes you’ll ride him, and sometimes he’ll ride you until you see stars. Despite his urgency, he seems tender tonight.

Astarion wants to make you feel good. He wants to find your heat and bask in the warmth. You can tell in the way he watches your face ever so fondly. He’s always been so good at masking how much he prefers you to anyone he’s spoken to before. You’ve stood and listened as the perfect guard during meetings with dignitaries from neighboring cities, and Astarion always spoke to them with practiced politeness bearing a practiced albeit bored undertone. Yet with you, he seems to hang onto your every word. He takes it in until there was nothing left to share. He cares when you are supposed to be nothing more than a knight at his door.

‘I have a gift for you tonight,’ Astarion says suddenly. He blushes. It’s adorable how much it’s unlike him.

‘What is it?’ you ask.

‘Patience,’ he complains, but he doesn’t mean it.

Astarion reaches for something just beyond your sight, and when he sits back up, you feel as though someone has released a cage of birds in the pit of your stomach. He holds out a small silver band for your inspection. ‘A warding ring,’ he explains. ‘I had my Master of the Arcane enchant it for you  —  for us.’

‘Kiss me,’ you whisper. ‘Please.’

‘Put it on first,’ he insists. ‘For me.’

Something must show on your face, because he’s quick to show you his own hand. There is a matching silver band there, and it causes your heart to swell so much you think your heart will give out. Astarion, with great care, slides the band onto your finger and then looks at you, hopeful.

‘Whatever you feel, I shall feel,’ he says like a promise. ‘You and I, together.’

You guide his mouth to yours before you can do something silly like cry. When you touch his chest, intent on finding his heartbeat, you can feel it so frantic against your palm.

What is a better story than a prince and his knight? A savior and his sword? The bards will sing forever about the prince and his favored knight, their matching rings, their sacred vows. You ache with longing. You surge with love. It is all Astarion’s fault.

You push your hands through his thick curls and guide him to lie on top of you. You can feel the ring humming with magic. Though you are sure this isn’t its intended use, you can’t help but feel nervous.

You take him into your arms. He collapses into you and your only thought is that it’s a little poetic. You have caught a star as it fell from the sky. Now, it rests in your hands again and again and again until, slowly, you cannot exist without one another. His mouth finds yours, and your hands with the matching rings reach out for one another as though choreographed. Astarion presses you against his sheets and you willingly let him devour you once more. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Astarion kisses down your chest again. He kisses your tummy and all the muscle you’ve earned from being a knight. He kisses every scar from every battle you’ve ever endured all the way down to your hips, to that warm core that lies between them. You moan unapologetically, head rushing until you’re almost positive you’re going to faint. Astarion presses a kiss between your legs, growls as though he was a man starved before finding you, and takes you into his mouth.

It’s a little romantic how you’ve grown together. You were each other’s firsts  —  Astarion taught you how to kiss, and you taught him how to fondle someone else’s body without feeling shy about it. You had first used your mouth on him, but he had taken all of the knowledge you had given and weaponized it against you the next moment that he could. He’s determined to please, desperate for compliments, hopeless in all his endeavors to please you almost as much as you’ve pleased him. But unlike you, Astarion is selfish and he reaches for fruit to pluck that anyone else would have discarded as soon as something better came along. He chose you.

He licks and bites and nuzzles and feasts upon the very fruit of you, groaning at how you taste. It’s his favorite taste in the world, and he would brag about it if it didn’t make your cheeks flush. He laps at your folds hungrily and squeezes the thickness your thighs until they’ve bruised.

‘Little star,’ you whine, pressing your hands to your eyes. ‘Please, please.’

His tongue is like torture. Astarion never does anything without fully committing, and from your time together, you know he’s memorized every little thing he can do to drive you absolutely wild. He’s pulled your legs over his shoulders, his fingers moving on after bruising them to dig into your hip bones, and he hums so prettily for you.

Even you aren’t sure what you’re begging for. You want Astarion to stop teasing you so insistently. You want to feel his heartbeat, you want to taste his lips. There’s a part of you so empty and full of longing that if you wait any longer, if you withhold anymore, you might lose yourself. The only thing serving to ground you to this world is depravity, twisting carnal lust, and the depths of your love. You shiver under his touch and moan even as you try to hush it.

‘  —  star!’ you cry sharply.

You try to twist out of his grasp, crying at how determined he is, but Astarion simply drags you back down to where he is as if it’s nothing to him. He doesn’t stop torturing with your tongue until you’ve choked out a sob and chased your release, chest heaving from the effort. He doesn’t let you go for long either, climbing up your body so that he can press encouraging kisses to your jaw, pushing your damp curls back from your temple.

Astarion pushes his nose against your ear and breathes in, almost so desperate to have memorized your very scent. It’s always been his little habit. As if just by knowing your smell, he is able to do whatever he needs to accomplish in this world.

‘You,’ he murmurs between kisses, ‘are always so magnificent for me.’

You reach for his hip, the back of your knuckles sweeping against his sharp bone. ‘I want to do the same for you,’ you say shakily. ‘Let me have you, please. It’s all I want.’

He moans, soft and quiet, and settles between your legs. He kisses you again with that same hunger. The same, almost desperate kind of lust. He presses you so far into his sheets that you’re not sure you’ll ever be released from them again. And you think you would be fine with that. There’s nothing more that you want than to stay here with him. His hands joined with yours, your hips pressed to his, forever until the world has ended.

You slide your hands across the broad sweep of his shoulders and feel as his muscles shift. He is so gentle with you even when he doesn’t have to be. He’s cautious, meticulous, almost ridiculously polite because it’s you. His love is like an apology for everything you’ve been through, and when he cradles the back of your head, you lean into his touch.

‘You are mine,’ he says tenderly. His thumb sweeps across your cheek.

‘Take me,’ you say hungrily. ‘I am your prize.’

‘You were created by the gods for me,’ Astarion tells you sincerely. He sits onto his knees and pulls your hands flush against his stomach. ‘Look at how well you fit against me.’

You were never one to be shy before, but his praise causes you to turn your cheek aside and look away. He pushes his hands up your thighs, searching, admiring. He says pretty words, but he’ll never understand if you were to repeat the things he’s said back to him. Underneath that prestigious bravado and practiced façade, Astarion still understands little of his own divinity and worth. You’re thankful for him as much as he is for you, and you allow him this. He finds his worth at your core and marvels in it, allowing you to see him as Astarion. Like a mortal making a deal with a cambion, he reaches for you.

‘Do you want me inside of you?’ he asks in a graveled voice.

‘More than anything else,’ you reply, choking on how thick your want is. You think about how it feels every time he’s claimed you and shudder. ‘Please.’

‘I am going to get lost in you for hours,’ Astarion promises. He smiles, dangerous and dark. ‘When you return to your post, you’ll feel me still. You’ll be sorer than you’ve ever been.’

You are so aroused it’s painful. You ache and twist, spreading your legs so that he might take you then and there without so much as a second thought. You need the closeness. His grounding touch. His cock, as much as it would embarrass you to say aloud, has been on your mind ever since he invited you inside his room. He strokes your hip.

‘You’re shaking,’ he says fondly.

He leans forward and kisses you. He connects with you like that, nose brushing yours affectionately, before he stares at the little shivers you’re now aware you’re doing. He sees everything, knows everything. It delights him.

And then he slides his cock into you. Slowly, agonizingly, inch by inch. He squeezes your hip in encouragement, but you’re too full and he’s too thick for you to manage any coherent thought. He’s determined to reach the deepest parts of your core.

Astarion speaks through gritted teeth. ‘You are perfect.’

‘No,’ you say. ‘You are.’

‘I like to watch,’ he says honestly. ‘I like to see how you take me. You’re so tight here, did you know?’

‘More  —  ’

‘Use your words for me.’

You swallow. ‘I want you  —  to fuck me.’

‘You’ve been a good pup,’ Astarion says with a small laugh. ‘I’ll make love to you until dawn calls.’

For the faintest few heartbeats, this is the only way you want to exist. He is pressed inside of you, and you are surrounded by nothing but him and his scent and his bed and his pretty words, longing so intently to memorialize this moment. Astarion is haloed by the silver moonlight. He shines prettier than the crown he wears at court.

He shines brighter than the stars.

You’re aware of how fragile your breathing sounds. You forcefully drag air down into your lungs and hold his gaze, so warm and soft when he looks at you. You don’t know why it’s so different this time with him, but you reach out until he entwines your fingers together and you lose yourself in a way you haven’t before. You don’t realize you’re crying until he coos at you and calls you beautiful.

Astarion only moves once he’s assured you’re not in any pain. He’s conscious of the way you tense, but you shake your head and try to dry your tears.

If you’re being honest, you aren’t really sure why you’re so emotional tonight.  You’re ignoring what the rings promise on purpose. A meaning that you are too nervous to confront. You know it’s how much you wish this was your fate. It all comes to a boil when he leans forward and kisses the tip of your ear. Astarion wraps his arms around you and moans softly in your ear, the heat of his cheek flush against your temple.

‘I love you,’ he whispers.

‘I can feel you,’ you whisper back, voice uneven. ‘All the way inside.’

‘Our souls are touching tonight,’ Astarion promises you. ;This is what I want to give you.’

Once he’s assured that you’re fine, Astarion begins moving inside you. You still feel overly full. It’s almost difficult to breathe, that you’re so aware of how deep his cock is inside of you  —  as if it’s the first time you’ve experienced him before. He murmurs encouragement into your hair and ruts further and further, but when you press your fingers against his biceps, you can feel how he’s shaking too.

‘Let me be yours,’ you say softly, eyes fluttering closed. ‘Let me be with you, Astarion, please.’

‘You are my pretty consort,’ Astarion says fiercely. ‘You belong to me, and I to you.’

His consort, his knight. The one he comes home to, that he ignores all the other lovely people at court for. The idea of it makes your blood warm, makes you feel a little wild and different. You rock your hips back against Astarion’s. Feeling him lose what little of his control pushes you over the edge. You start mumbling nonsensically, thank you, thank you, my prince, my star, thank you, I feel it, Astarion and he growls low in the bottom of his throat. His hips stutter against yours and you know with a little wiggle, you could make him spend then and there.

It’s only when Astarion pushes into you as far as he can go, the tip of his cock pressed as deep into your core as you can handle it, that you remember what a devout worshiper you are. You’re fully aware of how your spine protests the way your back arches up off the bed. You feel Astarion’s mouth hot and desperate against the side of your throat, his hands slowly sliding down your skin to grip your hips, the tips of his fingers digging in harshly to the curve of your ass.

When you dare meet his gaze, you’re mesmerized. 

Astarion has always been the most beautiful person you’ve ever set eyes on. The height of his cheekbones, the way they flush when you moan his name. His uneven smile, the way his teeth point when he laughs. His intense eyes that take in even your faintest moves. He is sharp and calculated, cunning and keen on dramatics  —  but underneath, you can see the gentler side. The warmth in his gaze. The way he laughs ugly with you instead of with practiced finesse. You fit rather well together. Perfectly, like a puzzle. Intoxicatingly. He catches you staring and his breath catches in his throat.

You must be quite the sight as well. Astarion always lavished you with the utmost attention, often buying you things you’d never need as a knight. Rings, gowns, circlets and other finery to wear with him on your occasional strolls through Baldur’s Gate when you were off-duty and carefree.

You feel nearly feral at this moment. It takes all your self-control to not rake your nails down his spine or bite his shoulder because you’re too full and he’s too much and you’re almost certain you’re going to explode, but you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him tighter to you until there’s almost nothing else he can do that grind uselessly, desperate sounds coming from both of your mouths as you try to hold on just a little longer.

Without thinking, without caution, you whisper, ‘Inside  —  Tonight, I want you to  —  ’

‘Gods,’ he chokes out. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’

‘Please,’ you beg. ‘I’ve been good. I’ve been  —  ’

Astarion burrows his face against your collarbone, whining unceremoniously. That’s when you can feel it, his cum, hot and warm, so wonderful and dizzying that you also forget to be dignified. Your fingers stutter against his skin, and if it was painful to experience, the only proof is the way Astarion hisses at the burn and coils dangerously beneath your touch.

‘That’s it,’ he soothes proudly. ‘You’ve done well, my sweet.’

You murmur, ‘So much.’

‘Don’t tease me,’ Astarion says. He pouts his bottom lip. ‘You’re quite beautiful, you know.’

‘Not as beautiful as you,’ you say.

‘Well,’ Astarion allows with a small laugh, ‘I am rather perfect, I agree.’

He groans when he pulls away from you, brow furrowed in concentration. He trembles with exertion, and whatever other plans he might have had are forgotten, for Astarion drops down into his sheets beside you in all his naked and exhausted glory and presses close to you, an arm thrown over your waist.

A pang of guilt hits you at the sight of his closed door. Your armor is thrown carelessly across this floor, and while you wish you could enjoy this moment of bliss with him, you must continue to do your actual duty of guarding the prince. You move, delicate, to stand up. Astarion wraps his other arm around you.

‘Where are you going?’ he demands tiredly. ‘The sun is not yet up. Come back.’

‘My post  —  ’

‘Fuck your post,’ he snorts. ‘Your only duty is to lie in my bed and look pretty.’

You open your mouth to protest, but Astarion fusses. It’s hard to deny him even though you know only what the Captain of his Kingsguard has instilled in you. The moonlight is a gorgeous embellishment on his skin, and the ridges of his body are enticing enough that you forget your vows for the time being. Your heart squeezes at the tenderness. Astarion welcomes you back into his arms without further complaint. It’s your turn to tuck your head against his shoulder, basking in the warmth of his body as he cradles you close.

‘This is where you belong,’ Astarion tells you plainly. ‘You and I belong in bed having forgotten our other duties forevermore. The kingdom may fall to rot and ruin for all I care. As long as I have you, I care not.’ He touches your hip.  ‘I know what you must be thinking. That it isn’t that easy. But it is that easy. I’m the prince and I want it to be so. I see our fate in my dreams.’

You allow yourself to daydream and doze for the moment. He’s murmuring sweet things into your hair, and your eyes are so heavy you know when you close them, it’ll be hard for you to wake up if you give in. The ache in your muscles is comforting. It’s a reminder of all the ways Astarion has ever had you, and you can’t help but wonder if this really is where your life was always meant to head.

You do fall asleep. Despite your best efforts to stay awake, you fall into a peaceful slumber with Astarion’s hand petting your spine. When you next awake, Astarion is no longer at your side. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed staring out of the window watching as dawn begins to peek through.

He hasn’t left you entirely alone. He’s draped his many fancy satin blankets over you and somehow managed to coax your head onto a pillow without waking you. You’re almost inspired to fall back asleep at the sight, but the view of Astarion basking in an orange glimmer keeps you from entering the depths of your mind once more.

‘No,’ Astarion says. He’s smiling. ‘Don’t move. I like the way you look.’

‘And how do I look, your highness?’

‘Sated.’

‘Come back to me, my love,’ you say. You try to hold one of your hands out, but you’re still so very tired from before. You press your cheek further into the pillow. ‘’m cold.’

‘I was thinking,’ he says.

‘Enough thinking,’ you whine. ‘I miss you beside me.’

‘Promise me something first.’

‘What shall I promise?’

‘That when I am king, you will help me create my new world,’ Astarion says, peering affectionately at you from over his shoulder. ‘A world where you are both my shield and my consort. A world where no one else like us has to get hurt.’

You start to sit up at that, blood suddenly rushing to your head as you try to think of what he means. Were you not already his Shield, extending your Sword to his greatest foes? Were you not already his Consort in all but proper name? You furrow your eyebrows, too sleepy and overwhelmed, but Astarion is quick to come to your side, to press kisses into your hair and against your ear and at the tears on your cheeks.

‘When I am king, there will be no need for us to hide like this,’ Astarion promises, petting his hand comfortingly down your spine. He shushes you. ‘I will sit on the throne and you will sit beside me.’ When he’s certain you’re done crying, he adds, ‘Or in my lap, if you prefer.’

Somehow, there’s only one thing you can manage to say. ‘I love you.’

‘And I love you,’ Astarion says. ‘That’s why I will do this for us.’

‘Will it go well?’

He hums. ‘Of course it will go well. I will be king. I will make it go well.’

You say again, ‘I love you.’

‘We are the Prince and his Shield,’ Astarion tells you sweetly, voice melodic in your ear. ‘This will be our world. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we will do as we are meant to do.’

‘I promise,’ you say, ‘to help you.’

‘Then say no more, my love,’ he whispers. He kisses the side of your throat again and slowly pulls his silk sheets away from your skin. The cold morning air leaves a trail of gooseflesh down your spine, and he tastes every knot of it with his mouth and tongue. He gives you commands, ‘Let me have you again. You’re so beautiful in the morning light. I need you now more than ever. Gods, the things you do to me.’

You rock your hips back to meet his. It’s an alluring situation straight from your wildest, most longing of dreams  —  a world where you might sit alongside Astarion as he rules, no longer a simple guard dog to follow commands, but something else. Something sweeter.

It was like marriage but better. The thought of you and Astarion rising to godhood through his own determined means rather than falling into the same song the bards often liked to play on unrequited love. You allow him to trace his fingers down your stomach to that place between your legs, your warm core where you’re certain he’s found his divinity. Astarion presses his cock against your lower back and gives into his own avarice. He bites your shoulder almost a touch too rough and leaves a bruise in the shape of his teeth, reveling in your shocked cry.

You want him.

You want to be by his side, to kneel at his feet. You want to watch him dress in the mornings and fall into his arms every evening. You want to place his crown atop his brow. You arch your hips against his waist, and ponder about the creation of the empyrean heavens above. You will guide him to become celestial.

It’s with a near untamed fervor that Astarion tears through his sheets to get to you. He slides his knee beneath yours and pushes it forward, his breath warm and hiccuped against the blade of your shoulder. He doesn’t hurt you and he never would, but he slides his cock inside, the tenderness of earlier forgotten.

‘Be loud,’ he encourages you, groaning, his hand still scrambling against the arc of your belly. He sounds debauched. ‘Let them all hear. Let them know.’

He fucks into you like he wants you both to grow together. One body and one soul. You’re glad for it. It only intensifies the burn from the evening and pushes you to a place you’ve never been before. You’re almost certain you see sparks in your vision, but you do as asked. You don’t swallow down your moans. They’re taut, sharp, staccato ah-ah-ahs that match the sun’s rise.

It’s almost sweet how hard Astarion fucks into you. His princely demeanor is gone now, the control he tries to exhibit. He moans freely as well and kisses without meaning. Your shoulder, the back of your head, the nape of your neck, and he’s babbling things that don’t make sense. But you’re no better. Your cheeks are so warm you’re feverish, hands clenched in his sheets, and the pleasure borders on welcomed pain when he sits up behind you, knee still forcing you to be pliant, as he drags his cock in and out of you from behind. Astarion is watching again, one hand on your lower back, the other on your ass. When you try to hide your face in mild embarrassment, he scolds you.

‘Let me see you,’ Astarion rasps. ‘Let me see, I want to see everything  —  ’

So you let him, shifting and arching as much as your back will let you. Your muscles feel strained. Your mind is hardly there. But the prince has asked, and it would be rude of you to not heed his call. It’s not as though it matters. You’re easily distracted by the way he presses himself in and out of you, intoxicated by the gravitational pull he’s created between you. You can’t help but lean into his every touch, to mewl, to whine the exact way he likes.

You wonder what Lord Gortash would think of his loyal dog if he saw it now. You were taught the blade and the bow, how to use a lance and a shield, and you were never meant to be anything more than a warrior given to the ground so that he could get on the good side of the king. There isn’t much of your life you can remember before you were brought to the steps of the throne room and thrown down before the prince and his father. All you remember is looking up and seeing an angel smiling down at you.

So you arch your back and push up into your elbows, looking over your shoulder to catch Astarion’s eyes. He’s constantly looking between your face to make sure you’re alright and looking down at your hips where your bodies meet. He has the audacity to blush. It makes him look sweet and less severe.

‘More  —  ’

The fairest thought you have is that you’re not sure you can take more. There’s something ferocious building in the pit of your stomach, a volatile hunger unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Your almost delirious with how much greed is inside you, how you long to do this all day if you could. Sitting pretty on your hands and knees and belly while Astarion ravishes you  —  forgetting your duties and the kingdom  —  but it’s somehow worse than before when you’re aware that he would do the same. Gone is any sense of decency, replaced by something carnal, something infernal.

Just when you think he might be done with you, Astarion pulls out and drags your body along. He lays handsomely in the center of his pillows, a deep blue and rich satin and silk display, and pulls you into his lap. His bottom lip is ruined from where he’s bitten it in an attempt to maintain control.

He arranges for you as he likes. He tilts his head to the side as if looking upon a painting. Finally, he coaxes you upwards and whispers kind encouragements as you guide and slide his cock back inside of you. You aren’t sure how far it can go, but then it goes deeper and deeper and deeper until you’re sick.

‘Oh,’ you cry sweetly. ‘It’s too much. It’s too much, I can’t  —  ’

‘You can,’ Astarion promises, rubbing his thumb across your hip. ‘You can do anything. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we were created for this.’

You sit atop him, your ass flush against his hips, and try desperately to not squirm in his lap. The wiggling makes it worse, you think. You feel swollen around him. He feels thickest inside of you. And you can’t help but lean forward as he rubbs his hands up and down your spine, kissing your temple and cheek and jaw. You can kiss him better this way. You can taste the sweetness of his mouth, taste his words.

‘I love you,’ you say over and over.

‘I know,’ he murmurs, kissing your tears.

And you do cry in this position, overwhelmed and stuttering. Astarion guides your hips back and forth across his so that he’s not necessarily drilling inside of you, but watching how you dance across his cock. He always watches so intently as if he’s afraid to miss anything you do. He guides you intently, humming, tensing beneath your thighs as you try to balance yourself with your hands on his belly.

Astarion moans at the sight. He sounds positively wrecked. You decide that you want to hear him sing for you again, so you raise your hips this time and slide them back down. You squeeze your eyes shut in concentration, treating it more like trying to hit a tricky shot with an arrow rather than taking and un-taking every inch of his cock. You’re trembling so much that you seek out his hands, guiding them away from your hips so he can tuck them under your thighs for help.

‘Ah,’ Astarion says hoarsely. ‘Fuck.’

And that’s how he helps you, his hands helping carry your weight so that you can bounce on his cock and enjoy every minute of it. The physical strain is worth it. You know Astarion likes to watch, possessive of the way you look and ride, and his eyes shine with a certain kind of deviance that you’ve grown to love.

It’s a long way from where you started as a poor soul standing on the steps, but you lean forward and kiss your raison d'être on his open mouth, savoring the way his bruised lip tastes in your mouth, enjoying just how much he enjoys you. The sunlight warms your skin and basks Astarion in a golden glow, so impossibly handsome that they should write songs about the way he looks after a night of lovemaking. He groans, trapping your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard enough you’re almost certain he’s drawn blood.

You don’t mind it. You welcome the rougher things, enjoy them as much as he does. You lean back, hands now behind you on his thighs, and try to not feel too self-conscious about how open you’re being with your body. You’re encouraged to do it. His reactions are what drive you to be better. Because Astarion’s eyes widen slightly to take in the sight of your legs spread apart as you sit on his cock, your skin shining with a delicate veil of sweat. He comes with a rough moan.

Gods, you could listen to the sound of him all day.

You fall forward onto Astarion’s chest. Your limbs feel like nothing after a night of increasingly more difficult sex, but it’s worth it for the way he spoils you after. Astarion kisses you nice and slow, lips and tongue and teeth, as if an apology for the roughness you willingly endured. He cradles you close to his body. He always seeks your warmth, always tries to press as close as he can.

It’s your turn to preen under his careful ministrations. Astarion pushes your sweaty hair back from your face and runs the tips of his fingers across your cheekbones and forehead, following the delicate lines of your bone structure. He lightly pinches your cheeks as if to savor the heat of your blush, but it doesn’t hurt when he does it. He kisses them better. He helps you slide back down into his sheets and takes note of the mess, smoothing his fingers against the bruises and love bites he’s left as gifts against your skin.

Astarion takes gentle care as he lifts your hand. He admires the ring on it and watches as he slides his fingers into yours so that his ring can crowd the empty spaces of your fingers. He kisses the back of your hand like a proper prince and then unceremoniously collapses down by your side, boneless and lazy.

‘You’ve made a mess,’ you accuse him sleepily.

‘I made you happy,’ Astarion corrects.

You reach out and touch his throat. ‘You’ve ruined your sheets.’

‘These sheets are perfect, my love,’ he murmurs. ‘Just like you.’

Later in the morning, after you’ve rested again despite your attempts to stay awake, you’re coaxed back into existence by Astarion’s lips dancing softly against the nape of your deck. You’re almost certain he’s going to ask for more  —  a thought that startles you  —  but instead he lifts you from the depths of his blankets and carries you to a bathing tub in the corner of his quarters. He lowers you into freshly warmed water, and you try to not let how much you long for him show.

‘The maids  —  ’

‘They’ve seen you,’ he says with a shrug. ‘But they did not care. You should have heard the way they swooned over us.’

He lavishes you again with rose petals and fancy perfumes and soaps. He guides a cloth over your skin and even massages a rather determined knot in your hip. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. You’d let him pamper you for the next month if you could.

‘I will have you like this often,’ Astarion warns. ‘Tonight. Every night. You have no idea what you’ve done to me. It’s like you’ve enchanted me.’

He’s climbed in with you at this point, tucked behind you so that he can style your hair in a plait. He likes the way it’s gotten long. You can tell how hard he’s thinking by how silent he is. His fingers trickle water down your spine and occasionally trace the shape of a petal against your skin. You shiver and allow him these idle distractions, basking in his touches and singing while he allows himself to wander in his lost thoughts. You fall asleep again briefly, lulled into a dream by the warmth and the relaxing scents of the many perfumes and Astarion humming softly in your ear.

Astarion washes your chest again to avoid having to leave the bath. He’s in one of his contemplative moods, eyes somewhere a thousand miles away, lips twisted in curiosity. You would’ve stayed forever as well, but the water is slowly getting colder and you’re beginning to shiver. You look over your shoulder at him. You watch as his eyelashes flutter and close as if he too is moments away from falling asleep, but then you see it. A sign of melancholic hope.

‘You and I belong together,’ you tell him.

‘We are the greatest match together the world has ever seen,’ Astarion agrees. ‘There is no one else.’

‘It is an honor,’ you say. You catch a petal in your palm and show him.

He pulls your fingers up to his mouth with his own hand guiding you. He kisses your palm and the petal, and then each of your fingertips one by one.

‘I’m doing this for you, you know,’ he murmurs.

‘You are doing this for us,’ you say, shaking your head. ‘We are a family.’

‘We are more than a family,’ he insists. ‘We are more than lovers. Our souls belong together.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you say.

Whatever world Astarion is imagining, you’re beginning to see it too. A world where being a king means more than throwing extravagant parties and hosting masquerades and balls and ignoring those in need. Astarion cares because you care, and that makes your heart squeeze dangerously. You are with Astarion when he usurps his father’s court. He had called them weak-willed men in front of his own council, his lip curled in distaste. They had allowed a shadow ruler to take his father’s place for years, had controlled the crown like a puppeteer would his prized puppet. And now, Astarion has pulled together enough favor to overthrow those who had betrayed him, who had betrayed you, and who had betrayed Baldur’s Gate most of all.

‘I believe you are sitting in my chair,’ Astarion calmly tells Ketheric Thorm.

The removal of the pretenders is fairly certain. Ketheric’s own daughter Isobel aids in his arrest. The installation of Astarion’s council is relatively easy with such esteemed replacements. Wyll Ravengard takes his father’s place as Lord Commander of the Flaming Fist. Karlach takes Enver Gortash’s place as leader of the city guard, betrayed as you were, and her eyes burn with heat when she pulls him from his tower. Gale and Shadowheart had been planning the entire thing for years behind the scenes, favoring Astarion against the old court. All you do is stand beside Astarion with your hand on the hilt of your blade though no one dared raise their arms against him.

Astarion’s coronation takes place later that week, and even with all the planning, he does not allow you to stray from his side. You are with him when meeting with the emissaries Lady Lae’zel and Lord Halsin and Lady Jaheira. You are with him during his fittings. You are with Astarion the night before when he fucks you so hard you see stars.

You are there the day of his coronation. He is dressed in brilliant reds and off-whites and wears a crown with rubies. You stand alongside him in the armor he commissioned for you styled after Dame Aylin’s and hold the sword gifted to you from the crown.

It is a wedding as well.

A wedding of peace and resilience. A wedding of love and understanding.You drop down before him to one knee and swear anew your vows, though now they taste sweeter on your tongue.  I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm, the Consort of the Chosen. I serve no one but the Rightful King, the First of His Name, the Soul of Truth, Astarion Ancunin. When you rise, Astarion kisses you.

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man Part 8

Fic Summary: Steve 'the Hair' Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you'll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

(1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9)

Chapter Summary: Eddie explains himself, and you two make plans to hang out on purpose.

5.7k Words

a/n: Sorry I haven't been updating! I swear, I'm almost always thinking about this fic but I've been trying to figure out where to go with it. I'm started to see how I want to shape the story (over 40k words in, go figure). Thank you all so much for your patience!

Also, I've had a lot of people ask me about Paige and have shown interest in what happened between her and Eddie. She is actually from Eddie's prequel novel, Flight of Icarus! I'll still explain bits and pieces during the story, but I highly recommend reading the novel for the full context. I am trying to write this in a way you don't need to read FoI, but it does give extra context to the story.

Anyway, we continue.

Aside from the mixtape playing in the van, it was surprisingly quiet between you and Eddie. Despite his eagerness to show up and take you out, now that you were sitting in his passenger side seat again, he had no idea what to do next. The sound of Iron Maiden was rumbling through the van, crackling through the old speakers. 

It wasn’t often that Eddie was at a loss for words or couldn’t come up with something to say. After embracing his role in the Hawkins High ecosystem as the resident loudmouth freak he could always come up with something to say to break the ice or cause a ruckus. 

But, being loud wasn’t exactly a substitution for actual charisma. He could hold the attention of his Hellfire Club during the game, and keep them safe enough from most bullies even. But intimidation was different than... whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing here. Flirting? That seemed right. He knew he should be trying to flatter you or compliment you or do something to show that he had an interest in you. 

“So,” you were the one to break the silence between the two of you. “What have you been up to for the past two weeks?”

Eddie know what you actually meant was “What the fuck, man?” which was a really fair question. 

“I should have called you sooner.” It was best to go ahead and rip the bandaid off now and get this conversation out of the way. “I’m sorry, I wanted to but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” you asked, leaning against the passenger side door as you looked at him. Despite your eagerness to get out of Family Video with him, he could see that you weren’t going to just let him not explain why he hadn’t talked to you. Not that he was going to leave you hanging like that anyway. 

“My phone blew up.” Eddie said bluntly. 

“Your phone blew up? Like... actually exploded?” you asked, trying to see if he was fucking with you. 

“Remember that huge storm a few weeks ago? Turns out that old trailers don’t exactly have the best wiring sometimes so when lightning strikes it knocks out power for a few days and fries some important wires.” he explained. “So... yeah, we just got a new phone today and when I tried to call...”

“So, I didn’t answer my phone so you decided to track me down?” There was amusement in your voice which he took as a good sign. “Seems like you could have done that part earlier. I’m not hard to find.” 

“I’m not exactly interested in stalking.” Eddie snorted. “I’m already on enough people's shitlist in town.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” you laughed. “You know where I live, you could have shown up at my doorstep in the rain or used random phones around town to leave weird messages about how you can’t stop thinking about me or sent me letters with cryptic meanings.”

“Where do you come up with these things?” Eddie laughed, feeling the tension between the two of you start to dissipate. 

“I read a lot of bodice-ripper books.” you shrugged. “Trashy romance novels are a guilty pleasure sometimes.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a weirdo?” 

“Steve did about an hour ago when I suggested that Bozo the clown could be the shit out of Pennywise from It.” 

Eddie wasn’t sure what he expected you to say, but it wasn’t that. Every time you had shown up in his life, you had completely thrown him off. He was starting to suspect that no amount of “Munson Magic” was going to work on you. Not that he wanted to work his dad’s charm on you to begin with. 

What he really wanted to do at that moment was ask you about your little bet with Steve. No, wait, not a bet. A deal? Maybe he should have asked Dustin more questions, or at least waited until after Hellfire to talk to the kid- 

”So what’s the plan?” You broke through his thoughts once again. “You show up out of nowhere and have me get into your unmarked van to take me to a second location... is there a second location in mind?”

There wasn’t, Eddie really hadn’t thought that far ahead.He’d panicked after his talk with Wayne and had shown up to Family Video on the chance that you’d been there. He’d run straight out the door with every intention of finding you and let you know that he was stupid for not trying harder to call you before. 

”I figured we could just... drive.” He wished he could ignore the sudden parallel between you and Paige. He wished that he could just forget about what happened in ‘84. Fuck, him and Paige never even had an official date, only hooking up in his van for a few weeks before everything blew up. 

Wait, was this a date? Crap, that had been the plan right? Show up, ask you on a date and then... then he’d be on a date. What the FUCK was he actually doing? He was acting so fucking awkward now- everything had been easier before. Why did Dustin have to open his big mouth about this?

“Just driving sounds great.” you said, and Eddie once again tried to relax. Every girl he had been with had wanted something from him. Nicole Summers and Cass Finnigan just wanted bragging rights that they got with the freak, and Paige had wanted him to be a rock hero. What did you want from him?

“Have you eaten?” It wasn’t exactly late, but it wasn’t really early in the evening either. His uncle always asked him that whenever one of them got home, and it had taken Eddie an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was Wayne’s way of showing that he cared. 

“I could eat.” you replied, which at least gave this... whatever this was, some structure for the night. Eddie didn’t have a lot of cash on him, but he could probably scrape together enough to get you each a burger or something. 

When the Iron Maiden tape clicked off and spat itself out, you took it upon yourself to pull it out and look it over. “Got any other tapes in here? I need to judge your music taste.” 

That made Eddie laugh “You and every other person in this town. I have a few more tapes in here.” He tapped on the center console which you eagerly dug into, flipping through the different cassettes with eagerness. 

“Metal. Metal. Metal. Metal.” You said, going through each cassette one by one. “I’m starting to see a pattern here, Eddie.” 

“What gave it away?” He said deadpan. “Was it that I play guitar or the fact that we’ve only bonded over music so far?”

“And Chris Morrison.”

“And Chris Morrison.”

“It was your hair, actually. You look so much like Eddie Van Halen it’s actually uncanny.” You looked up from the tapes and he could feel your eyes studying his face. He was glad that it was dark out now, as he could feel warmth rising in his cheeks at the comparison. Was that a compliment? Were you into him looking like Van Halen? 

“Van Halen?” Eddie asked. “I figured I was more of a Kirk Hammett type.”

“The hair yes,” you agreed, still staring at his face as he continued to drive. “But your smile is definitely more Van Halen.”

When was the last time someone had ever looked at him with that much consideration before? Something in Eddie’s gut twisted as he glanced over at you for a split second to meet your eyes. Huh, that was weird. Had anyone made him nervous like this before? Yeah he’d been attracted to Paige but this was starting to feel different. 

He really needed a cigarette right about now. 

“I hope that’s a compliment.” Eddie managed to say as he fumbled for the packet of Camels in the cupholder by him. 

“Oh, it is. I promise.” you replied, digging out a lighter and helping him light the smoke in his mouth. The world's tiniest supernova...

Eddie hated that the closest thing he had to compare notes on when it came to a healthy romance was two months with Paige and a handful of movies that he barely watched. 

You went back to his tapes, and seemed to pick one out. You removed the tape that had been spat out, put it back in the appropriate case (which Eddie found himself appreciating), and he was surprised to hear the old riffs of Muddy Waters playing. 

“A palate cleanser.” you said, leaning back into the passenger side seat. 

Eddie felt his mind reeling from your choice of music. Muddy Waters had been how his mom introduced him to rock at a young age. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the well loved tape as he pulled into the drive in of the next fast food joint he’d seen. 

When he pulled up to the window to pay, a fresh ten was shoved in his face before he could even reach for his own wallet. It took a moment for him to realize that you were wanting to pay. 

“You got me out of work early, it’s the least I can do.” you said, not giving him the option to say no as cash was exchanged for a bag of questionable but cheap food. You held the bag in your lap as Eddie started making his way out of town. 

“So is this an ‘eating van’ or a ‘non-eating van’?” you asked, messing with the top of the bag. 

“I think I’d starve if I didn’t eat in here.” Eddie snorted. “Knock yourself out.”

You wasted no time digging into the fries and taking a few for yourself as Eddie went to the only place that he could afford to take you right now that might be date worthy. 

Luckily, Lover’s Lake was quiet and private on weeknights. If Eddie had taken two minutes to plan this better, he would have thought to maybe clear out the back of his van and set out a blanket and have a picnic. When it came to music and D&D he was great at planning out details, with dates? Not so much. 

This isn’t a date. He reminded himself for the hundredth time tonight. She’s just a girl that you ran over to spend time with the second it occurred to you that she might have an interest in you and she really willingly hopped in your van and your friends actually like her-

Shit. This had to be a date right? Neither of you had said the word but that’s what it was... right? 

Eddie was snapped out of his thoughts with the sweet smell of hot potatoes and grease was wafting under his nose. You had shoved a few fries in front of his face and Eddie wasted no time in taking them. You continued to absently feed him fries as he found a spot to park.

The two of you divided up the food on his dashboard, and Eddie rolled down the windows to let the cool autumn air in. 

“So... what are you gonna be for Halloween?” Eddie asked, wincing internally. When was the last time anyone he knew had dressed up for Hallowen? Okay, so Hellfire Club did tend to dress up on Halloween for a special one shot but that was different- no one came to school in costumes anymore.

“It depends on my plans.” you answered. “Halloween is on a Thursday so I’m usually working. If I have a morning shift I’ll probably do zombie makeup for work, if Steve and Robin are working with me that day I think we’re gonna attempt to be Luke, Leia, and Hans.” 

“And are you gonna be Leia?” Eddie asked. 

“Ideally, I wanted to be Chewie but I don’t have the time for that.” you laughed. “Robin and I voted on Steve to Be Leia. Robin will be Luke, and I’ll be Hans Solo with a teddy bear.”

“Please tell me that Harrington isn’t going to be in the bikini.” Eddie laughed. 

“Keith said costumes had to be work appropriate so, sadly, Steve will not be gracing the store with his sweater-vest chest hair under a bra.” You sighed dramatically. “It’s like he hates the idea of us having fun!” 

“What if you have to close?” Eddie prompted, adjusting in his seat to lean against the door to face you as best he could. Next time he was absolutely clearing out the back to give you both more room. 

“Oh, I am not closing.” you said firmly. “And if Keith thinks he can schedule me that day he can suck it because I have plans.” 

You already have Halloween plans. Of course you would. It’s not like you had to worry about school on a weekday like he did. Eddie tried not to deflate in front of you and remained calm. 

“And what plans would that be?” he asked. 

“Have you ever seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. 

He had, once, with Reefer Rick a few months ago when picking up his usual supply. A quick pick up had turned into a game of pool, which had turned into the two of them high on Rick’s couch watching an old VHS tape while Rick laughed his ass off and yelled at the tv before passing out in the middle of Tim Curry seducing Brad and Janet. 

“Once.” Eddie said, not giving the exact details of circumstance. “With a friend, I didn’t really get it.” 

“Did you see it in theaters or did you just watch it at home?” you asked, finishing off your food. 

“Friend’s house.” 

“Oh, no wonder you didn’t get it. Rocky Horror is an experience, you can’t just pop the tape in and watch it. You have to come see it in a theater.” As you spoke you were absently folding a napkin in your lap turning it into what looked like a heart. When you were done with that one, you started with another shape with a different napkin. 

“Is that an invitation?” Eddie asked, tearing his eyes away from the way your fingers moved for now. He found his heart pounding in his chest, unsure if you were actually wanting him to come to this, and from the knot forming in his stomach as the shapes you were folding reminded him of the times he met you before. 

“It is.” you confirmed, the ninja star you had shaped with the napkin was placed on the center console as you grabbed another napkin. “...It could also be a date.” 

Despite the period at the end of the sentence, Eddie heard the slight waiver in your voice on the word date. It was that same nervous stammer that had been in Paige’s voice when she offered to let him move in with her in California, it was the same hesitant inflection that one of his Hellfire players used when they weren’t sure if Eddie would approve of what crazy plan they had for their character. 

Aside from that first awkward meeting at the Palace Arcade, you had been pretty confident and upfront with him. Now here you are, laying out your intentions and seeing what he would do. 

What would he do? Eddie had shown up at Family Video with no real plan. He only knew he wanted to see you again, and he knew that Dustin and Steve were trying to set you two up. And it’s not like Eddie was completely against the idea of going on a date with you. You were sharp, and you kept him on his toes, and when you smiled at him it felt like his brain might short out. 

But he had also panicked when he had thought that you were going to kiss him before. After Eddie’s disastrous break up with Paige two years ago, it’s not like he’d been completely against any physical relationships. There had been a grand total of two other hook ups that he’d sabotaged. People weren’t interested in getting to know the freak, they just wanted to say that they had been with him. So both times, Eddie had made sure that he’d been a lousy date and a decent enough lay before deciding that he’d rather had a date with his right hand and a Heavy Metal magazine.

Eddie would rather the rumor mill call him a boring date rather than set a standard that he’d go out with anyone who asked. He wondered if he had, would Steve have put his name on the town marquis for the world to see? Would Eddie ‘the Slut’ Munson be treated any differently than Eddie ‘the Freak’?

Shit, you were still waiting for a response. 

“A date.” Eddie finally managed to echo your last words back at you. The napkin you had been messing with in your hands was now taking the shape of a ninja star. 

“I mean, if you’re interested.” you said quickly. “It could just be a friend thing. Or you probably already have plans for Halloween-”

“I don’t.” Eddie interjected. “It could be a date.”

He watched your shoulders relax and you smiled up at him. “It’s a date then.” You grabbed a napkin and your green marker out of your bag and scribbled something down, handing it over to him. 

“In case your phone blows up again, here is the date and time and location for the Halloween showing of the movie.” your eyes narrowed slightly at him. “And my work schedule has been hectic but I consistently work on Sunday’s and clock out at four.”

Eddie got the message loud and clear, he would know where to find you now. There wouldn’t be any excuses for not reaching out, but two could play at this game. He took the marker from your hand and grabbed his own napkin, scribbling his own phone number down and handing it over to you. 

“I’m at school all week, but I still play at the Hideout on Tuesdays.” He answered back. “Friday is Hellfire.”

With that, the playing field felt a little more level. Both of you now had the power to track the other one down or call when needed.   

“So what are you going to be for Halloween?” you asked, tucking the napkin with his number into your bog. 

“Oh, haven’t you heard? When you’re the town freak every day is Halloween.” Eddie chuckled. 

“So what, you’re gonna put on a polo and khakis instead?” He liked the way you scrunch your nose when you laughed. “Ditch the jewelry and cover your tattoos?” 

“That would probably scare some of the teachers at school.” Eddie had considered doing exactly that, but he really didn’t think he’d want that kind of attention. “No one dresses up at school anymore.”

“Boring.” You sighed. “I tried dressing up for Halloween my senior year but when I got to school my friends convinced me to change clothes.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like the type to let other people tell you what to do.” 

“Now I’m not.” you shrugged. “I’m not in high school anymore, and all those people that I saw everyday? Turns out I was only friends with them because I saw them every day. Once you get away from that forced routine you realize that it’s all bullshit.”

Eddie could relate, probably better than anyone else. He was so sick of the day to day hierarchy of highschool that he’d scream it from on top of a table. Literally. 

“What were you trying to be before your friends killed your fun?” Eddie asked. 

“A pirate. It was last minute but I had a bandana, an eyepatch, a sock puppet with feathers glued to it for my parrot, and a wire hanger I was carrying around as a hook.” you laughed at the memory. “I ended up dropping the eyepatch before my friends made me change because I kept running into people. My wire hanger was confiscated, some asshat stole my parrot, and one of my friends gave me a sweater to change into. I didn’t even make it to first period in that outfit.”

Eddie had made it a point to not pay attention to anyone outside of his small group at school, only ever keeping an eye out for lost sheep that didn’t have anywhere else to go. He wondered, if he had seen you that morning in the brief window before you were pushed back into conformity would he have noticed you? Talked to you? You had already been nice to him before. 

“Wait,” Eddie over at you, taking in the picture you had painted for him. “You made a sock puppet parrot?”

“I needed a parrot, or else no one would get it!” you explained. “But then when I took it off and left it to go use the bathroom it was gone. I finally found the thief in fourth period because they kept playing with it and squawking my own parrot at me. But by that point I had just cut my losses and had given up on Halloween.”

“Are you usually this crafty?” Eddie asked, once again looking at the final napkin you were folding into what looked like an old cootie catcher. 

“I get bored easily.” you said. “If I don’t have something to do with my hands I can’t focus.”

“How’d you start with the whole-” Eddie grabbed one of his slightly used napkins and gave it a wave. “Folding thing?”

“Fourth grade show and tell.” you said. “I did not prepare anything and so I spent a full ten minutes in the school library to find something to show. I found a book on origami, found the easiest thing to make and realized that I actually enjoyed it.”

If that was a mystery, it sure did get solved right there. Eddie wanted to ask about Steve and Dustin. He wanted to ask you why him? He could keep his mouth shut, let this whole thing play out and see what happened. Eddie could sit here, and enjoy the fact that a girl was giving him the time of day and leave everything up in the air just like he had with Paige. 

“So I heard you and Steve had a deal going on.” Eddie said. “Something about getting dates?”

You froze for a second, the completed cootie catcher in your hands. Things were dead silent for a grand total of ten seconds. Ten agonizingly long seconds. Even the cassette player had clicked off and was now whirring as it rewind the Iron Maiden tape. 

Then you started laughing. A lot. 

“Jesus, Eddie!” you said, wiping your eyes with the ninja star as a tear threatened to spill down your cheek. “I tell you I have origami as a hobby, and you follow up with ‘So I heard you and Steve are trying to get dates.’ Seriously?”

Eddie remained silent at your reaction, trying to process your laughter. You didn’t seem scared or nervous that he had called you out, and he had to admit that he hadn’t completely thought through the consequences of asking you that question. 

“Who blabbed?” You asked, after your laughter had calmed down. 

“Henderson.” Eddie admitted and, in an attempt to ease any lingering tension he leaned forward to rest his elbow on the center console and held his chin in his hand as he looked at you. “That shrimp informed me that you found me so irresistible that you begged Steve to set you up with me.”

“Is that right?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Told me all about how ever since Chris Morrison shot you down, you’ve been desperate to get my attention to get back at him.”

“So which is it, am I attracted to you or am I using you to get back at a guy I talked to once in high school years ago?” you asked. Eddie saw a glint in your eyes, the same one he’d seen that first night at the arcade when at the air hockey table. 

“Both are true.” Eddie continued to explain, a shit eating grin on his face. “You see, you were originally going to use me to get back at Chris, but then you saw me play guitar and instantly fell in love.”

“Damn, this sounds like the plot of a terrible movie.” you laughed. “So is this the part where I tell you that ‘It started out like that, but I swear it’s not like that anymore!’? Do I beg on my knees that my feelings for you are genuine, even though we’ve hung out a grand total of two-and-a-half times?”

Five times, but who’s counting? 

“What’s the half-time?” Eddie asked. 

“You ditched me at the arcade after I said I’d be right back.” you stated matter-of-factly. “I’m hoping it’s not a pattern where you start dropping off the face of the earth just when things start getting good.”

“Between you and me,” Eddie leaned in closer. “I thought Dustin was trying to set me up with Steve. Not you.” 

Cue more laughter from you as you threw your head back. “Are you kidding me?! Dustin makes me and Steve show up to an arcade and tries to force a meeting with you- and you thought you were supposed to be dating Steve?!” 

“Not dating!” Eddie clarified quickly. “You see, Steve and I only have one thing in common and that’s Dustin Henderson. Kid practically worships Steve. I thought he was trying to get us to be friends or something.”

“Oh my god, you thought Dustin was trying to hook his two dads up!” Your cootie catcher was now crumpled up in your hands, stained with tears from your laughing. “I’m a homewrecker!” 

Yeah, this really wasn’t going the way Eddie had expected it. 

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry.” you said, your laughter calming down into giggles instead. “Have I been reading this whole thing wrong? I mean, if you have more of an interest in Steve I could probably set that up. He’s only ever shown interest in girls but you have long hair and are pretty enough-”

“No.” Eddie said. “I don’t have an interest in Steve- you think I’m pretty?” How were you able to throw him off so easily? He could tell that if you had been able to join Hellfire you would have been a menace at his table.

“Extremely.” you said, your voice more sincere now. 

The two of you just stared at each other for a while and Eddie felt that same twisty feeling in his gut again. You thought he was pretty. That was good, right? Did you like pretty boys? You were pretty- he liked that a lot. 

“I...” Eddie started and then dug deep inside himself to find the words he wanted to use. “Prettier than Steve?” Those were not the words he wanted to say, but he said them anyway. 

“Steve is conventionally attractive but, as I said before, not my type.” you said. “I like guys with long hair anyway.”

Eddie really couldn’t tell if he was nailing this or blowing it. “So, what is your type?” 

“I’ll tell you mind if you tell me yours.” you countered. 

Had Eddie ever really thought about what his type was? Yeah, he’d had ill-advised crushes and had been attracted to various women in comics and tv but did he have a type? He tried to connect all the girls in his mind that he’d been with, trying to find a pattern. 

Someone who actually pays attention to me. That’s pretty sad, Eddie. He came to the conclusion. Yeah, aside from his disastrous kiss with Ronnie five years ago, every girl he’d been with had been the one to show interest first, and you were no exception. But had he actually had feelings for the others? Not really. Attraction? Yeah. Feelings? Well, with Paige he had been far too busy dealing with Corroded Coffin, his dad, and school to really decide what he felt for Paige. Any other small flings had been dead on arrival.

So why did he keep wanting to spend time with you?

“Don’t go spreading this around,” Eddie started. “But if I had to pick a type, it’d be She-Hulk.” 

“She-Hulk?” you mulled that over in your mind. “So tall, green, and angry?” 

“Strong-willed, and funny as shit.” Eddie corrected. 

“And green.”

“And green.” 

“If I had known that earlier I would have picked Kermit the Frog as my Halloween costume this year.” you teased. “I don’t have a character off the top of my head, but I like people who feel.. Real.”

Real. The word that Paige and him had used over and over in those two months. 

“What’s real to you?” 

“Not high school.” you said. “Someone who’s not afraid to exist and be themselves. I’m most attracted to anyone who can let go of their desperate ego and just have fun. High school was boring because everyone was so wrapped up in their own bs of looking cool that they didn’t do anything that they actually wanted to do. Shit, even I fell into that.”

Eddie didn’t want to ask if he was real to you. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for an answer. There were lots of times he wished that he wasn’t still in school, but this time really hit harder. He was starting to really like you, and yeah part of him was terrified of that. 

The two of you finished off the last of your food and Eddie shoved all the leftover trash into the brown bag and tossed it in the back so you wouldn’t be stepping on it. 

“I don’t know much about real anymore, but I think you’re pretty badass.” Eddie finally said. “I mean, you brought a wire hanger and a fake parrot to school for a costume. That’s pretty brave, even if your friends did talk you out of it.”

“I’m more mad that the parrot was stolen and used to annoy me than the lack of costume.” you said with a small laugh. “They weren’t even funny. They just kept repeating what I said. It was easier to just shut up at that point.” 

“Didn’t think to make them say anything embarrassing?” 

“Oh, I tried. But, jocks don’t know the art of a good ‘Duck Season, Rabbit Season’ gag. Anything embarrassing I said they’d just turn it around. I’d say ‘I pissed myself in gym.’ they’d reply with ‘you pissed yourself in gym’. No love for comedy.” You took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “If you’re going to be a bully, at least give me a good story to tell later, you know?”

“I once got slammed against a locker by a jock who called me ‘a myriad freak.” Eddie said. “To this day, I still don’t know what he was trying to mean by that.”

“See? At least that’s funny.” you said, and then. “Holy shit, we’ve gotten off topic.” 

“There was a topic?” Eddie leaned back on the seat again. 

“Yes, an important one that I was very interested in before we started talking about bullies and high school and She-Hulk.” you nodded. 

Talking to you was so easy that he hadn’t realized how many topics the two of you had blown through in a short amount of time. He looked at his watch real quick and realized it was creeping towards 11 pm now. Had the two of you really been talking that long?

“What topic was it?” 

“You flirting with me.” you said, your lips pulling back in a cheshire grin. “I’m pretty sure you were at least, before I became a homewrecker between you and Steve. Normally I’d hate to break up a happy family, but I might have to make an exception this one time.”

“Was I flirting?” Eddie tilted his head with his own grin. “I’m pretty sure I was just telling you that I thought Dustin was trying to make me be friends with Steve. If I had known that the shrimp was trying to introduce me to a cute girl-” He would have shot it down and canceled Side Quest Day- “I wouldn’t have left the way I did.”

“You think I’m cute?” 

“Extremely.” 

You nodded. “Alright, then it’s a good thing that we’re going on a date. I’m glad to know that I’m not coming between you and Steve.”

It was just past midnight when Eddie dropped you off at your apartment that night. This time when you leaned over the center console towards him, he didn’t freeze up or panic. Eddie let you hug him and he hugged you back, his cheeks growing hot momentarily when he felt your lips press against his cheek and he was able to breathe in your scent. 

“See you later, Eddie. Oh, and for the movie- I highly recommend dressing up.” you looked him up and down. “Actually, just wear what you’d normally wear. I think you’ll fit right in.” 

Eddie made a mental note to ask Rick later on what he was supposed to wear for this. 

“I’ll call you.” he said. “I promise. I mean it this time.”

“Not if I call you first, I have your number now. And worst case scenario, I know where you play.” you responded. “See you Tuesday, Eddie.” 

And with that you were gone again, leaving Eddie alone in the van feeling much better than the last time he had given you a ride. There were still questions he had. He still wanted to know why exactly everyone was wanting the two of them to meet again, and why you always so readily agreed to meet up with him. But those were questions for another day. 

“You had a missed call.” Wayne said as Eddie made his way into the trailer. “Didn’t leave a name or number. Said she’d call you back.”  

Eddie laughed and shook his head, guess you meant it when you said you’d call first. 

“Don’t stay up too late watching tv.” Eddie said before heading towards his bedroom. He once again found himself falling asleep with his copy of The Hobbit, the origami flower tucked safely in the back. 

Next Chapter

Ending note: This fic takes place during October 1985. Stephen King’s It did not come out until September 1986. I would like to ask you all politely to suspend your disbelief for the historical inaccuracy of a piece of dialogue that probably didn’t add much to the plot. If this horrible inaccuracy bothers you, please repeat to yourself “it’s just a fic, I should really just relax” which is what most of us should be doing anyway.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

Tag List: @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n @mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea @vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirl320 @perpetualmess @thebook-hobbit @mistonk @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh @halialex1119 @bakugouswhOr3 @siriuslysmoking @pookiesnatcher @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @takemetoneverlandbabe @killjoynotes @maelibo

[toxicanonymity]

beach walks - prequel.

3.8k surf instructor!Billy x f!reader, night walks AU

WARNINGS: I8+, situationship angst over Joel, infidelity adjacent, forced proximity, smut (mild dubcon?), in public, voyeurism, jealousy. See Billy in action (sex): hot ❤️‍🔥 gif set by @ilovewhiteroses or this video. Skeleton Twins (2014) Feel free to skip this fic if it bothers you.

✨NEXT FIC: Beach Walks

After your late night “swim,” you’re disappointed when Joel doesn’t try to get you into his basement. But he does kiss you goodnight before you walk home. You almost text him and invite him over, but something holds you back. You don't want to mess up the dynamic and scare him away. Maybe he’ll let himself in and get in bed with you. It takes you a while to get to sleep as you realize something has shifted. You're now craving more than his dick and his way with words. You’d be happy to fall asleep in his arms, with or without the morning wood to look forward to.

After this realization, you start overanalyzing things, debating whether and when to text him, reading into how often he texts you and what he says. After a few days of nothing but a dick pic, it feels like it's been weeks. And yet, this was normal before. One night, you break down and send him a pic of a freshly rolled joint with the text, “wanna join?” 

He replies “wish I could, gotta be somewhere early 😫.” 

After that, he seems to text you less and less. He doesn't initiate and barely texts back. You wonder if he’s bored without the chase, so you try to play it cool. You go for walks by yourself, in case he’ll come out and join you, but weeks go by, and he never does. Some nights you hear the weights clanging in his basement, so he must be fine.  

-

One day, you're outside, locking the basement side door, when an unfamiliar Mercedes Benz SUV pulls out of Joel's cul-de-sac. There's a speed bump just before your house, so it has to slow down, and you can  clearly see a woman is driving, and Joel is in the passenger seat. Your stomach drops. He looks more put together, like he spruced himself up for her. She’s pretty. Somewhere between your age and his. 

The keys are shaking in your hand as you unlock the door again. You go back inside with your heart racing. Don't text him again, you tell yourself. Don't do it. But after an hour, you do. You ask what he's up to, and he doesn't answer. He doesn't answer all day, and when he finally answers that evening, he acts totally casual, like nothing is up. Small talk. He doesn’t invite you over. Not so much as a dick pic. You leave your door unlocked and cry yourself to sleep. You judge yourself for caring so much. 

You keep leaving your door unlocked at night, but he doesn't come. Then, one day, he drives by in the same SUV, with the same woman, and you're not sure you've ever seen him so happy. You’re lightheaded. It's a harsh reality check. You’ve never been exclusive, never had a talk. He'd never even taken you on a date. When you think about that, it makes you sick. Is his wife still in the picture? You decide not to text him again. 

You’ve been invited on a beach trip that starts the next day, but you don’t go. You don't have the energy to pack, and part of you is still hoping Joel will just show up at your door one day. But the next few nights, when you walk by his house, all the lights are off. At first, you drive yourself crazy thinking about where he could be, but does it really matter? Your anxiety starts to fade into sadness.

You’ve got to get your mind off it, so you drive solo to catch up with your friends at the beach. 

******

The resort is humble but sprawling. There are kayaks and surf lessons. You're tempted by the kayaks, but on the first day, you just relax on the beach. As soon as you lay out your towel, your friends tell you about the hot surf instructor. Then, later that day, they swear he's checking you out. You catch a glimpse from behind first, and he has a nice back. 

You see the surf instructor at breakfast the next morning, and he smiles at you. It’s a devastating smile that erases all your thoughts for a second. You can’t even look right at him. You look behind yourself, and it couldn't be anyone else he was looking at. He laughs silently, then gets in line next to you. He looks at the eggs on your plate. 

You’re not expecting his Australian accent. “Sunny side up. . .good to know.” It takes you a second, then your chest flutters when it hits you. “Enjoy,” he adds with a wink, then walks away. He moves like he has no worries and nowhere to be.

When you tell your friends, they lose their minds. All day they’re talking about what you could do, and speculating about his dick, and whether he’s that chill in the bedroom, too. They think he’s probably a freak. A few hours later, you realize you’ve barely thought about Joel all day, for the first time in weeks, and it feels good. You begin to think maybe a vacation fling could help you move on. Assuming that’s what you’re supposed to do.

Later that day, you're in the lobby waiting for a friend when the surf instructor comes in from the beach. You play it cool, but he sees you, stops, and takes off his shades. He approaches, and you get your first really good look at him up close. He's tall, tan, and shredded, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. He’s got small ear gauges, and a tattoo of something with tentacles winding up his neck. He's chewing gum. 

A mischievous sparkle plays on his eyes as he spreads his feet and crosses his arms. "Saw ya layin’ out, nice ‘n’ dry. . .thought I should let ya know, the real fun’s in the water." 

“Oh yeah?”

He nods. "Love to get ya on a board, if ya don't surf already." 

You laugh. "No, I don't."

He checks you out, then asks, “How ‘bout it?” and waits patiently for your yes. 

"Maybe," you crack a smile. 

"No charge. . .Name's Billy." He extends his hand. As you shake hands, he leans in closer, lowers his voice, and says, "’Lot funner gettin’ wet." As he steps away, he offers, "Come down around five, yeah?" Your tummy is swarming with butterflies as he walks off, and it must be evident. Your friend immediately assumes he asked you out.

—

You go down to the shore at five to meet Billy. Storm clouds are rolling in. Billy is looking at the sky and idly spinning a whistle on a string. He has two boards laid out. As you approach, he looks at his watch. “Punctual, aren't ya?” 

First, he teaches you how to hop up on the board, something you weren’t even sure you could do. Then he demonstrates the right stance, and you can't help but notice the way his thigh muscles swell out from his swim trunks. The teal swim trunks are a little on the shorter side, which is only emphasized by the black, long-sleeve rash guard he’s wearing. Your gaze is dangerously close to his crotch when you pull your eyes back up to his face. 

He looks at your stance, and asks, “Mind if I touch ya?”

“Please,” you answer without thinking.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head playfully. “Knew ya were a bad girl.” 

“I mean,” your face heats up with a smile, and he raises his eyebrows. “I mean I need all the help I can get.”  He indulges you with a contemplative nod. 

“Sure, love.” He comes around to stand next to you. Thunder begins to rumble, and he glances at the sky. 

He crouches down, and one foot at a time, you let him adjust your position on the board. As he begins to stand, he looks up at you and his hand skims up the back of your calf, breaking away at the knee.

He steps a little closer and gently presses on the small of your back. “There ya go.” Then he gets behind you and leans forward, curving his body with yours. He puts his hands on your hips and pulls them back. He’s so close you can feel his body heat. His hands slide up your sides, hitching briefly on the bottom string of your swim top. Then he slots his hands under your arms and adjusts your posture. “Good girl,” he murmurs, then there's a loud boom of thunder. Rain begins to dot the sand before you feel it on your skin. “It’ll blow over,” he reassures you.

-

To wait out the storm, Billy invites you into the surf shack, up past the dunes. He leaves the door open. He doesn’t turn a light on, but there are a few windows. It’s only one room. It's got surfboards, lifeguard stuff, an old TV with a DVD/VCR combo, and a loveseat. In front of the loveseat, there’s a coffee table with a bong on it. Almost as soon as he walks in, he’s taking off his long sleeves. 

“Gets muggy in here quick,” he warns as he plops down on the loveseat. He pats the space next to him, and you sit down. “Suppose we could watch a movie,” he muses and picks up two remote controls from the coffee table. He puts on Jaws at low volume so you can still listen to the storm. He offers the bong, but you decline.

He faces you, resting his head in his hand, with his elbow on the back of the loveseat. You mirror his posture, and he shamelessly checks you out, once again. 

You make small talk about the weather and the resort. With his free hand, he idly strokes his own sternum, slowly dragging his middle finger up and down between his pecs. His nipples are pierced – the bars are so subtle you couldn’t tell through his top.  

After a lull in the conversation, you adjust your position to face the tv. He stretches his arm across the back of the loveseat, and his hand is right behind your head. He begins to lightly caress the nape of your neck with his thumb. You don’t flinch or pull away. You chew your bottom lip, and your heart races. His eyes are glued to your body, and you’re barely pretending to watch the movie. 

“So,” he asks, “Could ya feel me starin’ at your arse yesterday?”

You laugh. “No.” 

“Well, I was,” he nods. “When ya were layin’ out.”

Finally you look at him, and when your eyes meet, he begins to let his fingers slowly dance on your thigh, sending a rush of desire to your loins. 

You’re suddenly nervous. You don't remember how to do this. You half heartedly begin to say, “Maybe I should. . .”

“Come a little closer?”  A loud clap of thunder shakes the whole shack. “Nowhere for us to go now, is there?”

He glances at the window where the sky has darkened and heavy rain is coating the glass. His voice drops.  “Kinda like this storm, if I’m honest,” he admits. 

“Yeah,” you quietly agree. 

His thumb separates from the back of your neck, then your halter string tightens for a moment before completely loosening. 

“Oops,” he whispers, looking at you. 

You gasp and your hand comes to your chest to hold the top up as you turn toward him again, bringing your knee up on the cushion. Your face burns and you laugh his name in mock admonishment. 

 "Got a boyfriend?” He asks. “Girlfriend?" 

"No," you shake your head. 

"Wouldn't stop me, anyway.” His hand curves lightly around your inner thigh, stroking your warm skin. His caress gets higher and higher, further toward your throbbing core. “Not if ya want it, love. What kinda feminist would I be then?” He tilts his head and slides his hand all the way up to the crotch of your swimsuit. “Nah, what she wants, she gets,” he murmurs, staring at his hand between your legs. A knuckle nudges the crotch of your swimsuit, and you’re gushing for him. One corner of his mouth twitches knowingly as he meets your eyes again. “And I think ya want it.” God, he’s hot. He’s so hot, and so right.

The hand behind you cradles your head, and his gaze falls on your lips. His blue eyes are dark with lust. He leans in, pauses with his lips about two inches from yours. You close the gap yourself, accepting the embrace of his smooth lips on yours. Soon he tilts his head, and his tongue slides into your mouth. You drop your hand from your chest, and the un-tied strings still dangling on your back precariously hold your top up. As the kiss becomes hungrier, his hand slides easily into one side of your loosened bikini. His fingers bracket your nipple as he caresses your breast then cups with a soft, “mmm,” into your mouth. You’re absolutely throbbing. 

There's a clattering outside, then an unfamiliar voice. "We've got someone out in the surf, down toward the pier."

Your eyes fly to the door, embarrassed, but the man doesn't even look at you. You quickly re-tie your swimsuit. Billy adjusts himself and replies, “Alright mate, let's hop on the jetski.” 

“It’s ready.” The man steps outside to wait. 

When Billy stands up, you see a massive protrusion in his shorts, resting against his upper thigh, and your breath hitches. You accidentally stare, and he smirks when he notices. “Yeah?” he asks with a downward glance. He holds his hand out and you give him yours as you stand up. He puts your hand on the bulge in his shorts. It’s stiff and warm and makes you ache to be filled. “All for you, love.” He drops your hand but it stays there for a split second. 

He pulls his rashguard on and adjusts his shorts, then gives you a short but heated kiss. “Find ya later.” 

—----

When the storm dies down enough, you run up the beach, arms squeezed together in front of you. You grab a towel from the hut by the pool and enter the lobby. A man has just left the vending area, and you do a double-take when you see a bag of takis in his hand, but he's already walking away.  Your heart jumps when you see he's wearing pj pants. But it couldn't possibly be Joel. Not this far from home. 

You brush it off, but for the rest of the day, you can't get Joel out of your mind, except for when you let your thoughts drift to being in that shack with Billy. It's gotten worse than you thought if you're thinking Joel is there on the island based on a bag of chips and someone dressing comfortably on vacation. 

You let yourself imagine what it would be like to let Billy fuck you. Maybe you need this. 

You're restless and don't have any privacy to get off. After dark, you go out to the pool, and quietly slip into the water, ignoring the sign that says “closed.”.

The water is about nipple-height where you are. You face the pool and rest your arms on the side, letting your legs float in front of you. You close your eyes and squeeze your thighs together thinking about what might have happened in that shack if you weren’t interrupted earlier. And just when you’re picturing what Billy looks and sounds like when he comes, you hear his voice. 

"Pool's closed, rulebreaker."

You look toward his voice, and he puts down a bag near your towel. You ask, "Gonna tell on me?"  

He takes off his rash guard and stretches, jutting his chest and pelvis forward with his hands clasped behind his back, then he walks over and dives in the deep end. He swims underwater and comes up for air a few feet from you. When he surfaces, he tousles his hair.

He slowly approaches, wetting his lips. He looks even sexier in the dark. "Where were we, love," he murmurs. His hands start at your floating feet–he spreads them apart, making room for himself between your legs. Then his hands slide all the way up your legs as he gets closer. He pulls you against him and you loosely wrap your legs around him. 

"There ya go," he murmurs, then dips his head and cradles yours. He kisses you long and hard. He pushes his hips forward, pinning you against the pool wall, and his cock stiffens against you. Then he pulls you off the wall and holds you by the ass so his arousal is firmly pressing against your tingling front. You wrap your arms around his neck as he sinks lower into the water. He kisses and sucks your neck, just above the waterline. He’s probably leaving a mark, and you don’t care. You don’t really care about anything but the mutual throbbing between your legs at the moment.

—

You feel someone watching, and when Billy goes after your neck again, you scan the balconies until you see a dark figure sitting on a second floor balcony. You look for a few seconds and can't make out anything. You scold yourself for thinking about Joel and wrap your legs tighter around Billy. His cock swells harder against your clit, and your thoughts are gone again. You moan softly as he grinds you on himself and kisses you needily, from your lips to your neck, your throat, under your chin, back to your lips. Billy pulls your top down enough to feel your nipples against his chest and lets out a sigh that makes you ache all over with need. 

The man on the balcony stands up, steps forward, and boldly leans on the railing and clasps his hands, watching. He’s still a silhouette, and you try not to look right at him. 

"There's, um. Someone watching," you tell Billy. 

"Bother ya?" Billy asks, keeping his eyes glued to you.

You adjust your swimsuit to cover your nipples, and he says, "Guess so, huh. Drink at my place then?"

"I dunno," you say reflexively. 

He whispers in your ear, “Come home with me,” then gently bites your neck and pulls you tighter against his massive erection. You quietly gasp. 

“I can't, we’re going to sunrise yoga.”

“Yours then,” he offers, undeterred and growing breathless with desire. 

“My friends are there.” 

“Mine’s just a few minutes up the beach. I'll bring ya back,” he offers, “Go to yoga with ya.” He begins to move your body against his again. God, you want that hard cock.  Just a few days ago, the thought of anyone but Joel did nothing for you, and now, here you are. 

You bite your lip and hum, “mm,” in contemplation.

"A drink at the bar," he offers, nodding toward the hotel bar. "Then my place." 

You smile and he presses a gentle, closed-mouth kiss onto your lips. You're smiling against each other’s mouths for a second, until his cock throbs against you, and he seals his lips on yours, and your tongues need each other again. He grinds you against him for a few seconds and moans into your mouth before you pull your head away, and remind him, “Drink at the bar.” 

“Alright,” he breathes. His cock twitches against you "Gimme a minute, love. . . Fuck, I can't walk in like this," he laughs.

Footsteps approach, and you pull away from Billy. The footsteps are from a man with shoulder length hair and a mustache. He's grinning, looking down. He keeps walking, and as he passes by he laughs, "hey, I didn't see nothin', man."

Billy looks up. "Tommyyy. Wanna catch a wave tomorrow?" 

"Nah, we're rollin' out in the morning."

"Alright, mate. Good seein' ya.”

The voice of the stranger has jolted you back from your horny stupor.  "I'm actually really tired," you say, facing the side of the pool. You put your forearms up on the side and rest your cheek on  your hands. 

Billy groans in disappointment, but he gets it. 

"Maybe tomorrow night," you muse. 

"I've got a set at Aqua tomorrow. You should come."

"A set?" 

"I'm a DJ. And as for tonight. . ." He gets close behind you and murmurs near your ear. "I won’t leave ya like this. What kinda gentleman would I be?" Thank God. He snakes his arm around your front. The stiff shape in his swim trunks presses against your crack. 

He cups your whole pussy, and his middle finger prods at the fabric right at your entrance. "Gonna let me in here next time, aren’t ya?" he whispers and begins to rub you over the fabric. Pleasure is building in your core. You begin to lose yourself under his expert touch. "Yeah, there we go." He slides his other hand up under one side of your top and his bare palm covers your nipple. You could cum any second with his hardness grinding against you.

He slips his hand into your swimsuit and rubs your clit as he palms your tit. Your head falls back, he kisses your neck, then you let it happen.  You gasp and try not to be too loud as your final ascent begins, with Billy slowly rutting against your backside, breathing heavily in your ear.

—----------------

Joel doesn’t have a great view, and his eyes are tired from the sun, but he keeps watching. He’s convinced himself it’s not you, that he’s just been driving himself crazy thinking of you.

Even from a distance, it’s really hot to see. It reminds Joel of your last hook-up. Desire stirs in his pants, and he’s going to have to jack off. Maybe he’ll send you a jack-off video—he can do that now. Joel palms himself as he turns to go back inside. Then, you moan loud enough that he freezes with his hand on the sliding door. He’s heard that moan too many times.

. . .Did he just watch you, in the pool with Billy, hours from home? He tries not to look back as he goes inside and closes the door behind him.

He’s not jealous. Not jealous, he tells himself. 

He has no right to be.

You don’t owe him anything, and he knows that.

He’s fine. Not freaking out.

Joel’s a chill guy, even without the weed. But his ears are hot, and his heart is pounding so hard he can hear it. He smacks the wall and yells, “FUCK,” as a picture frame falls. He tries to shake the pain off his hand. 

What are you even doing here? 

“You alright, man?” Tommy asks, muffled through the wall. 

Joel rakes both hands through his hair and takes a few deep breaths. 

“Joel?” Tommy asks and cracks open the door between their rooms. 

“Yeah,” Joel answers as he sits down on the bed. He interlaces his fingers behind his head, elbows pointing forward. “I’m just stupid.” 

------

------

thank you for reading!

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fic] With Every Nerve Alive

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 4623 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, brief appearance by Matthew, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, sweat is sexy, so is automotive grease apparently, scent kink, detailed sexual fantasies, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, questionable lube choices, within a fantasy don't worry, no one's really getting fingered with engine grease, sugar daddy-sugar baby fantasies, glass sex toys

Notes: Prequel/bookend to Customer Service. I realized that Hot Mechanic Hob needed Dream's pov to get the full effect, so this happened. Also fills my @dreamlingbingo square C1, 'Sugar Baby', a couple thousand words in. Title taken from Turbo Lover by Judas Priest

Summary: Dream Atelíotes is merely seeking car repairs from a reputable shop; he was not expecting to get punched in the libido by the most beautiful mechanic he could have imagined.

On AO3

~ "Alright, and what're we lookin' at her for?"

"The clutch. Is not operating as expected; I fear I may have damaged it. Somehow."

Dream is grateful that the stout American behind the counter at Matthew's Motor Repairs does not pass any obvious judgement on this damning statement.

"Well, that definitely needs checking, then," he says instead, punching in notes on his computer terminal. "Hob'll be runnin' things for the next couple of weeks, lemme see when he can fit your girl in." He turns toward the half-open door that leads to the garage and yells.

"Hey Hob!"

"Yeah! Just a tic—"

"He'll definitely be able to find the problem and fix you up," the American is saying, but Dream pays him little mind, thinking ahead to schedules and obligations; the Porsche is not his primary means of transportation regardless. It had been a gift from Alex that he'd kept after the breakup, primarily out of spite. He will say, when asked, that he drives it for fun, but truthfully the manual transmission does not come easily to him and the car suffers for it. He is considering selling it, perhaps once the satisfaction of knowing how Alex seethes to see him with it has worn down—

"What's up?"

Dream spares a glance for the man who's just entered through the doorway to the garage, and promptly loses his breath.

—Exquisite—

The man is beautiful, average height and slim sturdy build, dressed in grimy coveralls that are split just enough at the zip to glimpse the collar of a plain white tee beneath. There is a sheen of sweat on his forehead and when he wipes at it, still with a wrench in hand, he leaves a faint smudge of black grease behind. His hair is dark, longish, tied up in a messy bun on the back of his head with wisps straying loose about his face attractively. His eyes and his smile are warm, strong nose and chin, a few days' worth of beard growth giving him a wonderfully soft-rugged cast that sets Dream's mouth to watering.

The coverall sleeves are rolled and twisted up to his elbows; the forearms exposed are liberally covered with dark hair, skin a warm sunkissed golden brown beneath, shapely and corded with the strength that comes of manual labor, of hefting tires and torquing wrenches. Dream considers, quite despite himself, how those hands might fit around his waist, his hips; how easily this man might lift or manhandle him about in bed, and the heat that has risen in his loins stirs approvingly.

"Mr. Atelíotes here's got clutch troubles with his Porsche," the American is saying. "Think you'll have time to check it out?"

"Not right away, I'm afraid. How soon would you be needing her back?" the mechanic asks, directly to Dream, and oh, the full focus of that gaze is divine.

"I am in no hurry," he manages to reply, voice only marginally dipping down toward sultry. He is here to see about car repairs, not to flirt with the hot mechanic in front of an audience. He is an adult. He is well-versed in exercising all manner of self control.

The mechanic smiles, like a ray of sunshine, and Dream's self-control is tested.

"Okay then, I can probably get you looked at and fixed up toward the end of next week, if that works for you? Thursday or Friday, let's say." He slips the wrench that he's still holding into a pocket on his coveralls, drawing Dream's attention to the lower half of his body, how the zipper on the coveralls goes all the way down underneath, and he firmly corrals and muzzles the thoughts that arise. Later. Let him finish his business here before he embarrasses himself.

"Next week is just fine," he agrees.

"Excellent," the mechanic says, beaming brightly, and Dream's mouth goes dry.

He is so unfairly beautiful.

The mechanic is talking now to the American who is entering Dream's work order and Dream drinks in the sight of him greedily, committing every detail to memory—the brush of silver at his temples, the crows' feet blooming at the corners of his eyes with every smile, the dimple in his chin just visible as a darkening of the scruff that adorns his jaw so beautifully. His arm flexes prettily as he points to the screen with a black-stained fingertip and his voice is strong yet soft and warm like honey; Dream sneaks a glance at his backside when he turns to the printer and finds the suggestion of shapeliness beneath the loose fit of the coveralls. Dream imagines, helplessly, buttocks and strong thighs covered in hair to match those exposed forearms, and barely stifles a whimper.

This man is absolutely exquisite, and Dream wants him.

Badly.

"Alright, Mr. Atelíotes, let me get your signature here," the mechanic says cheerfully, oblivious to the tempest he has stirred within Dream as he hands him the printed work order and a pen.

Dream makes certain that their fingers brush as he takes it, noting the smudge of fingerprints left on the paper by the other.

He glances at the mechanic's name on the form as he signs. Hob Gadling. He tucks the name safely into the vault of his mind, hoarding it for later use.

"Give me a call on Thursday next week, we'll see where we're at," Hob Gadling is saying, handing him a business card and leaving another grey-black thumbprint on the corner of the white cardstock. Dream immediately thinks of such fingerprints against the pristine paleness of his own skin and swallows thickly.

"Thursday," he repeats. "I will call then, thank you." It is Monday, currently; a week and a half is quite reasonable for routine car repairs in a reputable shop, he is given to understand, and Matthew's Motor Repairs is consistently rated with four and five stars online. He is confident that he has chosen well, especially when Hob Gadling smiles brightly while bidding him good day.

It is a good day indeed, for having met such a stunningly beautiful man.

~

He takes a cab home to Kensington, trying very hard to put his thoughts in order and focus on the week ahead, on his business meetings and the client proposal he's expecting on Friday. But his mind is full of brown eyes and warm smiles, hairy forearms and grease-stained hands, and his entire body finds these thoughts far more appealing than those of his day-to-day mundanities.

Hob Gadling lingers in his mind persistently, a siren call warming his blood and distracting him at the slightest provocation. Late afternoon finds him abandoning his office and retreating to his rooms, surrendering to the thoughts that have plagued him since his visit to Matthew's Motor Repairs this morning.

Hob Gadling—

He imagines how the smell of the shop might cling to the man, oils and gasoline and the sweat of his labor, intoxicating and inviting should Dream nuzzle in close. He imagines those hands with their black-stained fingertips, their work-roughened texture, sliding over his body. How might they feel against his skin, his chest, his thighs? On his tongue? He imagines the hungry light that might fill Hob Gadling's eyes, if Dream were to take those skilled fingers into his mouth and hold his gaze while sucking on them, tonguing lovingly at every crack and callous. He imagines those fingers dark all over with a thick layer of fresh grease, the mechanic holding them up with a smirk like a promise, turning Dream to lay on the bonnet of his car—or perhaps bending him over a stack of tires there in the garage, yes—and pushing those fingers inside him, deep and insistent and perfect while his other hand holds Dream down at the small of his back. Automotive lubricant is perhaps not sanitary or otherwise suitable for sexual use, but the heat-of-the-moment urgency of the idea appeals all the same.

He groans aloud at the thought of being fingered with the thick warm grease, the slide and drag and the way Hob Gadling's fingers would curve and press exactly right until Dream was shaking apart with pleasure, scrabbling at the rubber tread of the tires he's bent over. He imagines Hob Gadling murmuring complimentary filth above him—"You look so pretty with my fingers up your arse; bet you'd look even prettier speared on my prick"—as he comes and comes and comes.

Of course he wishes to have the mechanic's cock as well. He is certain it is full and glorious, a beautiful specimen that would fill him perfectly, touch every sweet spot within him and set him alight. He wants it in his hands, in his mouth, in his arse; he wants it any way he can have it.

He desperately wants to get fucked by Hob Gadling in his garage amongst his work, by Hob Gadling strong and sweaty and dirty in his element, vigorous and virile.

The car would perhaps be most comfortable for lying on his back, the better to see Hob Gadling's gorgeous face while taking his cock. He himself would be stark naked and the mechanic still in his coveralls, unzipped all the way to let his prick out. Dream imagines him naked beneath the grimy clothing; Dream envisions chest hair to match what was seen on his gorgeous arms. Dream imagines those arms sliding up along the bonnet beside him, bringing his legs with them until Dream is nearly folded double and breathless with the sweet pressure of the mechanic's dick inside him, pistoning deep and perfect.

Would Hob Gadling pick him up, like so much inventory to be moved about the shop? Would Hob Gadling fuck him standing upright, holding him as if he weighed nothing? He fantasizes about the strength in those forearms and biceps, of the way they would flex and hold, Dream's knees hooked in his elbows and those broad hands gripping his hips as the mechanic would bounce Dream up and down on his prick, Dream clinging around his neck and jack-knifed beautifully in his powerful arms.

He comes at the thought, face down on his knees in his bed with a toy vibrating steadily against his prostate as he strokes himself over the edge, and the orgasm is so intense that he loses all sense of space and time for a moment. The toy is still buzzing merrily when he comes back to himself and he fumbles for the remote beside him, turning it off without yet removing it. He rolls over, brings his messy hand to his face and licks. He wonders what difference he might taste between Hob Gadling and himself, imagines that he is licking Hob Gadling's spend from his hand instead of his own, imagines how those dark eyes and that lovely mouth would smile to see him do so, slow and lascivious.

He turns the toy back on.

His fantasies continue as the days progress. He imagines taking Hob Gadling into his mouth, tasting the sweat and the musk of him after working all day in the garage; he imagines lavishing his tongue all over the length of him, sucking and swallowing and milking him dry. He imagines Hob Gadling's work-roughened hands in his hair, combing through it, clenching tight as he spends into Dream's eager mouth.

He imagines Hob Gadling on his back on the low wheeled board that mechanics use for sliding beneath cars—he does not know its proper name, but he imagines opening Hob Gadling's coveralls while he is laid out on this board and riding him like a prize stallion there on the shop floor with the scent of his work and his sweat all around. He imagines the blackened smears Hob Gadling's hands might leave on him, on his hips, his waist, his arse.

He imagines Hob Gadling bending him over the bonnet of his Porsche, fucking him hard and fast and absolutely without mercy until he is screaming his pleasure, until he is so loud that the mechanic will cover his mouth to muffle the noise and simply fuck him harder still. He wants it, aches for it, imagines Hob Gadling's hands planted firm on his arse, squeezing, spreading him open for his pounding cock, leaving dirty smudges on both cheeks as they careen into orgasm together—

Dream comes under the warm cascade of his own rainfall shower, one hand braced against the sleek tiles while the other grips his pulsing cock tightly. He draws great gasping breaths of the humid air, mind barreling on even as his climax peaks and begins to subside. His mechanic in the shower with him after all of that, sudsy and slippery-wet beneath the spray, shedding the grease and grime of his workplace; his mechanic, pulling him in for a kiss, smelling now of soap more than sweat. The idea appeals, on more than one level, and will not be dislodged even as he dries and dresses for bed. He falls asleep at last to the thought of a scrubbed-clean Hob Gadling on his knees beneath the gently-pouring water, freshly-shampooed hair swept sleek and dripping back from his face and his smiling mouth wrapped around Dream's cock.

He wakes to the sun streaming in his window and lies alone in his spacious bed with drowsy thoughts of being kissed awake, of Hob Gadling's stubbled face and warm lips nuzzling against his cheek, of calloused hands with black-stained nailbeds petting down his sides and grasping his hips. Of Hob Gadling's strong shapely arms pulling him close, Hob Gadling's chest hair tickling his nose, Hob Gadling's heartbeat strong and steady beneath his ear.

He thinks of Hob Gadling following him about the kitchen as he fixes breakfast, imagines his mechanic in a borrowed robe that hits him mid-thigh and doesn't quite close over his chest. He does not currently own such a robe, but that does not matter to the fantasy. He imagines Hob Gadling draped warmly over his back in this too-small robe while he cooks, nuzzling kisses into the nape of his neck, purring about how he wants Dream for breakfast while dragging his calloused fingertips up the insides of Dream's bare thighs. Because of course Dream has merely thrown on a long shirt to cook for his lover, and of course his mechanic cannot keep his hands to himself, and of course Dream would like to be fucked over the kitchen worktop before breakfast.

It is a daring fantasy, this stranger in his home, infusing sex and affection into his daily routines, and Dream wants it with an intensity that is frightening.

He spins himself broader fantasies as the days become a week, of showing up to his mother's summer gala with Hob Gadling on his arm, a mere mechanic brought to an Atelíotes event. He dreams of engaging in increasingly indecent public displays with him where all the high society patrons would see, embarassing Mummy Dearest and igniting gossip that would haunt her for years. He would reward Hob Gadling handsomely for his part in the scandal, sexually, financially, both if he should like. Or perhaps he might offer Hob Gadling gifts and incentives without petty family business mixed in, lavish rewards simply for his affections and sexual attentions. The term 'sugar baby' is very much in line with his thoughts, if not entirely accurate; he is only forty himself and his mechanic had appeared to be in his mid-thirties at least. But that feeds into his story; Hob Gadling is well into adulthood and working in trade labor. Perhaps he never had the chance to go to university; perhaps he had grown up poor. Perhaps he might like to undertake a course of study now, if Dream were to offer to pay for such a thing, in thanks for how well-fucked his mechanic would keep him?

Perhaps he might gift Hob Gadling a luxury car like his Porsche, in return for the sexual services he should like to be provided. Perhaps he might buy him tailored suits, expensive clothes in the latest fashions. He is undeniably drawn to the grimy working-class vision that had been branded on his memory when dropping off his car, sweaty and grease-smeared and glowing with life, but he also imagines how stunning his mechanic might look cleaned up and dressed to the nines. Dream would like to wine and dine him at the finest restaurants in London, put him into a limousine after, open his perfectly-tailored trousers and sample his cock on the drive home. To Dream's home, of course, where he would take Hob Gadling to bed and offer up his body for his mechanic's use—which would be delightfully merciless, given how Dream had primed and teased and denied him with his mouth in the car.

Perhaps he might take Hob Gadling away with him on holiday, show him all manner of foreign destinations he would never have seen on his own; at each of them Hob Gadling would fuck him, in sumptuous hotel beds or private beach cabanas or the gleaming toilet stalls of michelin-starred restaurants, with every bit of skill and enthusiasm at his disposal—delighted to be Dream's kept man and eager to show his gratitude for all that Dream could provide.

Dream groans, dragging one hand down across his mouth and arched throat while the other works swiftly over his cock, writhing on his bed with his shirt undone and his trousers open. He is achingly hard, leaking steadily into every rapid stroke; he hasn't even bothered undressing, so caught up in the feverish fantasies of the money and favors he might lavish on this man who consumes his thoughts, of how thoroughly he could expect to be railed and ravished and seen to in return—

Orgasm overtakes him quite suddenly, leaves him gasping and breathless and wrecked, and still he craves more. His fantasies are delectable, but his appetite is insatiable.

He desperately wants the real thing.

~

It is Thursday of the next week at last and Dream, fueled by his fading ability to recall the precise brown of Hob Gadling's eyes or the way his cheeks crease up when he smiles, does not call Matthew's Motor Repairs to check on the status of his Porsche as instructed. Instead, he drives out, excusing the trip to himself by visiting a local bookseller first and picking up several selections to add to his personal library. He does not linger overlong among the shelves, however; today he is consumed with much more pressing distractions.

He must see Hob Gadling again, if only for a moment.

When he enters the shop, there is no one at the counter up front and the door to the garage is ajar, raucous music drifting faintly through. "Hello?" he calls, but receives no reply.

It is a warm day outside and quite warm inside as well; Dream imagines how sweaty Hob Gadling must be, to be performing physical labor under these conditions. Such thoughts do nothing to calm or cool him.

After only a moment's hesitation, he rounds the counter and passes through the doorway, at which point he can hear Hob Gadling's voice singing along—"You don't have a clue/If you did you'd find yourself/Doin' the same thing too!"—beneath the music, passably on-key no less.

Yet another appealing feature to this man; it is simply unfair. Dream draws himself up, heart beating harder, and ventures around the large sink and cleanup station until he can see his Porsche, up on ramps, and—

And legs sticking out from beneath the side of it on one of those rolling boards, Hob Gadling's legs no doubt, spread wide like an invitation.

Dream stops abruptly, heat pouring into his belly; he takes a deep breath of the warm stuffy air, the machine-and-metal smell of the garage doing nothing to calm his libido. He stares, helplessly, at the work boots and coveralls, at where they stretch across Hob Gadling's crotch, affording frustratingly little suggestion of what lies beneath. And just above that, he can see that the coveralls are unzipped, not quite far enough to expose underwear but enough that Dream is treated to a glimpse of warm golden-brown belly and the dip of his navel, the dark sweep of hair above and below it.

—Mouthwatering—

It is with tremendous effort that Dream corrals his thoughts, steps forward again, closes the space between them and clears his throat to announce his presence. He nudges one booted foot with his own, not entirely meaning to do so but somehow unable to resist.

"Bloody—" The mechanic scoots out from beneath the car and Dream's knees go weak; he is grateful they do not give out altogether.

Hob Gadling is indeed shirtless beneath his open coveralls, displaying a chest far more gloriously hairy than Dream had imagined, a pelt thick and dark and alluring. He wants to touch, to comb his fingers through and rub his face against it, to lick the trail of hair that leads down to where the parted zipper comes back together. There is a visible sheen of sweat on his skin and Dream would lick that off as well; Hob is smudged with grease in various smears across his torso and forearms and Dream can hardly think for the rushing of blood in his ears, the swelling of want in the pit of his stomach. He drags his eyes back up to Hob's face, trying to school the ravenous hunger from his own gaze; he does not think he is overly successful in that regard but there is discernible heat in the warm brown eyes that meet him, and it is difficult to care about dignity, propriety, with reality unfolding so near to the fantasies that have carried him through the last ten days.

He stutters through some explanation for his presence, barely aware of his own words, barely registering the rundown he is given in return, watching hungrily as Hob climbs to his feet. His car will be finished tomorrow. He will have reason to see Hob again tomorrow. But right now he is unraveling, his self control a tenuous and threadbare thing barely within his grasp. He is watching Hob's mouth as he speaks, captivated, obsessed with the warm color of it flashing among the dark scruff of Hob's beard, and Dream wants to taste. His mouth, his skin, his cock, which is surely as magnificent as the rest of him—Dream cannot bear the thought of leaving without confirming his certainties, but it is one thing to revel in fantasy alone in his bed and quite another to actually act on it when faced with the man before him—

"Is there something else I can do for you today, Mr. Atelíotes?"

Hob Gadling is looking at him, hip cocked and coveralls alluringly open, smile just this side of invitational; there is the strong suggestion of interest and an implied offer in that warm tone and Dream's resolve, such as it is, crumbles.

He reaches. He touches. He speaks his want and follows with a flirtatious tease to mitigate his intensity, is met by teasing agreement in return, but when his mechanic mentions cleaning up first he absolutely cannot agree.

"No. As you are now, please." He steps closer, directly into Hob's space, a week and a half of fantasies clamoring in his mind as the scent of the man wafts into his nose—oil and grease, warm metal, sweat and a faint trace of citrus and a hint of some pleasantly masculine deodorant; Dream's mouth waters, and his prick throbs.

His mechanic hesitates. "I'm kind of filthy though?"

There is a tinge of shame beneath the words, and Dream. Will not have it.

"I am aware, yes," he purrs, seizing the open lapels of the grimy coveralls, and kisses Hob Gadling with ten days' worth of anticipation and want.

~

Dream is coasting on an adrenaline and endorphin high as he drives home, afterwards. He acted. He spoke directly of what he wanted. And he got it. He had spent ten days nursing fantasy and now he has experienced a delightful sliver of the reality of Hob Gadling.

And tomorrow, he will experience more.

Sleep does not come easily that night, keyed up and aroused as he is, but he manages at last. He wakes later than usual the next morning; he eats a light brunch, the excitement in his stomach counterproductive to the task, and makes sure to drink more water than usual. Thoughts of Hob fill his mind, arousing, distracting, enticing; he recalls with a sharp thrill the taste of Hob's pleasure on his tongue, and he is eager to be on his way to their appointment.

But there are things he must do to prepare, first.

He takes an enema, then shaves and showers, lathering everywhere with his sweetest-smelling soap, determined to be the polar opposite of what he lusts for in Hob. He strives for the cleanest prettiest and freshest he can get, the better to be taken and sullied and dirtied by his mechanic; Hob had seemed quite pleased with that dynamic yesterday and Dream is eager to repeat it with Hob's cock in his arse this time.

To that end, he employs a favorite dildo once he is clean and dry, lubing himself carefully and working himself open on the toy, mind blazing with thoughts of Hob all the while. He knows, now, the size and the shape (and the taste!) of Hob's prick, and he is giddy with the anticipation of having it inside him. He is salivating over how Hob compares to the dildo, how Hob will fill him just that much better, what filthy things Hob might say while taking his time over long slow thrusts, how good it will feel when Hob finally rails him without mercy—

He must force himself to stop, hard and panting as he withdraws the toy from his body. He sorts through his glass plugs quickly, finding the one he wants and fitting it carefully inside himself. It's broad enough to stretch him just a little more, perfectly flared to fit just right inside and out, short enough that he can bend and sit without discomfort. It's a beautiful tease, as a matter of fact, keeping him keyed up and aroused as he dresses himself, making him squirm just a little with every step as he gathers his condoms and his pocket-sized bottle of lube and his phone wallet and water, and leaves the house.

He composes himself over the two blocks he walks to the busier streets where he can hail a cab, steeling himself to normalcy in both movement and appearance while pleasure sings in his veins with every subtle shift of the toy within him. He is half-hard, hidden well enough by the loose cut of his slacks, and works to keep his thoughts from heating any further until he has reached his destination.

The cab drops him outside of Matthew's Motor Repairs and he pays, distracted and breathless with anticipation. Hob is there, inside, and Dream is certain that Hob is just as eager as he is for their rendezvous.

He hopes that Hob is just as eager.

Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances, reads the hand-written sign taped to the glass of the shop door. Ring if you have an appointment.

Dream's heart plummets for half a second, until he remembers their parting conversation yesterday about appointments and showing up and fitting in. This sign is for him, surely, a blatant invitation.

He takes a breath to calm the excited pounding of his heart, squirms surreptitiously on the toy inside him, and rings the bell.

= Started: 5/15/24 Drafted: 7/27/24 Posted: 7/29/24

[acewritesfics]

I'm Late | Jay Halstead

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Request: From anon

Fic Type: Imagine. Can be read as a prequel to Baby Halstead

Prompt: "You're my voice of reason but right now I need you to shut up." 

Warnings: Mentions of feeling sick, period talk, pregnancy.

Word Count: 1,921

JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST | TAG LIST SIGN-UP

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

As Y/N studies the file Trudy handed her as soon as she entered the station, she is slouched over with her elbows resting on her desk and her fingers massaging her temple. She finds it difficult to focus on the written words on the papers, and the more she tries the worse her nausea and headache becomes. 

Jay ends their conversation with Atwater about their weekend plans and turns to face his girlfriend when she doesn't respond to a question, he's asked her. His face furrowed into a worried expression. She didn't look well last night and this morning, her mood was all over the place, and she had been strangely quiet since they had their morning shower together. 

"Are you okay?" he asks after he gets her attention. 

"I'm fine," she sighs as she shoots up from her chair and rushes out of the bullpen and into the restroom, a wave of nausea washing over her once more. 

Jay wasn't the only person who noticed the odd shift in Y/N. He steps out from behind his desk as Kim gets up from hers, assuring him she'll go check on her. As he sits down, he nods, silently thanking her. His concern for his fiancée has him unable to concentrate on the file in front of him. He leans back in his chair, monitoring the entrance, nervously chewing his cheek, and tapping his pen against his knee as he waits for her to return. 

Y/N is slumped over one of the toilets in the restroom, unsure if the bile in her stomach will come up. She shuts her eyes and wills her stomach to stop churning and her head to stop spinning. 

"Y/N?" From the doorway, Kim's quiet voice can be heard. 

She stands up and braces herself against the cubicle's metal walls as her head spins, calling out to her from the end stall, "In here." 

"Are you sure you're alright?" Kim asks, her expression apprehensive. In comparison to five minutes ago, Y/N looks worse. She nods her head before swinging her head side to side. The brunette detective steps forward to comfort her. "What's wrong?" 

She informs her, "I'm late." 

"Late?" Kim questions her. When Y/N gives her a look, Kim's eyes widen in surprise. "How late are you?" 

"About 2 to 3 weeks," she responds, recalling last night when she realized her period was late. She never kept track of it, but every month, give or take a few days, she always got it around the same time. However, it was never this late.  

She first reasoned with herself that she might not have remembered having it two weeks earlier since she's been so preoccupied with work, the upcoming wedding, and the drama going on between her parents. But then she remembered back to seven weeks ago. She'd gotten her period the Monday before her, and Jay went away for the weekend. She was down to her last two sanitary items when it ended the Friday morning they left for the cabin. She made a note in her phone to get more when her period started next. That Friday night and Saturday had been spent mostly in bed and there might have been one time they forgot to be careful. 

"Do you believe you might be?" 

"Maybe. I'm not sure," She breathes. 

"Have you spoken with Jay?" 

Shaking her head, Y/N "It might just be pre-wedding jitters, right? When you're under pressure, periods can be late." 

"Is Jay still going out with Will tonight?" Kim enquiries. 

She nods, "He is. Will said something about it being bachelor party business." 

"Well then, how about a girls' night at your place?" Kim suggests. "I'll provide the snacks and pregnancy tests, and you can order some pizza and choose the movies." 

"I don't have a choice, do I?" Y/N asks, looking at her anxiously. 

"Hell no," Kim smiles.  

She asks jokingly, "What would I do without you, Kim Burgess?" 

"Crash and burn," Kim responds. "This is what best friends and work partners are for. Now, let's get back out there before Jay bursts in with guns blazing." 

Kim leads Y/N out of the restroom, then let's go of her when they reach the bullpen. Jay is still waiting warily at his desk when Y/N approaches him. Her legs are crossed in front of her as she leans on his desk with her arms folded across her chest. 

Looking up at her with the same deeply concerned blue eyes as before, he asks, "Everything okay?" 

"I've got a headache but it's finally going away," she tells him, and it's not a lie. "Kim is coming over tonight while you're out with Will. Bachelorette party business." 

"You know, we could disappoint them both, forgo the bachelor/bachelorette parties, and just spend the night together, just the two of us," he proposes, a hopeful look in his eyes. Jay is still unaware of his brother's plans for his party, and a part of him is afraid to find out. 

"And rob them of their duties as best man and maid of honor?" she asks, smiling and feeling considerably better than a few minutes ago. For the time being, she pushes her possible pregnancy to the back of her mind as they focus on wedding talk. "We'd break their little hearts, and I don't think I can handle Kim staring at me with those puppy eyes." 

He concurs with her, saying, "I don't think I can handle seeing them too." 

She reassures him, "It was a wonderful suggestion, though. Perfect even." 

He smiles again, this time with a mischievous glimmer in his eye, "Maybe next time." 

"Next time?" she asks, pretending to be upset, knowing he was joking with her.  "Honey, I may not be the first person you said, 'I do' with, but I'm damn sure going to be the last." 

He chuckles, "I meant in 40 years when we renew our vows, and the kids are all grown up." 

Her smile falters a little at the mention of kids. Jay catches it, but Hank exits his office with a piece of paper in his hand before he can say anything. 

"Halstead, Upton, I need you two to go check out this person," he orders, handing Hailey the piece of paper. 

"I love you. Be safe," Y/N instructs Jay as he gets up and puts his jacket on. It was something the two of them say often before they leave the district without each other. 

"I love you too and I will," he responds, kissing her lips briefly before following Hailey down the stairs. Y/N returns to the file on her desk, now that she can focus better on it. 

Later on in the evening, Y/N sat by herself on the couch as she awaited Jay's return from his night out with his brother. Before Kim and Hailey, whom Y/N had invited when she and Jay returned to the district, forced her into the bathroom, she managed to spend a significant portion of the night avoiding the two pregnancy test boxes that were sitting on the kitchen counter. Hailey didn't require much persuasion once Kim explained what was going on; she immediately agreed to whatever Kim had planned. It was a two-on-one situation, and Y/N regretted agreeing with Kim's plans for tonight. 

Just as they were about to find out the results, Jay called Y/N to let her know he was on his way back home. Kim and Hailey both agreed that they should leave so that she could talk to Jay alone but made Y/N promise to keep them in the loop. After the two left, Y/N became too anxious to look at the tests herself and left them sitting on a paper towel beside the bathroom sink. 

It felt like an eternity passed before she heard Jay's key in the lock and the door opening. She stands up and moves around the coffee table to meet him halfway.  

"Hey, can we talk?" she asks him, her voice wavering with nerves. 

"Yeah. What's up?" he asks, the bright smile on his handsome face fading as he takes in her nervous appearance and voice.  

Biting the inside of her cheek, her head is flooded with 100 different ways she can bring up the pregnancy tests in the bathroom. She starts rubbing her hands together, to give them something to do and to stop herself from pacing a hole in the floor. She's never felt so anxious about telling someone something before.  

"Talk to me," he gently tells her when she remains quiet, too far inside her own head. Jay looks at her worried and takes her hands into his. He strokes the back of her hands with his thumb, calming her slightly. "What's going on? Did something happen tonight? Are you feeling sick again? Did your headache come back? Are you-" he begins to ramble only to be cut off by her finding her voice again. 

"I love you so much, Jay. I really do. You're my best friend, the love of my life and," Y/N starts, her voice thick with nerves. "You're my voice of reason but right now I need you to shut up." 

"What's going on?" he asks, letting her words roll off him. "You've been acting weird since last night." 

Her mind blanks as she tries to find the words to tell him that on top of becoming a husband in a month's time, that he almost might possibly be a dad also and the tests to determine whether he will be a dad or not are currently on the bathroom counter waiting to be looked at.  

Getting an idea, she hurries into the bathroom, leaving Jay standing there confused by her actions. He doesn't recall a time that he's seen her like this, ever, and to say he isn't concerned would be the biggest understatement of the century. 

She comes back holding the test in her hands and tells him, "I can't bring myself to look at them." 

The look on his face turns from one of concern to a look of surprise. "It would explain a lot."  

She nods agreeing with him as she sits on their couch. He moves to sit next to her. "If the tests are positive, the only thing that's going to change is that we're going to be parents." 

"And if they're not?"  

"Then we can try when we've settled into married life." 

"I love you," she says looking at him, still avoiding looking at the tests.  

"I love you too," he smiles, kissing her softly. He takes one of the pregnancy tests from her, "Ready?" 

She nods again. They both look at the tests in their hands, both having the two small pink lines come up.  

"Looks like we're getting married and having a baby," Jay says looking at the test in her hands, seeing that one is also positive.  

Y/N looks at him, seeing a small smile on his face. "Are you okay with that?"  

"When I proposed, I said I wanted to do it all with you and that included starting a family. It's just happening a little sooner than we expected. So, I'm more than okay with that." 

"How did I get so lucky?" she smiles lovingly at him.  

"I ask myself that every day," he says kissing her again, his hand moving to her belly. "You're going to make an amazing mom." 

She covers his hand with hers, her smile growing, "And you're going to be an incredible dad." 

TAGGED: @mrspeacem1nusone - @halsteadbrasil - @allisonargent144 - @cs-please - @alexxavicry - @nicole-19s-world

[lee-laurent]

The Past - John Marino

Summary: The timeline of John and Tori's relationship

notes: This is like a prequel to 'Done Trying!' You don't have to read this part, but it gives background on John and Tori's relationship. How they got to where they are in the fic now. The part after this will be a continuation of 'Done Trying' so look for that in the next few days. Also, I do not want to hear any negative criticism about how I've written her depression. I have depression myself and this is how it manifests for me. It's different for everyone, so I don't want to see any hate. Your experience may be different than mine, but every mental health experience is valid.

content: angst, fluff, unplanned pregnancy, break ups, anxiety issues, arguments, birth (not super graphic), mentions of sex but no actual smut, depressive episode, body image issues, mentions of abortion

2019

Tori wasn't drunk by any means, just a bit tipsy. Her fake ID had worked and she was enjoying her night out with her friends. The bar wasn't particularly busy, but the girls were managing to make it feel like a party.

The group of girls all turned to look at the door as a group of rowdy men entered. They were all cheering loudly and patting each other on the back.

"Was there a hockey game tonight?" one of Tori's friends asked.

"I think so," she shrugged, downing the rest of her rum and coke. "I'm going to get another one."

"We'll be here!" one of the other girls giggled.

"Hi, could I have another rum and coke, please?" she grinned at the bartender.

"Sure thing," the man returned with the drink a few minutes later, placing it in front of her, "That'll be 6 dollars."

She reached into her back pocket, when a voice beside her stopped her, "I've got it."

She turned, looking at the man next to her. He was significantly taller than her five foot frame, with tan skin and unruly, dark curls he brushed from his eyes.

"Oh! Thank you," she grinned, taking her drink from the counter.

"I'm John."

"Tori."

"You come here often? Sorry, I know that's cliche as fuck."

"Ha! No worries, my friends and I come here some weeks. It seems your group of friends is making it a bit more lively."

"Hope we're not interrupting your night."

"Not at all. We were the only ones making noise before you guys showed up. You from around here?"

"I'm from Massachusetts. But I moved here for work. You?"

"Pittsburgh born and raised," she smiled, raising her glass up before taking a sip.

The couple continued talking for the rest of the night. Tori wasn't the hookup type though, so instead of going home with him, she gave him her number. Leading to a long line of dates, until he finally asked her out officially.

2020

The world had locked down. No more hockey. No more school. No more work. Tori had subsequently moved into John's apartment so that they would be able to spend time together during the pandemic.

"What're you making?" John asked, wrapping his arms around Tori's waist, tucking his face in the crook of her neck.

"Oatmeal cookies."

"Smells good, baby."

"How was your nap?"

"Relaxing. Would've been better if you were there."

"You know naps make me feel like shit."

"I know... but the bed feels so empty without you."

"God, you're cheesy," she grinned, lifting her hand up to run through his mop of curls. "You want me to trim these?"

"Mmm, not today. I like them long. Why? Do you not like them?"

"I love your curls, Johnny. So sexy."

He grinned, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"I'm going to play 'chel with the boys. Call if you need anything."

She nodded, turning back to rolling the cookie dough into perfect balls. She'd taken up baking during the lockdown. John kept telling her he was going to be out of shape for the next season if she kept it up, but he continued to taste test everything for her nonetheless.

Another month into the lockdown and Tori wasn't herself. She wouldn't leave bed, she was taking naps, and John could barely get her to eat. She claimed she was fine, but he didn't believe her in the slightest.

"Come on, baby. I made mac and cheese, your favourite," he tempted, sitting on the bed and running a hand through her matted hair.

"Not hungry."

"You've gotta be hungry. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning. And all you had then was a couple crackers."

"I'm not hungry. Let me sleep."

"You've been sleeping all day. Can you get up and take a shower for me?"

"Too tired."

"Tori, baby..."

She just rolled over, hiding her face in the duvet. He sighed, leaving the bedroom and going to eat the food he'd made... why let it go to waste.

"How's Victoria doing, love?" John's mom asked through the phone, worry lacing her voice.

"I can't get her to do anything except sleep. I'm trying, Mom. She just..."

"Do you know if she has a history of depressive episodes?"

"Yeah, one when she was in high school. But she said she learned skills to cope."

"Just be there for her, John. That's all I can suggest."

"Thanks, Mom."

Two hours later, Tori emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing the same clothes she had been for days and her hair desperately needed a wash to rid it of grease.

"Hi, baby," John smiled softly.

"Hi. Will you come take a shower with me?" she whispered.

"Sure, but first can you just eat a few bites of the food I made?"

"I... I don't know."

"Please, Tori. Just so I know you're eating."

"Okay."

She sat on his lap, picking at the bowl of pasta in front of them.

"Five bites and we can take a shower."

"Okay."

It took her 20 minutes to take those five bites, but she did it. The couple stood under the hot water of the shower, embracing the time together outside of their room. John helped her wash her hair and brush out all the knots. She forgot how nice it felt to feel clean. She turned in his arms, squishing her face into his torso.

"I've got you, baby. I've always got you. I love you so much."

"I'm sorry, John," she sobbed, "I've been a terrible girlfriend."

"Shh, no you haven't. You're just struggling right now. It's okay. We'll get through his together."

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. I just want what's best for you. And rotting in bed isn't."

She leaned up and pressed a soft, loving kiss against his lips. When she went in for another one, he turned his head, her lips landing on his cheek.

"Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry," she cried again.

"No, no. I just... I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you. I love you so much, but I can't... do anything until you're yourself again. Okay?"

"Okay."

The next day, John helped Tori find a therapist online. Even going as far as to join sessions to learn how he could help her to help herself.

2021

Now that lockdown restrictions had been lifted slightly, Tori was thriving. She was going on daily walks and working on new coping skills to use when she felt that numbness creeping back in.

John was back to playing hockey and finally their lives had back some normalcy. A normalcy that had formed itself into a very... intimate love life for the two. There didn't seem to be a day that the two weren't having sex. Tori was pretty sure roadies were the only days they weren't falling asleep naked.

It was amazing, until it all came crashing down at the end of December. Tori had been feeling like shit for almost a week now. She felt sluggish and the sent of John before he showered after practice had her sick to her stomach. The idea of being pregnant though wasn't even a thought that crossed her mind. She had an IUD. They were safe. Surely it couldn't be...

"Do you want me to pick up a test, just in case? I know you said it's like almost impossible," John asked as he walked to his car at the arena.

"Sure, if it'll make you feel better. Pick up two, just in case one is faulty."

"Sounds good, babe. Be home in 20. Love you."

"Love you too, Johnny."

The couple stood in the bathroom, re-reading the instructions for the tests.

"I think it's self explanatory, John."

"I just want to make sure you're doing it right!" he swatted her hand away as she tried to grab the paper from him.

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, sitting on the toilet with the stick.

"Yeah, just piss on it. Then we've gotta wait 5 minutes."

"Sounds good. You stayin' in here while I pee?" she giggled.

"I'll be right outside."

Peeing on the test was harder than she thought. It was like she couldn't get herself to pee, she was so nervous. After a couple minutes though, she'd put the caps back on and placed them on the counter.

"Come in, John. But I'm telling you, I'm not pregnant. Trusty old IUD keeps your sperm outta there."

"Maybe I've got really persistant sperm."

"I-" the timer rang. "You ready?"

"Yep."

At the same time, they flipped the tests, the plastic clattering against the sink as Tori dropped it.

"They- They must be faulty. False positive, right? Right, John?"

"I- is that a common occurance? I'll google it," he typed on his phone quickly, spelling half the words wrong, "There's less than a 1% chance of that, Tori."

"So? Maybe we're in that percentage. Did you even get good ones?"

"They were the most expensive ones! I just grabbed them!"

"They're wrong."

"Victoria..."

"Don't 'Victoria' me! They're wrong! I'm not pregnant! It's just a cold."

John rolled his eyes, "Can you at least go to the doctor? Get meds for your cold then."

"Fine! I'll make an appointment right now!"

"Perfect. I'm going to make dinner."

"I'm not pregnant," she whispered to herself as she typed in the number for her doctor.

"Is there any chance you're pregnant?" the doctor asked, staring into Tori's eyes.

"I have an IUD."

"I've seen it happen. Would you mind giving us a urine sample?"

Yay. Peeing into more things.

It didn't take long for the results to come back. The doctor entered the room holding a stack of paperwork.

"So, the urine sample came back positive for high levels of hCG. Which means you are pregnant."

"That's not possible."

"I know this is probably a lot to take in right now. I've written down some suggestions for a few OBs I reccomend. As well as some supplements we reccomend for the early stages of pregnancy. From the test, I'd say you're about three weeks."

"Shit. Um, sorry. Thank you. I'll, uh, call these numbers," Tori forced a smile, rushing off to get home.

"So? You are pregnant?" John asked, his eyebrow quirked.

"Yes. I just-"

"Okay."

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say, Tori? 'Yay! I'm so excited to be a dad at 24!' Cause that'd be a lie."

"Stop acting like this is all my fault!"

"I never said that! I just... we've never even talked about having kids! This is all very sudden."

"How do you think I feel?! I'm the pregnant one! Now I have to tell all my friends and family that I got knocked up at 22!" she threw her purse down on the counter.

"You told me the IUD would work fine."

"Why are you blaming me? God, John! Grow up!"

"I should grow up?! You're the one yelling at me!"

"You're fucking infuriating!" she shouted, stomping off to their room. The door shut with a harsh slam, making the pictures on the wall swing.

"Fuck me," John muttered, grasping at his hair.

John slept on the couch that night, not wanting to deal with being yelled at again.

"We should talk about this, Tori," he offered at breakfast.

"Why? I'll just get the pregnancy terminated. You don't it."

"Tori... can we think about this? Make a rational decision."

"Why? Is getting an abortion not rational?"

"Not what I said. I just think you're still angry about yesterday, so you're not think rationally. We need to make a decision together here."

She rolled her eyes, "You made it clear how you feel."

"Did I?"

"Yeah, I think your words were 'I'm not excited to be a dad at 24!' So, there's our answer. You won't have to be," she sassed.

"Victoria, sit down."

"You're not my fucking dad."

"Stop acting like a child! Sit down!"

John rarely yelled at Tori, so the tone of his voice had her sitting right back down.

"Thank you. Listen, I'm not thrilled to be a dad right now, but I'm not telling you to end the pregnancy. I- we can make this work. I want you to make the final decision, but I won't be leaving if you decide this is what we're doing. I love you. And I support whatever decision you make. I will love that baby unconditionally."

"I... I need time to think about everything," she nodded, her lips pursed.

"I understand. But I really don't want to continue this arguing. I want us to enjoy our trip to Massachusetts. Not dwell on this and see our family."

"Okay, I have another appointment in January. You can come... if you'd like. I don't want to tell our families yet."

"Of course... I love you."

She sighed, "I love you too. No more fighting?"

"No more fighting," he nodded.

2022

Tori knew that nobody in the waiting area was judging her, but she felt judged. Her leg was bouncing, her nerves getting the best of her. She was filling out the paperwork that they'd given her. John placed a comforting hand on her thigh, trying to calm her.

"They're removing the IUD today. I don't know if you wanna be in there when they do it."

"I'll stay for moral support."

"Are you sure?"

"Why not," he shrugged.

Tori opened her mouth to respond when her name was called.

"Is your boyfriend coming with us today?" the nurse smiled.

"Yes, if that's okay."

"No problem! The doctor will be right in. We're going to start with the IUD removal. So if you could just strip from the waist down, she can get started."

"Do you want me to turn around?" John asked, taking a seat on the chair in the corner.

"No? Nothing you haven't seen before."

She sat down, throwing the sheet they'd.given her over her legs.

"Nervous?"

"A bit. It hurt to get in. People say it's worse coming out."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Want me to hold your hand?"

"That'd be nice," she smiled.

There was a knock at the door, "We all ready in here?"

"Yep. Come in."

"Hi, Victoria! I'm Dr. Reese. It's nice to meet you!"

"Hi. This is my boyfriend, John."

"Nice to meet you as well! We're going to start with the IUD removal, then we can start chatting about baby. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Is it okay if John holds my hand?"

"Of course! Alright, scooch, scooch. Perfect. Take a deep breath for me."

Tori inhaled, squeezing John's hand. Her eyes screwed shut. A pained breath escaped her mouth. Even John squinted, watching as the doctor pulled on the little strings.

"And done!"

"Thank God," Tori whispered.

"I'll step out! You can throw your clothes back on and I'll be back in a minute with the ultrasound machine."

"You ready?" Tori asked John, buttoning up her jeans.

"Yeah," he shrugged, sitting back down.

John and Tori had discussed things the day before. They were keeping the baby. It was an emotional discussion. Talking about the logisitcs of the whole thing. Especially with her still in school and John playing hockey.

"Ready to see baby?" the doctor smiled brightly.

"Yeah."

"Mhm."

"Alright. I warmed up the gel, it shouldn't be too bad," Dr. Reese moved the wand over Tori's lower abdomen. "And here is baby."

It looked like a little blob, but it still made John's eyes water.

"So, you're about 6 weeks. Measurements look good. I'll want to see you again around 18-20 weeks. You can schedule that on your way out. Congratulations, again."

"You alright, babe?" Tori asked, noticing how quiet John had gotten.

"Hm, yeah. I just... I didn't think I'd be this emotional. Especially over what looks like an alien."

Tori laughed, "Don't call our baby an alien!"

"I'm sorry," he giggled, wiping his eyes, "But it does look a little like an alien."

"Okay... maybe just a little."

The couple left the doctors' office laughing quietly to themselves, their hands intertwined.

Six Months Pregnant - May 2022

It was three in the morning and Tori was sobbing, "You don't understand, John. We're out of pickles."

"I heard you. I just... I don't understand why you're crying."

"I need pickles, John," she cried.

"I- I don't know where to get you pickles at 3am. Everything is closed."

Tori pulled herself out of bed, storming into the kitchen. She dug through the fridge and freezer, trying to find anything that would help her cravings. She pulled a bowl of watermelon out of the fridge, digging in.

John sluggishly joined her in the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'll get you pickles in the morning."

She just nodded, taking another forkful of melon. It wasn't as fulfilling was a jar of mini dill pickles, but it was helping. She couldn't even count how many jars of pickles she'd gone through during her pregnancy, but this was the first time they'd been out. It felt like the end of the world to her pregnancy hormones.

John loved Tori to bits, but the emotional rollercoaster of pregnancy was beginning to make him tired. He knew it wasn't fair and that she was going through much more, but lord was he exhausted.

"Do you want me to stay here? Or should I go back to bed?"

She shrugged, shovelling more food into her mouth. John sighed, coming around the counter. He placed a hand on her waist and one on her growing stomach.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

She hummed, taking one last bite. They shuffled back to the bedroom, Tori hugging onto her pregnancy pillow. John fucking hated the thing, but Tori couldn't sleep without it, so... he'd deal with it for the next three months.

August 2022

John had just been traded from Pittsburgh to New Jersey and now... it was time for their baby to enter the world.

"Ah!" Tori gripped her stomach. She was walking around the hospital room, waiting to be fully dilated. John was being supportive as possible, getting her more ice chips when requested and holding her hand when ever she felt a contraction. "Is it time yet?"

"The nurse said it could be a while, because it's your first."

"It's going to be our only. Holy shit! Why did you do this to me?"

John laughed, "I'm sorry, baby. You're the strongest woman I know. You've got this. Do you want to use the yoga ball again?"

"No! I just want the baby out of me!"

"And they said that the yoga ball will help that."

"Fine," she groaned, squatting down on the blue yoga ball. John smiled, watching as she bounced up and down, her cup of ice chips in her hand.

"They'll be back with the epidural soon. Then it'll be smooth sailing," he comforted.

10 hours later and she was finally pushing. She was squeezing John's hand so tight he thought it might break. But he tried to be supportive nonetheless.

"One more big push, Mama," the doctor smiled.

"I can't do it."

"You've got this, Tori," John whispered.

"I can't do it."

"Just one more push and our baby is here, love."

She braced, feeling the pressure one last time. She pushed and a wail filled the room.

"And here's baby boy."

"It's a boy?" John was smiling so wide, it hurt his cheeks.

"It is. Want to come cut the cord, Dad?"

He nodded excitedly, watching as they gave his son his first bath.

"Here you go, Mama," they placed the baby on her chest.

"Hi, baby," she was too tired to cry, but her son was so beautiful. He had a head of dark hair which explained the heartburn she'd had during the pregnancy.

"We'll be back in a bit to help you get him to latch. And then they'll be in with the name paperwork."

"Here," John smiled, unbuttoning part of her gown so she could do skin to skin.

"Riley."

"Hm?"

"Riley Alexander Marino."

"It's perfect, baby. Here, I'll hold him. You get some rest."

December 2022

Things were falling apart. The couple was arguing almost every day. Tori was struggling. She hated the way she looked and that feeling of numbness was starting to creep back in. But she wouldn't allow it, she needed to be there for Riley.

John was going through the hockey season and adjusting to a new team. He was barely home. And when he was, he was beyond tired. Not being much help at all. Night shifts were nonexisitant. It was always Tori getting up to get their son. John either "slept through it" or "was too tired from hockey."

Everything came crumbling down a week before Christmas.

"You're not any fucking help! Ever!" Tori yelled, throwing the burp cloth down on the counter. "I haven't left the apartment in days! I haven't been able to take a shower in days! All I do is take care of Riley!"

"Your his mom! Did you think you wouldn't have to take care of him?!"

"God! That's not what I meant and you KNOW it! Your his dad! When are you going to step up and actually do some fucking work?"

"I'm providing for us, Victoria! Would you rather I quit and we have no income?!"

"That's it. I'm leaving!"

"You're leaving?! Where are you going?"

"Anywhere that you aren't, John. I can't fucking deal with you right now. Call me when you've grown the fuck up and decide you actually want anything to do with your son," she stormed off to the bedroom, throwing things into a duffle bag.

"Victoria! You can't just leave! Talk to me!"

"I can leave! I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

"You- you can't just leave with Riley!"

"Sure, I can! Not like you parent him at all!"

"Victoria!"

"No! Fuck off!"

The screaming woke Riley from his nap and his wails soon filled the apartment as well.

"Great! Look what you've done!" John threw his hands up in frustration.

"What I did? You're so fucking immature. Stop acting like you're 12 and start acting like the 25-year-old you are!" Tori went to the nursery, grabbing some of Riley's things and putting them in the bag as well. She picked up her son, strapping him into his carrier. John was standing in the door, shell-shocked.

"Please, Tori. Just think about this. Please."

"No. I'll be back for more of our things in a couple days," she shook her head, leaving John all alone in the apartment.

March 2023

It was official. John and Victoria were done. Tori had gotten her own place and Riley went to see John every weekend. Slowly but surely, John and Tori were forming a friendship. They wanted things between them to be good for Riley.

And this friendship leads us to where we are now...

[callsign-rogueone]

nothing burns like the cold - r.g.

what's supposed to be an ordinary afternoon sparring with your friend goes wrong in an unexpected way. words: 1.4k 🏷: one incredibly mild Iron Flame spoiler (Ridoc's signet), she/her reader, very brief description of friendly sparring, no real physical injury, nothing too bad... both of you have Feelings and need to talk about them, Ridoc being sad deserves it's own warning, wingwoman Violet to the rescue! this can be read as a standalone or you can consider it a way-back prequel to hey roomie, my poly Ridoc/Sawyer/reader fic (more of that trio coming soon, by the way!)

Ridoc’s fist lands against your ribs, and you don’t know how to describe what happens, other than cold. Coldest shower of your life, bucket of ice water over your head, jumped into the river in late December cold, that shocks your senses and has you crumpling to the mat beneath you.

Your friends gasp, at your side in an instant.

You’re indoors, but your shirt is soaked like you’ve been out in the rain for twenty minutes, and your hair is dusted with… snow? You blink the wet flakes from your eyelashes, stunned.

Rhiannon helps you to your feet, and you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering.

Sawyer removes his flight jacket, draping it over your shoulders. The fabric is warm with his body heat, but it doesn’t do much to fight the chill you feel around your heart; the way the wet material of your clothes clings to your skin.

“I’m so sorry,” Ridoc breathes. “I had no idea that was going to happen.”

You still haven’t said a word, your entire body trembling — you’re in shock, unable to process your friend’s words.

“Get her into dry clothes,” Bodhi instructs quietly. “She should be fine in a few hours.”

Rhiannon nods, leading you out of the gym and toward your room.

Ridoc stares at his hands, at the frost that still coats his fingertips. You should be fine? Gods, what had he done?

Now he knows how Sawyer felt when his metal-bending signet manifested and he nearly skewered his sparring partner. But that’s the operative word — nearly. He’d definitely hit you with… whatever this is.

“You’re an ice wielder,” Dain answers before the boy can ask, dry and straightforward as always. “Professor Carr can explain.” He takes a few steps toward the door, realizing that Ridoc isn't following him; the younger boy is still stuck in place, silent.

“She’ll be okay,” Violet promises, touching a hand to his arm.

Sawyer offers some encouragement as well: “She knows you didn’t mean it.”

That’s not what he’s worried about.

————————————————

You aren’t at dinner that night, nor at evening formation; he doesn’t see you until breakfast the next day.

Your heart aches as he takes a seat clear across the table from you, as far away as he can be.

Violet comes to sit at your side instead, not mentioning yesterday’s events, but she gives you a soft smile that says I’m glad you’re okay.

You return it, though it doesn't feel as genuine as hers— the cold feeling is long gone, but it’s been replaced with something else that feels just as terrible.

You push the feeling down, waving Sawyer over to sit at your other side and extending him his flight jacket with a soft smile. “Thank you. That was really sweet of you.”

“Of course,” he says, reddening slightly as he puts it back on. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he quiets when he sees you glance at the other end of the table, deflating when you realize Ridoc is already gone.

Ridoc continues keeping his distance. You stand between Rhiannon and Sawyer at morning formation, and sit with them during Battle Brief, Ridoc at the end of your row, uncharacteristically silent.

You don’t see him that afternoon; you haven’t manifested a signet yet, so you aren’t attending Professor Carr’s class. You choose to sit in the study room instead, a textbook in front of you that you hardly touch; you can’t bring yourself to focus.

It’s getting dark out before dinner these days, the winter solstice approaching quickly. It’s supposed to freeze tonight, you’d heard someone say this morning. How ironic.

You sigh, curling up in the chair and tucking your legs to your chest, trying again to start the reading you’d been assigned.

“Mind if I join you?” Violet asks, a matching book of her own in her hand.

You smile softly, gesturing to the chair opposite you.

She sits, but doesn’t take out a pen or paper. “Don’t take it personally,” she says quietly, being mindful of the few other students across the room. “It really spooked him when… that happened. I think he’s afraid he’ll hurt you -- or someone else -- again if he gets too close.”

You’re silent for a moment, your chest aching at the idea of Ridoc, warm, happy, confident Ridoc being afraid, feeling guilty over what had happened by pure accident.

“I talked to him, but I think he needs to hear it from you,” she says gently, opening her book and starting to read, ending the conversation there.

You gaze down at the text, not reading the words -- instead thinking of what you could say to him to make him feel better, to get him back into your life again.

“The truth,” your dragon suggests. “The whole truth.”

————————————————

As soon as Sawyer sees you, he knows what you’re here to do. He excuses himself quietly, mumbling something about forgetting his book upstairs before he shoves everything into his bag and practically bolting away — not subtle at all.

Ridoc blinks in confusion, looking up to ask his friend what the hell that was, but he falls silent when he sees you.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

You could nearly cry at the sound of his voice as he responds, speaking to you for the first time in two days. “Hi.”

You pause, just looking at him for a moment. He looks like he hasn’t slept well for a few nights, his usually vibrant curls and glowing skin flat and dulled. A few of his cuticles are bleeding — he must have been picking at them as a nervous habit.

It hurts you to see him like this.

“You can do this,” she encourages. “Speak from the heart.”

From the heart, you say to yourself. It should be easy enough to say the things you’ve wanted to tell him for weeks.

He speaks before you can, but remains seated, making no move toward you. “I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “I know saying it won’t change anything, but I really am sorry.”

You smile at him softly. “It’s okay. I’m fine, really. I slept it right off.”

You’d looked and felt so cold yesterday, but here you are, healthy and smiling, not mad at all.

“I’m still sorry. It was an accident, but if I had hit any harder, or hit you somewhere else, I don’t know…” he chews his lip, clearly still upset. “It scared the crap out of me, seeing you like that.”

You slide into the seat next to him and take his hand gently, interlocking your fingers. The warmth of your skin comforts him — that, and the fact you’re still willing to touch him after the other day, when that same hand had nearly frozen you to death.

“I never want that to happen again, especially not to you,” he says softly, gazing at your hands. “I really like you, you know.”

“You like everyone,” you say, not quite following. “That’s your whole deal. You’re easily the most likeable and easygoing guy in the quadrant.”

He cracks a smile, and you feel every ounce of stress melt from your shoulders at the sight of him happy again. “I’m glad you think so, but that's not what I meant.”

Your breath catches. Is he saying what you think he’s saying? He can’t be.

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

You blink at him once, twice, letting out a shocked laugh.

His face falls, and he pulls back, starting to gather his things from the table. “Forget it.”

“No, hey, I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you,” you say quickly, reaching for his hand again. “I was laughing because I came here to say the same thing. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too.”

“Really?” he breathes, starry-eyed.

“Really,” you confirm. “I have been for a while.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, maybe a little too eagerly.

You smile. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

His lips are on yours before you can blink, soft and plush and perfect. He lifts his other hand, settling it on your waist ever-so-gently, stroking over the slightly tender spot in your ribs in a silent apology. The warmth of his palm against your side soothes the ache, relaxing you completely.

He pulls back after a moment, gazing at you softly.

“I think I’m more than pretty sure after that,” you breathe, stunned.

It’s his turn to laugh as he presses another soft kiss to your lips. “Me too, princess. Me too.”

[tiyawnyana]

Kinktober: Day 7

Blowjob

A/N: spoiler blowjobs aren't a thing in the metkayina in this fic, at least arent vocalized. Enjoy! Also can be seen as a prequel to Day 4 ;)

Pairing: Ao'nung x (fem) Omiticaya Sully

Warnings: use of good boy/good girl, teasing, nipple play, oral (m received), some slight face fuck, clit play on oneself, cum swallowing

¤¤¤

Your friendship with Ao'nung had of course started off rocky. He was not so fond of your siblings, nor you, always picking on you or Kiri.

Where Kiri was more timid, you were the opposite. You were soft spoken, but hard around the edges. You would snort, chuckle or roll your eyes at his comments before coming up with a snarky reply.

He grew addicted to it, looking forward to an argument that he could have with you, and quite honestly, so did you.

And when he became nicer to you and your siblings, you kept that friendly rivalry and bickering going. You lit a fire in his veins, surprisingly.

So it came to little surprise to you when that fire became molten lava, twisting into certain feelings and desires that embarrassed you at first.

But luckily, one argument that had you playfully flirting as a reply had him blushing hot, giving you your answer. You had crowded against him at the next festival a few nights later, then dragging him off out onto the beach before kissing languidly on the sand. You introduced him to new things, new ways to hold one another in heated moments. New.. desires, honestly.

Which brought you to now.

You quickly tug him up the beach, grinning breathlessly as you head towards the hidden cove surrounded by rocks that you had found earlier in the week.

"Woah, hey, where are you taking me?" Ao'nung chuckles, following your lead.

"It's a surprise," you smirk back at him, dragging him further. He fondly rolls his eyes in response.

You finally arrive, grinning in victory, fists perked up on your hips as you smirk over at him,"Ta-da! Perfect place."

He chuckles, gazing around at the barren beach and the rocks covering a portion of the area, shielding whoever was on the other side from view.

He smirks over at you,"I found this when I was like, 12."

You frown, rolling your eyes before huffing out,"Shut up and climb to the other side," in a snarky tone, quickly scaling the small rock wall.

Ao'nung rolls his eyes once more before following you carefully. You're already on the other side and waiting for him on the sand when he reaches the top. He turns his back to you, climbing down and you snort.

"You're really bad at climbing," you chuckle.

"Hey do me a favor? Shut up," he huffs, shaking his head. He almost misses a stone, a sharp inhale being the only indication of the misstep before he sighs, feet finally hitting the sand,"Now why did you have me do that?"

You giggle innocently, blinking at him doe eyed,"I wanted to try something with you, wanted to be outside but still private. Thought this place would do perfect.."

"I feel like this thing you want to try is a terrible idea-"

"Ao'nung! Just- just trust me, ok? You'll love it I promise!" You press your hands to his pecs, pushing him backwards until he leans against a smooth stone. You grin up at him, cupping the sides of his neck and leaning up, kissing him sweetly then pulling back and teasing,"Be a good boy, yeah?"

He groans, ears flicking back before shutting up as you attach your lips to his neck, licking and nipping soft but careful to not leave any marks. You graze your hands over his chest before straight up cupping his pecs and giggling against his neck.

"Stop that- hey," he chuckles as well, taking your hands and moving them away from his chest.

"I was kidding, 'Nung," you press a wet kiss to his pec, grinning up at him with your tongue poking through your teeth. You keep your gaze on him, lolling your tongue out and licking languidly over his nipple. He jumps and shrinks in, or attempts to, but is met with the stone against his back.

"Do you like how it feels?" You ask seriously, hand lightly wringing free from his grasp to thumb gently over the other one.

"Uh- I.." He swallows, coughing lightly and shaking his head.

"Was that a no?" You pull back, ready to stop but he chokes out.

"No! It wasnt-" He clenches his eyes shut,"it wasn't a no, it did feel good. Just wasn't expecting it."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise before a grin stretches across your lips again and you lean back down, keeping eye contact as you lick broadly over his now hardened nipple. He shudders, head tilting back and he groans quietly. You continue to tease him there, even sucking over the bud and pinching the other one at the same time. He gasps, panting as he watches you blearily.

You switch to the other side, sucking hard over his nipple while flicking your tongue. You're surprised to feel him buck against you, cock already having unsheathed itself from his slit.

"Ooh?" You drift a hand down, ever so lightly grazing over his tewng covered cock. He clenches his jaw, huffing hard through his nose.

"Shut up," he pants, eyes half lidded in a hazy gaze.

"Ohh, come on now," you grip his cock firmly, stroking soft,"That's no way to treat someone being so nice to you."

His hands grip over some rocks on either side of him to stabilize himself as he pants, moaning lowly.

"Come on, where's my good boy at?" You purr, arousal coiling hot below your belly. You always loved the power switch you could do for eachother, even if briefly done in heated makeout sessions for the most part.

He pants, a low whine rising from his throat as he cringes in embarrassment,"Right- oh, right here, please-" He pants hard as your hand continues to stroke him over the cloth.

"There's my baby, hey," you lift your hand to tug at the ropes holding his tewng up,"You trust me, right?"

"Of course," he manages to choke out, eyes widening as you kneel before him, tugging his tewng off and down his firm legs. His cock nearly springs out, slapping against his stomach. You grin up at him, gently tracing down the prominent v-line down his stomach and tracing down his thighs. You lean in, kissing the skin softly and sucking a hickey into the skin next to his cock. He jolts, hips bucking forward.

You then wrap your hand around his length, jerking lightly at first and making a rhythm for yourself. Nice and slow, thumbing over the tip until its sticky with pre. You pop your thumb against your tongue, keeping your eyes of his as you swallow lewdly.

He groans, head tilting back, but he jumps, yelping.

You had grabbed the base of his cock, aiming the head to your mouth and sticking your tongue out, hot breath fanning out. You gingerly pressed the tip to your tongue, curling it around the cockhead and grinning through your eyes at his shocked look.

"Wait- ah! Hey, oh, Eywa!" Ao'nung whines, knees buckling and swallowing hard but he presses his palm against your forehead to hold you back.

You choke on a laugh,"Ao'nung! Hey, wait-"

"You wait!" He wheezes, staring down at you as if you were crazy,"Were you planning to bite me? The only thing the women have done here with their mouths is kiss and make the mating bite!"

"I'll bite you elsewhere but not on your dick, jeez-" you roll your eyes before firmly stroking his cock, grinning cheekily up at him,"Just, please trust me? It'll feel good, I promise.. let me give my good boy some pleasure?"

He gulps hard, thinking until his ears flick back and he nods, blush hot on his cheeks as he lets go of your head.

You grin in delight and dive in with no hesitation, wrapping your lips around his tip and swirling your tongue.

"Oh!-" He whines, hips already bucking against you.

You lift your free hand, holding him by his hip to keep him still as you bob your head down his length. You curl your tongue on the underside, dragging and rolling against the flesh while keeping your eyes on his heaving chest, clenching eyes and wanton moans.

You keep bobbing your head, up and down, saliva leaking from your mouth but you couldn't care less; you were enjoying this way too much already, you could feel how wet you were but you didn't care again, wanting nothing more than to give your boy this pleasure.

You moan around his cock then suck in a sharp gasp as he bucks hard enough out of your grasp, cockhead roughly hitting the back of your throat. You yank yourself off, coughing slightly.

"I'm- I'm sorry, tiyawn, I-" He stumbles, but you shake your head.

Your voice has a rasp that sends a hot shiver down his spine,"Sit still, I'll tell you when to move, ok baby?"

He only nods in response, any words being swallowed by the whimper turning into an open mouthed moan as you grip him, quickly enveloping his cock in your mouth. This time however, you force yourself further down his length, testing your limits more and more. The wet noises are thankfully stifled by the mid-afternoon waves of the ocean. He leans heavily into the stones behind him, knees growing weak with the ever-growing pleasure.

After consistently working yourself further and further down his length, much to your delight, your nose finally presses firmly against his navel. You breath through your nose and work the muscles in your throat to massage his length and the loud moan that is torn from his throat has your tail flicking up, cunt nearly pulsing with need.

You pull off of him completely, ignoring the whimper,"You think you've been good?"

He struggles to catch his breath, nodding shakily.

You grin,"I think you have been, too." Then you're gripping his hands and pressing them to your hand, giving him the reigns wordlessly. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around the tip before taking his entire length into your throat, only to stay still, waiting.

He swallows hard, breathing shakily as he tangles his fingers into your hair and drags your head back only to drag you back down, a delightful sting hitting your scalp.  He bows in on himself, whimpering breathlessly, then creates a steady rhythm, hips lazily rolling his cock into your mouth and throat.

The gaze he has down on you is filthy and he just wants to make a mess of you.

It's then that you decide, what with him doing all the work, to quickly shove your fingers into your tewng to roughly rub at your swollen clit.

He keeps thrusting himself into you, hips bucking harder and harder, becoming more and more erratic and sloppy. His noises have you groaning around him and causing it to vibrate down his cock, to which he thrusts hard enough to have tears leaking from your eyes.

He moans pathetically, not even bothering to attempt to mute the oh, please! So so good, uhhhhn, from his lips and your fingers cramp as you rub between your folds harder. You swallow weakly around his cock, and he whimpers, gripping your hair harder and dragging you down until your nose presses against his navel once more.

"Oh- oh, I can't, mmph," he spasms,"Ah! Thankyouthankyou-"

You're held down firmly as he cums hot and heavy down your throat, to which you automatically swallow happily. It feels as though it lasts a solid minute, and you blink blearily up at him in tearful delight at his face. He's blushing so cute, ears pinned back and fangs bared in a pleasure filled grimace.

He holds you there even after he finishes and your vision begins to get hazy. You've since stopped the rubbing on your clit, shuddering softly.

"Good girl," he whispers quietly, blinking lazily down at you. He pulls you off, groaning at the sight of you sucking at him so greedily.

As soon as he pulls out completely, you gasp for breath, coughing and swallowing thickly.

He slumps to the sand, panting for breath. You two stay like that for a few until he drops his forehead against your shoulder.

"Good boy," you speak with an even more raspy tone, grinning weakly. He kisses your shoulder in response, a faint grin against his mouth.

"I now have better reason to work on the breathing exercises," you giggle, still panting.

He snorts,"You cannot be serious."

¤¤¤

A/N: AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[austinshotbutlers]

The Wedding Date - Part Five

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner × Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: Your sister's wedding is approaching fast and the thought of showing your boyfriend off to you family and your ex-boyfriend seems like a very appealing idea. The only problem is... you don't have a boyfriend. Luckily your stony faced, serious, sexy boss has agreed to be your fake boyfriend for the weekend. What could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 4.3K

TW: Mentions of cheating, swear words, mentions of sex.

A/N: I’M BACK BABIES!!!! Thank you so much for waiting and being patient with me🫶🏻 So… here is party five. I’m planning on there being six parts, once part six is posted I’m going to make another social media edit to accompany the fic. Also considering writing a prologue/prequel and an epilogue… would you guys like that??

“Today is the day.” You sighed into Aaron’s chest as you nuzzled closer into his warm embrace. It was early and you could already hear the chaos of the day echoing up the stairs to you room. The shrill voices of your mom and Sarah sent shivers through your body as memories of last night’s drama glazed through your head. Aaron wrapped his arms tighter around you and rubbed light, comforting circles on your arm with his thumb.

“We get through today and then we fly home tomorrow night.” Aaron murmured against the top of your head.

“Am I crazy if I say I’ve actually missed the BAU?” You asked and Aaron laughed lightly.

Suddenly, a loud knock echoed from your bedroom door, closely followed by your mom’s voice.

“I hope you two are up and getting ready. There’s breakfast set up in the kitchen!” She called cheerily followed by the sound of her feet descending down the stairs.

“I’ll get in the shower quickly and then should we go downstairs for breakfast?” Aaron suggested.

“Sounds like a plan.” You smiled and tilted your head up so you could place a light peck on his jaw. Aaron smiled and swiftly climbed out of bed, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips before making his way to the bathroom.

You got out of bed yourself and pulled on one of Aaron’s jumpers before the buzz of your phone caught your attention. You quickly picked it up and glanced at the screen. 3 missed calls and 8 texts from Emily. How on earth did you miss them? As soon as you heard the running water coming from Aaron’s shower, you immediately called her. She answered almost instantly.

“Hello?” You said.

“Oh my god! Where have you been? It’s been 2 days and I’ve heard nothing from you!” Emily shouted exasperatedly down the phone.

“I know! I’m so sorry! The last few days have been… a lot to say the least.” You replied.

“What’s been going on? Have you and Hotch been having insane, crazy-hot, lust-filled sex for two days straight? Is that why you haven’t been replying to my texts or answering my calls?” Emily asked.

“Emily!” You hissed.

“That wasn’t a no… oh my god you slept together!” She exclaimed matter-of-factly. “Was it good? Wait, I don’t know if I want to know that… oh what the hell, what was it like?” The questions came flooding out of her life a waterfall.

“Ok! We had sex but that’s all I’m telling you!” You replied frustratedly.

“I knew it! I knew you two would do it! Please just describe it in three words.” Emily pleaded down the phone.

“Fine! Best. Sex. Ever.” You said and Emily squealed excitedly in response.

“So are you and Hotch officially a couple now or?…” Emily asked and it caused you to stop and think. With the trip coming to an end, were you two now a couple? Both of you had declared your love for one another so surely that counted as some sort of idea where your relationship status sat?

“We haven’t put any labels on it yet but we have been very open with our feelings.” You explained.

“Well, tell Hotch that if he doesn’t make it official with you by the time you’re back in DC, I’ll be having words with him.” She said. “I’m putting money on the two of you being married by next year.”

“Oh my god Emily!” You laughed. “Slow down! We haven’t even really discussed telling the team about this.”

You were then suddenly aware of the absent sound of running water, realising Aaron was no longer in the shower.

“Look Em, I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow?” You said.

“Will you actually answer my calls this…” you hung up before Emily could finish her sentence just as Hotch stepped out the bathroom, his towel wrapped around his hips and water trickling down his chest. You took your lip between your teeth, taking in Aaron’s torso as though it was the first time seeing it.

“Enjoying yourself?” Aaron’s chuckle drew you from your thoughts.

“Sorry!” You blurted out, turning around and throwing your phone on the cabinet. “You’re just hard not to admire.”

“Same could be said about you.” He smiled boyishly. “You look beautiful.”

“Stop talking shit Hotchner!” You laughed, throwing a pillow at him which he managed to catch with one hand, the other keeping the towel wrapped firmly around his hips.

“You look cute in my jumper.” He laughed. “I’m actually finding it hard not to come over and rip it off you.”

“Aaron! As much as I would like us to, we do not have time for sex right now!” You scolded him lightheartedly and he chuckled. “Get dressed and we’ll go get some breakfast.

As soon as Aaron was dressed, you both headed downstairs and were met by what looked like the entire bridal party.

“Jesus Christ.” You mumbled to Aaron as the two of you looked at the several bridesmaids all fussing around Sarah as she sat on a chair having her hair done, occasionally taking a bite of fruit.

“Good! You’re both here. Help yourself to breakfast!” Your mom ushered you in and handed you plates. You scooped up some fruit and pastries. You looked around for somewhere to sit and decided to settle on a stool at the kitchen island next to Liv who was already in her bridesmaid dress and sipping on a large mimosa.

“A little early don’t you think?” You joked.

“Of course not! There’s a wedding to celebrate.” She said in an attempt to mimic your mom before pouring you your own glass of champagne. “Drink!”

You clinked you glass with hers and took a large sip just as Aaron came and sat next to you.

“Would you like a mimosa Aaron? Or would you like something stronger?” Liv asked him.

“No, I’m fine thank you Liv.” He smiled.

“I never got a chance to thank you last night for punching Luke.” She continued and you smiled into your champagne flute. “It truly brought me so much joy.”

Aaron laughed nervously. “While it did feel right, it probably wasn’t one of my smarter ideas.”

“Oh no trust me honey,” you smiled. “It was one of the smartest ideas you’ve ever had.” And Liv nodded her head in agreement.

Aaron opened his mouth to reply but a stern voice caught all three of your attention.

“Y/N.” Sarah said, her hair and makeup all finished now. “Can we please talk?”

You nodded and the two of you walked into the study down the hall.

“What did you want to talk about?” You asked as soon as Sarah shut the door behind her.

“I want to accept your apology for last night.” Sarah said and you had to stop yourself from laughing.

“Are you serious? I have nothing to apologise for. Luke got what was coming to him. He’s a fucking ass.” You reply trying to keep your frustrations at bay.

“You two have been over for nearly two years now. Just get over it and move on.” Sarah replied angrily. “Luke is actually trying to make an effort to be nice and civil with you and you’re just so rude to him.”

You laughed loudly at her preposterous suggestion. “Funnily enough, calling me a slut doesn’t exactly scream being nice and civil.”

“You’re going to ruin my wedding.” She replied, tears threatening to spill from Sarah’s eyes. “Just be a good maid of honour and behave yourself.

“Behave myself? What am I? A disobedient dog?” You were angry now. “Fine! I’ll play all happy for now but if one thing happens with Luke, I don’t care anymore, I’ll punch him again myself and hope this time his nose does actually break!” And with that, you threw the study door open and strode out down the hall, back to the kitchen.

As soon as you appeared back in the kitchen, Aaron knew something was wrong. He excused himself from where he was stuck in a conversation with Liv and some other bridesmaids and made his way over to you.

“Are you ok?” Aaron asked as he placed a hand on your hip.

“Let’s just go upstairs and get ready.” You said, the feeling of Aaron’s hand on your hip helping you relax ever so slightly.

***

“Ok, how do I look?” You asked Aaron, stepping out of the bathroom to show him your bridesmaid dress. It was a gorgeous lilac satin that hugged your figure perfectly. “Sarah may be psychotic but I commend her for her choice of dress.”

Aaron looked up from where he was sitting on the bed. He had been ready for a while now but had no complaints after he saw you. He was utterly speechless. He thought nothing could top the green dress you wore last night but god, was he wrong.

“Do I look ok? Your silence is worrying me.” You laughed nervously.

“You look…” Aaron stood up and walked over to you, completely in awe of your appearance. “You look incredible.” A kiss on your lips. “Ethereal.” A kiss on your jaw. “Fucking beautiful.” A kiss down your neck.

Heat rose to your cheeks at Aaron’s words and you giggled as he continued to kiss and nibble at your neck.

“I need you.” Aaron groaned against your skin. “This dress is… hypnotic. You have me completely under your spell.”

You moaned quietly as he nipped some skin at the base of your neck. “Aaron…”

“Y/N?…” He imitated.

“We… need to go.” You gasped as Aaron raked his hand over your ass and up your back.

“I know…” he mumbled before pulling away and looking at you, his dark, lust-filled eyes locking onto yours. You leaned up and kissed him once more before walking to fetch your heels. “Such a tease.” Aaron chuckled as he watched you go and straightened his tie.

You smirked to yourself, you had no idea the bridesmaid’s dress was going to have such an effect on him. You were going to have fun with him at the wedding.

When you walked downstairs, Aaron’s hand placed at the small of your back to keep you balanced, gasps erupted and you looked up to see your mom, dad and Liv.

“No sorry! You have to take that dress of right now.” Liv said with a pout. “Because you look way hotter than me in it!” She laughed and you jokingly rolled your eyes.

“Let me get a picture of you two!” Your mom said excitedly, reaching for her camera and snapping you and Liv stood together in the hallway.

“Is bridezilla ready yet?” You asked which made Liv laugh and your mom throw you an annoyed look.

“Your sister is just having some photos taken by the photographer in the garden. You two will be needed soon for the bridesmaid’s shots.” Your mom explained.

“Have you seen Sarah yet dad?” You asked.

“Yes I have. She looks beautiful. Can’t believe my youngest girl is getting married.” He chuckled and you laughed along falsely and reached for one of the many champagne flutes scattered around the house, knocking it back.

“Y/N! Liv! We need you for photos.” One of the other bridesmaids, Lucy, called.

You walked outside and that was when you saw Sarah in her wedding dress. It was gorgeous with the most beautiful train and veil.

“Quick guys! We need to leave very soon.” Sarah called.

“Where’s the maid of honour?” The photographer asked and you awkwardly raised your hand. “Perfect, can you stand on the right side of the bride please?” And you took your place.

Sarah smiled at you. “You look beautiful sissy.”

You smiled at the nickname the two of you used when you were younger. “Thank you. You look gorgeous. Thomas is going to cry when he sees you.”

“You really think?” She asked with tears in her own eyes and you nodded.

The photographer quickly snapped some pictures of just the two of you together before taking several shots of the whole bridal party and some of Sarah with your parents. As soon as all photographs had been taken, it was time to head to the wedding venue.

***

Chaos. An hour until Sarah was to walk down the aisle and the rings had been misplaced. Sarah was on the verge of tears while your mom comforted her and everyone frantically searched for where the rings could have disappeared to. You had looked everywhere with absolutely no luck.

“What if they were left at home?” You asked.

“No! I definitely had them packed up in one of the boxes ready to come here.” Sarah said frustratedly. “Can you go and check with Luke? He might know where they are.

“Can’t someone else?’ You asked which in turn resulted in harsh glares from Sarah and your mom. “Fine! I’ll go and find him.” You said exasperatedly, rolling your eyes.

You left the room, closing the door behind you and saw Aaron down the hall on the phone to someone. As soon as he saw you, he said bye to whoever he was talking to and came over to you.

“Sorry, that was Dave. Just filling me in on the case the team are taking. You ok?” He asked.

“No… the wedding rings have gone missing so as my role as maid of honour, I am being forced to find them.” You sighed. “I just want the ground to swallow me up because now I have to go and find Luke to ask him if he knows where they are.”

“I’ll come with you?” He offered.

“No, it’s fine. I think I’ll survive.” You smiled and leaned up to place a peck on his lips. “I will see you in a minute.” And you headed to the other side of the building to where Luke would be.

“Sorry Matthew,” you tapped Thomas’ dad on the shoulder. “Have you seen Luke? I need to speak with him.”

“He should be just down the hall.” He slurred and you could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Just as long as you don’t punch him again!” He joked and you awkwardly laughed.

You rushed down the hall and saw Luke standing outside, taking a drag on a cigarette.

“Luke!” You called and he turned to you, quickly throwing his cigarette on the floor and stepping on it.

“What?” He asked abruptly and you took in his appearance. A cut across his nose and a slightly bruised eye. “That asshole boyfriend with you?”

“Aaron is here but he doesn’t feel the need to accompany me everywhere.” You rolled your eyes. “The rings are missing. Sarah wants to know if you knew where they were?”

“Yeah. They’re here.” And he fished into his suit pocket, pulling out two silver bands.

You snatched them from his fingers, frustration brewing. “For god’s sake! We have been looking everywhere for them. Why did you think it was a good idea to have them in your pocket?”

“Jesus Christ, chill!” Luke said defensively. “I didn’t know what was happening with them.”

“Well then you should have left them alone! You’re not the one who had to deal with a crying Sarah.” You replied. “Lucy’s daughter is bringing them down the aisle. I thought being the best man, you would have known that.”

“Fucking hell, do you always have to be so uptight about everything? You wonder why I dumped you!” He exclaimed and you sighed turning around to walk away. “At least with your sister knows how to have a good time. She was better in bed anyway.” And almost instantly, he realised what he had said and fear filled his eyes.

Your steps faltered at his words. You couldn’t move. Did Luke really just admit to sleeping with your sister? You turned slowly back around to face him and saw the worry in his eyes. All body function froze as you struggled to find the words to say.

“You… you slept with my sister?” You finally managed to ask. “When?… Why?…”

“It was… it was a month before we broke up.” Luke mumbled. “God, I didn’t want you to find out like this… I thought Sarah was going to tell you.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, tears began to cloud your vision as you took the information in.

“I mean, we knew it was wrong but we just couldn’t stay away from each other,” Luke continued. “And then after a month of sleeping together, I knew I had to end it with you. We carried on together well after you left but then she started dating Tom and she ended it.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Luke cheated on you with your sister… who the fuck does that?

“I… I have to go.” You muttered and quickly bolted down the hallway. So many thoughts flooded your head and you tried your best to stop the tears from spilling from your eyes. As you turned the corner you walked straight into someone who immediately grabbed you to keep you steady in your ridiculously high heels. You looked up and were met with the familiar face of Aaron. He immediately noticed the tears in your eyes and his eyes filled with concern. You threw your arms around him and buried your face in his neck, breathing in his cologne.

“Honey?… What’s wrong?” He asked worriedly. “Did something happen?”

“I’m trying so hard not to cry.” You croaked out. “It’s just… I don’t even know what to say.”

Aaron pulled away from your embrace and looked at your flushed face. “You’re worrying me Y/N,” he said with a frown. “What happened?”

You collected your thoughts and took a deep breath in before looking into Aaron’s eyes.

“Just hold me.” You muttered and Aaron pulled you close to his chest again, holding you in a tight hug and stroking your hair in an attempt to comfort you. You stayed like that for a few minutes and soon the shock of Luke’s revelation had worn off. Aaron pulled back and looked down at you, hoping you were going to tell him what had happened.

“What happened Y/N?” Aaron asked again.

You looked up at him and took a deep breath. “I found the rings, Luke did have them.”

“Ok… that’s good.” Aaron replied nonchalantly but was desperate to find out what head caused you to become so upset.

“I also found out that…” you took a deep breath. “Sarah and Luke had also been sleeping together… while we were still together.”

Aaron was left speechless. He thought he couldn’t despise Luke anymore but god he was wrong. He looked in your eyes and noticed that you were no longer upset but were now… actually, he had no idea how you were feeling.

“Y/N?” Aaron asked in an attempt to understand your emotions.

You looked up at Aaron and then back at the room Sarah was currently getting ready in before the built up anger of the weekend spilled out of you.

“Sarah had given my nothing but shit the whole time we’ve been here.” You began and Aaron took ahold of your hand to try and calm you down but he knew you had every right to be annoyed. “I have worked my ass off to try and appease her and get on with Luke and now it all makes sense. She didn’t want me to find out that she had been fucking him right under my nose!”

Before Aaron could even open his mouth to reply, you had pulled away from him and was walking towards where Sarah was. You threw the door open and Sarah immediately looked up with a hopeful smile.

“Did you find the rings?” She asked.

“Yeah I did.” You smiled falsely and began to walk into the room. “You know what I also found?”

Sarah shook her head while excitedly talking the wedding rings from your hand. “What?”

“I also found out that you and Luke were sleeping together behind my back.” And Sarah’s head quickly snapped up to look at you, panic completely filling her face.

“Y/N… it’s not what you th…” she paused as she realised there was no saving herself. “I’m sorry! I wanted to tell you, I really did! I just could never find the right time and then I started dating Tom and I thought it was best to just pretend it never happened.”

“Does Tom know?” You asked.

“I was going to tell him after the wedding.” Sarah mumbled.

“That’s a great idea.” You laughed. “Tell him you repeatedly fucked his best friend right after you married him.”

“Please Y/N… can we just leave this until after the wedding?” Sarah begged.

“You are unbelievable!” You exclaimed. “Tom deserves to know.”

“I deserve to know what?” Tom asked as Luke guided him into the room. His eyes were covered with a silk eye mask.

“Wait, what is happening?” You ask confused.

“Sorry baby, are you not ready yet for our first look?” Tom asked waving his arms in front of him in an attempt to grab Sarah’s arms.

“No I am ready, Y/N was just leaving.” Sarah huffed.

“Nope, I’m staying right here.” You said, taking a seat on the cushioned chair. Sarah glared at you while Luke attempted to leave the room. “Sarah actually has something to tell you Tom, don’t you sissy?” You condescendingly used the childhood nickname, the same nickname that had you wanting to be the perfect big sister and mid of honour mere hours ago,

“Oh my god… honey, are you pregnant?” Tom asked excitedly.

“No I…” Sarah’s breath hitched and for a split second, you regret making her do this. She lifted her hands up and gently removed the eye mask from his face and Tom’s face lit up when he saw Sarah in her wedding dress.

“Oh Sarah baby, you look gorgeous.” He beamed but his face dropped when he saw Sarah’s glum face. “Wh… what’s wrong?”

“I was sleeping with Luke.” Sarah said bluntly. “Just before we started dating but I ended it when we made it official.”

Tom froze, he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

“Please say something Tom. I’m sorry I never told you sooner.” Sarah said, tears filling her eyes.

“So… you were sleeping with Luke while he was dating your sister?” Tom asked. “How long has Y/N known?”

“Since 10 minutes ago.” You muttered and looked back at where Luke was standing at the doorway, a panicked look on his face.

“Tom I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now,” Sarah repeated. “We can move on from this, be stronger as a couple.”

“Sarah I just need… a minute.” Tom sighed and quickly exited the room, Luke following him trying to offer apologies.

You turned to look at Sarah, her eyes filled with tears as she threw herself down on a chair.

“He’s not going to marry me.” She muttered. “Why did you force me to tell him?”

“Sarah… he had a right to know. Would you rather he found out from you or a drunken slip from Luke?” You asked.

“Just leave me alone! You really are the worst maid of honour and the worst sister.” Sarah shouted.

You stood up and quickly left Sarah to be by herself. Upon exiting the room, you saw Aaron and quickly walked up to him. You wrapped your arms around him and buried your head into his chest.

“Ok so… I’m the worst sister ever apparently.” You spoke into his chest.

“No you’re not,” Aaron mumbled into your hair. “She’s just angry you found out this way, you had every right to react the way you did.”

“But what if Tom calls off the wedding?” You asked, pulling back to look at Aaron. “Then Sarah really will hate me for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t worry about it, let’s go get some air, you need it.” Aaron said, intertwining your fingers together and guiding you towards the door. Once outside, you took in a deep breath and was thankful for the fresh air – the stuffiness and tension inside was suffocating. After a few minutes off a comfortable silence between the two of you, Aaron placed his arm around your shoulders and leaned down to place a kiss at his temple.

“Everything is going to be ok you know?” He said.

“How can you be so sure?” You questioned with a sigh.

“Because I’m a profiler.” He said and your rolled your eyes. “And I can see Tom coming back.” You suddenly snapped your head in the direction Aaron was looking and sure enough, Tom was striding towards you and Aaron, a determined look on his face.

“Is Sarah still inside?” He asked once he reached you.

You nodded.

“Thanks…” Tom said and then walked towards the entrance.

“I told you everything was going to be ok … I’m an excellent profiler.” Aaron turned to you with a smile.

You tried your best to fight the smile and jokingly punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t jinx it, we don’t know what he’s saying to Sarah yet!”

“Stop being such a pessimist!” Aaron scolded jokingly, trying to lift your mood. “Come on, lets go inside and see if we can find out whats going on.” And the two of you walked back inside, hand in hand, ready to face whatever was coming… together.

***

The Wedding Date Taglist 1/2: @wanniiieeee @notsopersonalcharlie @blackeyedangel9805 @preciousbabypeter @stxlemate @twilightlover2007 @justarandommom @impala1967dwinchester @spencermiromantiko @julyhoney @thecubanator2 @xphantomphanphanaticx @lawlesshedgehog @louderfortheback @ssamorganhotchner @essenceproxima @lespendy @stiles-argent24 @rousethemouse @tvdstelenaforever @wandererseye @bibella8swan @yourfavunsub @bibimangines @lou-the-confused-bisexual @realm8626 @sophiaj650 @bylones @howabouticallyou @madz-19 @hotchnerxo @supercriminalbean @jayxox @sweetpeterparker @mina2000alex @xoxokiwi @rayofeffingsunshine @helmihotchner @pedrohoe04 @blackqueenie-18 @crocodilefeet2707 @mynotesapptbh @cryingraccoonn @victoriaholland @1d-obssesed @jemssafespace @red-red-rogue @fandomalert31 @valentinaromanoff @smad809 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @tim-thefrog @mojo366 @jazzymariexoxoc @dankfarrick29 @gffesegjoiegi @fuckthealarm @users09 @8crazy-freak8 @jazzerbelle14 @vsophb

[maverick-wingman]

Broken Skies (Bradley Bradshaw x Mitchell! Reader) Chapter 1

Note: I apologize for the long long wait. I was really lacking motivation and just on a long writer's block for the past few months. But here is Chapter 1 for Broken Skies. The Sneak Peak is linked below for those that have not read it yet. And also thank you @justabigassnerd and @callsign-dexter for motivating me to write more! ❤️

This is a redo of my Bradley Bradshaw Part 1. This is more of a prequel rather than a sneak peek this time. Mel - “one who is fearless and daring.” Canon characters are out of character. Iceman will be healthy in this fic. 

Warnings: Nothing big, maybe angst, other than a brief mention of death, and military inaccuracies. NOT grammar/spelling checked. Some switching between first names and callsigns.

Masterlist | Sneak Peek | Chapter 1

In the room with Cyclone and Warlock, Maverick looked at the screen and saw 2 very familiar faces. Cyclone looked at Maverick and asked, “Is there a problem, Captain?” Maverick looks at him, “You know there is sir.” Cyclone signed and zoomed in on your picture, “Lieutenant Mitchell, callsign Mel, one of the best pilots I have seen in years. She was top of her class. Two confirmed air-to-air kills. You must be very proud. Captain.” Maverick smiles, “I am, sir. I’m proud of her every day.”  

Maverick was indeed proud. Starting from the second you were born, he knew you would be a mini him the second he got called for a parent-teacher meeting for you not following directions and being a bit rebellious. There was also the first time he took you on your first little joyride, instead of being scared like  most people that are thousands of feet up in the air going hundreds of miles per hour, you were so excited. You had the time of your life. You especially loved when he did aerobatics. You kept on asking him to do another one, he often wondered how you never got dizzy or felt nauseous. As you grew older, you went on to be just like him.  If not, maybe even a little better. Now here you are, getting called back to Top Gun to be a possible candidate for a special detachment. This isn’t like the past missions you’ve been on. This is life or death. He knows there is a chance someone isn’t coming back. 

Cyclone then zoomed in on another person. Rooster. “Bradley Bradshaw aka Rooster. I understand you flew with his old man. What was his call-sign again?” “Goose, sir” “Tragic what happened.” Warlock cuts in defending Maverick. All Maverick could do was nod. Memories of what happened replaying in his mind.

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“Dad?” You saw your dad sitting by the bar alone. You thought he’s in the desert working on the Death Star. Why is he here?  He turned around and you smiled excitedly going over and hugging him as tight as possible. You felt him hug back just as tight. “Hey sweetheart.” You always loved the daddy-daughter hugs. It made you feel safe and relaxed. You haven’t seen him in person in almost a year. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you’re supposed to be somewhere in the desert.” You saw the look he gave and you couldn’t help but grin. “You pissed off another admiral, didn’t you?” He chuckled at your response. “You could say that.” You sat next to him. “So… what are you doing here at North Island? Did Uncle Ice tell you I was here?”  You asked him. 

“Well uh…. in a manner of speaking.” You noticed the look your dad had. There was worry in his eyes. You hadn’t seen that look in a long time. “You’re here for the detachment… aren’t you? That’s why you’re here.” He gave you a look. You knew the answer. “How bad is it going to be?” You looked to your dad. “I can’t say too much yet, but … this is something no one’s ever seen.” All you could do was nod. Before you can react you felt him rub your shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. You’re the best fighter pilot I know.” You let out a little chuckle, “don’t let Uncle Ice hear you say that.” You heard him let out some chuckles.

You talked with your dad for a little longer to catch up on everything. He told you that the Kazansky’s invited you both over for dinner tomorrow night. You were excited, as you have seen your Uncle Ice and Aunt Sarah in a while. You heard your name being called, looking over you saw Jake and Javy calling you over. You heard your dad’s voice, “go on, go catch up with them.” You looked over to him. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure. We have plenty of time to catch up more.” You smiled and hugged him one last time before going over. 

“What’s Pops doing here?” Jake asked after pulling you into a hug. You didn’t want to ruin the surprise. “He’s here visiting old friends.” You responded as Javy pulled you in for a side hug. 

As you talked, you caught up with Phoenix, you met some new members: Bob, who was so sweet, Payback and Fanboy who both were really nice, although you felt a little competitiveness between them and Jake and Javy. Jake would not stop teasing Bob, you had to nudge him a few times hoping he’d stop messing with the guy. 

Maverick watched as his little girl bonded with her teammates. Despite Jake's reputation he trusted him that he wouldn’t leave his daughter behind, but he is unsure if he would do the same for the rest of the team.

You looked over and saw a familiar face entering the Hard Deck. Bradley Bradshaw.

Bradley walked over to the group. “Bradshaw.” “Hangman… you look good” “Well, I am good Rooster, I’m very good. In fact, I’m too good to be true.” Hangman responds, smirking. Bradley then looked over to you. “Mel.” “Rooster.” “Why am I not surprised you’re here?” You rolled your eyes, scoffing at his remark. You knew what he was thinking, he still believed the reason  you made it this far is because of your dad and uncle. “Well who else did you expect?”  

Before Bradley could say another word, Jake cuts in, “you’re just jealous Bradshaw, admit it, you will never fly like Mel here. She takes risks unlike a certain someone. She’ll make a great mission leader, but anyone that follows you will just run out of fuel. Waiting for the right moment that never comes.” You felt Jake’s arm snake around your shoulders. 

Jake is your best friend, you could say. Sure, during training he would leave his wingman and fly off, but during the missions he was never like that. At least not to you. He saved your  life; that’s how he got his first confirmed air to air kill. If it wasn’t for him, you would not be standing here right now.

Bradley suddenly felt a ping of jealousy growing inside him. Since when were you and Hangman so close? But Bradley being Bradlet, he chose to ignore it. “And anyone that follows you will just end up in a grave.” That ticked you off a little. You wished Jake would let you tell everyone what really happened that day. You don’t get why Jake wants to keep it a secret, he loves to show off. Only a few people know the exact details. 

“They’re on me! I can’t shake them!” you said with a panicking voice. With an enemy aircraft chasing after you at full speed. Trying different maneuvers, you dodged as many bullets that you could. That’s when you heard a beeping sound; the enemy got a lock on you. Just as  you started accepting your fate, there was an explosion sound. You looked over and saw the enemy fighter jet blowing up into pieces. “You owe me a drink, Mel.” Y/N looked over and saw Hangman giving her a grin. He just saved your life, for once not living up to his callsign.

After that, it was Hangman and Mel. Jake and Y/N. You became best friends and each other’s wingperson.

Other than Rear Admiral Jackson, Javy, Maverick and Iceman, no one knew it was Jake that saved you. Jake wanted to keep it a secret. With the help from Iceman, no one knew what really happened. Because the mission only needed 2 pilots, it made it easier to hide the truth.

Maverick was watching the whole scene play out in front of him, feeling the guilt bubble inside him knowing he was the reason his daughter and Bradley are no longer friends. He remembers how close they were as kids, how they never left each other’s side. He hopes this mission will bring them together again.

The night went on, he ended up being broke after not realizing the rules at Penny’s bar. Jake and the others had the joy of “throwing” him out of the bar. You knew it was all fun and games. You knew your dad took a liking to him after he saved your life that day. Even you let out a little laugh watching it all play out. 

You heard a familiar tune starting to play in the background, you looked over to the piano and saw Bradley sitting there. The tune that your uncle Goose, Bradley’s dad always plays. You remembered how you and Bradley would sit on the piano with your dad, Uncle Goose and Aunt Carole gathered around singing “Great Balls of Fire” together. Your eyes wandered around and noticed your dad outside staring towards where Bradley is. You knew he misses them too. 

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You sat next to Jake and Javy waiting for the debrief to start. You had this feeling that something was going to happen today and it was not the good kind of feeling. You know Bradley will not be happy knowing who the instructor for the detachment is going to be. You also know he will be mad that you didn’t warn him. But he has no right to feel that way. After all, you two were basically on no speaking terms. Cyclone’s voice disrupted your thoughts. “Good morning aviators.” 

At morning debriefing, Cyclone and Warlock went over the details of this mission. Just from hearing the details about what is going to happen, you knew this was going to be a detachment like no other. As he introduced who the instructor was going to be, you knew exactly who they were talking about, even though you already found out last night. You only know one person that fits the description so perfectly. 

You couldn’t help but look over to Bradley, wondering how he is going to react when he sees your dad. You can see him tense up as he sees your dad walk in. This is going to be a very long day. Bradley made eye contact with you and he was not happy, just as you had predicted minutes ago.  After the debrief, you and everyone else waited to be selected to go up in the air. First ones up were you, Phoenix, Bob, and Rooster. 

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As you walked towards your fighter jet when you heard your name being called. “Why didn’t you tell me he was going to be the instructor?” You knew he was going to ask this. “How am I supposed to tell you if all we ever do is argue when we talk?” “Yea, well you’re the one that always starts it” “Are you serious Bradley? Look at us. Besides, would it really make a difference if I did?” “Yea, it actually would have.” 

As the training session went on, no one has been able to get a lock on Maverick. not even you. You were close but he is always steps ahead. And thanks to the little bet, everyone was punished with 200 pushups.

Now it is time for Phoenix, Bob, Hangman, and Roosters turn. You listened to the radio as Jake asked Bradley some personal questions. There was one secret you never told Jake, it was the exact details about you, your dad, and Bradley. All he knows is you and Bradley had an argument, he left and that was that. 

You heard your dad’s voice. Encouraging Bradley to take a little risk instead of playing it safe. Jake’s voice came in warning them about getting below the hard deck level amd telling Rooster to take the shot. Soon through the radio, you head the alerts going off telling them to pull up. You are holding your breath at this point. No matter how upset you were at Bradley, you didn’t want to lose him and your dad.  A few seconds later, you heard your dad’s voice. He got a lock on Bradley. What on earth were they thinking?

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You stormed up to Bradley angry. “What was that Bradshaw?! Are you trying to get kicked out?” “Oh like you care, you probably would love to see me off this mission.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. It’s like he never changed. “I worked hard to get here and you know it!” “Well not everyone is lucky enough to have their dad and the Commander of the Pacific Fleet as their teacher!” He snapped back. You froze, not believing the words that just came out of his mouth. Not wanting to continue this anymore, you shook your head and walked away in silence. You knew if you stayed longer, you would end up saying something you’d regret, and possibly escalating the argument.

“Why are you such close friends with Hangman? You know what type of person he is!” You stopped in your tracks. Why did he change the conversation to this? Was he jealous? You turned around facing him once again, letting out your anger. “You’re right, I know what type of person he is. You don’t! You let your judgments get clouded too easily, you’ll just assume the worst in people!” You saw the look Bradley had on his face, hearing him let out a scoff, “all he ever did was leave his wingman behind! Everyone knows that! Why won’t you believe me?!” 

You don’t know what came over yourself. You’ve kept it in for years. Coming up with reasons why Bradley cut off contact with you, why he barely said anything to you during your time at Top Gun, why he treated you like you were nothing. He didn’t even believe you told him that you had nothing to do with his application being pulled. And now all of a sudden he cares about who you’re friends with. You knew what Hangman was like to others. That’s just a character he built up; he doesn’t want to seem weak or soft, easy to push around. Sure he messes around during training, but when it comes to the real thing, he takes things seriously. 

“You want to know why? Fine. He never left me hanging! He didn’t cut off contact with me for something I didn’t do!  He trusted me! He never assumed I got in just because of my last name! He didn’t hurt me the way you did!”

You were mad at your dad too, especially at first. But after a lot of begging, he finally told you why he pulled Bradley’s application; you understood, it was an extremely difficult decision. Adding on to it, it was his best friend’s dying wish.

You quickly walked away going to the locker rooms. You heard Bradley call out your name, but you chose to ignore it. Today did not turn out the way you had expected. It hasn’t even been 24 hours since the first time you saw Bradley in years and he is still the same.

Taglist: @alluringshawn @anurst @urmomssidehoesposts @sarahjoestewy-blog @adoringsebstan @70spadfoot @khaylin27

@littlebadariell @ems-alexandra

[eoieopda]

foresight (myg)

It all started with a bad joke and a bottle of Tanqueray.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: One-Shot / Prequel to darksided (no. 2) & blindsided (no. 3,) but can be read as a stand-alone fic. Word Count: 11.3K 😳 Content: SPICY FLUFF (18+ or else - oral (m receiving) and penetrative, protected sex (p in v)); strangers to lovers au; POV switches; discussion of anxiety and negative self-talk; alcohol consumption (primary setting is a bar); tteokbokki; and just the cutest fucking duo. ft. Seokjin and a surprise cameo by reader's cat. A/N: The origin story for my beloved babies, which takes place in 2016 (and uses Korean age, fyi.) I found this photo after I finished writing and nearly fell tf over because this was the Yoongi in my brain; jacket and all, omfg. My actual note (and tags) will be at the end! 💕 Listen to the playlist here. Read Interlude: Sunrise drabble here.

Min Yoongi wanted it on record that he tried.

When Seokjin pushed, and pushed, and pushed Yoongi to ask out that girl, he did. She was someone Seokjin knew from somewhere, and she seemed nice enough. All Yoongi really knew about her was that she was pretty, though he hoped to learn that this was the least interesting thing about her.

If nothing else, Yoongi proceeded out of spite. He wanted nothing more than to shove it in Seokjin’s face that he was capable of being a normal, twenty-four-year-old man. He wanted to prove to Seokjin — and to himself, if he were being honest — that he wasn’t a borderline-reclusive workaholic.

Or, at the very least, he wasn’t exclusively a borderline-reclusive workaholic. He did want to get out and meet new people; just in negligible and infrequent doses.

It had been so long since Yoongi last went on a date that three (3) generations of iPhones had come and gone. Children who hadn’t yet been born were now entering pre-kindergarten, making macaroni art with the motor skills they’d obtained during his romantic sabbatical. It was embarrassing; it was depressing; and it all piled up at his doorstep, barricading him inside his apartment.

There was a vicious cycle at play, making matters worse. It casted Yoongi as the lone sock, swirling and drowning inside his washing machine brain. The plot was as stupid as it was repetitive:

Relentless schedule aside, Yoongi didn’t date because it made him anxious. Then, he’d become more anxious because he wasn’t dating. Ultimately, he’d end up too anxious about his anxiety to address the thing that caused it in the first place. And around and around and around he went.

Why the fuck did people subject themselves to this on purpose?

Asking her out was the simplest part. With a quick text and an emoji — the latter of which Yoongi deliberated over for far too long — he’d knocked the ball into her court. She’d responded within minutes, which he assumed was a good sign. Saturday night, they’d decided, at eight o’clock.

Unfortunately, no part of what came next was easy.

Yoongi had spent the four subsequent days in a tailspin. Spiraling over where to take her, what to wear, and what the fuck to talk to her about. In the few interactions they’d had before, all she seemed to do was pepper him with questions about his career. Like everyone else, she was fascinated by Yoongi: the Concept.

Whether or not she cared about Yoongi: the Person was yet to be determined.

Worse, after three years in the public eye, Yoongi worried that he’d lost track of what once made him relatable. That boy from Daegu — with a chip on his shoulder and a fire in his belly — was traded in for a luxury model. He no longer had to debate between purchasing a meal or a bus ticket home from work because he was now loaded and living in Hannam-fucking-dong.

Ugh.

People looked at him with stars in their eyes, but he could never tell if anyone truly saw him. And even if someone did, what was left to see, anyway? Yoongi doubted that he could pick himself out of a lineup now.

Eventually, after three nights of tossing and turning, Yoongi had landed on something that felt meaningful. He would take this girl to a hole-in-the-wall that he loved dearly, which sat relatively unnoticed in a lesser-traveled pocket of Seoul. It was quiet and unassuming, but had a life of its own.

As far as Yoongi could see, it was the perfect place to find the parts of himself that’d dropped on his rapid, record-breaking ascent. Decidedly unremarkable but worth it, nonetheless. There, she could get to know the person behind the persona. Maybe she’d even come to like who he actually was.

Before heading out, Yoongi had pitched his plan to Seokjin and received a thumbs up in response. Unfortunately, her reaction came from two knuckles down. Her departure followed less than sixty seconds after her arrival. She’d fled so quickly, in fact, that she managed to flag down the very same cab before it could clear the block.

Through her window, she’d shouted out her scathing review: Yoongi was cheap; she would never drink bottom-shelf liquor with him in a glorified dumpster; and she both expected and deserved better because he could access better. Yoongi had stood stunned on the sidewalk as she disappeared — likely forever — in a cloud of exhaust.

Somehow, it felt like that cab had run him over as it peeled out.

To be clear, none of this was painful because Yoongi was disappointed; he wasn’t, not in the slightest. Good fucking riddance. It was worse than that. He felt validated, and he knew exactly how fucking sad that was.

See? Told you so, he’d thought bitterly to himself. Then, immediately, Yoongi criticized himself for being too critical. Hypocrite.

So, there he stood.

If Yoongi followed his instinct and went home, he could rebuild his barricade and watch several episodes of Chopped before passing out alone in his bed. A productive night, despite its fruitless start. But then, he realized, he’d have to answer when Seokjin inevitably called to ask what the fuck went wrong.

Fuck it.

Yoongi shrugged to no one but himself. He then slipped from the sidewalk, through the dumpster’s front door, and straight to the bar. Slumping down onto a leather-topped stool, he rested his elbows against the mahogany countertop and dropped his dejected chin in his hand.

Is this rock bottom? He wondered, Drinking in a bar alone on a Saturday night?

Within seconds, there was a loud crash several meters away. Yoongi jerked his head towards the source of the sound, but he saw nothing. His brows furrowed. All was quiet until a whine erupted from the doorway to the back room.

“Shit, shit, shit!"

Upon standing, Yoongi pressed his hands against the bar and leaned forward to investigate; equal parts concerned and nosy.

On the ground in the doorway, he found shattered remnants of what was once a bottle of Tanqueray. Crouching above the pine-scented wreckage, plucking chunks of glass off the hardwood, he found you.

Yoongi immediately grimaced at your chosen method of disaster clean-up. There was already a bandage wrapped around your finger — with a Hello Kitty pattern, he noted — that confirmed your ongoing battle with clumsiness.

You didn’t need to add to that collection and he couldn’t watch in good conscience while you made that outcome more and more likely.

Mind made up, he crossed quickly to the side of the bar he had no authorization to be on. As soon as Yoongi reached you, he saw the nearby bucket labeled “broken shit.” Then, he clocked the small hand-brush and dustpan resting against it. Wasting no time, he grabbed all three; and without a word, you allowed him to carefully usher you out of the way.

Crouching down the way you had, he began to sweep the broken shit into the dustpan. Too preoccupied to glance up, he asked without looking, “Are you okay?”

When you didn’t immediately respond, Yoongi’s eyes quickly rose to find you with strawberry-pink cheeks and wide, vaguely horrified eyes, and —Shit, was he staring?

Say something. Say anything. For fuck’s sake, Yoongi, at least smile so she knows you’re not angry.

What he landed on looked more like a grimace, he was sure of it, and it didn’t seem to fix that look on your face.

“I’m so sorry,” you squeaked once he finished dumping the glass into its designated receptacle.

You didn’t give him a chance to tell you that an apology wasn’t necessary, opting instead to rattle off your perceived sins at an alarming rate:

“I think I’m the only bartender in Seoul that’s this bad at tending bar. I mean, I didn’t even know anyone else was here — because I wasn’t paying attention — and now you, the patron I’m supposed to be serving, are cleaning up after me. It’s definitely supposed to be the other way around —“

A smile was twitching at the corner of his mouth that he couldn’t prevent. Without a door into the so far one-sided conversation, Yoongi had to jump through the window you created when you finally drew a breath. “Have you got a mop?”

Based on the way your eyebrows knit together, you’d been thrown entirely for a loop. You re-opened your mouth, likely to apologize for not following the sudden twist. Yoongi refused to allow further self-flagellation, though.

Classic Yoongi: demonstrating more compassion for strangers than he ever shows himself.

“For the gin,” He chuckled softly as he gestured down to the puddle at his feet. Suddenly and baselessly bold, he shot you a playful look and tacked on, “And for all the words you just spilled.”

The aforementioned eyebrows shot up as your jaw dropped further. Thankfully, it was amusement and not offense glittering in your eyes. Pretty. As you crossed your arms over your chest, you tilted your head and sized him up with a quick glance.

If this was a test, he was determined to pass.

“Maybe,” you hummed.

Yoongi wanted to volley your nonchalant tone, but he couldn’t swallow the laughter bubbling up from his chest. He was grinning like an idiot; there was no denying it. “Maybe?”

Your eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, the perfect overture to the mischief on your lips. When you replied, that microscopic smirk never faltered: “Let’s say, for arguments’ sake, that there is a mop.”

A manicured finger was held up to stop Yoongi from interjecting.

Mystified, his poor brain tried to crunch the numbers. Statically, it made no sense that — out of the thousands of people he’d met in his life — he’d never come across someone quite like you. In a matter of minutes, you’d pirouetted from adorable, to self-depreciating, to coy and confident.

All-encompassing, all electric, you moved through tone shifts far more gracefully than you did through the bar.

And if he’d done the math right, this was the first interaction he’d had in recent memory that didn’t deplete his energy. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Gazing at you, Yoongi began to wonder if this was how extroverts got to feel as they moved through the world. Like it gave back more than it took. Lucky bastards.

Once Yoongi was thoroughly disarmed, you continued breezily, “Hypothetically speaking, would you let me be the one to use said mop? After all, it’s both my job and my mess.”

“Hypothetically?” He repeated, sucking in a breath through his teeth. Your eyes narrowed further as he paused to formulate a counterpoint. Meanwhile, Yoongi’s involuntary smile spread in a straight line across his face.

You’re a goddamn delight, full stop.

“Assuming, for the sake of this argument, that I do concede the mop in question —” Yoongi raised an eyebrow, “— How could I be sure that you wouldn’t hurt yourself? After all, you did just try to clean up broken glass with your hands.”

If this had been a gun fight and not banter behind a bar, you would’ve shot him dead. Like lightning, you quickly unraveled your arms and held your hands at the ready. That effervescent grin of yours might be his undoing instead.

Eyes alight, you threw down the gauntlet: “Gawi, bawi, bo?”

Never before in your life had you played rock, paper, scissors, and lost at every single turn. You’d also never requested a rematch for every loss before, continuing the game into perpetuity; but you had a hypothesis to prove and a perfectly unique smile to make wider.

No matter what you threw, he’d offered a gesture to counter it. If his eyes hadn’t gotten wider and wider with shock as it just — kept — happening, you would’ve simply decided that he was psychic. A mind-reader, predicting your every move before you’d even settled on it yourself.

Spooky.

At the start, his amusement had been more or less concealed. Withheld, even, like it was dangerous to grin with every single one of his teeth. Eventually, though, his shoulders shook the way yours did; and mirth pooled in the corners of his eyes as he wheezed through laughter with you.

You didn’t know him, but still, you couldn’t help thinking: there he is.

At some point during your unending match, he doubled over to catch his breath. Seizing the element of surprise, you’d darted into the storage room before he could’ve stopped you. When you reappeared with a mop and bucket in tow, you’d immediately begun to address the mess you made. It took a few moments of buffering for him to realize what you’d done.

That time around, he hadn’t shouldered your burden for you and thank god for that. First impressions were never your strong suit, and you were already starting from behind. Always too much, you couldn’t be useless, too.

Instead, he’d simply resigned himself to swapped names and spiked blood pressure as you struggled — stubbornly and independently — to dump the contents of that yellow, wheeled mop bucket into the utility sink. Standing quietly out of your way, Yoongi had looked close to proud when you managed to do it all without spilling a drop.

See, you’d thought, I’m verifiably Not Useless!

Once the evidence of your clumsy crime had been disposed of, you’d returned the cleaning supplies to their rightful space in the storage room’s closet. Similarly, you and your patron returned to your rightful places: him on his stool at the front of the bar; you, finally fixing him a drink behind it.

Ardbeg, single malt, neat.

After sliding the glass across the mahagony to his waiting hand, you glanced towards the front entrance. As usual, there were no pedestrians wandering this way; no cars on the street, either. The only quiet part of Seoul — especially on a Saturday night.

The bar routinely bordered on empty, but it had some magical quality to it: Nobody you saw inside for the first time seemed to be there for the first time. This was especially odd because it wasn’t a place anyone went to, just a place they ended up. Nobody’s first choice, it was a last resort only visible to people who knew where to look for it.

Yoongi was the first one to speak, unknowingly putting an end to your mythologizing. You just barely flinched at the surprise of his voice, but he managed to catch it. Then, he conducted a brief yet careful study of your face to determine whether you were simply jumpy, or experiencing some sort of medical event.

A gesture like that, done in passing, shouldn’t have meant so much to you. Really, all he did was look at you. It felt like more than that, though, because it was the second-kindest thing anyone had done for you in months — and it occurred merely twenty minutes after the first-place winner.

Now, that’s depressing.

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” He hummed, “I only ever run into Yang Daehyun-nim, though it’s been a minute. Honestly, I don’t even know if he’s still around. You know him?”

“Yes, absolutely. He’s my husband.” You deadpanned and Yoongi nearly choked to death on his drink.

You were, of course, fucking with him. The man in question was swiftly approaching ninety, but he looked twice as old. You successfully maintained your ruse until Yoongi’s tongue breached the barrier of his lips and gathered his runaway whiskey.

Where am I? Who am I? Is that legal?

Yoongi simultaneously picked up the joke and his glass. He raised both with pure amusement on his face, “Cheers to the happy couple, then.”

Never one to raise a toast empty-handed, you quickly dumped what little remained of a nearby soju bottle into a shot glass. His eyes sparkled as he watched you race to catch up; even more so when you leaned in to clink your glass against his.

Oh, so he’s pretty pretty.

“To the happy couple,” you echoed.

With both of your drinks dispatched, you grabbed the bottle of Ardbeg to top him up. Expensive taste, you noted, not the low-rent version you were destined for.

If Yoongi hadn’t shown up to order it, that bottle would’ve continued to gather dust on the top shelf. Like you, none of your regulars had the capital to even glance that high. Granted, the sample size was abysmally small at only three (3) people, but the point still stood.

Until Yoongi mentioned Daehyun, you couldn’t think of a single reason why your employer bothered to keep anything like that in stock. Now, that piece seemed to fit. Still, you were puzzled as to why Yoongi would come to a dive like this to drink liquor like that.

Clearly, the man sitting in front of you contained multitudes.

At the exact moment you asked how long he’d been coming here, Yoongi wondered when you joined the staff. Your respective answers came simultaneously, too. His six years easily dwarfed your eight months.

True to form, you joked that he was more qualified to tend bar here than you were. He said his only relevant skill was cleaning broken glass.

It made you sad in some stupid way to realize that you could’ve met a hundred times over by now. Had more conversations like this, haunted the joint jointly rather than on your own. Truthfully, though, you were at least semi-soothed by the timing.

You were a horrible bartender now, but you’d been even worse before. He might not have survived this long.

Once again, Yoongi set your runaway train-of-thought back on track. “Eight months ago.” He took a sip, then he asked, “Is that when you moved to Korea?”

It was a simple question, certainly not an offensive one. The reason it nearly bowled you over was that no one had ever bothered to ask. Nobody seemed to notice the non-native accent that occasionally appeared when you spoke — not unless you referenced its existence first, that is.

Even then, people forgot. You wished you were confident that they simply got used to it, but you had the sneaking suspicion that nobody really listened when you spoke. After all, no one had a reason to give a shit about you, so long as you kept their glasses full.

The weight of your curiosity caused your head to tilt to the side. You allowed a tiny smile to spread as you asked, “What gave me away?”

“Don’t get me wrong —” He held up his hands to prevent a reaction you’d never dream of giving. “It’s not obvious. You’ve got a better grasp than some of my friends do — which is kind of sad, actually. They’ve lived here their whole lives.”

He gifted you a reassuring smile, then came the true prize: he licked his lips absently before speaking again. You had to clench every single muscle in your body to keep from swooning.

That cannot be legal.

“I noticed it earlier, but you were already embarrassed. I didn’t want to risk making it worse.” Yoongi still looked like he was afraid to hurt your feelings. “When you word-vomit — like you did earlier — your consonants sound like they would in English.”

This linguistic assessment didn’t surprise you; it was dead-on. It didn’t embarrass you, either, but you blushed nonetheless. Without thinking, you mused, “Makes sense that you’re the first to say something. You spend more time overseas than most, right?”

For a split second, you swore you saw Yoongi frown. A little twinge, one you would’ve missed if you weren’t so fixated on his every micro-expression. If you could have, you would’ve hit the rewind button and reverted back thirty seconds.

Was it off-limits, finally acknowledging that you knew who you were dealing with? Did it bother him that you did know, and proceeded to speak to him like the glaring disparity between the two of you didn’t matter? Did it matter?

“You mean to tell me —” He started quietly with a flex of his eyebrow. You feared the worst, even though Yoongi didn’t strike you as the type to make your failure to fawn a problem. “— That the place you lived before wasn’t under a rock?”

As soon as he saw your expression morph from panic to blatant relief, his eyes crinkled until every one of his facial features contributed to his smile. It was difficult to process how an expression that gentle hit you like a punch, but it did, and you felt a bit dizzy.

Professionalism be damned, you cracked open another bottle of soju and filled not one, but two glasses. Yoongi smirked — likely unsurprised by your willingness to drink with him on the clock — and easily accepted the shot you slid his way.

“To the worst bartender in Seoul,” You cheered as you raised it.

He rolled his eyes at your self-depreciation, but followed your lead without any meaningful resistance. Like it was choreographed, you both downed your shots in unison. Straight, no chaser. Just the slight burn in the back of your throat and the very first thing your scrambled brain could think to say:

“Do you want to hear a joke?”

Yoongi was clearly stunned by your sudden maneuver, but you didn’t wait for him to co-sign your antics. You cleared your throat like you were about to say something worth hearing, then you warbled, “Knock, knock!”

You expected him to pause again; or worse, to leave you hanging entirely. It was, frankly, stupid how much of an effect the latter always had on you. You were a demented scientist and your bad joke was a litmus test, ready to reveal on the front-end what kind of person Yoongi really was.

Translation: Tell me now if I’m too much. I’m always too much.

“Who’s there?”

He didn’t hesitate. There was no blink of an eye, no breath taken in between your call and his response. This time, it was you who needed a split-second to buffer.

When your brain finally reloaded, you peeped, “Cargo.”

“Cargo who?” Yoongi asked slowly, growing visibly suspicious about where this stupid, stupid road was leading. Somehow, he looked as amused by you as he did continually bewildered.

Springing the trap, you accentuated your shitty punchline with a sing-song tone and pantomime for emphasis, “Car go beep beep!”

Nobody had ever — ever — looked at you the way Yoongi did when you concluded your comedy routine. As if your teary-eyed grin and raucous laughter were something beautiful; and your presence alone wasn’t killing off one, sorry brain cell for every minute that passed.

“Knock, knock,” Yoongi volleyed with a soft chuckle, and without breaking eye contact.

As if you weren’t too much.

Yoongi needed a minute to take inventory.

When he left his apartment at a quarter-til-eight, he was headed out for his first date in a long damn time. It was Seokjin’s setup and that girl’s letdown. For Yoongi, it was another drop in the bucket; one final reason to commit to life as a hermit.

Troll that he was, Yoongi was ready to crawl back under his bridge; emerging only to pose impossible riddles to passersby who didn’t know to stay away.

His brain had given him an out, but for once, he didn’t take it. So, what did he end up with instead?

You, sitting on the bar, going shot-for-shot with him; and telling your self-titled villain origin story with award-worthy narration.

Equally as enthralling as the story itself was the tangential webs you weaved along the way. As he’d already learned to expect, you apologized frequently for the way one thought trailed off in a direction you didn’t intend. He wished you didn’t; he had no trouble following wherever your mind led you.

You, born here but not raised here, returning to claim a master’s degree in photography and to reclaim what you felt you missed out on. Yoongi loved your foreign take on local foods, even if you hadn’t yet acquired a taste for pickled vegetables.

We’ll get you there, he’d promised.

You, gesturing with hand movements so impassioned they nearly knocked you off balance; right off the bar. He was down to listen to you talk about whatever — for any amount of time — because he could feel how much you cared about — well, everything.

Animated, fully alive, and so fucking refreshing.

Him, with one hand on his drink and the other hovering on the bar top near your hip — just in case your full-body laugh did, in fact, provoke a fall.

Yoongi, who do you think you’re fooling?

So, maybe it was never exclusively about concern for your safety — even though you’d demonstrated from the jump that it was warranted. Yoongi was quickly coming to realize that, when it came down to it, he simply liked having you close. He liked you, full stop.

Every now and then, you’d wiggle where you sat, and the denim of your jeans would brush against his knuckles. It was as innocent as contact could be, but for someone so secretly touch-starved, it was bliss. Is this the kind of feeling he gave up, locked away in his tower? It sure as shit made leaving feel worth it.

He was buzzed, sure, but not drunk enough to blame the warmth he was feeling on the liquor. Any flush on his cheeks would only be partly genetic. The rest of it was all you — and the way you talked with your whole body, and that giggle.

Seriously, what the fuck is that giggle? A wind-chime made out of stars?

“Yoongi?”

It didn’t dawn on him that he was staring until you called his name. Then, it dawned on him that he didn’t care if he’d been caught — not even a little bit. Red-handed, all Yoongi could do was smile up at you as you blinked down at him.

He’d thought it before and now he was thinking it again: You are goddamn delight.

You threw your head back and laughed. Maybe it was the soju, or how fucking obvious he made it that he was infatuated with you. Whatever the cause, the effect was music to his ears. He’d record it, if he could, and play it on loop to appease the butterflies going wild in his stomach.

Unfortunately, he was accurate in his prediction. The sudden movement of your laughter sent you reeling, but before you could fall, Yoongi was quick to intervene. He stood abruptly from his stool to secure you; one hand on your hip and the other — unintentionally — on your thigh.

“Shit — Sorry,” Yoongi muttered, though he was very much still holding you. Oh, fuck, his brain screamed as he glanced down at his hand on your thigh. Heart pounding, his gaze flitted from his touch to your face.

Your mouth was still slightly open, but that could’ve easily been attributed to the fact that you’d so narrowly avoided launching yourself headfirst at the ground. If it wasn’t that, then you were looking for the words to yell to get him to back off.

Those were the only possible explanations; and any minute now, his hand would accept his brain’s signal to pull away.

Any minute now. Any —

Yoongi watched it all happen in slow motion and he still couldn’t believe it when you leaned in. Or when your hair slipped over your shoulder and brushed against his. Or when you kissed him quick and pulled back just to smile from mere centimeters away.

“Impressive reflexes.” You were breathless but you still managed to sigh. Have you had freckles this whole time? “What’s that saying? Not all heroes wear Lewis Leathers?”

Your playful tug at his jacket had no force behind it, but even with his feet firmly planted, Yoongi knew that he was falling. His stomach fluttered from the pinnacle of that emotional rollercoaster and, for once, he wasn’t afraid of heights. He’d kiss you again and follow that thrill all the way down.

Or, he would have, if the bell above the door didn’t chime.

Just as quickly as you’d kissed him, you spun around and prepared to dismount from your perch on the bar. Yoongi’s hand still seemed to vibrate, even when you slipped out from underneath. It was absolutely ridiculous that his body missed you already — automatically — but he couldn’t think of any other explanation.

He wasn’t a violent person by any means, but he was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to throw the incoming patron out on their ass and lock the door behind them.

The audacity. Who does this clown think they are, coming into a place of business during their business hours? For fuck’s —

“Finally!” You squeaked as you stuck your landing. Then, you skipped around the edge of the bar and continued on your way towards the door.

Jesus Christ. Even the way you walk is cute.

Yoongi was initially too preoccupied with watching you to notice the intruder, but when he did, he couldn’t force the exasperated look off his face. That is, until he saw the panicked look on the prepubescent face of the delivery boy.

The poor kid’s eyes bugged out at Yoongi from under the brim of his uniform cap. Immediately, Yoongi felt inclined to atone, to bow. Instead, he offered a mildly apologetic grimace for the heart attack he didn’t mean to cause.

You accepted the bags of food into your arms, beaming like the fucking sun as you glanced over your shoulder to Yoongi. “You said you liked Hongdae Dakgalbi, right?”

Yes. Yes, he did. But his brain was spinning its wheels in the mud because —

What he finally said wasn’t a question, but it certainly sounded like one: “You ordered food.”

Clearly, Yoongi was missing something. He glanced around and confirmed that there was, in fact, an operational kitchen still situated at the far end of the room. He pointed to the small window carved out for taking and producing orders. “What about —?”

“Binna called off,” you shrugged through your explanation. Then, you tilted your head with a coy smile, “Were we supposed to starve?”

Yoongi had questions. A lot of them.

First and foremost: When did you summon takeout and how did you manage to go unnoticed in the process? He was certainly staring at you for long enough to catch it. Or maybe his heart-eyes were getting foggy with age.

Also, we? As in, you ordered food with the intention of sharing it with him? And you paid for it?

When his broken brain snapped back to attention, it registered the fact that you’d settled on top of the stool next to his. You either didn’t notice the smoke flying out of Yoongi’s ears, or you accepted his brain damage for what it was. Either way, you were too excited about the piping hot tteokbokki in front of you to notice the way he still lingered by the door.

The delivery boy was long gone by now; he took the first opportunity to get as much distance between himself and the visibly annoyed person he’d interrupted. Looking at it now, Yoongi’s fingers twitched with a desire to engage the deadbolt. But he didn’t — he, a coward, wouldn’t — so he simply reclaimed the spot next to you.

You immediately held up a pair of chopsticks as you fished out napkins with your other hand. Yoongi stared at them for too long, prompting you to look quizzically up at him. You asked no questions, and he couldn’t think of a single reason why he said it, but he blurted out:

“I’m supposed to be on a date.”

Unfazed by the lack of context, you gently tucked that pair of chopsticks into his useless hand. Yoongi blinked down at them like he didn’t know what to do with them. You went back to unpacking your takeout.

“And I’m supposed to be working,” You chirped, as if what he just said — unprompted — wasn’t completely idiotic. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Yoongi shook his head, praying it would knock his trapped thoughts loose. “I meant that I was supposed to be the one buying dinner.” He frowned down at the spread you’d provided. “If I knew you were hungry, I would’ve —“

“Taken a bite by now?” You teased with wiggling eyebrows. “Come on, Min Yoongi, you know the rules. The eldest eats first.”

Stunned wasn’t adequate. Entranced? His mouth hung open, primed to speak, without a single, coherent response on the horizon. Mystified, at the very least. You were always one step ahead of Yoongi, dancing off in a brand new direction.

How on Earth did you do it so easily? How were you so effortlessly bold when he couldn’t even blink without deliberating over the idea for days?

Yoongi wasn’t even jealous the way he would’ve expected to be, meeting his non-neurotic foil. He didn’t want to steal that spark for himself, or try to mimic your fearlessness. If he could just continue to witness it, that would be enough.

You threw him off again when you plucked a small piece of tteokbokki from one of the cardboard containers below and gently maneuvered it into his unwitting, waiting mouth.

Game over. Min Yoongi is done for.

“There we go,” You cooed with a smirk. Then, those chopsticks grabbed a piece of tteokbokki of your very own. You smiled adoringly down at it, winked up at him, and said, “Now we’re off to the races.”

After several minutes of deeply contented, quiet chewing, you turned slightly to gaze at him. You didn’t say anything at first; you simply watched and let your lips curve slightly into an understated smile. Yoongi didn’t care if that was all you did because — for once — he felt seen.

Eventually, you did speak. Your voice was soft, barely casting a ripple through the silence. “Can I ask?”

Your eyes scanned over his face for permission. Yoongi had no idea what your question was, but he doubted that he was capable of saying no to you. Fire at will.

“About the date you’re not on,” You clarified.

The one I was supposed to be on, or the one I might be on instead?

“Why aren’t you on it?”

He didn’t know how to explain any of it without sounding pathetic. He knew he’d rather die than have to relay his earlier misfortune to Seokjin; somehow, though, Yoongi didn’t hesitate to respond to you. Like everything else about the past few hours, it felt laughably easy.

“She’s a friend of a friend,” He began as soon as he wiped excess gochujang from the corner of his mouth.

“He basically harassed me into asking her out because I, uh — I don’t get out much. And I know a lot of people say that, but I really do mean it. You can probably guess as much from my frighteningly translucent complexion.”

Your mouth hitched up at the corner when he joked, but you didn’t laugh. In some odd way, he was grateful that you didn’t — not just because you didn’t enable his self-depreciation, but because you seemed too invested in what he was saying to interrupt him.

Nobody had ever looked at him quite like that before.

He cleared his throat, then he pressed on, “So, I did — and that part was fine. After that, though, I don’t think I slept at all. For, like, days. Now, I think I was just dreading the whole thing, but while it was happening, I figured I was nervous. Rusty, you know?”

Yoongi looked down at his hands, which fidgeted autonomously with his chopsticks. “I put way too much thought into the whole thing — I always do — even though I had this feeling that nothing was going to happen the way I planned.”

He paused, poked mindlessly at a lump of rice, and exhaled a breath he hadn’t intentionally held. Nothing had happened the way he planned, but if it did, who would’ve hand-fed him tteokbokki because they were too impatient to wait?

You dropped your chin in your hand as you continued to watch him. Wordlessly, you reached out with your other hand. Yoongi noticed just in time as you gently removed a piece of lint that had stuck to the tip of his jacket collar. Your eyes followed it as it floated off towards the floor.

Yoongi couldn’t see anything but you.

“You picked this place,” you murmured. Slowly, your eyes drifted back up to his face; he froze solid. The only thing moving was the pounding heart in his chest. “Must mean a lot to you.”

He wanted to be brave and tell you that it meant even more now. He wasn’t brave, though, so he swallowed that thought down with a mouthful of soju.

“She was not a fan, as it turns out. Hated it so much, just from the sidewalk, that she jumped right back in her taxi — yelled at me through the window that she deserved better than to drink bottom-shelf liquor in a dumpster with me.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and he wondered which part of that statement bothered you the most. Having your place of employment referred to as a dumpster would be a reasonable sore spot; one he probably should’ve avoided. Fuck. Could he rewind thirty seconds and omit that part?

“Well,” you frowned, “Joke’s on her. This dumpster has exactly one bottle on its top shelf, and it was apparently reserved just for you.”

He could kiss you. He really, really could.

You shifted on your stool, though, and stared out into the middle-distance at nothing in particular. Deep in thought, too, judging by the way your frown curved even further.

“It’s kind of funny, in a shitty sort of way. She more or less told you that you’re not enough, and people love to tell me that I’m too much.”

It was Yoongi’s turn to frown. Who in their right mind could look at you, experience the goddamn magnet that you are, and willingly detach themselves from you? The thought alone made his jaw clench.

There hadn’t been a single second since he met you — albeit, not that long ago — where he didn’t want to see and know more of you. Where he didn’t beg those seconds to slow the fuck down because the night kept moving faster than he wanted it to.

So far, no amount of time felt like enough.

“You’d think it would be nice, being everyone’s favorite new toy,” You laughed, to Yoongi’s surprise.

Looking genuinely amused, you glanced over your shoulder at him. “And I guess, for a minute, it really is. You do your silly song and dance; and everyone loves you — until they don’t anymore. Eventually, your tricks get boring; you burn them out; then they take out your batteries. You get shelved pretty quickly.”

There was a flicker of genuine hurt in your eyes, but you were smiling when you picked your glass up off the bar and raised it. “To always being the wrong amount!” You giggled.

“Nah.” Yoongi shook his head. He grabbed his drink, touched his glass to yours, and winked, “To being just right.”

One way or another, you spent most nights watching the clock, holding your breath, and waiting for midnight.

On New Year’s Eve, it was hope that bloomed bright in your chest like fireworks. When those final seconds dissolved, it meant closing one chapter and opening another. Something bigger, something better, something blank for you to fill in. A year in fresh white paper, with every color at your disposal.

Ten — nine —

For the rest of your midnights, it was relief that finally allowed you to unclench your jaw and drop your stiff shoulders. Closing time. Freedom to clean up, clear out, and drag your tired, little body back up to your apartment.

Thankfully, when your work hours were over, there were only three flights of stairs separating you from your bed, your cat, and your Netflix subscription.

Eight — seven —

Tonight was an outlier, a statistical anomaly. As the short hand inched closer and closer to twelve, your pulse picked up its pace. For once, it wasn’t relief and it certainly wasn’t hope. It was distinctively dread forming a pit in your stomach.

Even more than that, it was a telepathic plea shooting out from your brain that begged, and begged, and begged for more time. Five more minutes, just five more minutes.

Six — five —

You felt stupid, of course, because you knew that neither of you would turn into a pumpkin when the clock struck midnight. There was no spell, just two strangers who happened to be in the same bar at the same time, with bad jokes and a bottle of Tanqueray.

No bomb would detonate, no one would drop dead. When it was over, you’d simply go home, and Yoongi would go home and then…

Four —

That “and then what?” had you frantic. What if this moment ended and nothing followed? What if the magic didn’t survive the night?

You couldn’t take that disappointment; you knew that much. Gripping tight to your last first night, you tore your eyes away from the clock and looked at Yoongi.

He didn’t notice you staring because he had also become fixated on the clock ahead. His brow furrowed just slightly as he observed it, and you wondered what it meant.

Three —

You knew what you hoped it meant.

For all you knew, though, he might’ve been begging that hand to move faster. The end all, be all of justifications to say goodnight and go. To drop the moment in the bin with the spent, citrus garnishes on the way out; and then crawl back into that bed he spoke so fondly of.

The way you did whenever four zeroes lined up in a row like cartoon cherries on a slot machine. A personal jackpot any other midnight, but the farthest thing from a prize now.

Two —

No. You refused to believe that.

In the reality you’d chosen, he was strapped into that rollercoaster car beside you. He felt his stomach flip the way yours did as you stared down at the path ahead. You didn’t know how you knew it, but you were sure that you weren’t up there alone.

So, when the countdown was over, you took a deep breath and stated, “I’m calling a time-out.”

In actuality, it was more than a statement. It was a shout and it startled him so badly that he flinched.

As soon as he resettled on his stool, Yoongi’s neck could’ve snapped with how quickly he turned to look at you. His eyes were wider than you’d seen them at any point in the last four hours. Those once-knitted brows shot up to kiss the blonde strands brushing against his forehead.

You envied them, as stupid as that was.

“You’re — what?” He peeped.

Even louder than before, you blurted out your explanation. “I’m stopping the clock!”

You might’ve been the sole American in the entire neighborhood, but you could guarantee that you still knew less about football than Yoongi did. Knowing all of that didn’t stop you from making your worst attempt at a metaphor, or throwing your hand out to mime your way through it.

“Flag on the play — or whatever, I don’t know.”

At first, his expression didn’t change and you began to panic. Maybe you could duck down behind the bar and he’d eventually forget that you were hiding there. Then he wouldn’t see how pink your cheeks were; how the hope in your eyes bordered on desperate.

Shockingly, you weren’t delusional. You’d simply underestimated him.

Yoongi glanced down at his watch — already two minutes into Sunday — and then back to you. “Wow. Would you look at that? Only a minute til midnight.”

You could kiss him; you really, really could.

“Do you want to, uh, hang out? With me? Like, not here?”

Yoongi was smirking slightly at your stammering, just enough for you to notice, but you didn’t faint the way your body wanted you to. Instead, you doubled down.

“I live in the apartment upstairs, and this isn’t a proposition — it’s also not, not a proposition — but I need to lock-up here, and I still want you with me when I’m done.”

He blinked rapidly like you’d once again shook him off your tail. You watched in slow motion as his smirk dropped, and his brows dipped back into thoughtful wrinkles at the lowest part of his forehead. It hurt, physically somehow, that there was something to consider.

Were you really this egregiously wrong in your conclusions, or had he finally hit his quota with you and decided that you — this — were too much, too soon?

You wanted to explain yourself, to say that you were just offering for him to come up and sit on your couch with you. Because you wanted to keep this night alive and keep talking for as long as you could. Because this was something and you knew it.

You opened your mouth to do so, but he was the quicker draw.

Yoongi looked genuinely conflicted and you believed him when he said, “I don’t think I can. I have to be up in four hours to —”

“It’s okay!” You chirped. Stupid little bird, flying headlong into a window. You smiled and prayed it looked genuine, but Yoongi didn’t look convinced. Still, you breezed, “Raincheck, then — maybe.”

Maybe when you take the trash out later, you can heave yourself into the dumpster with it.

Deciding that your disappointment shouldn’t be his burden, you grabbed the takeout containers from the counter and whisked yourself over to the trash bin to discard them.

In a magnificent showing of restraint, you didn’t stuff yourself inside it, too. Instead, your tidy tornado kept spinning, picking up every glass you encountered and shoving them hurriedly into the dishwasher below the bar.

Are you suddenly Employee of the Month? Why is this the moment you choose to actually do your job?

With your hip, you nudged the dishwasher door closed much more clumsily than usual. Then, you began wiping down the counter at warp speed; damn near scrubbing a hole straight though the wood.

Why are you so frazzled? Are you really this sensitive after being politely turned down by someone you just met? This is what they mean when they say you’re “too much,” and you know what? They’re right.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Yoongi asked because he was lovely.

You were, as it turned out, as bad an actor as you were a bartender. Your reassuring smile was more unsettling than anything else, but you hoped that — maybe — the shake of your head was enough to dispel the concern from his face.

In case it wasn’t, you quipped, “You’ve already done more than your fair share of cleaning tonight, I think. Thanks again for that, by the way. I ran out bandages, so…”

Your sentence petered out when you finally looked up and locked eyes with Yoongi. His expression was indecipherable and, only for a moment, it made your hurried hands stop moving.

“So, I’m glad you came in,” You finished through an exhale, quiet to the point that it was hardly audible. You hoped he heard you, though, as loudly and clearly as you meant it.

Straightening up, you dropped your bar rag into the “dirty shit” bucket underneath the counter. You quickly wiped your hands against your jeans, laughed with no real joy behind it, and hid your wobbling voice behind a poorly imitated French accent, “Et voilà.”

Yoongi was still staring, still unreadable. For a few moments, you simply looked at one another. Neither one of you made a sound — at least, nobody spoke. There were gears grinding in his head, judging by the look on his face, and you swore you could hear them from across the bar.

“I guess I should — um,” Yoongi eventually muttered as he gestured to the door. He briefly glanced at it, but you doubted that he registered what he was looking at.

Oddly, it wasn’t awkwardness that seemed to have him short-circuiting — not as far as you could tell. It was like his brain was moving faster than it could form words, leaving his mouth open with nothing to say.

You nodded. You knew where he was going with this, and you didn’t want to prolong whatever he was so visibly toiling with.

“Yeah, of course,” You squeaked. Somewhere, the world’s tiniest violin began to play as the corner of your mouth hitched up. “I’ll see you around, I hope?”

Then, Yoongi’s gaze dropped to the phone in his hand. If he heard your question, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, deep in thought, he mumbled, “I need to — fuck, okay —” Urgently, he looked back up at you and said firmly, “I’ll call.”

He dashed out the door before you realized the problem with his plan: he had no way to call you.

You’d been so caught up in each other that you never thought to exchange phone numbers. Not only was he now gone, but he hadn’t actually said goodbye.

Seems kind of fitting that yours is the only fairytale without a happy ending, huh?

You occupied the borderline between being a hopeless romantic and a masochist, so you immediately decided that, if you ran, you might catch him before he was truly gone.

Kiss him or kick him, it didn’t matter — you just couldn’t let it end like this.

You skirted around the bar and darted to the door, throwing it open and shocking the bell above it. You were already out on the sidewalk before it had the chance to chime. It was the only sound, and it echoed through otherwise dead air.

Similarly, you were the only person on the street. Judging by the dark windows lining the road, you were the only proof of life in that little corner of Seoul. The lack of visible stars was likely due to light pollution, but you wouldn’t be surprised if they dipped out on you, too.

No matter how many times you looked up and down the street, Yoongi didn’t appear. So, you closed your eyes like an idiot, and wished on a star you couldn’t see that he’d be there when you re-opened them. Standing on the other side of the street, laughing, and asking how you’d missed him on your thirty previous scans.

But he wasn’t.

Yoongi had disappeared like smoke right through your fingers; exiting your night as abruptly as he’d entered it.

You weren’t inclined to stand on the sidewalk all night, stunned by your complete failure to see the plot for what it was. You slipped from the sidewalk, through the front door, and locked it behind you. And once you did, you stood there with your hand on the deadbolt for several moments — just in case.

When no one came to knock, you turned all the lights out and flipped the sign in the front window from open to closed. From there, you made your way to the back of the storage room. Finally reaching the stairwell door in the far corner, you unlocked it slowly like the wait would make a difference.

As you climbed the three flights to your apartment’s entrance, the night’s events formed a whirlpool in your mind. The playback settled it: there was simply no way that you were this wrong — not about this.

Clearly, you weren’t clairvoyant to the extent that Yoongi seemed to be. You hadn’t seen it coming when you nearly fell backwards off the bar, but he did. He’d kept his hand close all night like he sensed you’d need it. Just like he sensed every rock, paper, and scissor.

Even still, it felt like a premonition every time you turned to look at him at the same time he did; and you couldn’t put a finger on it.

That something was more than simply chatting with a person stuck in your close proximity — more than commiserating and drinking simultaneously. That was the nature of your job: circumstantial friendship. Not uncommon, not designed to last beyond last call.

This, though? Cosmic interfere or craziness, maybe, but not nothing. You weren’t superstitious and you didn’t necessarily believe in fate, but the odds of all of this had to be shockingly low.

It felt cinematic, in a way, or straight out of a dream. You would have believed it either way if the pinch of your fingers on your forearm didn’t debunk both theories. It was all too perfectly timed to be a coincidence, though, you knew that much.

Out of all the nights you’d worked at this bar — and all the years he’d been a customer — this was the one time your paths had crossed. And when they finally did, he found you right when you needed him. The same, you hoped, could be said for him.

Too Much meeting Not Enough, proving perfect balance. It was just right, but the ending didn’t fit.

Sure, he knew where to find you — but that was assuming he wanted to. With his quick and wordless departure, your confidence in that assumption wavered as you unlocked your apartment door and stepped inside.

The ball’s over, Cinderella. Sorry about your shoe.

When his third call went to voicemail, Yoongi was ready to launch his phone down the alley.  

There was no fucking way that Seokjin — of all people — was asleep already. This could not be the night that he turned off whatever game he was playing and went to bed at a reasonable hour. Seokjin was rarely reasonable. As it turned out, he wasn’t reachable, either. 

Yoongi growled, kicking the nearby dumpster. He thought that some explosion of physical activity might take the focus off his anxiety, but it didn’t — it just made his foot hurt. 

“Fuck!”

He didn’t even want to make the plans he was now trying desperately to reschedule. He didn’t like fishing; he liked his friend, and his friend liked fishing. So, Yoongi agreed to share the cost of renting a boat that he would have to leave at five o’clock in the morning to catch.

If it's 00:17 now, I have three hours and forty-three minutes until —

The unexpected chiming of his phone stopped Yoongi’s pacing before he could wear a trench into the concrete. “Finally!” 

“Do you always yell at people instead of greeting them?” Seokjin scoffed. As expected, Yoongi could hear some sort of video game blaring in the background.

Typical.

“Hyung, I’m so sorry, but I'm not going to make it back in time. Can we re-schedule this fishing thing?”

Yoongi felt awful for having to ask in the first place, but he felt even worse as he anticipated Seokjin’s reaction. Yoongi swallowed disappointment and stewed in it. Seokjin was quite the opposite, and Yoongi didn’t want to ruin his night. 

To Yoongi’s surprise, he did not get yelled at the way he expected to. Instead, he got Seokjin’s juvenile, sing-song voice directed right into his ear, “Ooh, staying with Hyunjoo, are we?” 

Yoongi, having completely lost the plot, paused for a moment before asking, “Who?” 

“What?” 

Oh, fuck, was that her name? It’d slid out of his brain the second that abuse slid out of her mouth.

Quick to avoid that conversation, Yoongi sputtered, “I’ll give you the story tomorrow, hyung, but I really need to go. Can we push the fishing thing to another day?"

“Oh, I forgot to book the boat, so don’t worry about it!” Seokjin cheered and Yoongi was this close to following through with chucking his phone like a grenade. “Have fun with —” 

Not inclined to wait another second, Yoongi hung up and turned to sprint up the alley towards the bar’s entrance. When he reached it and found the lights out, he skidded to a stop so forcefully that he almost fell over. What the fuck? He tugged at the door handle just to make sure he wasn’t missing something. 

Didn’t he tell you he was going to make a phone call? 

Fuck! He'd said I'll call. He didn't say that he was going to call Seokjin, and he sure as shit hadn't clarified that he was going to do so right that second. There'd been no explanation, no “please wait because I promise I’m coming right back for you" — just a mad dash out the door to get rid of the only thing standing between him and more time with you. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Yoongi never indulged in unadulterated rage because he decided a long time ago that it took more effort than it was worth. In that moment, though, he felt the overwhelming urge to punch himself right in the face. How did he fuck it all up this badly?

Instead, Yoongi scrubbed his hands over his face and begged his brain to figure out a better plan. He couldn’t just call you because he was too busy making googly eyes at you to ask for your number. He couldn’t pick the lock because it was illegal — and because he didn’t know how.

Unable to do anything else, Yoongi threw his head back with every intention of screaming at the sky. But before he could let his frustration rip out of his mouth, he saw it: his saving grace. 

Mere moments after he sprinted up the alley, Yoongi was tearing back down it like his life depended on it. The end of the iron emergency ladder sat too high off the ground for him to comfortably reach it, but — thankfully — he had garbage at his disposal. Without a second thought, he stacked whatever semi-sturdy trash he could find to bridge the gap between him and your fire escape. 

With all the strength and recklessness of a lovestruck teenager, Yoongi threw his twenty-four-year-old body upwards and grabbed hold of the nearest rung.

Maybe you overestimated that strength a little bit, eh, Yoongi?

He gritted his teeth and pulled himself up enough to swing a leg up, too. Groaning triumphantly, he hooked the bottom of his shoe on the lowest rung. 

From there, it was easy enough to reach the first landing. When it came time for Yoongi to tackle the other two, he picked up the pace — and he didn’t give a shit about how sore he’d be tomorrow. 

Finally, finally, finally, he reached his destination. Unfortunately, that fleeting moment of relief was replaced by fear as he stooped down to knock on your window. Staring back at him through the darkness was a pair of big, yellow eyes.

Yoongi shouted as he stumbled away from the window. He knocked over a planter on his way down, landing on his ass with a crash and a grunt. Adding insult to injury, that black cat looked positively smug as it stared down at him.  

It was quiet when you called out — in English — from another room. “Toph, did you break something? I thought we talked about this, bub." As your voice grew closer, you switched to Korean, "You can't ruin my stuff until you start contributing to this household.”

What's the incubation period for lovesickness?

Yoongi heard footsteps headed towards whatever room he’d failed to break and enter. He saw the light as it flicked on, and then he saw you — wearing a fluffy, tan headband with little, round ears at the top —with a bare face glistening as if you’d just finished tending to it.

Oh, fuck. Is lovesickness terminal? 

If your eyes opened any wider, they might’ve fallen right out of your skull. They would’ve landed where Yoongi did — in the mass grave of pepper sprouts he’d just outright annihilated. But they stayed beautiful where they belonged, and you simply gawked at each other. 

Yoongi spoke first despite not thinking first. “Toph? Like, Beifong?” 

Your shock gave way to the biggest, brightest smile and Yoongi was thankful it didn’t blind him. If it did, he would’ve missed the way your cheeks went pink to match the tips of your ears. Whatever the shade, it was his new favorite color.

Just bury me in this potting soil, doll. I'm dead. 

“Yoongi,” You started with a giggle that turned into a hum when you pursed your lips and tilted your head. Your eyes narrowed and then you asked, “Any reason why you chose the fire escape over the door?” 

The what? 

Sensing his confusion, you leaned out the window and pointed. Yoongi’s eyes followed the invisible line from your fingertip until they located an awning, which sat mere meters away from his impromptu stepstool made of trash.  

Inwardly, he winced. Outwardly, he turned to you with a lopsided smile. “I was checking out your little garden."

Yoongi cleared his throat, now wincing outwardly, “And, uh — then I killed it, a little bit. I promise I’ll replace everything as soon as the shops open. I am so —” 

“Cold? I bet,” You interrupted with a smirk, “Come inside then, Min Yoongi. Just don’t break the window too, alright?” 

You didn’t have to tell him twice.

Immediately, he was on his feet, furiously dusting potting soil off the back of his legs. When he suspected that he’d gotten it all, Yoongi turned around and glanced at you over his shoulder. Even without a question, you knew what he was asking; you signaled okay with your fingers and a giggle. 

With more care than he’d ever shown in his life, Yoongi crawled through the gap you created when you ducked back through the window. Once he had his feet underneath him again, he quickly toed off his shoes and plucked them off the tile.

As soon as he was upright again, you took his wrist in your hand — oh god, your skin is so criminally soft — and led him through your kitchen to the living room. 

Gently, you set his shoes down on the mat beside your front door. Then, you turned back around to gaze up at him. Looking at that face of yours, Yoongi forgot every word he’d ever learned. It was just his hammering heart beating in time with yours, until: 

“So, this is where I live.”

You were close enough that Yoongi could smell the toothpaste on your breath when you spoke, but still too far. You must’ve thought so, too, because you shifted your weight to your other foot and wound up slightly nearer to him. 

Yoongi hummed in reply, though he could barely hear it over his pulse pounding in his ears, “It’s nice.”

He didn’t actually know if that was the case because he’d spent every second so far staring at you, but he had faith that you’d prove him right.

More quiet, more anticipation disguised as quickening breaths.

Like a magnet, you drew him in. Yoongi echoed every tiny move you made towards him until the distance was gone; and he could feel the heat of your body mere centimeters from his.

This close, he could see flecks of gold in your irises that he hadn’t noticed before. Yoongi knew he shouldn't have been surprised. If he'd learned a single thing tonight it was that hidden treasures were par for the course with you.

“Yoongi.” 

It was baffling how you could sound so shy, even with desire blowing your pupils wide. Just as confounding was the fact that Yoongi knew, without question, that you felt it, too — that this new and perfect something was the start of everything.

“Please, just kiss me already.” 

That wasn’t an opportunity he’d ever expect to turn down. 

You were already breathless, weightless, and floating in fucking space when you finally crossed over the threshold into your bedroom.

Because, fuck, that man took your oxygen with him whenever his lips left yours. Without even trying, he’d fashioned himself into a ventilator that you really might suffocate without.  

Thankfully, whenever he pulled away, he didn’t stray far. Even as you both stumbled towards your unmade bed, tripping over obstacles — up to and including Toph, whose favorite spot was between your ankles — there was always one hand on your hip and another lacing fingers through your hair. 

As you moved, you couldn’t help thinking of the leftovers you’d brought home from work before. All single-use encounters, wastes of time that you normally didn’t care to recall. Though he may end up being the last, Yoongi wasn’t the first person to have you in this position.

He was, however, the only person to rescind his tongue just to comment on the tiny, design details of your shit-box apartment. 

“How did you —” He paused to moan into your mouth when your teeth gently claimed his bottom lip. “Find a place with — oh, fuck, you taste like spearmint – original crown-molding in this —” The back of his knees bumped into the edge of your mattress and suddenly, he was sitting. “Neighborhood?” 

There was no way you could ever explain Min Yoongi’s duality. He was unequivocally, fatally hot — and simultaneously, he was the most endearing, grandfatherly person you’d ever encountered. Somehow, this mind-boggling man turned architectural factoids into dirty talk.

You might orgasm on the spot if he brought up your built-ins, and you didn’t know or care what that said about you as a person. 

“I’ll show you the blueprints later if you want,” you giggled while Yoongi ‘s cheeks flushed. Before he could find a reason to feel embarrassed, you tilted his chin up in order to kiss him properly. As you did, you murmured against his lips, “But if you take those jeans off, there’s something else I’d like to show you first.” 

Your little finger was near to his throat as you held his chin captive, so you felt it when it when he growled. Against your knuckle, in your chest, and in that growing ache in between your thighs. There was roughness in him that you’d only seen snippets of, but you’d bet that you could pull it out if you tried.  

Maybe not now while you were both masking nerves, but eventually. 

When Yoongi made to stand, you backed up to give him room to do so. You were already on your knees when his belt came off, unbuttoning his jeans before the leather even hit the floor. As you pulled that zipper down — slowly and carefully — you glanced up at him from under your lashes and watched the breath catch in his chest. 

It wasn’t the first time you noticed how fucking beautiful he was; in fact, that thought had been looping through your mind all night. But there was something new in his expression as he observed you taking his cock into your hand.

Something reverent, like he believed he should be the one on their knees.

A few languid, kitten licks at the tip, and his eyelids fluttered. They screwed shut entirely as you ran the flat of your tongue along the vein underneath. When your mouth finally enveloped him fully, his head drooped backwards as he groaned. 

Your name would never sound better than it did exhaled from Yoongi’s chest. 

More often than not, fellatio felt like an obligation. A quid pro quo, you always figured, though none of them kept up their end of the deal. But with Yoongi buried in the wet heat of your mouth, it was a gift you might never get tired of giving. Every breathy moan and involuntary twitch felt like a prize — and still, neither came close to the way it felt when he looked at you. 

In those fleeting moments when he could focus, of course. 

“I’m fucking dreaming,” Yoongi groaned, bringing his hands up and scrubbing them over his face. “Shit. Perfect figment of my imagination, that’s the only explanation for you. Where the fuck have you been my whole life?” 

You hummed as you let him slip out of your mouth. In turn, it prompted a flurry of expletives to slip out of his. Tracing a feather-light line from hilt to head, you smirked up at him, “Waiting at a bar for you to show up, Min Yoongi. You sure did take your time.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” He laughed, “I already plan to regret that for the next — I don't know — forever?”

He dropped his hands from over his eyes and held them out to you. “Come here, angel. You’re too far away.” 

As soon as you were back on your feet, Yoongi enveloped you in the warmth of his arms. You were halfway to melting when he kissed you; dead and gone when he laid you back against the mattress; and downright astral projecting when the weight of his body was added to yours.  

Not to be dramatic, but is heaven a place on Earth? 

With your head resting comfortably on the pillow, you gazed up at Yoongi as he addressed the tied waistband of your sweatpants. It wasn’t until that knot came undone that you realized: if he’d come home with you earlier — before you’d swapped out your street clothes for shapeless knits — he would’ve had a prettier present to unwrap.  

Lace over your hip bones instead of cotton briefs. A black, balconette bra that made your tits into something worth looking at; not lackluster bareness that barely registered under your paint-stained t-shirt.  

Unintentionally mimicking him, you covered your face with your hands to conceal the way you were blushing. You didn’t even dare to peek through your fingers at him while he dragged your sweatpants down over your legs.

That is, not until you heard the world’s softest chuckle and it hit you like a bus. 

“Pretty girl,” Yoongi hummed. He left a chaste kiss on the top of your left thigh, and you whimpered. So sweet, so brief that your skin still tingled when he moved to mirror that kiss on your right thigh. “Where’d you go, baby?” 

Baby.  

That settled it. Min Yoongi was trying to kill you.

Nobody kissed you that carefully, not ever. No man, no woman, no one in between or beyond spoke to you that softly; turned you to putty in their hands with gentleness alone. Not like he did.

You were going to love him — you already knew it — and that stupid, four-letter word just sealed your fate. There wasn’t a single thing that you could do to prevent it, even if you wanted to. So, your options were limited to one:

Leaning into the fall. 

You reached out with the hand that once covered your face and grabbed him by the shirt to pull him closer. Once he was within range, with the tip of his nose bumping into yours, you stared him dead in the eye and told him just how badly you needed him inside of you. 

It took no time at all for the two of you to cast aside what remained of your clothing. Hand-me-downs mingled with designer items that exceeded the cost of your rent, and you didn’t give a fuck. You discarded your inhibitions in that heap, too, sitting up on your knees as he rolled a condom down his length. 

Yoongi’s return to you was marked by his hands cupping your face. He kissed you until you were no longer breathless, until you felt the rush of air filling your lungs. You followed his lead back down to the mattress where he rested on his side; and without any need for instruction, you draped your right leg over his hip. 

It was the closet you’d been to him, but it still wasn’t close enough 

“Is this okay?” Yoongi broke the kiss just to look at you.  

The fondness in his eyes was competing with concern, but that didn’t surprise you. Considerate to a fault, he’d no doubt been thrown for a loop when you went from zero to one hundred in merely half a second. “I can —” 

Oh, I bet you can.  

But you couldn’t wait. Impatient, through and through — and thoroughly dripping — you shook your head.

Your hand left its place on his bare bicep and dipped down to wrap around his cock. There were two individual heartbeats hammering in sync as you guided him to your cunt, though it sounded a lot like one. 

“Like you said earlier,” You sighed as he pushed into you. “Just right.” 

Six years later...

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likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

a/n: holy shit. just, holy shit. i've spent less time on literal thesis papers than i did on this. i'm so thankful for everyone who blew up darksided and blindsided — i really hope this provides context for how these two got together, and how tf they love each other that much. i will not apologize for the sexual cliffhanger because this smut wasn't going to be included, initially! this was going to end at the bar, lol.

also, this is an ode to those very special (very impermanent) nights with someone new that feel like perfect lifetimes in just the span of a few hours. in my experience, they never went anywhere (which i think made them more special, in hindsight) but i wanted to write a fic where things didn't stop there.

anyways, i'm very tired of writing words now, so please enjoy and let me know what you think 🫶🏻