#square filled: changing the past

[sapphireginger]

Title: You’re On My Frequency

Summary:

As he was about to take a sip of his drink, the radio in his office crackled to life and his grip crushed the glass in his hand. He marched in there and grabbed the microphone, his voice steely as he said, “Whoever the fuck this is needs to stop. This is my station. So, just stop it okay?” He was panting after his chastening, and thought that would be the end of it until…

“Who is this?”

Square Filled: Changing the Past

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Warnings:

Past Character Death

Suicidal Thoughts

Alcohol

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Steter [Stiles Stilinski + Peter Hale]

@thebo3bingo

June 1st, 2021

One day, Stiles was sitting in his FBI issued SUV when the radio clicked on all by itself. It was weird and he almost turned it off. That was until he heard the call code and his breath stuttered. He shut it off and shook his head. No. No way. He elected to ignore it. He had places to be and an anniversary coming up. He didn’t need this shit.

However, strangely enough, it wasn’t just the FBI SUV radio that was acting up. It was his pal Thomas’s cruiser radio. It was the captain's radio. It was the store radio. It was every single radio and yet no one else heard it or acted any different. Stiles assured himself over and over again that it was nothing as he grabbed the bouquet of flowers and winced at the rain outside. At least he brought an umbrella right? Oh. That’s right. He left it in the car. So a soaking wet Stiles quickly ran towards his car. Suddenly, he tripped, crashing to the ground, the flowers getting crushed and well he just sat there and started to cry.

An angry, dirty and grieving Stiles got home and headed to his office. He should shower but fuck that. The fireplace was lit and he cradled a glass of whiskey as he stared at the picture on the mantle. “I might join you soon. I swear I’m going crazy. You’re supposed to be here and you’re not.”

As he was about to take a sip of his drink, the radio in his office crackled to life and his grip crushed the glass in his hand. He marched in there and grabbed the microphone, his voice steely as he said, “Whoever the fuck this is needs to stop. This is my station. So, just stop it okay?” He was panting after his chastening, and thought that would be the end of it until…

“Who is this?”

“Who are you?!” Stiles demanded.

“PH—89.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I assure you it’s my code. Who are you and how did you access this? It can’t be your station. It’s my father’s.”

Stiles froze at that and oh yeah, he has definitely gone crazy. “What’s your name?” he asked, glancing at the inscription on the radio.

“Peter Hale.”

When did the room get blurry and why was he so cold all of a sudden? Stiles didn’t know, but he would recognize that voice anywhere. He just didn’t understand. “Oh. I’m Sti—Genim. Though my mom always calls me Mischief.”

“Father says I’m a troublemaker but I think he’s just annoyed he never can figure out how I pull half the shit I pull.”

Stiles chuckled and glanced at the inscription again, letting his thumb brush over it. He smiled and pressed the button again. “Well get this…once when I was about twelve I think? Anyway I went around our home and moved everything a half inch to the left. It really frustrated my mom. She still has no idea how I did it.”

A laugh echoed from the radio and Stiles got chills. He knew that laugh. “That’s priceless dude.”

Stiles sputtered. Peter used dude? He scoffed, and Peter had given Stiles such a hard time about it. That made his smile fade because gave was the keyword. Past tense. The ten year anniversary of Peter’s death was coming up. Stiles would never be able to forget the worst day of his life.

Amber eyes flooded with tears but he pushed through it to continue the conversation. Whoever this was sounded enough like Peter that it was helping. Surely it wasn’t going to hurt anything if they talked more. Right? “Right? She always says I’m her Mischief maker but I prefer Master of Mischief and Chaos. What a mouthful that was for a six year old. Not like my full name though.”

The man whose voice was almost identical to Peter’s replied quickly. “Well, I bet I could say your name. What is it?”

Stiles snorted, his heart aching a bit. That was what Peter had said the first time too and well Stiles knew Peter was able to say it which was why he didn’t give his name this time. It would hurt too much.

“So, Peter Hale. Tell me about you? Are you even old enough to be on this?”

The offense and eyebrow quirk were obvious despite not seeing his face, or maybe that was just Stiles’s imagination.

“Listen here, Genim. I’ll have you know my father said I could use this as soon as I turned eighteen. I’m nineteen now. So there!”

Stiles snorted even as he froze again. Nineteen. Stiles remembered nineteen with Peter and fought back a gut wrenching sob. Stiles’s best friend Peter was nineteen when he died. Suddenly, Stiles was regretting this. He should shut it off and throw it away but the inscription prevented such an action. He simply couldn’t get rid of it. The radio was Peter’s and had been Mr. Hale’s radio before that.

“Dude?” Doppelgänger Peter’s voice said. “That was kind of a churlish response for me to give you, but how do I know you’re not some forty year old creep?”

“True, but if I said I wasn’t, would you believe me?”

Doppelgänger Peter didn’t even hesitate. “Well, yeah.”

Stiles scoffed. “Really?” he sneered, pain lodged in every fiber of his body. “How naive of you. You shouldn’t be so trusting!” He stilled and sighed, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes to stop the flow of tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Something is eating at you man. Come on. Tell me all about it, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart? You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not but you need an ear and I have two. Go for it.”

“You’re gonna wish that you hadn’t offered.”

“We’ll see. You just let me be the judge of that.”

Stiles sighed and took a deep, steadying breath. He had never really talked to anyone about what happened except his mother and well they weren’t talking now. She might as well have been living hundreds of miles away because that’s how it felt to gaze at the house when he drove by it on his way into work. He was cruel in his words. He lashed out and now it was just him, a portrait of Peter and this stranger on the radio.

“There’s a day coming up that sucks for me. I guess this entire month sucks for me. I lost someone very important to me. It’s really just me now. I have my mom but we don’t talk anymore. It’s my fault but…”

“What was the date of it if it’s okay to ask?”

Stiles huffed. “I’d never forget. June 5th, 2011.”

Silence is the response he got, silence and the crackling of static. After waiting he tried again. “Wishing you hadn’t asked?”

The voice still eerily like Peter’s was so soft when it spoke again. “Dude. Today is June 1st. 2011.”

Rage flooded Stiles's body at that moment and he smashed the lamp. “Don’t fuck with me and my grief. You have no idea what—who—I lost, Peter.”

“You’re right I don’t but I just looked at the calendar. I’m serious. I’m not being insensitive. I might be an asshole but not that kind of one.”

Stiles was only able to see red and he smirked. “All right. I’ll tell you something that happened earlier that year on April 28th, 2011.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Okay. I’m not a fan of that day but go ahead.”

Yeah this was freaky. “My best friend—whom I loved—and I went into the academy together. We dreamt of being agents for the FBI. Something went wrong in one of the shooting practices. A gun was tampered with and my best friend he—He nearly lost his leg. We got in a fight and he told me he’d never be an agent now and I should just go on without him but I told him not without him. He called me stupid and naive.

“We stormed away and the one fucking time we don’t stick to our never walking away angry…it’s the last time I saw him. On June 5th, 2011…our superior brought me in and sat me down. They had found his body. He’d been attacked by someone who I still haven’t been able to catch. I know the case like the back of my hand and 10 years later I’m no closer than I was then. So tell me Peter Hale. What happened to you on April 28th that makes you not a fan of that day?”

Stuttering breaths came through the radio. “Who are you man? Have you talked to Stiles? Did he tell you?”

Stiles hissed and stepped back. Nope. Not possible. He was drunk. Yeah. Yep. Yes, totally drunk and this was just a manifestation of his grief.

“Goodbye, Peter Hale.”

The protests were a blur as he shut off the frequency. He glared at the inscription. “Fucking bullshit.”

Stiles went to bed, determined to sleep off this horrible night. Maybe he would even be lucky enough to not wake up and would finally be with Peter again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

June 1st, 2011

Meanwhile, on June 1st, 2011, a very pale faced boy who now looked so much younger than nineteen yanked his phone out and dialed the number he knew by heart.

“‘Ello?” a voice croaked.

“Stiles?”

“Oh. Hey. You good? It’s like…Shit Peter! It’s after 2 in the morning. If you’re gonna yell please just—”

“I’m not. I’m calling to apologize. I didn’t mean it. You’re my best friend since diapers and I want to be there when you graduate at the top of your class because you absolutely will.”

Stiles's voice was soft but hopeful. “Really?”

Peter smiled, his cheeks twinging pink. “Really really.”

They were both grinning like loons but Peter was scared that the conversation he had earlier was some kind of premonition but either way, at least this way he could make sure it didn’t happen. Ever.

“We should get some sleep,” Stiles whispered.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“Goodnight, Mushu.”

“Hey Bambi?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Stiles’s breath hitched and Peter heard his bedding rustle. “Dick move you jerk,” he said sniffling. “Doing love confessions over the phone is such a dick move.”

Peter smirked. “Yeah. That’s me. A dick.”

“It’s a pretty dick.”

“Been taking peeks there, Stilinski?”

“You wish, Hale!”

“No point in wishing for something, you already know is happening.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t you jerk. I actually lo—”

“Stiles?”

“Sorry! I dropped the phone. My hands were shaking.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Come over and I’ll fix that.”

“Wait. Like right now?”

“Yes. Right now.”

“Wooooooow! Are you booty calling me, Hale? That’s bold even for you. What if I want to be wooed?” he teased.

Peter smiled fondly. “Then I shall woo the fuck out of you. Your training is complete and all that’s left is testing. So this next week or so it’s you, me and Marvel. You down?”

“I’m so down, dude. Just remember the testing is June 5th at 9 am. Come watch? I’ll feel better knowing you’ll be there.”

Peter thought back to the words of the stranger Genim. “I’ll be there. I promise.” After all, if he hadn’t called he was waiting for Stiles to call first and he wouldn't have and now Peter sounded crazy but his gut was telling him not to ignore this. So, he didn’t.

Instead, they said goodnight again before hanging up. A part of Peter needed to know more details but if this was a universal wire crossing thing he didn’t know if he would be able to get back through. He would definitely try but he was already thinking of how to convince Stiles to add Star Wars to their weeks of hanging out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

June 2nd, 2021

Stiles woke with no hangover, realizing he didn’t drink and now had nothing to blame the previous night's bout of insanity on. He got up, threw back his covers, and told himself that he was just going to check, that was all.

The radio clicked on and Stiles felt like it was the right thing to do.

“Genim?”

Stiles blinked. “Hello, Peter Hale.

“Uh hey! So um this is weird.”

With a snort, Stiles replied, “Weird doesn’t begin to cover it. I mean fucking hell. How?”

“I don’t know dude. I swear I’m as confused as you, but listen. Did your best friend call you after the fight?”

“No. Neither of us reached out. Stubborn fuckers that we were. Why?”

Doppelganger Peter’s voice came through again. “Just hear me out, okay?”

“No promises, kid.”

That got him a slightly annoyed huff before the other started speaking. “Fine. So my best friend is named Stiles. He and I got into a fight at the academy. My fear of not achieving our dream together like we always planned kept me from reaching out. Until you. I called him last night and I told him, I love him.”

Stiles gripped the desk hard, his vision whiting out for a moment and then fading as black spots danced around his vision. Wait. So, Peter called him, HIS Peter. The dick did his first love confession over the phone. “It was a dick move.”

Peter gasped. “That’s what he said. Dude. Dude. Duuuuude. Dude! Holy shit!”

“Peter, is there anything custom about your radio?”

“Huh? Well, I mean, not really? Oh! There’s a small silver plaque with an inscription. Why?”

Stiles traced it with his thumb. “What’s the first sentence?”

“A star shoots across the sky hurtling through the dark…” Peter trailed off.

“And the shadows converge to swallow the dying spark,” Stiles finished.

Peter gasped. “How did you—”

“I added to it.” Stiles softly interrupted. “But upon the world it has made its mark and from the memories of its gazers it will never depart.”

𝙰 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝.

“That’s beautiful,” Peter replied. “I have so many questions.”

Stiles chuckled, wanting to believe it but still, he hesitated. “Ask your friend what his middle name is. Let me know what he says?”

Peter hesitated and then replied easily with, “Will do. He’s due any moment.”

“Really? Why is—”

“Oh! Hey, Bambi!”

A painful lurch exploded in Stiles’s heart at the nickname he hadn’t heard in ten years. Another voice joined and Stiles muted himself to hide his whimper.

“Hey, Mushu. What are you doing?”

“Oh, just messing with the radio.”

“Oooo talking to a boy?” he teased and Stiles bit his lip, his head pounding. He remembered this conversation.

“No! I mean kinda. His name is Genim.”

Silence and then…

“How the fuck did you end up finding someone to talk to who has my middle name as their first name?!” He grabbed the mic. “Who are you buddy? What game are you playing?”

“No game. Just a nightmare more like it.” 2021 Stiles managed to get out his reply without breaking after he unmuted it.

“Well what’s your interest in my buddy here?”

Peter hollered trying to intervene. “Stiles, it's not like that.”

2021 Stiles agreed. After all, the Stiles there was the one Peter was with. Not him. “Enjoy your movie marathon boys.” He clicked mute again, but didn’t turn the radio off just yet, although he didn’t know why.

“Dude! What the hell?” Peter hissed.

“He’s some random stranger! I was trying to test him. You like him!”

2021 Stiles knew what Peter did next. He remembered Peter leading him to the bathroom and pointing to his reflection. “That’s my type.”

“Yourself?” 2011 Stiles quipped.

“No you oblivious idiot.” Peter stepped closer, meeting Stiles’s gaze in the mirror. “It’s you. My type is you and only you.”

That was when 2021 Stiles finally turned the radio off. He wasn’t ready to listen to himself losing his virginity. He was already getting flashes.

He turned around to leave the office and his gaze settled on the living room. All the air left his lungs when he caught sight of something that hadn’t been there last night.

Shockingly, when he reached the living room, there was a new picture on the mantle. He nearly fainted at the sight of it. It was him and Peter at their academy graduation. “No. Fucking. Way.”

[cherryl4na]

❥•°❀"monte carlo passion and fury"

abstract || lando dnf's in monaco and takes that anger out on you.

female!reader || smut. dirty. nasty as hell. angry!lando. fluff ending. 1.6k words

After a disappointing race at Monaco, Lando ended up with a DNF, leaving him seething with frustration and anger. So consumed by his emotions, he didn't care about potential fines for skipping media duties; all he wanted was to escape to his apartment. Quickly changing out of his race gear, he grabbed your hand and hurriedly led you to his sleek Lamborghini Miura parked nearby. The engine roared to life as he skillfully navigated the streets of Monaco, the city's glittering lights blurring past as he drove with a mix of intensity and determination. In the quiet moments between the rush of wind and the hum of the engine, you could sense both his disappointment and his need for solace, finding comfort in your presence beside him.

Arriving at Lando's Monaco apartment was a relief from the chaotic energy of the city streets below. The sleek, modern building rose into the night sky, its facade illuminated by soft, ambient lighting that cast gentle shadows across the entrance. Lando's steps were purposeful as he led you through the lobby and into the private elevator.

The elevator ride was silent and tense, the only sound the soft hum of the descending lift. The apartment door closed with a decisive click behind you, shutting out the world momentarily. Inside, the air was thick with Lando's frustration, the sleek, modern decor a stark contrast to his turbulent emotions.

He didn't speak as he led you through the living area, passing by the expansive windows that framed the glittering lights of Monaco's nightlife. His grip tightened as he turned abruptly towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms, his knuckles white with the intensity of his emotions. With each hurried step, the faint scent of cologne mingles with the musty air. Finally, he steers you into the bedroom.

The door swung open with a forceful push, revealing a sanctuary that mirrored Lando's conflicted state—clean lines disrupted by scattered belongings, the bed rumpled in disarray. Without a word, he stepped inside, his back tense and shoulders squared, a silent invitation, or perhaps a plea for understanding in the midst of his turmoil.

Releasing his vice-like grip on your hand, Lando stepped back, his fingers slowly unfurling as he leaned against the bedroom wall. His expression was a tumultuous mix of anger and frustration, etched deeply into the lines of his face. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows that danced across his features, highlighting the furrow of his brow and the tight set of his lips.

His eyes, usually vibrant with determination, now bore into you with a piercing intensity. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of his emotions, palpable in the tense silence that hung between you. Each breath he took seemed laden with unspoken words, as if he struggled to find the right way to express the turmoil raging inside him.

Lando's voice erupted with anger and frustration, sharp and demanding. "Strip down, now," he barked, his tone cutting through the air like a whip, filled with an intense, simmering rage. His stance against the bedroom wall was tense and rigid, his eyes blazing with a fiery mix of emotions.

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his fury, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting harsh shadows that emphasized the lines of tension etched into his face. Every word carried a heavy force, laden with his racing disappointment and the raw edge of his emotions.

In the charged silence that followed, his command hung in the air, leaving you to confront the turbulent storm of his anger and the unsettling demand it carried.

Lando's frustration reached a breaking point. With a sudden surge of anger, he grabbed your clothes and tore them off with a forceful pull. The fabric yielded reluctantly, the seams splitting with a sharp sound that filled the room. His movements were swift and assertive, driven by a turbulent mix of emotions—rage, disappointment, and a profound sense of loss.

Each article of clothing fell away, discarded in a heap on the floor, as if symbolizing the weight of his racing disappointments. His hands, usually gentle and precise, now gripped the fabric with a fierce intensity, fingers trembling with the strain of his emotions. The air crackled with tension, thick with the scent of adrenaline and the bitter residue of his unspoken frustrations.

Exposed and vulnerable, you stood before him, with determination, now burned with a mix of regret and longing. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, the silence heavy and charged with the raw energy of his actions.

Breathing heavily, Lando stood before you, his chest rising and falling with the effort of his emotions. His hand rises, gripping your hair tightly within his fist, a gasp escaping your lips. Getting closer to your face, his breath against your lips, he states with a firm tone to signify that he is not playing any games, "Stop being such a little brat. You're better than that." With his grip still in your hair, he throws you onto the bed, causing you to land on your stomach. 

Stripping down to nothing, Lando moves to get behind you. His strong, veiny hands find your hair once more, pulling your head up and tilting it back to look at him. Smacking your cheek a bit, he commands you. "Open," and once you do, immediately following his instructions to not get him angrier, he spits aggressively into your mouth before patting your cheek, forcing you to swallow which you do. You can’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy inside your body at his dominance caused by anger and rage. It makes your mind melt, feeling as if you're just a puddle on the floor after a thunderstorm. 

Pushing your head back down to the bed, he releases your hair so he can leave a hard smack on your ass, causing you to let out a small yelp from the contact. Lando’s hands move to your hips, forcing you to arch your back, stomach against the bed before slamming into you.

You cry out at the sudden feeling, meanwhile he just laughs at you darkly, telling you, "You can take it, can’t you? Yeah, you can because you're my good little slut. Doing so good f'me yeah? My good little slut. All for me and only me." He groans as he continues to pound into you, faster and harder, but making sure to get all the right places for you. He’s not that selfish to forget his good girl's pleasure, even if you can be a brat sometimes. 

At some point, he grips your hair for the second time that day, pulls you up and back to his chest. That same hand, oh, that hand of his, moves around to grip your neck a bit tight to where it’s pleasurable while the other wraps around your waist. He pounds into you harder and harder, getting angrier and angrier till you finally come, a mixture between a moan and a scream leaving your lips.

Smirking, the hand in your hair grips it tighter as he whispers into your ear, his voice low and raspy and so sexy. "Good girl, yeah, that's it... Gonna come inside you and fill you up. You'd like that wouldn't you, you little whore. Fill you up with my babies, hmm? That what you want? Yeah it is." He then chuckles, his hips thrusting faster and faster, like an untamable beast before finally groaning loudly into your ear and proceeding to release inside you.

After a few moments, once he’s done, he places you back down on the bed softly and gently, pulling out of you slowly so as to not hurt you as he watches his release flow out of you slowly. He then kisses the top of your head, whispering sweet praises into your ear before getting a warm towel and cleaning you up gently. 

After the intense rush of emotions and sensations had settled, Lando lays down onto his bed and pulls you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you. His breathing was steady now, his heartbeat slowing to a reassuring rhythm against your skin. The room was filled with a comforting silence, broken only by the soft murmur of his voice.

"I didn't mean to lose my temper earlier," he began, his tone filled with regret. "I was just so frustrated with how things went on the track."

You lifted your head from his chest to meet his gaze, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "It's okay, Lando," you assured him, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek. "I understand. Racing means everything to you."

He nodded, his expression softening with gratitude. "Thank you for being here with me, for understanding," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

You nestled closer to him, feeling his warmth enveloping you like a comforting embrace. His fingers traced soothing patterns along your back, a silent reassurance that he was there, that everything was alright.

"I care about you so much," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never want you to doubt that."

His words washed over you like a gentle wave, filling your heart with warmth and tenderness. You tilted your head up to capture his lips in a soft kiss, conveying all the love and understanding you felt for him in that moment.

Lando smiled against your lips, his hand cradling the back of your head gently. "I'm lucky to have you," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

"And I'm lucky to have you," you replied sincerely, intertwining your fingers with his.

Together, you lay there in each other's arms, basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment. In Lando's embrace, you found solace and strength, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

an || so...yeah. this was a nasty one. i enjoyed writing it, though, and i hope you enjoyed reading it. my girlies, once again, hope you enjoyed this and i love yall. till the next one!

©2024 cherryl4na. - please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Don't Judge A Book By Its Cover

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: none

Summary: You’re plagued by the kid who lives in your neighborhood, the kid you know has a crush on you. You left town, you lived your life without him, and now you’re staring at him face to face after years. Something about him has changed and now you can’t help but want him back.

Square Filled: art student au for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Then

As soon as the last bell at school rings, you race off campus to start the walk home. It’s not a far walk but you enjoy the silence you get from it. Your house is filled with little brothers and sisters and it’s hard to get a moment of peace. Your parents do the best they can but you know it’s hard for them. You’re the oldest so you’re expected to help out which is why you also enjoy your time alone.

You walk around the corner and notice the sixth house down from yours with the garage open. You’re not sure how you feel but something washes over you knowing what’s going to come next. Maybe it’s annoyance or irritation or indifference but the same thing happens every single time you walk home from school.

The only kid that lives there, Spencer Reid, loves to come out and walk with you the rest of the way to your house. He’s a nice kid but that’s all he is--a kid. He’s two years older than you are but you’re much taller than he is. If he is going to get a growth spurt, he’s getting it late in life or maybe his family are just short people. He’s not enrolled in your school because he’s mega smart and needs higher education to stimulate his brain.

You slip past his house in hopes you can enjoy the rest of your walk in silence but you hear the garage door slam shut and footsteps padding down the driveway.

“Hey, Y/N! Almost missed you.”

“Hi, Spencer,” you shake your head.

“How was your day?”

“It was fine. It’s just school.”

“Today was my first day of college and it was exhilarating. I have to admit, I wish you were there. Or I wish I was enrolled in your high school like all the other normal kids. At least we’d be together.”

You knew he had a crush on you after the first conversation you ever had with him. He called you pretty and vowed he’d walk with you to protect you against predators. It was cute at first but not you’re interested in someone like him. Like you said, he’s nice and has the potential of being a good boyfriend but he’s short and you don’t go for short boys.

“Sure, Spencer.”

“Listen, my mom gave me some money and I wanted to see this new French film that’s playing across town. Do you think you’d want to maybe go with me?”

Never has he ever had the balls to ask you out. Now that he has, you need to put a stop to this. He’ll get over the crush and you won’t be humiliated every time you go out in public. Does that make you selfish? Maybe. Does that make you a douche? Definitely. You stop outside of your house and look down at Spencer who has a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Spencer, listen, you’re a nice kid but it’s never going to happen between us.” Spencer’s face falls but he doesn’t say anything. “Grow over six feet and then we’ll talk, okay?”

You meant that as a joke but you don’t stick around to see if he laughs. That’s the last time you ever saw Spencer Reid.

Now

Today is the day. You’re given the opportunity to feature your art in one of the most successful art galleries in the country. You studied at Princeton and got a degree in fine arts before interning for known artist Benjamin Hale. He’s so successful that he has hundreds of galleries across America with dozens more across the world. He was impressed with your portfolio and offered to let you study underneath him while creating your artwork in private.

He offered you a chance to showcase your work in one of his new galleries. According to him, he needs new blood in this gallery and you’re the perfect fit for it. Your speciality is portraits, realism, and photorealism. Your favorite things to draw are people but there is something about being in nature and drawing what God put on this Earth. You have an eye for making your paintings look real and raw, and you’re able to capture people’s emotions henceforth the realism part of your art.

You only have about a dozen works put up in your small corner of the gallery but you’re proud of it all. You might not sell anything tonight and that’s okay. When you got the word out that the gallery was going to open, people agreed to come once they saw free food and wine was going to be handed out. Still, you appreciate everyone coming.

The place is packed mostly for Benjamin’s work but you see some people enjoying your work. You’re in the back room getting more wine for the servers when one of them joins you.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Oh, hey, Lori. I’ve just gotten the box of wine for you guys.”

“I just came back here to tell you that someone just bought all of your things.” You’re so shocked that you spring up but hit your head on the corner of a shelf. You yelp in pain and rub the sore area before backing out of the dusty corner. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What did you just say?”

“Someone bought all of your work.”

You don’t wait to hear what else she has to say. You’re already out the door and rushing into the main room. You look to your section but don’t see anyone lingering around. You’re not paying attention to where you’re walking when you almost run into someone. The man grabs your shoulders to prevent you from falling and lets out a chuckle.

“Are you okay?”

Wait you know that voice. You look up at the man towering over six feet tall. Damn, he grew up.

“Spencer?”

“So, you do remember me.”

He lets go of your shoulders and allows you to take a step back from him. Damn, not only did he grow but he grew more handsome since the last time you saw him. Well, he was fifteen the last time you saw him but still.

“How could I forget the little boy who followed me for two years?”

“Yeah, I kind of had a crush on you,” he chuckles.

Oh, he even has a beautiful smile. Damn, I really was a dick to him back then. You try to ignore the pang of sadness at his use of “had” and not “have”.

“I know you did. I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

“Looking for someone?” he asks before you have a chance to leave his side.

“Yeah, someone bought everything I have out.”

“It was me.”

You pause and turn to look at him. He has a slight smirk on his face, and something in your head clicks into place. You look at him up and down and notice how he’s trying hard not to be overly confident in his decision.

“So, what, you got older and taller and now you think you’re hot shit?”

Spencer shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the one looking up, not me.” Your jaw drops several inches at his remark. “So, can we talk now?”

“Excuse me?”

“You told me to grow over six feet and we’ll talk. Well, I’m over six feet now. Will you let me take you out?”

You have no clue what to say to that because your mind is reeling from the last thing he said. Someone calls his name and you both see a black man, two blondes, and a brunette waving him over. They point to their watches which means he is either late or they have to go. He digs in his pocket and produces a business card. Only it’s not a business card. He’s in the fucking FBI.

“How about this?” He hands the card to you. “Call me when I can pick this stuff up and maybe we’ll talk then.”

He leaves your side and joins his friend group without another look at you. Is it shallow to want him now? Maybe. Are you going to try like hell to make up for lost time? Definitely.

x

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[astrosamara]

Solar Return Observations #1

🔆Sun in 1st house: You might feel a strong urge to express yourself more than usual this year. There's a desire for you to be seen by others. You could also just generally find yourself feeling more optimistic about life than usual. When I look back on photos I've taken of myself during these years, I feel like I notice a glow in my appearance.

🔆Chart ruler conjunct AC: Can be a year filled with a lot of personal change and the rising sign/planet can provide more insight into what that change is. For example, a year when I had Capricorn ascendant with Saturn on my ascendant, I was dealing with so many obstacles and put into situations where I was forced to mature and grow constantly and I now consider it one of the hardest years of my life. Another year when I had Libra ascendant with Venus on my ascendant, I found myself feeling really confident and attractive and embracing my style and creativity, and this was one of the happiest years of my life.

🔆Uranus conjunct IC: Can be a year where your living situation could be changing suddenly and frequently. I lived in multiple new places during a year when I had this aspect. All of these moves happened within a couple of days to a month. There's a strong emphasis on the sudden changing nature of these living situations.

🔆Neptune in 5th house: You might be really romanticizing and enjoying your hobbies this year as well as discovering new hobbies. You can really lose yourself in your creative endeavors and your imagination is vibrant.

🔆North Node conjunct AC: Can indicate a year where you really focus on self-growth. You're not as interested in comparing yourself to other people because it's really important for you to focus on building your own life and unique identity.

🔆Saturn in 6th house: Is a year when unexpected health issues can arise. Your day to day life might feel restrictive in some way as well. You can be in a job that is demanding on you mentally and physically. You may struggle keeping a consistent and pleasant daily routine.

🔆Sun in 12th house: You might feel lonelier than usual. Your energy levels can also be lower than usual. This can be a very reflective and inward time. You could also experience frequent illness.

🔆Uranus in 12th house: You can experience profound spiritual experiences during this year. You can have very vivid dreams that feel like divine messages. You might be drawn deeply to spirituality.

🔆Squares and Oppositions: If your SR chart is filled with squares and oppositions with very little or no harmonious aspects, this can be a year faced with many obstacles, but it can also be a year where you're more determined to make changes. These years tend to be very memorable in terms of a year where you really worked hard despite any obstacles or setbacks.

🔆Moon in Capricorn: I've seen so many SR charts with this placement and it's always during years that people describe as being the hardest and most emotionally challenging years of their lives. This energy is emphasized even greater if the moon falls into one of the angular houses (1st, 4th, 7th, or 10th).

🔆Sun trine Saturn: You might make very practical and achievable goals this year. You feel content with taking baby steps and you don't feel like you're in a rush to make big life changes. You see more results by slow and determined consistency.

🔆Pluto conjunct DC: You can experience powerful transformation through relationships this year. You can meet someone who becomes an important and meaningful influence on your life. Pluto in your SR chart can really highlight the area of your life that will experience a death and rebirth during that year.

🔆Sun in angular houses: These years might stand out more than other years. My past 7 solar return years have all had sun in angular houses and they've all been significant years.

🔆Sagittarius or Pisces MC or Jupiter in 10th house: You can experience a lot of financial gains and recognition in your career during these years.

🔆Saturn conjunct Venus: If you're in a relationship, this can be a year you really value commitment and might consider marriage or some other significant milestone happens. If you're single, you might be more serious about finding love and getting into a relationship.

[honeyed-hedonist]

Parings: Jason Todd x afab!Reader Word Count: 4.4k Warnings: SMUT—MINORS DNI. mentions of blood, gore, and violence, oral (f & m receiving), lots of teasing, degradation (jason todd is a big meanie), a lil bit of a size kink if you squint (hims a big, big boy), an obscene amount of dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, jason has multiple orgasms (he’s got stamina, baybee), creampie, cum swapping, and, as always, declarations of love (barf). A/N: I wrote this for my sweet baby angel @heli0s-writes in a little fic swap we’re having because we like to scream at each other about all the fictional men we want to rail us into a pulp. I love you! I hope this makes your brain melt. Tehe 😈 (Reposting from my former blog)

IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY, PLEASE REBLOG IT.

Jason Todd is a menace. The absolute bane of your existence. 

Who does he think he is banging on your door at 3:45 in the morning? As if your neighbors needed another reason to gossip about you. Nevermind all the probing questions that were poorly masked as casual conversation when you were using the on-site laundry room or grabbing your mail. If you had to hear “So, you and Red Hood, huh?” one more time, you were going to rip your hair out. 

But Jason has always been brazen—not much has changed since the day you found him bleeding out in an alley between your apartment building and the pet shelter next door. He had a gunshot wound, lacerations over damn near every square inch of him, his mask all but shattered and exposing most of his face to you as you did your best to haul his massive frame up from the ground to drag him inside and patch him up. He had grinned at you the entire time, flirted with you while you fished the bullet out, asked you to dinner as you wiped the grit and grime off of his neck and chest. He hasn’t left you alone since.

You love him, of course. How can you not? He’s 6’4” of muscled steel, all wrapped up in a handsome, roguish bow with a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind. Any woman alive would be hard-pressed to resist his charms and you’re no exception, but it’s difficult to remember those warm, fuzzy feelings when he’s pounding on your door hard enough to wake the dead.

With bleary eyes, you unlatch the locks and yank it open, hissing at him as you fist your hand into the lapel of his jacket and tug him inside, ignoring the wide-eyed look on your neighbor’s face from across the hall. Your annoyance is overshadowing the rest of your senses, so you don’t see the tent in his pants, don’t notice his lust-blown pupils when he shucks his helmet off and throws it aside. Instead, you whirl on him, an accusatory finger pointed squarely at his chest in preparation to scold him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why couldn’t you just come in through the window? I keep it unlocked for this exact reason, Jason! You stubborn fucking ass—mmph!” His mouth is on you instantly—demanding and desperate as he crashes his lips into yours, uninterested in hearing your lecture. His gloved hands lift you off the floor in one fluid motion that has you instinctively wrapping your legs around his hips. You feel it then, the heavy, hard length of him trapped between your bodies and you gasp, an action that he capitalizes on by shoving his tongue past your teeth and into the back of your throat.

The tang of coppery blood fills your mouth and has you retreating, pushing back on his chest to look at him, but he’s right there chasing your mouth, walking blindly towards your kitchen table to set you down. “Jay—honey, wait. Are you—fuck!” His teeth are sharp against your throat, silencing your protest with the harsh sting of pain, grunting as he grinds his hips between your spread thighs. 

“Shut up,” He growls, voice low and dangerous, sending your synapses into overdrive, drowning out what little restraint you have left. “Need to be inside you. Need to hear those sweet sounds, baby, just—let me.”  Jason’s fingers are shaking when he moves to peel your shirt off, and you know it’s the adrenaline, that he’s high from the violence of his nightly patrol, teetering on the edge of losing control. These nights, you think, are the ones he needs you the most—seeking salvation with your body, tunneling his way to absolution with powerful thrusts of his hips, because if you can love all the fucked up parts of him, can love him even after all of his mistakes, then maybe, in his mind, he’s worth something afterall. 

So you nod, your own hands making quick work of the kevlar and leather he’s covered in, helping him shed layer after layer of it off until he’s bare chested and heaving with labored breaths. It’s then that you notice the gashes that cut diagonally across his collarbone, the skin ripped in a way that makes you shudder. Claws? A serrated knife? You can only imagine the kind of monsters he grappled with tonight. His chest is smeared with congealed, drying blood, a trail of it leading down his stomach, seeping into his briefs and tactical pants, staining the tuft of coarse, dark hair that leads to his pubic bone an ugly shade of rust.  

His eyes have turned shark-like—a depthless obsidian that makes him look possessed, the usual crystalline blue almost completely eclipsed by his blown out pupils. You should be terrified by the sight, the danger lurking within that endless dark, but your demons have always called to his, so all it does is stoke the flames now licking their way down your spine to pool between your legs. His gaze shifts the second your hands fall to your panties, exhaling a shaky breath as you try to wiggle out of them, to grant him access to the part of you that only he gets to explore.   

Jason snarls then, swatting your hands away to rip the flimsy strip of cotton clean off, tossing it over his shoulder where it floats delicately to the floor in shredded ribbons of fabric. And then he’s on his knees, dropping to your floor with a loud thud that has the knick knacks hanging on your walls tinkling with vibration from the force of his herculean frame hitting the laminate. He scoots closer, boots scuffing your floor, the heat of his stare now focused on your puffy slit. Every exhale is a rumbling growl, hot breath fanning out against your pussy as he inches closer and you bite your lip, ready to muffle the sound you know he’s going to tear from your throat the second he puts his mouth on you.

Warm, calloused hands skate up the insides of your thighs, throwing them open even wider to accommodate the width of his shoulders when he leans in. Jason’s nose settles against your slit and he inhales, breathing in the musky scent of your arousal. It leaves you frozen in place, barely breathing when you watch his eyes roll back with pleasure. It sends your pulse straight to your clit and you whimper, the sound acting as a catalyst for him to dive in tongue-first and lick a wet stripe through your folds. He moans at the taste of you, a deep, salacious vibration of sound that rattles your bones. It has you hooking your hands around the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip, mouth slack when Jason’s deft tongue and plush lips begin to work you over.

He’s precise and purposeful when he eats you out—applying just the right amount of pressure, finding the perfect moments to snag that bundle of nerves with his teeth, gumming at your velvety cunt with his mouth, his tongue attuned to your every need. It takes him no time at all until you’re whining, begging like a god damn harlot, your fingers wound harshly into the roots of his hair, pulling him in, fucking yourself on his face. His girl. Perfect and needy, just the way he likes you.

But, again, Jason Todd is a fucking menace, glancing up at you with that wild look in his eyes, clocking the way your eyebrows are knitted together, the way you’ve got him pressed so deeply between your legs that he can barely breathe—he knows you’re close, can feel your thighs trembling against his ears. He waits, feasts on you until your eyes roll back into your skull, until he knows you’re about to rocket into a release—and then he stops, withdraws his mouth—a mouth that’s glistening with evidence of your pleasure, and offers you a sadistic smile.

“You thought I was gonna let you cum, princess?” He goads, swatting at your pussy hard enough that it sends you reeling, your body jerking with a yelp. “Nah…Tonight you cum on my cock and nowhere else.” Jason rocks back on his heels and stands, towering over you, crowding your space as he takes your jaw in his hand, his grip hard and unforgiving. “Do you understand me?” 

There’s a war happening in your mind, because you know he needs this control, know he’s standing on a very dangerous ledge and you have to tread carefully, but fuck if you don’t want to cop an attitude, push him right off that cliff just to see what he’ll do. Seconds tick by like minutes, his eyes bouncing between yours, expectancy evident on his handsome face while you contemplate how much you value the use of your legs and whether you’ll need them tomorrow. 

“I don’t take orders from you, Todd,” You spit, jerking your chin free from his hold. Curiosity has clearly gotten the better of you, and the fire your response sets ablaze in Jason’s eyes has your stomach flipping. His mouth curls into a wicked little smirk, and then you feel that same hand of his wrap around your throat and squeeze; hard. 

He bends forward, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear, tongue tracing the edge of the cartilage. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, hmm?” Your breath hitches at the gravel in his tone, and now you know without a doubt that you won’t be doing any walking tomorrow, let alone moving. Thank god you have some PTO saved up. 

Jason’s spine straightens when he yanks you off the table, the movement so fast you don’t have enough time to process what’s happening until your ass hits the floor and you wince. “Well, would ya lookit that.” He mocks, palm slapping against your cheek before he’s hooking two fingers into your mouth to suppress your tongue. “Since you’re down there already—might as well make yourself useful, yeah?” 

Fuck. Sometimes you forget the cruelty he’s capable of, the way he can talk so mean, degrade and embarrass you for the sake of your shared pleasure. It’s exactly what you asked for, and he always delivers. With blush stained cheeks, your face pinched in a glare, you reach for his pants, popping the button open, tugging the zipper down, and shucking the blood-stained bottoms and cotton briefs to his knees. What you’re met with has your jaw working, saliva pooling behind your teeth because goddamn is he hung. 

Jason is fucking massive everywhere, so it goes without saying that his dick would carry some weight, but it still astonishes you every single time you see it. Bobbing invitingly in your face, angry red at the tip and oozing precum, veins prominent and pulsing along the shaft just begging for attention, his cock sits proudly above an even heftier set of balls, and you clench remembering just how good they feel smacking your sensitive clit when he pounds you out from behind.

His fingers are still playing against your tongue, sliding over the wet muscle until he breaches the back of your throat and you choke. There’s drool seeping past his knuckles, dribbling onto your chest, and he hums his approval, eyes glittering with the promise of what’s to come. One last pass of his calloused digits before he’s angling his tip and pushing his length into the wet heat of your mouth with a grunt. “This is a much better use for that mouth of yours, don’t you agree, princess?” Jason coos at you, pressing forward until your eyes screw shut, tears trickling down your cheeks when his cock seats itself deep in your esophagus. “That’s a good girl—open up that throat for me. Yeah, just like that—fuck.”

Soggy, spit covered fingers curl against the crown of your head as Jason begins to thrust, fucking your mouth. Your eyes are blurry, crossing each time he bottoms out, breathing harshly through your nose with every withdrawal, your palms digging into the meat of his thighs to keep you steady, to keep you rooted enough to take his assault. Over and over again he drives his hips forward, the slippery sound of the suction of your lips is so fucking obscene it makes you moan. That filthy, wet squelch ringing out as more saliva trickles from the corners of your mouth, bubbling up in sloppy arcs that web between your chin and his cock, matting into his pubic hair, commingling with the remnants of his blood. 

You’re sure your face is stained pink from it by now, and you couldn’t care less, not when Jason’s face is twisted so beautifully above you—jaw slack and cheeks red, sweat marring his brow, hair curling at his temples and the nape of his neck. He looks so goddamn pretty when he loses himself in you like this that it makes the ache in your throat worth it, makes tomorrow’s hoarseness a welcome battlescar if only for the vision of him lost in the throes of violent passion above you right now. “Shit—m’gonna cum, princess. S’too good, I can’t—”

You slip your hand beneath your chin, between your bodies, cupping his balls, teasing them, rolling them in your palm, and he roars, bottoming out to cum down your throat. His cock pulses against your tongue and you wiggle it against his length appreciatively, humming while you swallow down spurt after spurt of milky semen until he’s pulling out with a hiss. Jason’s big hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up while he huffs. “Best little cocksucker, baby, but I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.”

Before you can blink. Jason hauls you up and deposits you right back onto the kitchen table, throwing your legs open. Letting out a low whistle, he drags the pad of his thumb up through your folds, swiping over your throbbing clit with a chuckle. “Such a pretty little pussy, hm? So eager, so fuckin’ desperate, clenching around nothing at all. You just wanna be full, don’t you?” He goads, slotting his hips between your thighs, letting the heavy weight of his dick slap against your sensitive pearl until you’re mewling, fingernails biting into his forearms.

“Jay—please,” You whine, your voice scratchy and rough, and he shakes his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth while his eyes make a slow trek up to meet yours. 

“After your little performance? Not a chance, sweetheart. I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready, but for now? For now you’re gonna put on a show for me. Let me see how you stuff that needy cunt when I’m not here.” He smirks viciously down at you, wrapping his fist around his length, pumping slow and languid while your face heats with embarrassment. 

The weight of his stare presses down on you, hot and heavy, as you guide a trembling hand between your legs, fingers dipping through your slick, peeling your lower lips apart with a breathy sigh. Despite his bravado, you know how bad he wants to be buried in your heat, cock shoved so deep that the tip batters against your cervix. It’s that thought alone that spurs you on, two fingers pushing into that wet, hungry hole with a moan. You hook them upwards, seeking, pressing against that tender little spot that makes your back arch, fucking yourself while he watches, his muscles coiled in waiting like a predator about to strike. It’s maddening—no matter how fast or how hard your fingers work into your pussy, it’s not enough, it’s never enough and he knows it.

“Feels good, huh, princess?” Jason huffs, pumping his dick while he watches you, taunting you with his words. “But you want more—can see it on that pretty face. Those little fingers just don’t cut it, do they? Course not, you need more. Need this fat cock, don’t you?” The whine that pours out of your throat is meek and pathetic, because he’s right and you can’t hide from him—not when you’re splayed out so beautifully like this. 

How many nights have you spent lying on your sheets chasing an unsatisfying release at your own hands. It’s never as good as it is with him, because Jason knows you. Knows all the ways to make you keen and writhe and burst. “Go on,” He says, “let me hear you say it. Beg me real nice and I might give you what you want.”

God damn him, you think, because he never makes it easy, not on nights like this when the battle is still fresh in his mind, when the adrenaline is still plowing through his veins. And god damn you if it doesn’t light you right up, heating the already charged air between you both. Your head falls back with a thud against the table and he tuts at you, pulling your gaze back where he wants it—on him. There’s a lump in your throat despite your fingers still working your cunt, the shame of having to beg both igniting your desire and stoking the fire of your petulance. Gritting your teeth, you spit the words he wants to hear at him with indignant venom. “Please, Jason. Want—need your cock. Fuck me, baby, just—” He chuckles darkly, free hand moving to grip your chin, his thumb stroking the hinge of your jaw.

 “Oh, I think you can do better than that.” Jason sucks a breath in through his teeth, his handsome face scrunched up with pleasure, and you catch sight of his other thumb swabbing over the tip of his cock, still rock hard and leaking between his clenched fist. “Try again.” 

“Fuck!” You spit, fingers soaked as they dive in and out of your pussy with delicious friction. Swallowing what remains of your stubborn pride, you gaze at Jason from beneath your lashes, your eyebrows furrowing, features turning soft and pleading. “Please, baby,” Your voice lifts an octave higher—whiney, simpering—and it works. Jason groans, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Fuck me, baby. Please fuck me. Need you, need that cock—please? M’so empty without it. Wanna cum all over you, Jason. Please!”

“That’s my girl,” He croons, tilting his head to capture your mouth in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else, distracting you enough that you cling to him, fingers carding through his hair while the head of his cock prods through your slit until it catches on your opening and he drives his hips forward, stretching you apart in one powerful, rough thrust.

It forces a scream from your throat that he swallows, bottoming out until his pelvis rests flat against the pocket of fat above your pussy. “Fuck—give me your fingers, baby. Put ‘em in my mouth.” Jason commands, and you know exactly what he wants, bringing your damp middle fingers up to his face, letting him suck the remnants of your efforts from your skin. You watch, hypnotized, as his eyes roll back and he starts to move, his teeth sinking into the digits while he fucks you. 

There’s nothing quite like having a cunt full of Jason Todd. The sting that comes from the sheer size of his dick, the way it stretches you to your very limits, those gummy walls forced open wide to accept every angry stab of his length. He bullies his cock into you, pounds hard enough that your kitchen table slides across the floor with each stroke. But he follows right along with it, hammering into you while his tongue slides between your fingers, sucking on them like a damn pacifier. It’s sinful, filthy, and raw—makes you absolutely feral, crying out for him over and over again, free hand dragging harsh lines down his muscled back so hard you’re certain you’ve broken the skin. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, letting your fingers fall from his mouth. “I know, baby. I fucking know—swear to god you were made for me. Take my cock so fucking well—shit!” He growls, righting his posture and reaching for your ankles. Jason locks both of them in one hand, closing your thighs together, making you even tighter, the fat lips of your pussy peeking out between your legs. The sight has Jason grunting like a wild animal. “That’s my pussy, huh?” He asks and you nod, completely lost to the mind-numbing pleasure he’s supplying. “Know it is. Always gonna be mine, baby. Gonna ruin this little cunt for anyone else. Gonna wreck it.” 

The world shrinks until it’s just you and Jason, no concern for your neighbors who can undoubtedly hear the way your kitchen table knocks against the wall every time he pounds his dick into your pussy, not a single care other than him and the way he loves you—the brutal way he fucks you. Resting both of your legs against the side of his chest that isn’t cut open, he hugs them close, looks down at you, and god, you’ve never seen him quite like this. It’s mesmerizing. 

And then he’s spreading your legs, pushing your shins up and into your chest, folding you in half. The new angle sends his cock even deeper, and you let out another rapturous cry, each stroke pummeling your cervix. He shushes you, fingers mashing your cheeks together in a tight grip. “Eyes on me, princess. Wanna see you fall apart.” 

So you watch, helpless and at his mercy, when his free hand wedges between your legs, fingers seeking out the place where you’re stretched around his dick, stroking it lovingly before moving his attention to your stiff, aching bud. Jason tilts his head, dropping his chin to his chest, letting a drizzle of spit cascade down between you. It hits its mark, splashing against the hood of your clit and rolling down until he catches it with his thumb, sluicing it up and over your pearl. 

“Don’t you dare hold back.” He commands, and all you can do is nod, tits practically tucked under your chin, body jolting from his incessant, endless assault. And then his fingers start to move and you wail. The friction is a welcome respite from the brutal way he’s handling you. Jason plays your clit like he knows what you’re feeling, flicking and tugging, applying enough pressure that the heat beginning to bloom in your belly burns hotter, a blazing inferno that’s about to consume you. “That’s it, let it out. Come on, angel, give it to me. Soak my fucking thighs.”

There’s always this brief moment before you cum—the universe stilling for the tiniest of seconds right before you unravel. You lock eyes with Jason in that instant, lip pinched between your teeth to try and muffle the noise you’re making. He nods at you, encourages you to let it go, tells you that he’s got you with just the look in his eyes, and it’s the truth. When time catches up to you in the next blink of your eyes, you fucking explode. Your back arches, knees slamming into your chest while you scream and quake beneath him. Jason wrangles you through your convulsions, pins your limbs to the table, coos and hushes you, lavishes you with praise while your cunt gushes around the intrusion of his cock. And what a fucking mess you’ve made. 

His teeth grit when he feels your cum wet his stomach and thighs, dribbling down his balls, and that’s the final nail in the coffin for Jason. With a roar of your name, he pumps into you a final time before he, too, loses himself. Jason cums hard—so hard that he damn near goes blind and deaf, vision whiting out, ears ringing as he empties himself into your swollen, fucked out pussy. It’s endless, the thick ropes of spend that now paint your insides. So much that you can’t contain it, a few errant, creamy strands dripping out of the place your bodies are joined. 

When he blinks his eyes open again, he catches as much as he can on his fingers, licks it into his mouth, and yanks you into his arms to kiss you. You’re barely conscious, but you kiss him back anyways, and Jason can’t stop the smile that curls his lips as he feeds you his cum from the tip of his tongue. Brushing your sweat matted hair off your forehead, his smile widens, peppering your reddened face with kisses. “You still with me, baby? Or have I fucked you stupid again?”

A halfhearted swat to the side of his head is your answer, and he laughs, the sound warm and infectious. There’s something so sweet about his laugh, it’s always made your chest swell, deep and gruff and perfect—just like him. You both stay locked together, his arms around you in a tight embrace, until your mind finally floats back into your body enough for you to remember how to be a person again. “Hey—as incredible as that was, and don’t you dare get an ego about it—you’re still very fucking injured, Jason.” 

Another laugh, his lips smacking against yours in a final peck that has you grinning right back at him. “Yeah, alright, I hear you, boss.” Jason teases, right before easing his softening cock from inside you. There are wounds that need tending, but he’s not quite ready to let go of this moment, feeling whole with your body wrapped up in his arms. He presses his forehead to yours once more, warm breath fanning out against your heated skin. “I love you, baby.” He whispers it, soft and sweet, your heart melting at the declaration. 

It’s a sentiment you return without hesitation, arms moving to cup his face—your whole world now held between the palms of your hands—and tilt his face back to level him with your stare. “I love you,” you answer, conviction heavy in your voice as you brush your nose against his “always.” Jason’s breath hitches in his chest, because nothing on this earth could have ever prepared him for the peace, the utter tranquility that loving you and being loved by you has brought him. Despite the lump in his throat, the tears misting his gaze, he echoes “always,” right back to you, kissing you tenderly until you’re both dizzy, until the world around you fades once again, until all that’s left is you and him. Just the way you like it.

[goldfades]

★ PROTECTIVE ─── PB⁵

❪ requested -> "i love your writing sm!!! could you maybe write a paige x reader where reader is on the team and it’s an intense game and reader gets accidentally hit in the face and her nose starts bleeding. it’s not even bad but paige is all livid at whichever player that did it and she’s helping reader clean up all the blood and stuff?" ❫

─ pairing | paige bueckers x fem!reader

─ warnings | protective paige, mentions of nose-bleeds and discomfort, pretty fluffy

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

THE GAME had been intense from the get-go, both teams playing aggressive and physical defense.

The stands echoed with the roar of the crowd, but everyone remained focused, their eyes locked on the ball. With each possession, the tension mounted, and the stakes grew higher. The scoreboard flickered with each point scored, but neither team could gain a significant lead.

As the game progressed, the players' determination became palpable. They dove for loose balls, contested every shot, and fought for rebounds with unwavering resolve. The crowd was on their feet, swept up in the game.

You were focused, keeping your eyes on the player you'd been been guarding this entire game. She was quick, agile, and had a deadly accurate shot. You knew that any lapse in concentration could result in her slipping past you and scoring points for her team.

You mirrored her every move, anticipating her cuts and drives to the basket. Each time she attempted to break away, you were there, shadowing her with relentless tenacity. The sweat beaded on your forehead, your muscles burning with exertion, but you refused to let up.

With each possession, the intensity between you two grew. She drove to the basket with determination, but you were there, contesting every layup, refusing to give an inch. When she pulled up for a jump shot, your hand was in her face, disrupting her rhythm, forcing a miss.

But she was relentless, constantly searching for openings, probing your defense for weaknesses. You matched her step for step, refusing to let her gain the upper hand. That was your style ─ completely and utterly focused and determined.

Paige finally got subbed back in and she jogged back to the court. You felt Paige's hand pat your back enthusiastically as she passed you, but your focus was completely on the game. With each passing moment, the stakes seemed to rise, the intensity escalating with every possession.

Then, in a split second, everything changed. As you maintained your defensive stance, focused on your opponent's movements, she made a sudden pivot, her elbow catching me squarely in the nose. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through your head, and you stumbled backward, momentarily stunned.

You stumbled back into Aaliyah, who quickly steadied you as the opponent began apologizing. Grateful for her steadying presence, you blink away the stars dancing in your vision and attempt to focus through the throbbing pain in your nose.

The opponent's voice, filled with genuine remorse, pierces through the haze of discomfort. "Oh shit, I'm sorry," she exclaims, her tone laced with concern. "I didn't mean to—"

Before you could answer, you heard another voice do it for you. "Didn't mean to, my ass," Paige's tense voice echoed as she examined your nose. "Watch where you're going next time,"

Despite the pain, a flicker of amusement danced in your mind at Paige's blunt response. It was typical of her to defend you fiercely, even in the midst of a game.

Gently pushing aside Paige's concern, you offered a reassuring smile to both her and your opponent. "It's okay," you said, your voice strained but calm.

However, before you could continue Geno subbed you out quickly. He wanted to make sure you didn't have a concussion or any other serious injury. As you made your way to the bench, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins, you could feel the concerned eyes of your teammates on you.

"Take a seat," Geno instructed, his voice worried. The team medic quickly approached, shining a light in your eyes and asking a series of questions to assess your condition. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," you replied, the throbbing in your nose subsiding slightly.

He nodded, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. "We need to make sure you're okay. Take a moment to rest and get checked out."

You answered the medic's questions, reassuring them as best you could that you felt fine, despite the throbbing in your nose and the lingering dizziness. Your heart ached to be back on the court, contributing to your team's effort, but you knew Geno was right to be cautious.

As soon as the halftime buzzer went off, Paige was jogging toward you. She took the medic's place and began assessing you herself, her concern evident in her furrowed brow and the tightness of her jaw.

"How bad is it?" Paige asked, her voice low but filled with worry.

"It's not too bad," you replied, mustering a reassuring smile despite the throbbing in your nose. "I'm fine,"

Paige's brow furrowed with worry, but she maintained her composed demeanor. "Let me take a look," she said, gently tilting your head to get a better view of your nose.

After a thorough inspection, Paige nodded to herself, her expression softening slightly. "Doesn't look too bad," she assessed, her tone more reassuring now.

Just as she stopped speaking, your nose began to bleed slightly, a trickle of blood escaping and staining the ice pack pressed against it. Paige quickly reached for a towel, dabbing away the blood with practiced ease.

She kept the towel pressed against your nose as she watched at you, her gaze concerned. The medic approached, ready to assist, but Paige intercepted her. "I got it," she said firmly, taking the tissues from the medic's hand.

With a nod, the medic stepped back, trusting Paige to take care of you. Paige then turned her attention back to you, her focus unwavering as she continued to apply gentle pressure to your nose.

You couldn't help but smile in amusement at Paige's seriousness, a stark contrast from her usual playful demeanor off the court. As Paige continued to staunch the bleeding, her expression softened slightly, a flicker of concern in her eyes. You could tell she was worried about you, her usual lightheartedness replaced by a focused resolve to see you through this.

As the bleeding finally began to subside, Paige inspected your nose once more, her expression more relaxed now. "There we go," she said softly, offering you a reassuring smile. "All cleaned up."

You nodded, grateful for her care, and took the tissue, dabbing at your nose to ensure it was dry. "Thanks, P."

Geno called for a team huddle before halftime to an end, and you and Paige joined your teammates at center court. Despite the discomfort in your nose, you stood tall, ready to listen to Geno's pep talk.

"Alright, listen up," Geno began, his voice loud. "We've had a tough first half, but we're still in this game. We need to stay disciplined on defense and execute on offense. Remember, every possession counts."

Paige stood beside you, her presence a comforting reassurance as Geno's words washed over the team. Her hand found yours, squeezing it tightly as she listened to Geno.

"Y/N, you good to go back in?" Geno asked, his gaze focused on you.

You met Geno's gaze with determination, nodding firmly. "Yes, coach, I'm ready," you affirmed, the throbbing in your nose now a distant discomfort compared to the excitement burning in your chest.

With a nod of approval, Geno's expression softened slightly. "Alright then, let's finish this half strong," he declared, rallying the team for the game ahead.

With renewed determination, you and your teammates broke the huddle and made your way back onto the court. As the second half began, you took your position, ready to give it your all for your team.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[kittenintheden]

Ethics Review

Dave Matthews voice: I DID IT

Tav (reader) and Astarion pay his old office at the Courts a visit in the middle of the night for funsies and things get spicy.

aka it's the switchy bitchy magistrate roleplay fic

Rating: E Word Count: 5.2k Pairing: Astarion/reader (Tav) Content: 18+, light BDSM elements, sexual roleplay, bitches be switches, dirty talk, spanking, orgasm denial, light edgeplay, oral sex, PIV sex (AFAB reader, not gendered)

AO3 Link

It’s late, but then, it’s always late when you’re out with Astarion these days. By necessity, mostly, but also because it’s the best time for the pair of you to get up to your more unsavory plans without catching the watchful eye of the newly-reformed Fist.

“Where are you taking me?” you laugh as you follow him through a series of dark alleys. “This better not end with me having to send for Gale to get your hand out of another magicked jar.”

“Never going to let me live that down, are you?” He looks over his shoulder and gives you an affectionate smirk.

“Not ever.”

Astarion peers around the corner of a brown brick building, checking that the coast is clear. To you, he says, “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and forgiving soul.”

“Ah, yes,” you agree, wrapping your arms around him from behind and nuzzling his neck. “Two of your most obvious and accurate qualities.”

He chuckles. “We’re almost there. Come on.”

A labyrinthine dozen alleyways later, you’re deposited in an open square, quiet and still. The cobblestones are dark with recent rain, sending their petrichor scent into the air. As you follow Astarion out into the space, you realize where you are. It’s the Courthouse District of the Lower City, where people are tried and held for petty crimes that aren’t suitable for Wyrm’s Rock.

You huff a laugh through your nose and look over at your partner with a raised eyebrow. “Did you need to tell me something? Have a court date you forgot to mention?”

“Hush,” he playfully scolds you, holding a finger up to his lips. “Let me think a moment.”

He peers up at a particular building on the square and furrows his brow, closing his eyes and moving his hands through the air. You fold your arms and watch as he moves his fingers like he’s following a path only he can see, turning corners and raising level by level. At last, he opens his eyes, and points at window on the third floor, two in from the corner.

“That one,” he says.

“That one what?” you prompt.

He grins devilishly. “That…” he points again. “... is my old office. I thought we might pay it a visit.”

“To what end?” you laugh.

“What can I say, I’m feeling a touch nostalgic these days.” He keeps his eye on the window and beckons you to follow closer to the building. “Something about my old haunts is calling to me.”

Behind where he can’t see, you pay him an affectionate smile. In the last year or so since the fall of the Nether Brain, you’ve seen the city rebuilt and gone on your fair share of adventures and quests, always searching for some way to give Astarion back the sunlight you promised him. No luck yet, but there have been promising leads here and there. It’s not a lost cause. Not yet.

The last few months in particular have seen certain changes in your lover. The terror and fear he carried for so long clung to him like a shadow, and ever so slowly it’s beginning to lift. His laugh is more present than before, more real. The intimate moments you share are filled with trust and care, even as you get more comfortable pushing a few boundaries here and there.

Most of all, he’s been remembering. Not everything. There are parts of his past forever lost to him, written over by more years of torment than he ever had of life. But there’ve been flashes every now and again of who he used to be. Some of them he likes, some he loathes. He doesn’t always talk about it, but you know being able to pick up a piece once in a while has meant a great deal to him.

So you follow along with whatever little game he has planned.

He walks along the building, scanning the brick for footholds. Just as he puts his hand on a storm drain and tenses to leap, you halt him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looks back at you, you flick your eyes up toward the window.

“Three up, two in from then end?” you ask.

He nods.

“Allow me, love.”

You hold up your hand and cobalt magic pools in your palm, forming into a sphere. You send it up above you, the arcane eye floating until it finds the correct window before it slips inside. You blink, your own eyes glowing blue as you use your magic to scan the room. It’s certainly an office of some sort.

Astarion takes your hand when you hold it out for him and instantly you’re transported inside the office thanks to a handy little dimensional door spell you picked up on one of your many adventures. You wave away the arcane eye and give Astarion a wink.

He smirks and shakes his head at you. “Take all of the fun out of the thing, why don’t you,” he says through his smile. “Suppose I’ll have to make do with checking that the place isn’t alarmed. Alas.”

The place is, indeed, alarmed. Astarion manages to disarm two common magic wires and one trickier sending stone scattered throughout the room. You reach out through the Weave for any other whispers of magic. Some artifacts and lightly magical office supplies. Nothing worrisome.

Once you’re both satisfied that you won’t end up immediately arrested, Astarion moves to the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. You’re quiet as he scans the walls, turning in a slow circle as he takes everything in. His fangs flash as he gives a quiet laugh.

“The layout is different, and the color,” he says. “But yes, this is the place.” He furrows his brow slightly and holds out his hands, eyes on the floor. “I… worked here. Me. A magistrate.” His eyes find you and his smile widens. “It was a lie for so much longer than it was a reality. But it was a reality, once upon a time.”

“I’m surprised,” you say, folding your arms and nonchalantly stepping closer. “The way you spoke and dressed when we first met, I thought you must’ve been an Upper City fancy defending-the-powerful type.”

Astarion clicks his tongue at you. “Now, don’t be judgmental. That’s my job.” He waves a hand through the air. “I was quite young in my career, but I was working my way up. All the way to the third floor, thank you.”

You come in to wrap your arms around his waist and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Genuinely.”

He spreads his fingers over your forearm, pressing his lips to your hair. “Thank you. That’s always nice to hear.” He clears his throat and removes your arms, backing away from you with a toss of his head. “But don’t be too proud. I wasn’t exactly a… what’s the term? Model citizen.”

Astarion begins to walk around the small table with four chairs set in the center of the room.

“Oh?” you say, walking around the other side to mirror him. “Were you terribly corrupt?”

He pauses and tilts his head, shrugging. “‘Terribly’ is such a strong word, isn’t it? Lets just say I may have been known to, ah… sway the odds in my favor.”

You stop and look across the table at him. “What do magistrates even do, exactly? What did you do, specifically?”

“An absolutely stupid amount of paperwork, as I recall,” he says. “At least, I certainly remember hating every scrap that came across the desk. Meting out appropriate punishment for any minor and petty crime you can think of, most of them horrifically boring. But…” He leans over the table and holds up a finger. “... sometimes I got to conduct interviews to determine if crime was worthy of Wyrm’s Rock, and I was very good at getting the verdict I wanted.”

You rather like seeing this side of Astarion. Honest pride, confidence, and authority. The tip of your tongue runs along your bottom lip as you take in your love leaning over that table, dappled in moonlight. Gods, he’s beautiful.

“And how did you do that?” You pop your hip and raise your thumb to your mouth, teasing your lip as you peer up at him through your eyelashes. “Exactly?”

Astarion notices the shift in your demeanor immediately, his own eyes going half-lidded as they track the path of your hand to your mouth. His grin goes predatory and he leans back so he can come around the table to you and pull out the chair.

“Please, darling,” he says, nodding for you to sit. “Let’s talk, you and I.”

You pay him a sultry smile and sink into the chair, which he pushes in under you. Then he walks back around to the other side with his spine straight, hands folded behind his back.

A new game begins.

Astarion rolls out his shoulders as if he’s shedding a coat. When he turns to look at you, he does so down the length of his nose, his hard gaze making it clear that he thinks you beneath him.

You shiver as a thrill runs down your back and attempt to hide it.

He shakes his head above you, tutting. You’ve disappointed him.

Instinctively, you shrink into your chair slightly as he leans forward and places the tips of his fingers against the table in front of him, continuing to lower his face until it’s a mere foot from yours.

“A pathetic display back there,” he says, voice dripping with condescension. “Your associates have hung you out to dry. You do know that…” He tilts his head. “... don’t you?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and drop your eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Silly little patsy,” he chides as he straightens to glare down at you again. “Such stars in your eyes for friends who would sooner see you burn than stick their necks out for you.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” you say, raising your eyes to him in defiance even as you let a waver of nerves shake your voice.

“What must it be like to be so tragically misguided?” he sneers. It’s like an echo of a man you once knew. One you met on a sunny beach amid burning wreckage.

You blink up at him, eyes going soft. “I can’t betray them.”

“Betray them,” he breathes, huffing a mirthless laugh as he leans one hand onto a nearby chair. “My dear, they are in the next room, and the room after that, giving you up as we speak. No loyalty among thieves, I fear.”

“No,” you gasp. “They wouldn’t.”

Astarion holds a finger up to his lips, shushing you. “I think you know better than that. But fine, have it your way. Don’t give them up to save your own hide. Let me sweeten the pot.”

He turns his body so he can side-sit on the table and put his first knuckle under your chin, lifting it so he can inspect you. The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Gold to line your pockets, perhaps?”

Though you try to stop it, your body betrays you as a bright blush blooms across your nose and cheeks. Astarion’s pupils dilate above you.

“Or something else entirely?” he whispers, tilting his mouth closer to yours. “I’d much sooner send those two cads to Wyrm’s Rock in your place. Help me, and maybe you and I could have a bit of…” His eyes trail down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, and beyond before he looks back into your eyes. “... fun in celebration.”

“Why would you do that for me?” you whisper back.

He shrugs. “What can I say? I rather like you. Plus, I might get a little kickback in the form of a promotion for bringing in two thorns in the Fist’s side, but that’s neither here nor there.” He rolls his eyes and pays you a flirtatious smile on the last bit.

And that… is your opening.

Your expression grows serious and you note the moment that Astarion’s eyebrows give the briefest twitch of concern.

"You've overplayed your hand, Magistrate Ancunín," you say.

Astarion draws his hand back and gives you a perplexed look. “Have I?”

You smile, then. Calm and dangerous. "I've been sent by the Board of Ethics, you see."

Astarion is thrown by this turn, but he recovers quickly, offering a simpering smile. "Oh? Oh, dear. Seems I've been caught with my pants down."

You stand, holding his eye. "Indeed. Best go place your hands on the desk where I can see them."

With a flourish, he holds his hands up for you to see. No funny business, none at all. He goes to the desk and spreads his palms flat against the polished wood. He must feel the heat of your skin as you come close, only inches away. Inspecting. Considering.

You lean in close to his ear. "Say our word if you'd like me to stop, Ancunín," you whisper.

"Stop what?" he asks.

In answer, you grab his hips and pull them flush against your own with enough force that he gasps from it, genuinely surprised. In his ear again, you whisper, "Teaching you a lesson."

You release him and move to his side. He turns his head to look at you and you can see the openmouthed surprise in his face, but it’s more than that. Surprised, yes, but also open. Interested. Very turned on. You know this look.

This is Astarion’s “oh, we’re doing that thing I like?” look. It’s a good look on him.

You tap a finger on his nearest hand. “Keep these exactly where they are. I must warn you that you face serious repercussions for witness tampering. I have some questions. Answer them to my satisfaction, and I may consider…” Your gaze trails down to the front of his trousers, which are straining. When you meet his eye again, you add, “... reinstatement.”

Astarion tilts his chin down so he can give you a heated look. “Then by all means,” he says, lips parted. “Ask.”

“Hm,” you hum as you trail your fingers over the desk as you walk around to the other side. You mimic his stance with your hands on the table, though yours is one of authority while his is one of awaiting judgment. He tilts his head at you in question, gaze hot. You match it.

“Let’s start with an easy one.” You tilt your head toward the wall without breaking eye contact. “That placard hanging there. What is it?”

He looks and then huffs through his nose. “It’s an oath.”

You tilt your head the other way. “And what does it say?”

Astarion smirks. “‘As an officer of the Court, I will strive to conduct myself at all times with integrity, dignity, and honor.’”

“That’s right,” you say, nodding. “Now tell me, Ancunín… do you feel you’ve conducted yourself in accordance with that oath?”

“Of course,” he answers without hesitation, flashing you a winning smile. “I offered you the utmost dignity and honor, did I not?”

An idea occurs to you and you imagine he catches the twinkle in your eye as you raise one of your hands to click your fingers, a glowing web of pale blue stretching to cage you both inside. Astarion frowns up at it. The moment he realizes what you’ve done, he gives you a look that’s half-exasperated and half-devious.

“What’s this?” he says, playing along.

“A little insurance policy. To ensure your adherence to honesty.” You reach to the collar of your shirt and undo one button. Then another.

Then another.

Astarion struggles to keep his eyes on your face, but when you lean back down onto the table, he can’t help but sneak a peek.

You toy with another button. “Why don’t you tell me what you think about dignity now?”

Astarion bites the corner of his lip to keep his expression serious. He keeps his eyes trained on your chest and seems to carefully consider his words before he says, “I maintain that I respect the dignity of your tits.”

That’s not what he meant to say. He blinks. His eyes flick up to yours. “Your position,” he amends.

His eyes flick back down. “Your position and your tits.”

“Ah,” you say. “Yes, I thought that might be the case. That you might be… what do they say? Dipping your wick in the law office wax.”

You stand and come back around to his side, maintaining your spell as you do. Astarion tracks you all the way back around.

“I’d like you to be as honest with me as you can be,” you say softly. “Not that you’ve much choice. So, in that case, here’s some extra… motivation.”

You’re behind him now and you hear his sharp intake of breath when he feels your palms spread over either side of his hips before moving around to the ties at the front of his trousers. You loosen them just enough to give you space.

Astarion’s knuckles are going white where he presses his fingers against the desk.

Your fingers are soft and warm against his lower abdomen as they dip below his waistband, then inside his underthings. You find what you seek and grip it firmly, fisting the length of him. He bites back a groan and flexes his hands against the wood as you draw him out into the open air. 

“You do keep it cool in here,” you whisper into his ear. You keep your touch light as you tease his cock, just enough to make him want but not nearly enough to satiate the need. “Why is that?”

Astarion swallows and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “A little discomfort loosens the tongue, I find.” He struggles to keep the breathiness out of his voice and very nearly succeeds. 

Nearly. 

Your smile is wicked. “I see. Well.”

You rest his hardened length against the varnished wood of the desk. It’s cool on his touch-warmed skin and he whines lightly as you leave him there to walk around to his other side, fingertips drawing a trail across his broad back and shoulders.

“In that case, we’ll be leaving that…” You glance down at his cock, then back at his face. “… out in the cold until you’ve answered my questions to my satisfaction. Understood?”

He takes a deep breath through his nose and meets your eye. “Completely.”

“Good.” You move one of his misplaced curls back into place. “If I’m satisfied, I just might let you warm it up again. We shall see.”

“Indeed we shall,” he says, voice dropping deeper, and you can sense the challenge there. You smile as you turn away from him.

“Let’s try again,” you say. “Do you make a habit of lying to your interviewees in hopes of manipulating a confession?”

“Is ‘lying’ the word we want to use?” he says with a lilt.

“Yes.” You turn back to look at him.

He clears his throat, chewing his tongue to hide another smile before he looks away. He thinks a moment, then says, “I occasionally massage my message to pave the way for a more fruitful discussion in my favor, yes. Only in the interest of this office and my personal satisfaction.” He smirks at you, clearly pleased with himself.

You shake your head. “My, my. And just when I thought we were getting somewhere. Perhaps you need a reminder that I hold your immediate future in my hands?”

When you move back in and loosen his trousers still further to shove down his hips and below his arse, he wriggles to help. He seems to think he’s won this phase of the game. Adorable.

Rather than give him any relief, you reach out to the desk and pick up a wooden ruler, thin and flexible. Astarion opens his mouth, presumably to ask what you’re doing, but doesn’t get the chance as you use the flat of the ruler to give him a quick smack on his bare arse. 

He cries out in surprise and looks around at you. You raise an eyebrow at him and give him the opportunity to call his out. Instead, you watch his eyes darken. He’s still in. Which is good, because gods above if you aren’t beginning to make a mess of your underwear already.

“Do you understand your situation?” you ask.

“Maybe you ought to remind me again,” he rumbles.

You do, leaving another slap on his pale skin. A shiver travels up his back from the base of his spine all the way up.

“I understand,” he says.

“Very good,” you say. “Do you manipulate the outcomes of your interviews?”

“Sometimes, yes,” he says quietly, peering up at you from under his brows.

“Thank you for your honesty. With bribery?”

He nods.

You bend forward so you’re eye-to-eye. “And do you frequently offer favors of a sexual nature?”

Astarion’s gaze drops to your mouth and he blinks heavily. “That’s only for when I see someone I like,” he says.

There’s another slap to his arse, quick as reflex, and he gives a small, broken “a-ah” as he drops his head. He spoke the truth, your spell ensures that, but you want him to be more specific. You look down to see he’s subtly grinding himself against the desk, his cock beginning to weep pre-fluid as you watch.

You place the ruler against his back to hold him in place. “None of that,” you say. “Not until you clarify. Why me?”

He groans in frustration. “Because I like you. Because I’m attracted to you. Because I want to be inside you and fuck and fuck and fuck until we’re both hoarse from crying our ecstasy.”

Well. The pair of underwear you’re wearing are officially done for, you fear.

“What a wicked tongue you have,” you breathe, not quite able to keep up your aura of authority. You swallow and add, “Perhaps I’ll consider letting you off with a warning if we can figure out a better use for it.”

Astarion goes to his knees so quickly it makes your head spin. You don’t hesitate to take care of the bindings on your own trousers and he’s eager to help, shoving your clothing to the floor. You’re trying to remove a boot when he presses his face into the crux of your legs and runs his tongue along the seam of you so hotly that you nearly fall over. You lean down and give him another half-hearted smack. All it does is elicit a groan against your most sensitive of places.

With some struggle, you manage to remove the boot, kick your trousers and underthings off of one leg, and hop up to sit on the desk, Astarion follows you along, refusing to let you leave him now that he’s on you. His mouth works against you on its own, tongue lapping firmly at the edges of your cunt, flushing you and making you swell. He hasn’t even touched your clit yet and you know you’re already slick with desire.

You’re so momentarily distracted that you almost miss where his hands have gone.

Chest heaving, you weakly wave to dismiss your Zone of Truth and call up your mage hand, sending it down where you can’t reach to grab the wrist of the hand Astarion’s using to pump his cock while he licks at you.

“I don’t think so,” you gasp. “Still on… probation.”

You’re losing the thread and you’re perfectly okay with it.

Astarion growls in response and comes up higher on his knees, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you tight against his face. His tongue finally finds your center and he rolls it against your entrance, plying the place just inside that makes you go flush with arousal, your clit swelling further. Then he finally pays it attention with a light draw followed by firm circles, teasing until you feel sparkles of arcane energy tingling at your fingertips and zaps of pleasure shoot through your core.

He holds you so tight to him that there’s no escape from the assault of pleasure he’s waging on your body. All too soon, you’re whimpering as you approach your peak.

And Astarion simply stops. He leaves you there, right before the edge, and you cry out in dismay and frustration. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s on his feet and pulling you onto yours, spinning you around until your hips are pressed to the edge of the dark wood. You can feel his rock hard length against the cleft of your arse, feel the wetness at the tip of him against your lower back.

“You’ve overplayed your hand this time, I think,” he pants into your ear. “Let your guard down. What member of the Board of Ethics accepts bribes?”

When you try to wriggle free, you feel his fingers at your wrists. He takes your hands and spreads them on the desk as you’d done to him, bending you over. His hips draw back and then return and you feel his hardness drag over your folds from behind, teasing but not quite putting pressure on your clit.

His breathing is heavy, but through it, he manages, “This time, you tell me the truth. Why did you meet with me?”

“To catch you out,” you gasp. “Your behavior has been… unethical.”

“Is it unethical to recognize when someone wants your cock?” he whispers, sending a tingle over your shoulders. “Is it against my oath to offer?”

“That’s not… I didn’t…”

The head of his cock nudges your clit and you both hiss through your teeth. He pulls back until he catches at your entrance, pushing in just barely. Just enough to begin to feel him, but nowhere near enough of him. Instinctively you arch your back harder, trying to take more, but he won’t let you.

“Beg me,” he growls in your ear. “Beg me for my cock. Tell me it’s why you came here.”

Your very last thread of remaining restraint is pulled to its absolute limit, but it doesn’t break quite yet. “I came here on orders to uncover a magistrate with loose morals,” you manage.

Astarion reaches a hand up to the hair at the back of your head, grabs a handful, and gently pulls to bend your head back. Directly into your ear, he whispers, “You’ve found him. Now beg for it.”

In the quiver of his voice, you can hear that he’s the one begging you.

So you give in.

“I came here for you,” you whisper back. “Please, let me. Let me take your cock.”

His breath shudders out of him. “Take it you shall.”

Astarion thrusts his hips forward, burying himself in you, and you hardly have time to so much as gasp before he sets a punishing rhythm, one arm around your waist to hold you in place and the other one still tangled up in your hair. You arch deeply, giving him as much access as you can, and he pounds into you relentlessly. On the outskirts of your awareness, you feel bruises beginning to form on your hipbones from where they repeatedly hit the desk.

You don’t care one whit.

He keeps you bent over the desk, your palms spread to keep you both upright as he fucks you hard, his moans trapped behind his clenched teeth. As you fly full speed back to your edge, he removes the hand from your head and absently places it over your mouth to muffle your own escalating cries.

The coil of your climax tightens and Astarion begins to mutter a steady mantra of “yes, yes, yes, gods, yes” beside your ear. He presses himself all the way to the hilt and rocks, the base of him stretching you just right and his balls pressed firm to your clit and there, oh there, it’s right-

You scream behind Astarion’s palm as you come, the delicious tension boiling and spilling over as contractions roll through you, pleasure washing over your body with every heartbeat. You nearly blank out for a second and when you blink back down, your lover continues to pump into you as he chases his own end.

With a shaking hand, you call up your mage hand from where it shimmers nearby and press it to his chest, pushing back with soft pressure.

“No,” Astarion whines, attempting one or two more thrusts before you back him up. “No, please, please, I didn’t finish, I-”

You turn, bottomless and eyes full of fuck and revenge, and add your own hands to the mix, all three pushing him back until he hits the deposition table, going flat on his back. You crawl up over him and straddle him, up on your knees just out of reach.

You look down upon him, beautiful and fucked out in the moonlight. “Do you regret any of it?” you say.

“I’m regretting a lot of my decisions at the moment,” he snarks. His lips part as he breathes.

With a smile, you roll your hips just enough to catch the head of his cock back at your opening. “Do you regret any of it?” you repeat.

He pants, looking up at you. Then he reaches up to grip the front of your shirt and pull you down over him in a searing kiss. When you break, he whispers, “No. Not a moment. It brought me to you.”

You roll back, sinking down onto him. He gasps and throws his arms around you, helping you get back into rhythm, and he’s so close that it’s barely any time at all before he arches his back clear up off the table and groans as he spills inside of you, the relief painted across every inch of his face. He comes for nearly a minute, twitching and humming beneath you until he finally relaxes into a boneless heap.

When he next opens his eyes, you lean down and catch him in another kiss.

The pair of you have barely redressed and cast a few prestidigitation cantrips as a courtesy before there’s a sound somewhere down the hall. Footsteps. Coming closer.

“Shit,” Astarion whispers, startled. He grabs your hand and spins you both into a dim corner of the room before you both cast Invisibility. Just in the nick of time, it appears, because there’s a jangle of keys and then a harried-looking halfling comes bustling into the room, dark bags under their eyes.

They grumble to themselves for a moment, going to a box to sort through files. They don’t find what they’re looking for and move on to the desk. Once there, they open a drawer, then wrinkle their nose.

“Bleeding hells, it smells like sex in here,” they grumble. “Gonna tell Jackobson that Cole has been using his office again. Teach that arsehole for making me come fetch the file he forgot.”

The halfling pulls a file from the drawer, slams it, and exits the room.

Neither of you move for the rest of the minute your invisibility lasts. As soon as the cloaking spell fades, you both collapse to the floor in quiet giggles. You kiss Astarion through your laughter, again and again.

It’s nice to see this side of him.

[ssahotchnerr]

I’m not sure if you’re still taking soft hotch requests but imagine hotch coming home late and you had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him! Lots of cuddles and kisses because he accidentally wakes you up even though he’s trying not too

kisses at 3 am

WHY is this not my life cw; all fluff with a teeny touch of angst

boarding now. should be home around 3. see you soon, love you.

aaron's text caused your heart to skip a beat, a giddiness filling you from head to toe as butterflies erupted in your stomach. finally.

a case has kept him away from you, and notably the longest he's had in a while. you've been greatly spoiled recently, a case typically not lasting more than four days at a time. or they've even been somewhat local, allowing him to come home at night. but that was not the present scenario; aaron a few states away, and you haven't seen him in close to ten days.

with jack already asleep in his room down the hall, you curled up on the couch, set on staying up. you put a movie on to keep you company, and began counting down the minutes until you heard the familiar sound of aaron's key hitting the doorknob, announcing his arrival home and ultimately allowing you to throw yourself into his arms. and once you were in them, you didn't plan on letting go.

but as determined as you were, you vaguely could feel yourself nodding off. you had a long day at work, haven't been sleeping too soundly with aaron's absence, and you were exhausted. you put up a fight, urging and forcing your eyes to stay open despite the constant droop, needing to see aaron after being apart for far too long. but you sadly made the mistake of laying down, in search of a more comfortable position, so you succumbed to sleep involuntarily.

when aaron opened the door, at half past three, he was met with your sleeping form sprawled out on the couch, the ending credits of your (second) movie rolling on the screen illuminated in front of you.

a soft smile tugged at aaron's lips at the visual. the whole time he was away, all he could picture was coming home and seeing you. the texts throughout the day, the occasional late calls, made time away more manageable, but it was still painful. they made him feel like you were just within reach, that he could simply reach out and you'd be right there, that you could be in his arms and he could kiss you senseless. but the realization, or reality of the distance between, only produced a larger pit to form in his stomach.

it also filled him with a feeling he couldn't quite describe, having someone waiting for him to come home - someone eager to see him. after the divorce with haley, aaron felt like love was forever behind him - that he didn't deserve love somehow, anymore - but you've changed his perspective on everything. he was softer, lighter, more perceptive because of you. you've opened his eyes in more ways than he thought possible.

once the door was locked behind him, aaron placed his go-bag down besides the coat closet as quietly as he could manage. he then kicked off his shoes, removed both his suit jacket and tie, and placed them neatly on a nearby chair.

after, first, checking on jack - he grabbed the tv remote off the arm of the couch beside your head, clicking it off and submitting the room to darkness. he then carefully slid onto the couch next to you, wrapping an arm securely around your waist and scooting his body as close to yours as it possibly could be.

a wave of peace immediately rushed through his body at your contact, all the lingering stress he's felt the past few days disappearing in seconds. he buried his face into your neck, placing a soft kiss on the skin he found. he didn't stop there either, giving you multiple - on your neck, jaw, brushing his lips anywhere he could reach.

in result you stirred, your shoulders squaring as you stretched briefly as you began to awake. eyes still closed, your brows crumpled into small confusion at the sudden arousal, still overtaken by the deep depths of sleep.

"it's just me, sweetheart." aaron whispered, placing another chaste kiss on your neck. his head laid onto your shoulder, his hand rubbing your hip gently. "go back to sleep."

subconsciously, you recognized his voice; your body relaxing as you melted into him and back into the couch, a soft, content exhale escaping you as you began to reenter sleep.

and subconsciously needing to be closer, your body turned, positioning yourself so your back was to his front, burrowing back against him. again, aaron's face fell into the crook of your neck, his warm breath as he nestled against you. his hand slipped under your shirt to rest on your abdomen, the lull of his thumb brushing your skin guiding him to sleep not long after you.

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄

summary | both the miller brothers had a thing for you and you had a thing for them. they give you an ultimatum and you don't like that. so, instead of one, you choose both. [9k]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader x tommy miller

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, au/no outbreak, age gap (sort of, it's not specificed by tommy & joel are late 40s/early 50s and reader is labebled as younger) bar owner!joel, bartender!tommy, 3somes, flirting, soft!joel (in the beginning), tommy is a little bit of an asshole, oral ( f & m receiving) unprotected piv, aftercare, joel is selfish

author’s note | joel and tommy have no interaction together in this, at least to that extent. so heed the tags and don't read if you don't like, xo.

“Actin’ like you ain’t never gripped a damn bottle in your life,” Tommy grumbles over your shoulder, fingers wrapping around your own until you have a secure hold on the neck, “tight–alright?”

Your lips pull together tensely, forcing down the urge to roll your eyes as he guides your hand through the motions as you fancily flip the bottle upside down to pour out the liquid into the glasses on the counter in quick, careful precision as you filled each one to a certain amount before moving onto the next, but somehow keeping up the swift pace Tommy was asking for.

Or, really, demanding.

He nods quietly behind you, staring back to admire his handiwork, knowing most of that was his own doing and his ability to perfect his showmanship over the past several years of heading the bar under his brother Joel, who owned the bar. 

Your relationship with Tommy was…tricky, but Joel—that was an entirely different mess.

He passes the shot off to a few waiting customers enjoying the show, and you have half the mind to think that Tommy is getting off on the fact that you’re openly embarrassing yourself in front of the patrons, but really, he’s just an asshole.

Though, you’ve come to understand that was how Tommy showed his fondness and if he was being overly nice than you’d know something was up—hell would freeze over, pigs would fucking fly, and you might actually accept his advances for once. Not today. Not with him breathing down your neck as he motioned for you to repeat the process on your own.

You take a deep breath, lining up the shot glasses uniformly and turn your wrist to grip the neck of the bottle, finding Tommy in your peripheral as he nods, “Tighter,” He mumbles, “don’t need that thing slippin’ out of your hand mid-rush and Joel chewin’ my ass out over a wasted bottle of bourbon.”

“I dunno,” You tease playfully—

Tommy surges forward and tightens your grip around the bottle.

“Think you’d know a thing or two about a good grip but goddamn.”

“If you keep this up I’m talking to Joel,” You threaten lightly, an airiness to your voice that shouldn’t feel as menacing as it does, but Tommy backs off slightly, grumbling something under his breath, “—good boy.”

Tommy rolls his eyes in annoyance, rolling his shoulder backwards as he rests his hands against his hips. You continue, swinging the bottle around less clumsily than before and pouring out the shots in quick succession—no mess, no spill. It was perfect.

Tommy scratches at his jaw, slightly dejected now as you turn back to look at him.

“What’s next?” You ask with a flashy smile, shoving the bottle square into the middle of his chest.

-

Joel catches you near the end of that day, shoving a few things away in your assigned locker, thick fingers curling around the open door, subtle smiles gracing his features as he greets you with a nod.

“It’s been a few months,” Joel reminds you, thinking back briefly on how much has changed for you in such a short time—you had friends, a solid job, a place to live, and two boys who you couldn’t help but fawn over—it was natural luck you ended up in this position, “how you holdin’ up?”

And while Joel wasn’t as forward as Tommy in his attraction, you sense it in the way he looks and speaks to you in private, no watchful eyes to spy on you. Besides, Joel seemed private and reserved, so it wasn’t that odd that he felt comfortable approaching you in private.

“Okay, I think.” You answer truthfully, playing with the curled paper of the calendar taped to the inside of your locker, your own fingers curling underneath Joel’s own, pointer fingers touching but unmoving, you glance at him hesitantly before averting your eyes to somewhere beyond him, following the eyeline of the bar as you watched Tommy wipe down the front of the bar.

“Tommy ain’t givin’ you anymore trouble?” He asks, “I know he’s technically your boss and all—”

“And you aren’t?” You chide playfully, eyebrow raised slightly as you pocket your phone and grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “And yeah, but…no more than usual. I can handle Tommy just fine, you know?”

“I know, I know,” He laughs softly, hand moving away from the locker to pat at your shoulder, squeezing gently at your bicep—touches were so familiar with Joel. A hand on your back, a subtle touch of his fingers in the dip of your neck. He had respected your space in the beginning, even with how witfully you charmed him with ease. You enjoyed touch, viewed it as a language of love and didn’t mind when Tommy initiated it either. Often finding your own subconscious movements to cling to and touch the people you conversed with or felt comfortable around—he doesn’t mean much by it, you think, “but, he does still have to listen to me. I am his boss.”

“I pulled that card on him today, actually,” You admit, hand rising to rub at his elbow comfortingly, “he simmered down pretty quick.”

Joel sees the hold you have over his brother, both with your personality and general attraction Tommy felt with—well, most of the people Joel hired to work under him. But, Tommy is teasing with you, testy, and he’s not like that with the others. He’s comfortable enough that he can come off like an asshole knowing you won’t take it personally.

Joel chuckles, glancing back over his shoulder at Tommy before turning back toward you and rubbing a comforting finger under your chin, “Good girl.” He comments sweetly, it has your stomach doing flips no matter the context. It was a normal sort of endearment from Joel, but given the context, it feels like a praise rather than an outright compliment.

You smile shyly and shove his hand away.

“You know, we’re cooking out this weekend if you wanna swing by,” Joel offers, “it’s, uh—for Sarah.”

Sarah. You didn’t know much about her aside from the fact that she died young, around thirteen—it’s been close to twenty years now, but Joel still celebrates her birthday.

You nod half-heartedly, “Yeah I’ll—I’ll try to swing by.”

Joel smiles warmly, before pointing an accusatory finger at his brother across the bar, “Keep his ass in check, alright?”

You smirk, an underlying feeling of…something, feeling dizzy from how openly Joel adored you when it was just the two of you, “Always.”

-

Austin heat is sticky and humid, clinging to the bare skin of your legs exposed by the short summer dress you wore, strappy and flowy and—while it wasn’t an unusual sight to the Miller boys, they didn’t see it as often as they liked. So, of course, they gawk.

You shove the case of beers into Joel’s waiting grip, a subtle wink as he acknowledges your presence. Quickly crowding in by Tommy who’s already a few beers in, just by his loose nature as he slings an arm over your shoulder, squeezing gently. He sips generously on the last bit of his beer before allowing the rim to hang slack between his fingers.

“Tommy,” You acknowledge graciously—there was always a slight tinge of annoyance with him, not the type that made you angry or upset, but frustrated. Whether just plain frustration or sexual, you couldn’t put your finger on, “already starting the party without me?”

“Come on now,” Tommy teases, “you know it wouldn’t be a real party ‘til you got here.”

“Is anyone else showing up?” You ask curiously, leaning subconsciously into Tommy as your eyes spot Joel several feet away in the kitchen, unpacking the beers. “Tess? Bill?”

The bar was closed today. Always was. It didn’t matter what day Sarah’s birthday landed on. 

They had food, drinks, a cake—it was a real party, only missing its esteemed guest.

You’ve only seen Sarah through pictures and heard through stories told by word of mouth, but Joel has never cared about anything more in his life, not until the bar and long after Sarah’s death. He’d named the bar in her honor, a simple but beautiful nod to someone so special in his life. The Monarch.

She loved butterflies. And know, whenever you see them—it’s a little reminder of her presence.

“They can’t make it,” Joel speaks from the kitchen, his mouth downtrodden in its usual scowl, his natural resting face, “so—looks like it’s just us.”

“Can you handle that?” Tommy whispers teasingly in your ear and you elbow him gently in his side, “Hey—she’s already hittin’ me, Joel.”

“Stop pissin’ her off then,” Joel offers, “mind helping me, sweetheart?”

He nods toward that back and you nod quickly in response, but not before pressing a quick hand into Tommy’s side as you pinch him playfully and earn a pitiful shout, giant grin growing on your face as you depart and follow his older brother, giving Tommy an eyeful of your swaying hips, dress barely dipping past the bottom of your ass.

She’s a friend dammit. That was it.

But, it didn’t stop Tommy from crushing on you. Hard. Even at his grown age.

You follow Joel outside with a spark in your step, meeting him at the grill situated on his back deck as he flipped some of the cooking meat, an open beer in his left hand. 

“What did you need?” You ask curiously, noticing that he wasn’t speaking now.

“Nothin’,” He admits, “just like having you around.”

You smile softly, wrapping your arms around his bicep, feeling the muscle flex under your touch instinctively, his head turning to glance at you. He huffs out a soft laugh through his nose before returning his attention to the open grill, meticulously flipping the meat.

“Think if I kiss up enough to the boss he’ll give me the day off tomorrow?” You ask curiously, a hint of mischief gracing your tone as you train your eyes where he was looking, even if his gaze flicks toward you for a brief moment.

“Depends.” Joel responds gruffly, setting down the utensil to close the lid of the grill.

You huff a laugh at his ease to respond to your subtle attempts at flirting, completely harmless, but the unspoken tension lingered like a constant. 

“On?”

“If you’re being’ literal or not,” Joel offers and it sends a tingle down the base of your spine, his knuckles brushing against your hip from where you’re hanging off of his arm, “cause that can be arranged.”

There’s a brief moment where you think he’s being serious—and in Joel’s mind, he is. But, the slight widening of your eyes as the words leave his mouth have him worried, like maybe he read into this wrong.

He smirks, “I’m kiddin, sweetheart. Long as you can find someone to cover your shift—“

You interrupt him abruptly, calling out to his brother.

“Tommy!“ You half-shout over Joel’s shoulder, causing him to wince and chuckle at the suddenness of it.

Tommy’s trying to pretend like he hasn’t been staring this entire time from across the kitchen, eyes locked on your figure as you draped yourself over his brother, face lighting as you talked and the subtle touches that should be him—at least, he wished it was him.

He clears his throat and heads toward the back door, head popping out before the rest of his body, “Y’all need somethin?”

“Can you cover my shift tomorrow?” You ask, a saccharine smile and a look that Tommy fell for every time, finding you hard parted from Joel now, he notices how your hands smooth out the dress that barely covers your thighs. “Please?”

“Is this what you two are doing now?” Tommy asks, now fully in view as he closes the sliding glass door behind him, “Plottin’ against me—you can’t give her special treatment, you know—“

He points an accusatory finger your way that you swat away, both of your eyes locked on Joel who seems less than interested as he sips on his beer.

“She’s gotta find someone to cover her shift,” Joel explains, “same as everyone else.”

Tommy calls bullshit, knowing Joel would figure it out himself or cover for you—it wasn’t like you did this often, but Tommy was more than aware of all the times he came to your rescue, almost like you were using it against him. A ploy. A devious plan to get under his skin.

He knew Joel liked you—but dammit, he did too.

And even in his steadfast attempt to deny you, you reach out and grab his hand, uncurling yourself from Joel as you approach him—sad eyes and a fake pout.

“Stop that—“ Tommy warns, his voice soft and anything but demanding, but you only lean in closer, and as strong of the man Tommy thinks he is, he breaks, “—god, Fine. I’ll cover your shift.”

You smile wide, right on the edge of celebrating before Tommy is snuffing the joy out.

“On one condition—“ Tommy holds up a finger, and you have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes, knowing there was always some sort of but coming with anything Tommy agreed to, “remember that date you flaked out on?”

It was one time—within the first week of you working at a bar. Tommy didn’t waste any time and given your eagerness to try new things, you didn’t shut him down.

But, you psych yourself out and cancel.

Tommy’s always remained slightly jaded by the ordeal and part of that has contributed to your hot and cold relationship and willingness to tease each other but still have no restraints in your frustration toward one another.

“Hey—that’s not,” Fair dies on your tongue, his shoulders shrugged in a firm response, “—fine, yes. I do.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows in obvious question.

Date?

You scrunch your nose in annoyance but quickly relent, “Okay—but I’m picking the place this time. No fucking bars, Tommy.”

Joel listens to the conversation with a scowl, completely unassuming since it was his usual state of emotion.

Tommy holds his hands up in defeat, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Glad y’all got that settled,” Joel interjects with a tone that pulls your attention back to him, “if you’re done flirtin’ with each other I need some help.”

You and Tommy appease Joel quickly, helping him with the food and when you’re finally through dinner, spending a quiet moment around the cake. You don’t sing or anything—Joel hates it. But, he does light a candle and blows it out, signifying another year of her absence.

There’s a quiet moment with Joel toward the end of the night—Tommy is off somewhere in the backyard, presumably cleaning up the grill for he and Joel’s shared space. They were both unmarried and found that living together and splitting the pay was easier than anything else.

“Hey, don’t worry about that,” Joel tells you, slipping the dirty dishes from your hands as he discards them in the sink, “we’ll handle it.”

“You sure?” It felt like the least you could do.

Joel nods, shrugging as he sets his half-drank beer bottle on the counter—he’d lost track of which one it was. Enough that he feels a faint buzz in his system as he thoughts run and he admires your curious face as you tilt your head, wondering why he seemed so…lost.

But, really—it was just that kind of day. It was never good for him, as much as he tried to act like it was. Yet somehow, with you here, he feels more at ease.

“What?” You ask curiously, a playfulness to your tone. “Keep starin’ and I might just have to give you those kisses, Joel.”

And really, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.

Joel gradually moves closer, looking back briefly over his shoulder at Tommy.

He smirks slightly as he turns back to you, catching that soft, familiar smile on your face.

“Don’t think he’d be too happy about that.” Joel tells you, playing with a bracelet clasped around your wrist, his front nearly pressed against your own, so close you could reach out and slip your hands under his flannel, touch the bare skin and finally find out what those older women at the bar were talking about—Joel didn’t get around, but he wasn’t a stranger to a casual hook-up.

“Maybe I want to,” Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “what does Tommy have to do with that?”

“Sweetheart,” Joel breathes and you can’t resist, slipping a few trailing fingers under his shirt, which he quickly grabs with his own hand, tightening around your wrist, “I’m your boss, I can’t.”

The buzz of alcohol impedes you both, smart decision making out the window now.

“Like you don’t already give me special treatment,” You reply flippantly, teasing his obvious weakness, “....Joel.”

You.

Joel kisses you suddenly—you’re only half-expecting it as his large hand rises to cup your face, the other locked firmly around your wrist and he presses his lips firmly against your own.

He tastes like beer and the sweetness of frosting as you lick into his mouth, the hand not held tight in his grip finding its way into the front of his shirt, bunched into the fabric as you sigh into his mouth, the kiss quickly divulging into a battle of who could hold purchase on more of one another, hands exploring as Joel hands find their way over the back of your dress, the tips of his fingers grazing bareskin as he grabs and squeezes your ass, your teeth grazing against his bottom lip as you pull away suddenly, but not by your own doing.

It was Joel, his face flush from the alcohol in his system but also the intensity of the situation. There’s so much unspoken there and both of you want to speak and Joel nearly does before Tommy is shattering the moment, announcing his re-arrival into the house. You chew at your bottom lip thoughtfully as you glance between the two brothers, feelings and thoughts battling in your head.

Tommy was wild and unpredictable and you craved that.

Joel was practical and determined and that’s what you needed.

And selfishly, you wanted them both.

-

The conversation that happens later that night between Tommy and Joel is anything but civil.

“She agreed, Joel—it’s not like I’m forcin’ her,'' Tommy argues, “She could’ve said no and I wouldn’t care. She knows I like her, ain’t my fault she seems to like me back.”

“You’re still her boss.”

 As if he had any leverage, it pops Tommy out of his chair and toward Joel with an accusatory finger.

“And you? You’re my fuckin’ boss so how is that any better? ” Tommy asks and Joel looks away briefly in annoyance, fists curling at his side, “Think I didn’t catch you two earlier? Cut the shit, Joel.”

“This ain’t high school, Tommy,” Joel retorts, “We aren’t fighting over her.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty fuckin’ clear when you decide to make a move on her in the kitchen and then you’re standing here tellin’ me I can’t have her—how about you treat her like a normal person and let her choose, Joel.” Tommy retorts, “Or is that too damn hard for you? Not getting what you want?”

It sparks a deep fire inside Joel. Tommy too. And you really have no choice but to give them an ultimatum—besides, you wanted both. You were getting both.

-

It isn’t like they planned it, but somehow they manage to coincide and corner you at the same moment—Joel coming out of his office and Tommy rounding the door into the backroom, your frame bent over a box of bar snacks. When you look back, your eyes widen slightly.

“Shit—am I—are you firing me?” You ask, deeply concerned. You weren’t the best bartender, but you tried.

Tommy and Joel share an equally confused look.

“No—no why would you think that?” Joel asks.

You wave your hand vaguely between them both, a serious and concerned look on both of their faces. It wasn’t out of the norm for Joel, but for Tommy, it was unsettling. 

“Then, what?” You ask, only slightly annoyed. “We’re not exactly slow on customers right now—”

Another shared look, this time tense. Which one speaks first—it feels like race.

“Look, I already told Joel—” Tommy begins.

“Sweetheart, you need to know somethin’—” Joel interjects.

And it clicks quickly. Very quickly.

The shared look of frustration as they both purse their lips in a tight line, identical hands resting against their hips. This was ridiculous—the fighting, the silent arguing without actually sharing words.

“I’m not choosing.” You tell them forthright and their reaction is less than ideal, like two sad puppies who’ve just been scolded for bad behavior, but they both stay quiet and hang on your words, seeing that you weren’t finished. “If that’s what you’re expecting me to do.”

“No, that’s not—” Joel tries to argue, his voice fairly level for how distraught he seemed.

“I want you both,” You shrug, rising with the box in your grip, “so, if I can’t have that—then no.”

And you leave them with that, stewing in their own thoughts. Their gazes follow you as you walk, shoving past them gently.

“I’m not givin’ up.” Joel tells Tommy instantly, a look of defiance from his younger brother is thrown his way–Tommy was just as stubborn as Joel, if not more.

“Yeah, neither am I.”

-

Of course, you already knew how you wanted this to go.

You spoke to them both separately, promising a proper date at a specified place on a specific day and time—they wanted you and you wanted them. But, you were doing things your way.

And that is how you end up at the Miller’s brothers home again, a few weeks later, both of the men dumbfounded at how you mastered this plan. They were both wholly faithful to you, agreeing to go along with your plan to lie to the other brother so they wouldn’t get suspicious or upset, but really, you just wanted them both chasing their own tails.

They didn’t realize what was going on until they found themselves both getting ready at the same time that day, something lingering in the air that they couldn’t put their finger on until you were knocking at the door, a wide smile on your face. Joel answers, but Tommy isn’t far behind.

It’s how you end up on the couch later that night, squeezed together and eyes droning into the movie playing on the television screen, lingering touches like burns against your skin. Joel and Tommy are trying to avoid each other, but sometimes they’ll bump fingers and shoot a scowl at each other, but then you’re adjusting yourself to find another comfortable position and their attention is quickly drawn back.

Some of it is spent against Tommy, head resting against his solid chest but Joel’s hands never stray too far, a warm and comforting presence against your shoulder or thigh, a tender rub of his thumb into your sore muscles. Tommy likes to run his fingers along the shell of your ear, his chest shaking with a laugh at the movie every so often—there was little conversation happening and you blamed that on the obvious tension in the air.

When you trade Tommy’s touch for Joel, he’s ready for you.

You tend to like wrapping yourself around him, arms snug around his own like you’ve done a million times before, but you find your fingers dragging along the length of his forearm and he’s more shifty than usual, socked feet crossing and uncrossing as your touch grows, all the while Tommy’s hand firmly on your thigh, squeezing when you squirm a little too much, feet hiked up and resting in his lap. His thumb circles your ankle and rubs, a gentle massage to your bare feet as you sigh and that—that is what catches their attention.

“That feel good?” Tommy asks casually, a genuine question.

You weren’t one to complain about sore, achy feet and muscles from long shifts at the bar, but you weren’t going to turn down a nice massage or welcoming touch. You nod and Tommy smiles, allowing his deft and strong fingers to dig into the muscles of your foot, pulling another sated sigh from your lips. Joel hears the soft release of a breath from your lips and turns his head toward you, a subtle smile pulling at your lips as he stares at you more unabashed and open than usual. It’s the same look he gave you before kissing you the night of the party and you feel it, see it before it happens.

And somehow within the shared exchange, Tommy’s hand has climbed higher along your calf as he massages tenderly until he’s nearly at your apex, supple muscle pliant other his skin as he squeezes. Joel whispers something to you as he leans in, feeling the shift in the environment.

“This alright with you?” Joel asks quietly as you look over at Tommy, who despite himself looks just as eager if not more, like they weren’t completely turned off by the idea that you wanted both of them

Possibly at the same time.

“I think I should be asking you two that…” Your voice trails as Joel’s free hand slips to cup the back of your head, fingers molding with the shape of you as he tilts your head back, allowing him the lead willingly—and Tommy is there, right there at the apex of your thighs and you want is so fucking bad it pains you, physically and mentally.

“Oh, darlin’—there’s a few stories I could tell you,” Tommy offers, fingers lingering over the button of your jeans until you nod, quickly popping the thread apart and allowing his fingers to curl around the waistband of your jeans, tugging gingerly, “but that’s not important.”

Joel mouths at the line of your jaw instead of capturing your lips immediately, dragging out your suffering longer as you assist Tommy in his tug at your jeans, kicking the denim of your ankles as his large hand settles of your clothed pussy, panties damp at the center despite how hard you’ve tried to ignore the instant pleasure they’re touch gave you.

“No, no tell me.” You nod furiously, feeling Joel grins against the side of your face.

“It was a long, long time ago, sweetheart.” Joel defends, “Back in high school and college when Tommy just couldn’t go off and have his own things, always wanting everything his brother had.”

Tommy scoffs, scooting closer to you as he drapes a leg over his lap, spreading you wider for him, his hand following a slow path back and forth—all the way down to the apex of your knee before gradually back up to your pussy, throbbing underneath his touch as his fingers press into the sticky, wet fabric.

“That’s a stretch,” Tommy scoffs, “Anyways, darlin’—we used to, uh—”

Tommy doesn’t know why he feels ashamed to admit. So, Joel does it for him.

“We like to share, sometimes.” Joel explains. “I mean, I’m not in favor of sharin’ you but if that’s what you want…”

You nod furiously, the press of Tommy’s fingers grow stronger as he slips them past the side of your panties, touching the bare seam of your pussy, covered in the copious amount of sweet slick that had accumulated between your thighs.

“Oh, that’s what she wants,” Tommy surmises, a small chuckle hidden within his speech as his mouth hangs open slightly, watching yours grow wider as you gasp, his bare touch like a spark, “isn’t that right?”

You nod again, but that isn’t what he’s looking for.

“Need you to say it, sweetheart.” Joel demands, his hand squeezing at the thigh that wasn’t stretched out over Tommy’s lap, the other resting against your neck now, squeezing the muscle gently under his grip, his lips only a few millimeters from your own now. “Say you want this.”

“I do—fuck, I do,” You whimper, a single digit slipping past your entrance and into you, the stretch not quite what you’re looking for but the touch alone—from Tommy, is enough to drive you mad, “I w—want it. Both of you.”

“I think we can make that happen.” Joel agrees easily, capturing your lips in a searing kiss—heated in a way that has your stomach doing flips and your free hand gripping his grown out hair, peppered with grays but so fucking soft between your fingers.

Tommy slips in a conspicuous second finger in the midst of the heated kiss and it surprises you how good it feels, just graced by the thickness of his fingers but you need more. Want more.

There’s a subtle snarl to the way Tommy admires you so openly, his eyes dragging along the slow rise and fall of your chest and the way you cunt sucks his fingers in with greed and nothing else. He wants to taste you. 

There’s a brief look he offers as you break apart from Joel, breathless as you turn your head toward him, Joel’s following as his eyes trail toward the point where Tommy’s fingers are buried inside of you.

“Use those words,” Joel whispers against your cheek, a smirk growing on his face, “don’t be afraid.”

“Whaddya need, darlin’?” Tommy asks enticingly, removing his fingers in an anxious anticipation, wet fingers dragging along your thigh. “Gonna let me taste you?”

“Please, god—please.” You whine pathetically, watching as Tommy dicends without question, removing your panties with a swiftness that deafens the task at hand. It takes a moment as you untangle yourself from Joel to settle more central on the couch, squealing softly as Tommy manhandles your thighs over his shoulder, settled on his knees and his palms pressing flat over the tops of your thighs.

Joel settles solidly behind you after some maneuvering, a sturdiness to his chest that takes the brunt of your weight as you relax against him, his hands quickly finding their way under your shirt and pulling it up until the fabric is bunched under your skin, bare breasts on full display as he runs a gentle, testing touch over them with his palm, eyes closing at the overwhelming sensation of both of them surrounding you. You don’t even have the guise to feel shy that this was the first time they were seeing you like this–it felt normal, like this is what was supposed to happen.

Tommy floats a hot breath against your skin, kissing a line up the inside of your thigh before he speaks, “I got you, darlin’,” He assures you, “—tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You nod shakily, looking up hesitantly at Joel over your shoulder and he can only offer a grin, though his eyes harbor something much darker. “Tell ‘em, baby.” He urges, “You want him to eat your pussy, right?”

You nod obediently and Joel grabs ahold of your chin gently, guiding your gaze back toward Tommy, feeling the heat of his gaze burn into you.

“Need your mouth, Tommy,” You beg, earning a gentle squeeze of acknowledgement from Joel against your chin, who leans in with a gentle whisper of tell him where as you exhale an even shakier breath than before, “on my pussy—please—”

Tommy snickers softly before he obliges, a slow, languid lick of his tongue through your folds as he starts, ripping a quiet gasp from your chest as your hand instantly finds his hair, overgrown like Joel’s but stark black and gelled back like usual, never a hair out of place.

That wasn’t going to be the case much longer, fingers fisting into his hair and using it as leverage, the slow licks between your lips quickly exploring inside of you, teasing dips into your hole as he chuckles a soft breath which each and every squirm you offered, all while under the intense gaze of Joel, who was clearly holding out—he wouldn’t kiss you as hard as you tried, trained on your face as you challenged his eye contact, not daring to let it go unless he physically forced you to look away. His hand still lingered against your chin but occasionally fled for a comforting touch when things got intense too quickly and you were almost teetering over the edge, but he quickly brought you back down.

And within that, you’re so blinded by pleasure to not realize that he’s instructing Tommy the entire time, only catching onto the last few commands as Tommy devours, making his own selfish noises as he groaned when you pulled a little too tight on his hair, mumbling praises of depravity and a ‘so fuckin’ sweet—always knew you were, darlin’ and the occasional, breathier ‘come on baby—use my face, fuckin’ take it.’.

Joel speaks to Tommy directly, despite keeping his eyes on you.

“Oh, you’re right there, huh?” Joel asks you goadingly, “Need more?”

You nod eagerly, despite how good Tommy’s mouth feels, he was lacking in one important aspect—you couldn’t blame him, he was a little overwhelmed with everything, as were you. But, Joel, he seemed the most-level headed and you were so fucking thankful for it.

“Want him to play with your clit, sweetheart?” He asks, “S’that what you need?”

“Ye—Yes.” You stutter, the gentle squeeze of your breast under Joel’s grip causing you to clench around Tommy’s tongue and he flicks his eyes up toward you both and there was no telling how pathetic you looked, but Tommy seemed just as equal on that playing field.

“You heard ‘er, Tommy.” Joel tells him, “give our girl what she wants.”

Our girl.

It doesn’t take long when his tongue presses against your clit, circling maddeningly until you have no other choice but to grip onto the couch and moan, the tightening, agonizing feeling in your stomach bursting at the seams as you come against his tongue. Joel captures your mouth to swallow the moan, not trying to give Tommy the satisfaction just yet while his brother greedily licked away at your pussy, cleaning up the mess you’d made, a gentle smile on your face as you finally came back down, allowing Joel to lick greedily into your mouth before you chanced a glance at Tommy, his pupils blown out in pleasure.

“Think we should move this to the bedroom?” Joel asks preemptively, a soft laughing bubbling from your chest.

“Yeah—yes, please.” You agree, but your legs feel weak, unable to bear your weight.

“I got you, baby.” Tommy assures, helping you to your feet gently, a comforting hand on your waist as he led you toward what you could assume was Joel’s room–considering he had the bigger of the two, Joel following closely behind. 

The deafening click on the door is both a promise and a warning.

This was a secret held within these walls and whatever took place could not be reversed.

You were willing to take that risk though, selfishly.

And you were sure the Miller brothers shared the same sentiment.

-

And for some reason, you didn’t think it was that important you come again. Not after the first, seeing as how they had proved their point in wanting you, nearly brought you to tears with your first orgasm and maybe—maybe you could just blow them both and it would be fine, even the playing fields and leave it at that. 

But, no. That’s not what they wanted. Or planned for.

Joel eats your pussy for fun, he doesn’t even try to make you come. You manage to convince Tommy out of his jeans early, using the fist you have wrapped in his shirt as leverage as you hover on your hands and knees, gripping his thick cock in your free hand and giving it a few slow tugs, knowing that if he was this big, there was no telling what Joel had to offer. 

He’s uncut and girthy, thick veins lining his cock as you lapped teasingly at the head, pulling the foreskin back as you took him into your mouth, a moan reverberating over his cock as Joel ate you out from behind, ass high in the air as he settled on his knees. It wasn’t an ideal position, but Joel wasn’t complaining and neither were you.

Joel had always stripped at some point, still clad in his boxers but devoid of everything else. He’s much wider than Tommy but not nearly as firm—where Tommy has a more chiseled chest and stomach, Joel carries a softness that still beckons with strength. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” Tommy sighs, “got a goddamn mouth on you, you know that?”

To some extent, you did. He knew you liked to argue at every possible opportunity, throw back witty remarks that sometimes he didn’t even have a response to but this—this is more than he could imagine. Wet, hot heat surrounded his cock in a way that could have him coming within a few strokes, but he was determined.

You nod with your mouth latched around his cock, taking him to the base until he nudges that back of your throat, trying desperately to ignore how it makes your eyes water, hearing Tommy groan deeply with the feeling of you swallowing around him.

“I’m gonna cum,” Tommy warns, “—go on, baby, pull off if you wanna.”

You shake your head defiantly, feeling Joel chuckle against your cunt from behind you.

“She’s greedy, brother,” Joel comments slyly, “You should know that.”

Tommy comes with a low groan, fingers wrapping around the arm still gripping his shirt, thumb rubbing against the skin to soothe himself and keep him anchored here, feeling like he might teleport to another goddamn dimension with how eagerly you swallow down his cum.

You pull off with a soft pop and look at Tommy, grinning proudly. He can’t even hide his adoration, chuckling behind a toothy grin as you pull away from Joel, turning in Tommy’s lap and pressing your back against his chest.

“You think I’m greedy?” You ask Joel teasingly.

“Look at you,” Joel comments snidely, though there’s a playfulness to his tone, “couldn’t settle for one of us so you’re gettin’ both—that seems pretty damn greedy to me.”

You nod mawkishly to his words, watching as he grew closer, shifting on his knees as you leaned forward slightly, feeling the gentle press of Tommy’s palm against your back, his spent and softening dick, pressed against your bare ass. He knew it wouldn’t take long, just a few minutes and he’d be even harder than before, unable to resist you.

“And if I want more?” You ask curiously.

“More what, sweetheart?”

“Well, for starters—I want your cum, Joel.” You tell him honestly, “Can you give me that?”

“Dunno, you think you deserve that?”

Tommy’s watching the exchange with an amused grin, feeling it was a well-deserved punishment to Joel with how often you and him argue this way. Joel was finally getting a taste of the medicine he so often mocked Tommy for complaining about.

“Come here.” You beckon, grabbing lazily at his wrist and pulling him toward you.

He seems hesitant at first, but he leans over you, sandwiching you between him and Tommy as you press your lips in a featherlight touch against his own.

“Kiss me.” You demand.

“What?” He asks curiously, like his brother hadn’t just come in your mouth.

And that’s exactly why–it doesn’t make your skin crawl, in fact, it only turns you on more.

“Please, Joel,” You pout, “just a little peck and then I’ll let you fuck me while Tommy has to watch–that’s what you want right? Wanna pull some claim over me while your brother can’t do anything about it, am I wrong?”

Joel kisses you so intensely it forces you back against Tommy, a small mmph leaving your mouth as Joel quickly gained the upper hand and wraps his large, rough hands under your ass and scoots you further down the bed until the back of your thighs press against the top of his and you moan as he licks into your mouth, knowing that the lingering of Tommy’s headiness touches his tongue and you bite down harshly on his bottom lip as he pulls apart for a brief, lingering moment. 

Here it comes—the questioning consent, the lingering wonders.

“I’m covered, Joel.” You assure him, “We don’t need them. I trust you both are clean.”

Assuming that Tommy was going to fuck you too—which, god, you fucking hoped.

That’s all Joel needs, nodding before he grabs ahold of his shaft, dragging the tip of his cock through you wetness, gathering it in a slow teasing trail before he presses inside slowly, watching the stretch of you around his cock. You can’t help but keep your eyes locked on the same point either, because what Joel lacked in slight girth he made up for in length, feeling the numb press of him inside of you before he was even fully sheathed.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” He says, voice strained, “that’s a tight fuckin’ fit. Think you can handle it?”

You laugh brokenly, Tommy’s hands comforting over your shoulder before they trail to your breasts, teasingly rubbing a nipple between his fingers, watching it pebble underneath his touch.

“Do you want a pat on the back or something?” You retort, “Fuck me, Joel.”

“There she is,” Tommy comments in amusement, “I knew you were in there. Give it to ‘em, darlin.”

“Shut it, Tommy,” Joel snaps, “Know what, sweetheart, I got a challenge for you.”

Joel moves his hips slowly, pulling out slowly before pushing back in even more agonizingly slower. “No touchin’, how’s that sound? Think you can handle it.”

You shake your head. Honestly, Joel could respect it.

“Fine—Tommy, hold her hands.” Joel settles and part of you expects Tommy to argue.

He doesn’t. In fact, he looks just as greedy about the idea. And he knows if you were uncomfortable with it you would speak up, because secretly—it was exactly what you wanted. Render your power and your own autonomy for a brief moment and give yourself over to them equally. Tommy holds his hands out in wait, wiggling his fingers teasingly.

You hand them over with a soft sigh, feigning annoyance. He guides them to wrap around his waist behind you, arms stretched over your head as Joel has a solid grip on the underside of your thighs, hips still moving slowly throughout, so slow that you forget he’s actually seated inside you until he snaps his hips once, twice, his resistance snapping when he sees you settle.

Tommy settled on his own knees, though sat deeper into the bed, his hands a tight, mindful presence against your wrist as you squeeze and claw at his skin as Joel pistons his hips with a ferocity that seeks vengeance, or something there of. 

“Squeeze my cock, sweetheart,” Joel goads, feeling you do just that as your eyes roll back, “yeah—don’t act like this wasn’t what you planned from the beginning.”

“Our girl’s good at that,” Tommy comments, staring down at you with a mischievous smirk, “playin’ us both—kinda like it though, I’ll admit.”

“Shut up,” You groan, “Both of you.”

You pointedly pinch at Tommy’s skin and he tilts his head in both amusement and confusion.

“I think she’s gettin’ a little upset,” Tommy acknowledges, “You don’t think it’s fair, darlin?”

You almost have the courage to reply when Joel’s thumb drags over your clit, rubbing in quick and determined circles to match the intensity of his thrusts, using his spread knees to keep your thighs wide and open for him, eyes locked on your cunt as you squeeze around him repeatedly, moaning wantonly into your bicep as you turn your head to the side.

But, Joel doesn’t appreciate that. He grabs your chin quickly, and clicks his tongue in disapproval, “Nuh uh, sweetheart. You keep those eyes on Tommy. Let him see how good I make you feel, alright?”

You pout slightly, biting harshly at your bottom lip as Joel shifts his hips slightly, but it feels earth-shattering, one hand planted into the mattress to allow for him to reach something deeper inside of you, if that was possible.

“I’m right—right,” You sigh, eyes tearing up as you looked at Tommy, clawing gently at his sides, “fuck–I’m right there, Tommy.”

Despite Joel being inside you, his name slips out. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. And he wants to give you relief but really, he’s just eager to be inside of you too. He knows the quicker Joel finishes up that he can have you, so he encourages his brother. And Joel is too desperate for his own release to argue.

“Ask him, sweetheart.” Joel notices your eagerness for approval from Tommy and plays into it, feeling the familiar feeling building in his gut as he grits his teeth.

You nod furiously in understanding, eyes trained on Tommy. “I need to—can I come, please?”

“Go on, baby.” He agrees softly, rubbing a gentle hand over your chest as he feels your body shake with your orgasm as Joel swiped a thumb over your clit before everything goes white, gasping sharply at the intensity, but you don’t have much time to recover before Joel is pulling out and allowing Tommy to assist as you sit up slightly and feel the press of Joel’s cock against your lip, the blurriness in your eyes quickly clearing as he comes in long, forceful spurts over your tongue.

You lap greedily, swallowing visibly as Joel squeezes at his cock and forces out the last few bits of cum he had to offer, rubbing the tip against your tongue as you giggled softly, kissing his cock head gently.

There’s a brief second where you think they might allow you a break, a moment to collect yourself, but Joel is staring at you with his head cocked to the side, palming his softening dick as he glances over you at his brother.

“I dunno if she’s up for it,” Joel offers, “I think that might’ve taken it out of her.”

A shame, really. But, your eyebrows furrow in defiance as you quickly shove Joel, gently and not at all enough to really move him more than a few millimeters. It causes Tommy to chuckle.

“He’s just playin’ around, baby.” Tommy comforts, “You think you can handle it?”

You nod eagerly, turning on your knees as you rise to meet him with an eager kiss, something you haven’t had the chance to do all night. Tommy kisses with more eagerness, more passion—it’s less experience than what you feel with Joel. Tommy has so much he wants to match with you; the curiosity and unity in the way you touch him. You kiss like new lovers and it feels your body with warmth, both of you laughing softly against each other’s lips.

“I can handle it.”

Tommy eyes you seriously, following your playful gaze.

“Get to the edge of the bed.”

And—oh, that’s…different. Like a switch and you can barely recognize him.

Joel and Tommy switch with a trained ease as Tommy guides you to the end of the bed, the top of the mattress pressing at your waistline and giving you easy leverage to lean against and Joel is right there, in perfect view and waiting for you. He seems softer now too, more relaxed.

You think Tommy might give you a moment but he’s already hard again and eager, sliding inside of you in one go—hard and sharp as your hands press into the mattress between Joel’s thighs, gripping the sheets tightly.

=

Tommy grips tightly at the back of your neck and pulls you upwards, pressing his face into the side of yours and speaking tensely against your skin, “Why don’t you be a good girl and give my brother a taste of what your mouth can do, huh, baby?”

You nod obediently, shivering at the way Tommy mouths at your skin greedily before forcing you back down against Joel, his hands spread out beside him, cock hard against and resting against his belly.

He’s almost positive he won’t be able to come again–not this soon, but he isn’t going to deny himself the taste of your mouth, watching as you move with eagerness to please him and Tommy. The sharp snap of Tommy’s hips makes it a little difficult and Joel wants to scold his brother’s eagerness and lack of restraint, but he knows—Joel knows how good you feel and he can’t even blame him. 

He offers a guiding hand as you swallow him down, swirling your tongue around the tip a few times, repeating the process with his hand resting gently against the side of your face, thumb rubbing tenderly at the joint in your jaw, feeling him stretch you and heightening the growing ache that will linger for a while.

“Fuck, our girl’s got such a sweet pussy, don’t she?” Joel comments snarkily, eyebrows furrowing when you take him a little too deep, “Can’t get enough of it—just like this goddamn mouth.”

You moan pathetically and Joel can’t handle it, gripping your face between his palms as he presses his lips to yours forcefully, swallowing the whine that leaves your mouth as you feel Tommy’s hands roam and tightening against your body, soft expletives leaving his mouth as he fucks into you and hand gradually arriving at your shoulder and tightening around the skin, pulling him back against your harshly.

Joel rubs his thumbs against your cheeks, eyes locked on yours, “Yeah—think you can come again, sweetheart?” A third? Not a fuckin’ chance. You shake your head weakly, ‘You can, I know you can,” And there’s Joel’s soothing voice, the one you hear so often at work, “You keep your eyes on me, alright? Nowhere else.”

“Listen to ‘em, baby.” Tommy interjects after a long bout of silence, too lost in his own head as he relishes in the squeeze of you around his cock, committing it to memory. “Gonna make sure you feel us tomorrow while you’re at work.”

Joel chuckles at that, the slow trail of Tommy’s hand as it finds your clit and begins slow circles, easing into it, “Yeah, how ‘bout that,” Joel comments teasingly, “maybe we just can’t resist ourselves and we can take turns fuckin’ you in the back office. But, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

You moan sheepishly, eyes falling shut up.

Joel tsks, “Eyes on me means you keep ‘em open too, baby. Answer me.”

“Yes—yes, fuck—I would. I would.” You rush out, feeling Tommy’s pace quicken and the ache in your stomach builds and builds, tears building in your eyes as you keep them locked on Joel. 

Despite his demands his face remains gentle and you find yourself sobbing softly into his hands as Tommy snaps his hips one last time, coming inside of you with a deep, guttural groan as he tips you over the edge too. It’s too much, overly-sensitive and your muscles burning with more ache than when you started you let out another sob, falling against Joel.

“Go on, get somethin’ to clean up,” He tells Tommy over your shoulder, “I got her.”

You fall slack against him, feeling him adjust himself on the bed until you can sit properly, leaning you against his body as he hands run along your back, soft sobs wracking your body.

“Hey, you still with me?” Joel asks hesitantly. “Was it too much?”

You feel yourself start to calm under his touch, quickly shaking your head.

“Just…overwhelmed.” You admit, “Too much.”

“Too much?” Joel echoes with an endearing chuckle. 

“Yes,” You admit amusingly, “I guess I wasn’t expecting…that.”

“That’s fair,” Joel offers, gripping your hand in his own and intertwining your fingers, “this doesn’t—we don’t usually do this. We haven’t in a long time. I don’t want you to think this is something you're bound to now.”

“Like he could fire you if he wanted to,” Tommy interjects with a sly grin, somehow managing to redress amidst your talk with Joel, just a pair of dark colored briefs but it allows what just happened to settle in more deeply, “come here, darlin.”

Joel switches off, pulling his own underwear on somewhere near the other side of the bed. And you welcome the warmth of the washcloth as Tommy drags it between your legs, hissing only slightly, “I know, you’re pretty sensitive—m’sorry.” Tommy mumbles, gingerly cleaning you up, dragging the wet wash cloth along your thighs as well, tender from his and Joel’s teasing bites at your flesh. “Better?”

“Thank you.” You say softly, his free hand gripping your waist tenderly.

Joel offers up your clothes silently, eyeing his brother wearily as he bounds around the room, gathering his own clothes and re-dressing, though Joel stays in his nearly bare state of undress, briefs allowing him some modesty.

“I’m gonna check the bar,” Tommy offers, “should only take an hour or so.”

Joel nods, “Alright, just…keep me updated, I guess.”

He isn’t ushering you out either, his lingering presence by your side as you pull your underwear up your thighs, a gentle touch of reassurances as you wobble on unsteady legs. Tommy chuckles lightly at the sight, winking when he catches your disgruntled gaze, nose scrunched up in annoyance. 

“No fun without me.” Tommy jokes.

“Tommy—” Joel says steely as his brother throws his head back over his shoulder, slipping on his boots, “get the fuck out of my room.”

Tommy offers a mock salute and does just that, leaving you alone with Joel for the first time that night.

“I’m guessing the same rules apply to me?” You ask, shoving your arms through the holes in your shirt, yanking it over your head and you catch Joel shaking his head, pulling you to your feet with a hand when you finally look at him.

“I got you all to myself now,” Joel says quietly, “think I deserve to be a little selfish.”

You wince at the thought of any more sex tonight, but are thankful his hands down stray from your side when they settle there.

“Joel, I can’t—”

“Sleep here tonight,” He offers, “I’ll cook breakfast in the morning."

“I think you just want to keep to yourself all night so Tommy can’t have me, don’t you?”

Joel grins, leaning in for a gentle peck of your lips, “You’re damn right, sweetheart.”

[kpopaussieline]

𝔖𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔢𝔡 | 𝔒𝔫𝔢

A/N: I finally made a start! I sincerely hope you enjoy it <3 The biggest thank you to @un06 for helping me every step of the way.

Synopsis: You live in a village where girls are offered to the vampires that live in the woods that border the town. You're next. And you're in for a surprise.

Warnings: swearing and mild violence

Part one /

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It’s a beautiful day. The air is warm enough to heat your skin, but not too hot where it’s an effort to breathe. The scent of flowers and fresh-made goods is everywhere, accompanied by the sound of casual conversations and children’s laughter. The town centre is busy today. It seems almost the whole village is out enjoying the first day of summer– a welcome relief from the gloomy spring just gone.

It’s a beautiful day… and yet there’s tension in the air.

You know everybody can sense it. That they’d rather focus on their daily errands than the practice planned for tonight. Maybe they can ignore it. But you can’t dismiss the unease in your stomach as you near the town square. The flutter in your chest as you pass through, seeing the council workmen erect the post and pile logs for the bonfire.

You quicken your pace, your hold on the paper bag in your arms tightening like a vice.

***

Your skirt swishes around your ankles as you practically leap through the front door. You gently close it behind you and lean against it, taking a moment to breathe in the comforting scent of your grandmother’s house. You exhale slowly, shedding the bad feeling from outside and letting it melt away as you make your way down the hall toward the kitchen.

Not much has changed around here since you were little. The same faded leather couch and sturdy coffee table sit in front of the same roaring fire that you’d spent hours upon hours in front of playing and reading. The same elaborate tapestries and oil paintings are arranged neatly across the slightly-yellowed walls. The same stale smell of cigarettes lingers from when your grandfather was still alive.

A lot has stayed the same, except the photographs that used to flow through the house.

Back when you were young, you used to admire the pictures of your mother. Her life. From her as a toddler sitting on your grandfather’s lap, to her sitting by the river as a teenager, to her wedding photos with your father. Your grandparents wanted to remember all the little things. They wanted their daughter to as well. So they captured the memories of your mother and displayed them proudly around the home. Then, obviously, there were the family photos. Ones including you and your older sister, Emily. Your grandmother’s house had always been like a photo album; a gallery for your family’s memories.

Now, a lot of those photos are gone. Taken down, shoved into chests, replaced.

You walk into the kitchen and place the groceries on the counter, taking your time to unpack the ingredients. As you fill a pot with water, there are footsteps behind you and your grandmother appears.

“Where’s my greeting, hm?” The corners of her thin lips are turned up in that cheeky smile of hers. Your grandmother may be from a different generation, but her spirit has always been ahead of her time.

You look over your shoulder as you shut off the tap, mirroring her smile as you place the pot on the stove. “Sorry, Nanna. I thought I’d make a start on dinner, so you didn’t have to.”

Her smile widens, growing warmer. She comes up beside you and squeezes your arm affectionately. “Thank you, darling.”

You turn and start peeling vegetables. Your grandmother falls into line next to you and dices them, the two of you working together under comfortable silence.

***

It’s quiet at the dinner table, aside from the occasional sound of cutlery against a bowl. You’ve barely touched your stew. You’ve spent the past ten minutes swirling your spoon through it rather than actually eating. Your appetite is gone, the anxious knot in your stomach from earlier taking its place. You look at the dining room window, concealed behind the drapes. If they were open, you’d be able to see the town square. The podium where the mayor will give his speech. The soon-to-be-lit bonfire that will serve as a beacon. The thick post where a girl will be bound by midnight.

It's a scene you’ve witnessed only once in person, but is now engraved into your memory for good. Your parents had only taken you because you’d asked. You’d only asked because Ella Nuttal was the sacrifice that winter. The baker’s daughter, your friend. In hindsight, you wish you’d never gone. Even if it was to say goodbye. You’re sure her desperate cries for help will haunt the back of your mind until you’re nearing death and most of your memories are gone.

Your grandmother’s voice breaks through your reverie. “What’s wrong?”

You look at her, chewing your lip as the imprints of the images linger behind your eyes. “I don’t know… Something feels off.”

She sets down her spoon, the room so quiet you can hear the soft clink. “Always does these times of year.”

You shake your head. “I know. But it isn’t that. It’s more like...”

Understanding dawns on her features. “Intuition?”

You nod. “Yes.”

She exhales. A soft sigh. “Well then I don’t know what to tell you. God may have gifted some of us a sixth sense, but that doesn’t mean we always know what to do about it.”

The corners of your mouth turn down and you look down at your lukewarm stew. “I suppose you’re right.”

Your grandmother clucks her tongue, causing you to look back up at her. She offers you a small but reassuring smile. “Don’t stress, darling. There will be times when your mind tries to trick you. I was in the bank once, and I was standing near this gentleman. There was something a little odd about him. My gut was telling me to leave, that he was going to hold up the place. But then he simply did what he had to and left.”

Her anecdote makes you feel a bit better. Maybe you are getting worked up for nothing. Maybe it’s just that the night of the Offering has you on edge. You take a breath, consciously relaxing your spine and shoulders. You chuckle. “Thanks, Nanna. I needed that.”

She smiles again and picks up her spoon. “You’re welcome, dear.”

You wrap your fingers around the ornate silver spoon and take your first mouthful of dinner. As you thought, it’s lukewarm and the carrot and beef aren’t as tender, but it’s still delicious.

***

As you wash the final plate and place it on the draining rack, there’s a knock at the front door. You look over your shoulder, in the general direction of the noise.

“I’ll get it,” your grandmother calls from the living room. You hear the modest heels of her shoes move across the floorboards in a steady click, clack, click, clack rhythm.

You leave the kitchen, heading down the hall toward the stairs. Now that your chores are done for the night, you plan on settling in your room and reading for a bit. You reach the foot of the staircase just as your grandmother reaches the door. You begin climbing the steps as she turns the lock and opens it.

“Samuel, Raymond!” You can hear the smile in her voice and the corners of your mouth twitch in response. But you do wonder why Sam and Ray are here. You shake it off as you continue up the stairs and their voices fade into a string of muffled words in the background.

And then you falter.

You frown and strain your ears. You can just make out Ray’s voice. Impatient and harsh. You hear your grandmother’s voice. Small and surprised.

Your heart starts to pick up speed, goosebumps prickling your arms and neck. Your muscles tense and you grip the wooden railing so tight your knuckles hurt.

They’re here for you.

There’s a shout, followed by a crash and a shocked cry. Heavy footsteps approach the stairs and you run. Taking the steps two at a time while trying to stay light on your feet. You can’t let them hear you. Adrenalin courses through your veins as you dash into your grandmother’s room at the end of the hallway. You shut the door as quickly but quietly as you can. Your eyes dart around the dark room, desperately searching for a place to hide. They land on the dumbwaiter on the right wall. You climb into the tight box, curling in on yourself to fit. You close the small square door before reaching for the rope, tugging on it and lowering yourself out of sight.

Then you wait.

Even from here, tucked away inside the wall, you can hear Sam and Ray searching for you. Doors being thrown open, frustrated voices, furniture being moved around.

Your heart is beating powerfully in your chest. So hard you can almost feel it against your leg. You bury your face between your knees, body shaking almost violently. You try taking a deep breath but your chest is too tight.

There’s a muffled bang.

They’re here.

Your arms tighten around your legs and you bury your face further into your knees. You hold your breath, trying to hear what’s going on through the ringing in your ears.

“… don’t have time for this.”

“Relax. She’s gotta be in here somewhere.”

After a minute of rummaging, you hear the closet door slam. “Dammit!”

“Maybe she snuck downstairs,” Sam suggests.

“Wait a minute.”

Your heart skips a beat.

Ray’s footsteps come closer. Closer. They stop, just outside the dumbwaiter. You itch with the urge to run, feeling like you could jump out of your skin. But there’s nowhere to go. You’re trapped.

The hatch lifts, scraping against the edges of the square opening like fingernails on a chalkboard. You bite down on your lip until a metallic taste spreads into your mouth.

You remain silent, even after Ray spots you. He chuckles and grabs the rope, pulling it and slowly bringing you into view. He sneers, eyes raking over your quivering form. “There you are, princess.”

He seizes your arm and drags you out, the ledge digging painfully into your soft flesh before you fall to the floor. You wince, flipping onto your butt and scrambling backward.

Ray clucks his tongue before grabbing your ankle and pulling you back. “No, no, no. You’re not going anywhere, darlin’.”

Sam steps forward and grabs your arm. Ray takes hold of the other and they haul you upright. As they lug you down the hallway, your head is spinning, your vision is swimming and suddenly nothing feels real. A dull pain shoots up your ankle as it snags on one of the steps, but you barely notice.

The men lead you through the entryway and you finally see your grandmother. Unconscious. Sprawled on the floor beside the tipped-over side table, pieces of the broken vase scattered around her.

“Nanna!” you scream, tugging against the men’s grasp as you experience a rush of clarity. They hold you back and haul you past her limp form, out the front door. “No!” you cry, still fighting. Oh god, what if she’s dead? What if she’s dead?

Tears stain your cheeks as you desperately try to escape, but the men ignore your attempts, carting you toward the town square.

***

Your stomach drops when you arrive. It’s been years since you came to an Offering, and even then, it’s a completely different experience when you’re the one being offered.

The air carries a weighted kind of heat, and you can taste as well as smell the woodsmoke drifting from the fire and over the square. Majority of the village has gathered, surrounding the mayor’s podium and the post as they wait. The low hum of their chatter is like white noise.

“Out the way!” Ray yells over the chatter as he and Sam jostle their way through the crowd.

People exclaim and turn, complaints dying on their tongues as they lay eyes on you. Mouths agape and eyes wide, soft gasps escaping their lips as they whisper to the people next to them.

There’s a squeeze around your heart. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the talk of the town. Not the first time people have regarded you with sympathy and pity.

They say bad things come in threes. In that case, you should’ve known something else would happen. Just another thing to break your world apart. Well… This is number three. Maybe this is finally the end.

Who are you kidding? Of course it is. There’s not going to be anything after this. Once those vampires come for you, that’s it.

Sam and Ray drag you over to the post and slam you against it, your spine hitting the wood with a loud and painful thud that knocks the wind out of you for a few seconds. Sam brings your wrists behind you and ties them around the post. Then your ankles are bound and you’re trapped in place.

You almost feel numb. Your mind racing with so many fragmented thoughts that it’s difficult to put your finger on just one emotion.

You’re scared of being taken. Scared of the unknown. Scared of getting hurt. Scared of dying.

You’re worried about your grandmother.

But you’re also angry. Angry that the mayor chose you. Angry that life has thrown you yet another curveball. Angry that you were just beginning to move on from Emily and your parents and it was all for nothing.

You feel a prickle along your waterline and you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

The square goes quiet. A robust young man steps up to the podium. His oily hair catches the light of the moon and nearby flames. He smooths out his suit as he clears his throat. He adjusts the microphone and looks out at the crowd.

“Good evening, people of Riverfield.” He pauses. Glances down. Sighs. “I never know what to say on the night of the Offering. I can’t say welcome, or thank you for coming because being here is not a positive thing. It’s a goodbye. We are handing yet another young woman to the vampires that have prowled our woods for the past several decades.” Another pause. “When I took over this role from my father, I didn’t want to continue this practice. However, I came to realise that I wasn’t willing to risk the lives of the town just to test whether or not it was needed. So, as awful as it is, we are gathered here again. This time to say goodbye to Y/N.”

The mayor looks over at you, and you see the guilt in his eyes. And you want to believe him. Believe his seemingly genuine words and face. But almost anyone can act. And at the end of the day, he still chose you, and you’ll still be gone.  

“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I can’t say anything to make this better. But please know we will all miss you, and I hope that whatever comes next for you is painless and peaceful.”

He looks up at the clockface set in the wall of the church and a few other people follow his gaze.

6:53pm.

“We have seven minutes until they arrive,” the mayor calls. “Everybody please return to your homes and take care. Goodnight.”

And just like that, everyone starts to leave. Just file out of the square and leave you behind.

***

6:58pm.

You stare at the clock as you frantically attempt to fray the rope binding your wrists. Your arms hurt from moving up and down, and your wrists sting with splinters. But it feels like you’re getting somewhere.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you mutter, screwing up your features as you feel the rope going slack.

6:59pm.

It finally breaks and you pull your hands free. You bend down and untie your ankles, staggering forward and feeling the pins and needles shoot up your leg. You curse under your breath, looking around and trying to decide what to do. You can’t go home. You don’t know what the consequences would be for escaping; it’s never happened before. But you doubt it would be pleasant. You look over your shoulder at the road leading out of the village.

The church bell tolls, making you jolt as the heavy clang vibrates the atmosphere.

7:00pm.

Your heart speeds up as adrenalin floods back into your bloodstream. They’ll be here any second. You have no other choice. You turn and bolt for the road.

You wince, almost losing balance as you attempt to run with a dead leg. You recover, ignoring it. It will go away soon enough. You’ve got to get out of here.

You cut across the square– past the church, the community hall, the school. You keep your eyes locked on the road out, letting the adrenalin and your instincts guide you. As you get closer, your chest feels lighter. A sense of relief spreading over you at the thought that you’re going to be free.

Then a stab of pain shoots through your foot.

You cry out, lurching to the side and falling to the ground. You sit up, clutching your foot and looking down to see a shard of glass poking out. You look around and see a broken beer bottle lying in the grass nearby.

“Shit.”

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself, before yanking the glass out of the wound. You whimper a little, chucking it to the side.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?”

You freeze as a man’s voice calls out to you. You force yourself to look up, heart in your throat.

Oh god.

Oh god, no.

You scramble to your feet, staring wide-eyed at the unfamiliar men standing at the edge of town square. And you don’t have time to think. You run for your life.

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To be continued...

Taglist: @un06 @naviiy @lilyuwon @kangseulgithegreat @seungielvr @saturdayssvillain @wonen-only @msauthor @nshmrarki @sakanelli-afc @b3tt7boop @yunjinswifee @lucycarlisleswife @lol6sposts @fandommaniac07 @strxwbloody @toodeloosoo @jungwonmeover

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[gyorouis]

𐙚 HE GETS ME SO HIGH.

— he stands there, asking "would you accept kisses for a lemonade?"

genre: fluff, hint of angst (they're just oblivious), childhood friends to lovers trope

pairing: chf!beomgyu x chf!reader (afab)

warning: none

wordcount: 6.3k (what the hell)

now playing: beabadoobee — he gets me so high ୨ৎ

"give those shrimps to me," you say, slowly spooning the shrimps from beomgyu's plate. he nods, unfazed, and reaches over to take a sip from your lemonade. the cool drink contrasts with the warmth of the food, and he smirks at you, a silent understanding passing between you two. 

you have been friends with beomgyu since what feels like an eternity. it all began when you were both still preschoolers. your family had just moved into a new house, and everyone was busy with the hustle and bustle of unpacking and arranging. you, being the only one without a task, decided to spend your time outside.

the sky was a brilliant shade of blue, with fluffy white clouds drifting lazily. you were lost in the joy of watching birds soar across the sky, their wings cutting through the air with graceful ease. you smiled to yourself, trying to count how many had flown past the tall, sturdy tree in your yard, its leaves rustling gently in the breeze. 

suddenly, a sharp "psst!" broke your concentration. you looked around, searching for the source of the sound, and your eyes landed on a boy, likely your age. he was taller than you, with dark brown hair that framed his round, doe-like eyes. he wore a pink sleeveless hoodie that complemented his fair skin perfectly. his lips curled into a sheepish smile, revealing a hint of shyness and curiosity.

you furrow your brow, trying to ignore him. "i know you saw me. don’t you dare ignore me," he insists, his small hand resting on his waist, his gaze piercing.

"is that how you welcome your new neighbour?" you quip, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes.

"this is my first time having a neighbour. i have no friends," he admits softly.

to an outsider, your heated exchange might seem like an argument, but it's simply the distance between you that amplifies your voices. "you know you can come into our yard. stop shouting," you offer, a playful tease that elicits a wide grin from him. with that, he dashes towards you, his laughter echoing in the air.

“you’re my friend now.” he said, panting and holding out his hands for you to shake, what a peculiar way to befriend someone, you thought.

“are you desperate to have friends?” you said without accepting his hands. “no, it just so happen that the neighbor is empty, i have a few friends from the racing club where my dad always goes.” he said.

“you’re quite mouthful.” you said chuckling, “you’re quite mean and brat” he fires back, turning your sweet chuckles into unrestrained laughter.

“my mom is baking lemon squares, would you like some?” you said, inviting him inside your house. 

that's how your friendship with beomgyu started. since then, you would always play in either of your houses' yards, often with the kitchen set you once cried to your mom to have because your classmate had it. you both spent countless afternoons pretending to cook gourmet meals, giggling as you mixed imaginary ingredients and served each other invisible dishes.

the yard was your playground and sanctuary. in the spring, the air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and you would run barefoot on the soft, green grass, playing tag until you were breathless with laughter. beomgyu would sometimes bring his toy cars, and you'd build elaborate tracks in the dirt, racing each other to see who had the fastest vehicle.

during the hot summer days, you'd set up a lemonade stand, hoping to make a few pennies from the neighbours. your makeshift booth, decorated with hand-drawn signs, was the source of endless joy and pride. beomgyu always managed to charm the customers with his infectious smile and cheerful demeanor, while you diligently squeezed lemons and counted the change.

in autumn, the fallen leaves became your treasure. you and beomgyu would take them into giant piles and take turns jumping into them, the crisp leaves crunching beneath your weight. sometimes, you'd pretend to be explorers in a foreign land, with the yard transforming into a vast, uncharted territory full of hidden wonders.

even in the cold winter months, your friendship didn't wane. bundled up in thick coats and scarves, you'd brave the chill to build snow forts and have epic snowball fights. when your fingers and toes grew numb, you'd retreat inside to warm up with hot cocoa, sitting by the fireplace and planning your next great adventure.

as you both grew older and entered grade school, your bond only grew stronger. you partnered up for school projects, sharing secrets and dreams during lunch breaks. beomgyu’s charm and kindness made him popular among your classmates, and it wasn't long before people started to take notice of him. his friendly nature drew others in, and you often found yourself surrounded by new friends because of him.

by middle school, beomgyu had become the unofficial leader of your group of friends. he had an effortless way of making everyone feel included, and his laughter was infectious. you continued to share everything with him – your worries, your dreams, and your plans for the future. it was during these years that you both discovered your interests and passions. you found a love for writing, crafting stories and poems with emotional and descriptive language, while beomgyu excelled in sports and music.

high school brought new challenges and adventures. beomgyu joined the school's soccer team and a band, quickly becoming a star player and a talented musician. his popularity soared, and it seemed like everyone had a crush on him. you often found yourself playing the role of a mediator, as classmates approached you to get closer to beomgyu. they would ask for his favorite snacks, his schedule, or even tips on how to talk to him. you didn't mind at all – perhaps, that’s what you thought.

your friendship remained unwavering despite the attention he received. beomgyu always made time for you, whether it was studying together for exams, attending school dances, or simply hanging out at your favorite café. you both supported each other's dreams and aspirations, cheering each other on through every success and failure.

as graduation approached, you both faced the daunting task of deciding your future paths. you applied to colleges with strong writing programs, while beomgyu auditioned for music schools and sports scholarships. the thought of possibly going to different schools was bittersweet, but you knew that your bond was strong enough to withstand the distance.

watching beomgyu have his growing popularity and the small crushes people had on him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. he handled it all with grace and humility, never letting it change who he was at his core. you admired his ability to stay true to himself, even as everyone around him seemed to be fighting for his attention.

college acceptance letters arrived, and you were thrilled to be accepted into your top choice for its renowned writing program. beomgyu received multiple offers as well, and after much consideration, he chose a school with both a strong music department and a competitive soccer team. though you would be attending different colleges, you promised to stay in touch and visit each other whenever possible.

these were the times like this, both of you slumped on your apartment's worn, yet cozy couch, surrounded by the aroma of home-cooked meals. the table before you was a feast of your favorite shrimp pasta and beomgyu’s beloved carbonara, accompanied by your signature lemonade, its tangy sweetness a nostalgic reminder of simpler times.

"those times where we played cooking sure do help you become this good," beomgyu remarked, a playful grin on his face as he twirled his fork in the creamy pasta.

"it comes out naturally," you replied with a shrug, though secretly pleased by his compliment.

"how is it going with soobin, anyway?" he asked, referring to your blockmate who had become a close friend during your college years.

"we're good friends," you said, your voice a bit too casual as you avoided his teasing gaze.

"you're so boring. come on, tell me about it!" he persisted, eyes twinkling with curiosity.

you took a deep breath, your mind racing. how could you begin to tell him? what would you even say? that whenever you were with soobin, all you talked and blabbed about was him? that your lunchtime conversations with soobin often revolved around beomgyu, your little crush on him since third grade? since that summer you were selling your good old lemonade, and he cheekily asked if you accepted kisses as payment for a lemonade? no way, you wouldn't want to talk about it, not with him.

having soobin had been a relief because he was the only person who knew about your little crush on beomgyu.

"i'm telling the truth!" you lied, attempting to sound convincing.

"whatever, keep that romance in you then," he said, rolling his eyes and digging back into his food.

you returned your attention to the television. flipped was playing – a movie you had both watched countless times since high school. its familiar scenes unfolded on the screen, a comforting backdrop to your thoughts.

your eyes darted to your lap when beomgyu absentmindedly flopped his legs on top of yours, his weight warm and reassuring. beomgyu and his antics never failed to make your heart race like a marathon winner.

"you're so gross, get your legs off of me," you said, pushing his legs off to save yourself from a heart attack.

"don't act like we didn't shower together until second grade," he said, flicking your forehead with a mischievous smile.

you shot him a look, a deadly one, before turning your head to hide your flushed cheeks, which had turned a deep shade of tomato-red.

"you’re so easy to fluster," he teased, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head. "but seriously, i’m glad we still get to do this. college has been crazy, but hanging out with you feels like home."

"same here," you murmured, your heart swelling with a mix of fondness and unspoken longing.

the movie played on, and the room filled with a comfortable silence. you glanced at beomgyu, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the screen. he was still the same beomgyu you’d known since childhood, yet somehow different – more mature, more confident. you wondered if he ever felt the same way about you, if he ever thought about those summers spent selling lemonade or the countless afternoons playing pretend.

as the credits rolled, beomgyu stretched and yawned. "i should get going. early practice tomorrow," he said, getting up and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

"yeah, don’t want to keep you," you replied, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

"hey," he said, turning to look at you with a soft smile. "thanks for dinner. it was really good, as always."

"no problem," you said, returning his smile.

he leaned in and gave you a quick hug, his arms warm and comforting around you. "see you soon?"

"definitely," you promised, your heart aching a little as you watched him leave.

after he left, you sat back down on the couch, staring at the empty bowls and the remnants of your meal. your thoughts drifted back to soobin and your countless conversations about beomgyu. you knew you couldn’t keep your feelings hidden forever, but for now, you were content with the way things were. beomgyu was your best friend, and that was enough.

at least, that’s what you told yourself.

a week passed without the sight of beomgyu, and you couldn't deny missing him for the past few days. you missed seeing his doe eyes twinkle whenever he looked at you, the way his hair fell on his forehead, and his small teases that got you flustered every time. despite not seeing beomgyu in person, you still got to talk to him through the phone, sharing late-night calls where you talked about everything from your daily routines to you talking about your frustrations with writing, to silly stories that happens to you. those calls were a lifeline, a way to keep the connection strong even with the distance. each conversation reminded you why everyone adored him – his kindness, his humor, the way he made you feel seen and heard.

"what do you think?" your attention snapped back to soobin when he waved his hand in front of you. "you’re thinking about him again," he teased, a knowing smile on his face.

"shut up," you muttered, rolling your eyes.

"what were you saying again?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation back.

"i was asking if you could come with me to this party," he said, showing you a picture of an invitation on his phone. it was a glossy card, elegantly designed with gold lettering. "taehyun's throwing it. you know, our blockmate? he’s friends with beomgyu too."

"didn't know they still do physical invitations these days," you said, examining the picture.

"i know, right? it's pretty old-school," soobin chuckled. "but it's supposed to be a big deal. lots of people from our department will be there. it'll be fun."

you considered his offer for a moment. a party could be a good distraction, a chance to clear your head and maybe even enjoy yourself. plus, it would be nice to spend some time with soobin outside of your usual routine.

"alright, i'll go with you," you agreed, smiling.

"great! it'll be fun, i promise," soobin said, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "we'll meet at my place around 7?"

"sounds good," you nodded.

later that day, you decided to give beomgyu a call. you dialed his number, feeling a flutter of nerves as you waited for him to pick up.

"hey, you," his familiar voice came through the line, instantly soothing you.

"hey, beomgyu," you said, smiling. "so, there's this party at taehyun's place on friday. are you going?"

"taehyun's party? i heard about it," he replied, his tone regretful. "i don't think i can make it, though. things have been really hectic with the band and soccer practice. i'm swamped."

"oh," you said, unable to hide your disappointment. "that's too bad. it would have been nice to see you."

"i know," he said softly. "i miss you. but i'll make it up to you, i promise. we'll find some time to hang out soon."

"i'd like that," you replied, feeling a bit better. "take care of yourself, okay?"

"you too," he said. "have fun at the party."

the rest of the week flew by in a blur of classes and assignments. despite your best efforts, your thoughts often drifted back to beomgyu. you wondered what he was up to, if he missed you as much as you missed him. but you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the upcoming party.

when friday night arrived, you found yourself standing in front of your closet, debating what to wear. after much deliberation, you settled on a casual yet stylish outfit – a soft, oversized sweater paired with your favorite jeans and ankle boots. you wanted to look good, but not like you were trying too hard.

the party at taehyun's house was already in full swing by the time you arrived. the house was packed with people, the air filled with the hum of conversations and the beat of music. you stuck close to soobin, navigating through the crowd and making small talk with familiar faces.

"there's a drink station in the kitchen," soobin pointed out. "let's grab something."

you followed him into the kitchen, where a variety of drinks were laid out on the counter. as you poured yourself a soda, you couldn’t help but glance around, half-expecting to see beomgyu’s familiar face in the crowd.

"you okay?" soobin asked, handing you a cup.

"yeah, just... taking it all in," you said, forcing a smile.

"you'll have fun, i promise," he assured you, clinking his cup against yours.

as the night wore on, you found yourself relaxing more, even enjoying the party. you and soobin danced, laughed, and chatted with friends. it was a good distraction, a way to momentarily forget about the ache of missing beomgyu.

but as the evening drew to a close, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing. you stepped outside for some fresh air, leaning against the railing of the porch. the cool night air was a refreshing contrast to the lively atmosphere inside.

"mind if i join you?" soobin’s voice broke the silence.

"not at all," you replied, glancing at him as he leaned against the railing beside you.

"you’ve been a bit off tonight," he said gently. "is it because of beomgyu?"

you sighed, nodding. "i just... i miss him. it’s weird not having him around."

"i get it," soobin said. "but you know, he probably misses you just as much."

"maybe," you said, staring at the stars. "it’s just hard sometimes."

"hey," soobin nudged you lightly. "for what it’s worth, i think you’re handling it really well. and if you ever need to talk, i’m here."

"thanks, soobin," you said, smiling at him.

"anytime," he replied, his smile warm and reassuring.

as you stood there, the cool night air wrapping around you, you felt a bit better. the party had been a good distraction, and soobin's support meant a lot. you knew that no matter what happened, you had friends who cared about you.

and maybe, just maybe, you’d find a way to tell beomgyu how you really felt. but for now, you were content to take things one step at a time, surrounded by people who made your world a little brighter.

your mind was filled, and you didn't even realize you were drinking pretty heavily. just then, when you stood up to get another cup of drink and to find soobin, you realized you were drunk. your world was practically spinning now. "fuck," you muttered, gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself.

you took a deep breath, trying to clear your head, but the room kept swaying. deciding it was best to find soobin and tell him you needed to go home, you carefully made your way through the crowded living room. each step felt like walking on a rocking boat, and you had to focus hard to keep from stumbling.

finally, you spotted soobin talking to some friends near the back of the house. you waved to get his attention, but your hand-eye coordination was off, and it came out as more of a flailing gesture.

"soobin!" you called out, your voice louder than you intended. he turned and immediately noticed your state, his smile fading into concern.

"hey, are you okay?" he asked, quickly making his way over to you.

"i think i've had too much to drink," you admitted, leaning heavily against him for support.

"let's get you some water and find a place for you to sit down," he said, guiding you to a quieter corner of the house. he handed you a bottle of water and watched as you took a few sips, the cool liquid helping to clear some of the fog in your mind.

"thanks, soobin," you said, your voice a bit steadier now.

"no problem," he replied, sitting down beside you. "do you want me to call you a ride home?"

you nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude. "yeah, that would be great."

as soobin pulled out his phone to arrange a ride, you leaned back against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment. the sounds of the party seemed distant now, a muffled background noise to your swirling thoughts.

"hey, is she okay?" a familiar voice broke through your haze, and you opened your eyes to see taehyun standing there, his expression worried.

"yeah, she just had a bit too much to drink," soobin explained. "i'm getting her a ride home."

"do you need any help?" taehyun offered, looking between the two of you.

"i think we're good, but thanks," soobin replied with a small smile.

just then, your phone buzzed with a text. you fumbled to pull it out of your pocket, squinting at the screen. it was from beomgyu.

["hey, i finished practice early. how's the party? missing you."]

you couldn't help but smile at his message, the warmth of his words cutting through the fog. you quickly typed a reply, your fingers clumsy on the screen.

["wish you were here. i might have had a bit too much to drink. soobin's getting me a ride home."]

almost immediately, your phone buzzed again. ["wait there. i'm coming to get you."]

you stared at the message, your heart skipping a beat. beomgyu was coming? despite his hectic schedule, he was dropping everything to come to your rescue. the thought filled you with a mix of relief and affection.

"beomgyu's on his way," you told soobin, feeling a bit more at ease.

"that's good," soobin said, patting your shoulder. "he'll take care of you."

you nodded, leaning back and letting your eyes drift shut again. it felt like only a few minutes had passed before you heard beomgyu's voice.

"where is she?" his tone was urgent, and you opened your eyes to see him scanning the room. when he spotted you, his expression softened with relief.

"i'm here," you called out weakly, lifting your hand.

beomgyu rushed over and knelt beside you, his eyes filled with concern. "are you okay?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"i'm better now that you're here," you admitted, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. the combination of alcohol and emotions was overwhelming.

"let's get you home," he said gently, helping you to your feet. with one arm securely around your waist, he guided you out of the house and to his car.

the cool night air was a welcome relief as you stepped outside. beomgyu helped you into the passenger seat, making sure you were comfortable before getting in on the driver's side. as he started the car, he glanced over at you, his expression softening.

"you scared me," he admitted quietly. "i hate seeing you like this."

"i'm sorry," you mumbled, feeling a wave of guilt. "i didn't mean to ruin your night."

"you didn't ruin anything," he assured you, reaching over to squeeze your hand. "i'm just glad i could be here for you."

the drive home was quiet, the streetlights passing by in a blur as beomgyu drive through the late-night traffic. you leaned against the passenger window, feeling the cool glass against your cheek as you tried to gather your thoughts.

"you're always nice, not just to me but with everybody," you murmured, your voice soft and slurred from the alcohol. "no wonder everybody likes you."

beomgyu glanced at you with a fond smile, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. "why? do youme like the way they do?" he teased gently, his tone playful yet sincere.

"maybe," you whispered, the words barely audible even to yourself. beomgyu turned to look at you, about to ask you to repeat yourself, but as he glanced over, he saw you already drifting off to sleep. your head had slumped against the car window, your breathing steady and calm.

"hey," he said softly, reaching over to gently adjust your head so it rested more comfortably against the headrest. he couldn't help but smile at the sight of you, peaceful and vulnerable in sleep. he drove the rest of the way in silence, stealing occasional glances at you, his heart warm with affection.

when he finally pulled up to your apartment building, beomgyu carefully unbuckled your seatbelt and gently lifted you into his arms. you stirred slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, but didn't wake. he carried you up to your apartment, his steps light and careful, not wanting to disturb your sleep.

inside, he laid you down on your bed, tucking a blanket around you with utmost tenderness. as he stood there, watching you sleep, he brushed a stray hair from your face, his fingertips lingering against your cheek.

as you drifted off to sleep, the last thing you felt was the gentle press of beomgyu's lips against your forehead, and you knew, deep down, that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

you woke up from the smell of bacon and eggs wafting into your nostrils, slowly stirring from sleep. who could possibly be in your kitchen right now?

curiosity piqued, you tiptoed out of your bedroom and crept toward the kitchen. there, you saw broad shoulders moving skillfully as someone cooked. leaning against the wall, you observed quietly. his hair was tousled from bed, and he hummed softly while his head bobbed to an unheard rhythm, completely unaware of your presence.

a smile tugged at your lips. it was a rare treat to see beomgyu like this—casual, domestic, and utterly charming. you couldn't help but wonder, would he be like this if you weren't just friends, but lovers? the thought sent a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you quickly turned away, rushing back to your room to wash your face.

"fuck," you muttered to yourself, the cool water helping to clear your mind. "fuck it."

you were supposed to just have a crush on him, a harmless infatuation. not this—where you found yourself imagining him as more than a friend, your heart racing at the mere thought.

you went to your kitchen again, this time more prepared—or so you told yourself. you tried to erase the lingering thoughts from your mind.

"you're here?" you began, catching beomgyu's attention. "oh, you're awake. i've prepared coffee, just help yourself," he stated casually.

"yes, sir," you replied with a small smile, feeling a flutter in your chest at his easy presence.

you thanked him for last night and talked about what happened at the party and how his practice went. you watched him as he excitedly recounted the events of the practice game and the band, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. you couldn't help but wonder if his eyes always sparkled like that, your heart tugging at the thought.

his lips, ever so slightly pouting when he talked about losing his favorite guitar pick, seemed particularly inviting today, drawing your attention. you noticed how they curved into a smile when he caught you staring.

"do i have something on my mouth?" he asked, his voice teasing, making you flinch slightly and look into his eyes. "y-yeah, you've got ketchup on your lower lip. it's gross," you lied, your cheeks heating up.

his smile grew wider, amused. how could he have ketchup on his lips when he didn't even like ketchup in the first place? it was a detail you, of all people, had memorized.

playing along, he pretended to wipe whatever imaginary ketchup was on his lips. "what were you saying again?" you asked, trying to regain your composure.

beomgyu stayed the whole day to spend it with you. you were busy working on your work-in-progress plate while he played games on your pc. the hum of the computer and the clicking of his mouse filled the room, blending with the soft rustle of paper as you sketched. "don't you have practice today?" you asked as you stretched, your back sore from sitting too long. he paused his game for a moment, glancing over at you. "we don't, why?" he replied, his voice casual but his eyes curious.

"nothing, just asking," you added, trying to sound nonchalant as you returned to your work.

he nodded and fished his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie, checking it briefly. 13 unread messages, 5 missed calls. he pursed his lips and put his phone in airplane mode, pursing his lips before and shaking his head.

"what are we having for lunch?" he asked, drawing your attention. when you didn't answer immediately, he looked at you, finding you deep in thought. your pen was on your lips, which you nibbled absentmindedly as your eyebrows furrowed in concentration. you muttered a few words under your breath, trying to fit them into your writing.

beomgyu completely shifted his focus to you, his elbows resting on your pc table as he watched you intently. he knew you had a talent for writing, especially poems. memories of you helping him with his literature assignments in high school flashed in his mind. you always earned him straight As, and he kept all those assignments in his closet, casually reading them whenever he had time.

he was the one who pushed you to pursue writing. you were supposed to take another course because your parents said it wasn't practical. he remembered the day you cried to him about it, your tears glistening like stars in your eyes. without you knowing, he talked to your parents, telling them how much you loved writing and how he loved seeing your eyes light up whenever you shared your ideas with him. it was the same way his eyes lit up whenever he talked about you with his blockmate friend, kai.

he had no idea when or why it started, but he remembered one day when kai and he were discussing poems to get ideas for writing songs. his eyes lit up, and he began bragging about you and your writing. he was always like this, whether it was from pure adoration of his best friend or something deeper, he paid it no mind.

he remembered the smallest things about you and would insert your name into every conversation he had with kai. it sometimes made kai laugh at how oblivious beomgyu was about his feelings toward you. "you like her, don't you?" kai said to him once when beomgyu suddenly mentioned you while they were talking about their favorite online game. when they talked about valorant, his eyes lit up as he started talking about how you loved playing it. "you think?" he casually asked kai, as if liking you didn't bother him.

since then, he became more cautious of your reactions to him, trying to read you. he watched as you got flustered easily with his antics and remarks. at first, he thought it was just a natural occurrence whenever he teased you.

but he thought otherwise when he tried to put his hand on your chin once when you asked if you had something in your eye. it was hard for him—really hard—to focus on your eyes without suddenly wanting to brush his lips against yours. he witnessed how your cheeks changed from pale to bright pink, almost tomato-like.

that's when he realized that he wasn't the only one who got flustered at being this close. no one would get flustered with their friend's face this close, right? right. no one. he convinced himself.

"hey," you repeated, snapping beomgyu out of his thoughts. "hmm?" he responded, his brows lifting, eyes meeting yours with a gentle curiosity.

"i said, would you like to just order or should i cook?" you asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. he paused, considering, before his face broke into that familiar, heartwarming grin. "hmm, pizza?" your eyes sparkled  with excitement. "omg! yes, i love your brain so much," you exclaimed, the joy in your voice making beomgyu's smile widen. you hurried toward him, phone in hand, not thinking as you plopped down into his lap. his hands moved instinctively, wrapping around your waist steadying you. "hey, take it easy..." he chuckled, the sound of his laughter vibrating through you.

still unaware of how closely you were sitting, you held up your phone to show him the food options. "what would you like?" you asked eagerly, eyes bright with anticipation. "what are you having?" he asked, his gaze not on the phone but on your face. he loved watching you get excited over the simplest things. his eyes drifted down to his arms, wrapped snugly around you, and a soft blush spread across his cheeks at the thought of holding you like this every day.

"i'll have whatever you're having," beomgyu said, his voice tender "i'm having garlic shrimp," you said, looking at him. "hmm... it could work," he replied, surprising you. "really? you want to try seafood?" you asked, amused. "oh come on, don't act like i haven't eaten seafood at least once," he said, rolling his eyes and earning a sweet chuckle from you.

"how about drinks?" you asked again. "i miss your lemonade," he whispered, his head resting lightly against your back, his arms tightening around your waist as if he never wanted to let go.

"i still have a few lemons in the fridge. i'll make us some," you said. it was then you realized you were sitting in his lap. you shifted to look at beomgyu, who was now snuggling closer. you couldn't help but smile at him, feeling the urge to snuggle into him as well.

"are you sleepy?" you asked softly. he shook his head and looked up at you, his breath catching as he realized how close your faces were, your noses nearly touching. "...so close," you said, wide-eyed, trying to signal him to move back, but he didn't budge. "...hmm, so close," he whispered, his hot breath making you lose your own.

slowly, ever so slowly, beomgyu leaned in, his face mere inches from yours. his eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but all he found was your sparkling gaze, filled with a longing that mirrored his own. he took your gaze as consent, inching even closer. just as your lips were about to meet, the apartment doorbell rang. you jumped up from his lap, your heart racing. "that must be the food," you said, a slight tremor in your voice.

"i-i'll get it," you said, heading for your room when beomgyu's hand gently clasped yours. you turned back to him, his touch grounding you. "hey, don't panic. let me get it. you go make the lemonade," he said, his fingers softly brushing against your cheek.

his touch usually calmed you, but this time it sent your heart into overdrive. you shook your head, trying to steady the rush of emotions. "o-okay," you said, retreating to the kitchen, your mind swirling with the almost-kiss and to your fast heartbeat that you can literally hear.

lunch with beomgyu bordered on awkwardness. after that almost-kiss, neither of you had uttered a word, and now, as you ate, the silence stretched between you. a movie played in the background, but neither of you focused on the television. instead, both of you were lost in your own thoughts, replaying what had happened in the very room, thinking about what could have happened if the food hadn't arrived. beomgyu wanted to curse the food. no, he wanted to curse himself for being too slow to even brush his lips against yours.

you glanced at beomgyu, his expression thoughtful and distant. his fork pushed around the shrimp on his plate, not really eating. the tension in the air was palpable, making you squirm in your seat. you took a sip of your lemonade, trying to gather your thoughts, but your mind kept drifting back to the feel of his arms around you, the way his breath had mingled with yours.

"beomgyu," you finally said, breaking the silence. your voice sounded tentative even to your own ears. he looked up, eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"yeah?" his voice was soft, almost cautious.

"about earlier..." you began, trailing off as you searched for the right words. his eyes darkened slightly, and he leaned forward, giving you his full attention.

"i'm sorry," he said suddenly, surprising you. "i shouldn't have... i mean, i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." his words tumbled out, and you could see the genuine concern in his eyes.

"no, it's not that," you said quickly, shaking your head. "it's just... i wasn't uncomfortable. i was just surprised, that's all." you bit your lip, trying to find the courage to say what you really felt. "beomgyu, i..."

"you what?" he prompted gently, his gaze unwavering.

"i've liked you for a long time," you blurted out, your cheeks burning. "since we were kids, really. and i guess i didn't realize just how much until recently." there, you said it. the truth was out in the open, and you felt both relieved and terrified.

he stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. "i've felt the same way for so long, but i was too scared to say anything."

you looked at him, your heart swelling with emotion. "really?"

"really," he confirmed, his big hands found their way to your warm cheeks like it was fit to caress it "and about earlier... i'm glad the food came when it did. because now, we can do this properly." he leaned in, his eyes never leaving yours.

"would you still accept kisses for a lemonade?" beomgyu asked, a wide grin on his lips.

you felt your heart skip a beat, the playful words from your childhood carrying so much weight now. "only if you're the customer," you answered, your voice barely above a whisper.

he smiled, his gaze softening as he leaned closer. "i am," he murmured.

as the two of you came closer, it felt like the bridge of uncertainty had collapsed beneath you, leaving behind the years of pining and hesitation. in that moment, as your lips met in a gentle, tender kiss, it was as if everything had fallen into place. the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled longing dissolved, replaced by a warmth that spread from your intertwined hands to the depths of your hearts. each touch, each whispered confession, sealed the promise of something new and beautiful—something that had been quietly blossoming between you for years.

gyo's note: sacrificing my sleep to finish this is the best decision i've made so far >< your feedback will mean a lot for me and if you could, please reblog or i will cry. i hope you liked it if you made it to this part. xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[just-aake]

Chasing Shadows

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A sudden mission on New Year’s Eve brings Natasha face to face with someone from her past.

Warnings: light fluff, light angst

Words: 1410

11:55 P.M.

Surrounded by the lively atmosphere of Times Square, Natasha glances at her watch to check the time before looking around at the excited crowds of people, all waiting for the annual New Year’s Eve Ball Drop to start.

Laughter and cheers fill the air as she withdraws to a more secluded spot, raising her hand to her earpiece to speak through the comms.

“I’m at the location.”

SHIELD had intercepted a suspicious encrypted message a few moments ago, indicating that something was set to happen in the area tonight. Being the only one available nearby in such a short time, Natasha took on the assignment.

After a brief static pause, Maria's voice comes through the comms.

“It’s a shame that this had to interrupt your holiday evening.”

Taking a moment to scan her surroundings, Natasha replies nonchalantly, “I could say the same for you. Besides, it’s fine. It’s not like I had any plans.”

A curious hum comes in response before Maria asks, “No special someone to begin the new year with?”

At her words, the face of someone from years ago unexpectedly crosses Natasha’s mind, accompanied by flickers of memories recounting moments filled with late-night escapades and adrenaline-filled touches.

One particular memory stands out–of a night similar to tonight, atop a rooftop, shielded from prying eyes. 

Two people shared a rare moment of vulnerability, and against her better judgment, she wished life had played out differently for them—an unrealistic hope.

11:56 P.M.

“No,” Natasha replies to Maria’s question as she pushes away those thoughts and refocuses her attention back on the crowd. 

Amidst all the joyous people, Natasha finally spots the individual they were seeking—a slippery criminal with a history of working for a notorious crime family that once controlled these streets.

The members of that family were taken down and arrested by an undercover SHIELD operation years ago, leading many of their associates to either scatter or continue their own shady activities in the city.

This particular individual belongs to the latter group and has proven to be very elusive, successfully evading capture from SHIELD multiple times.

“I’ve got eyes on the suspect.”

As she utters these words, the man locks eyes directly with her, as though she is the intended target instead.

Discreetly, he reaches into his coat, revealing a mysterious device with an ominous, glowing red button at its center. He briefly flashes it at her before tucking it away and swiftly turning around to disappear into the crowds.

11:57 P.M.

Immediately, Natasha gives chase, her eyes fixed on the suspect darting through the masses of people. With adept skill, she effortlessly maneuvers through the crowds, rapidly closing the distance.

As the suspect pushes through the final layers of people, Natasha spots another figure emerging from the shadows toward him.

In a swift and seamless exchange, the mysterious device changes hands from the original suspect to the newcomer.

Natasha’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the action when suddenly, the two figures split off in opposite directions, causing her to realize what that means.

Either she continues chasing the elusive criminal they've sought for so long, or she goes after the person now in possession of the unknown device, which may pose a potential threat to everyone in the area. 

Without missing a beat, Natasha alters her course to pursue the newcomer. Surging forward, she vaults over one of the crowd barriers, tackling the figure mid-stride, and sending them both crashing to the ground.

The impact elicits gasps of shock from the few people nearby as Natasha swiftly recovers, pinning the suspect to the pavement.

The newcomer wears a mask over their eyes, concealing their identity from anybody who looks at them.

Not from her though.

Natasha is taken aback as her lips part in surprise. She easily recognizes those particular sets of eyes, especially when accompanied by the knowing smirk forming on their face in response to her reaction.

11:58 P.M.

Natasha is still rattled by the revelation of the figure before her, allowing them to seize the opportunity to escape from their pinned position, forcefully knocking the Black Widow aside before swiftly resuming their sprint.

Partially recovering from the shock, Natasha's instincts kick in, and she rushes to pursue, her mind still grappling with disbelief.

It can't be. That thought repeats in Natasha’s mind as she follows the figure into a condemned building site.

She recognizes the structure immediately, both from that particular memory of the past as well as its status as an old building that fell victim to one of the Avengers' numerous battles.

Natasha enters the ruined building through the recently shut side door, finding herself in the emergency stairway that miraculously remains intact.

Glancing up, she spots the suspect running up the stairs, quickly ascending to the higher levels of the building.

11:59 P.M.

The anticipated event unfolds outside as the ball at the top of the Times building starts its descent, marking the last minute of the year.

Amidst the beginning of the countdown chorus from the crowds outside, Natasha also starts running up the stairs.

The echoing footsteps of the other person above her drive her to accelerate to catch up, sprinting up the stairs two at a time.

11:59:30 P.M.

Natasha’s heart beats painfully in her chest, and she’s not sure if it’s from adrenaline or from the overwhelming sight of seeing you again—maybe it’s both.

After all, you’ve always had that effect on her.

“Three!” - 11:59:57 P.M.

Bursting through the roof door, Natasha slides to a sudden stop at the edge of the dilapidated floor. Dust rises at her movement, and small rocks roll and tumble over the edge, falling into the gaping hole.

“Two!” - 11:59:58 P.M.

On the opposite side of the large chasm, balancing precariously on the rooftop edge, the suspect stands, hands clasped behind their back, awaiting Natasha's arrival.

“One!” - 11:59:59 P.M.

With her attention now fixed on them, the figure removes the mask covering their eyes with a dramatic flourish, letting it drift off in the wind and fall gracefully towards the cheering crowd below.

12:00 A.M.

The night sky explodes in colorful lights, illuminating your silhouette.

Natasha stands frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you again, with your Cheshire smirk firmly in place as the remnants of the fireworks rain behind you.

It's a perfect reminder of who you are—beautiful yet dangerous.

In one of your hands, you teasingly wave the device with its ominous red glow at Natasha, while your other hand raises to your lips, playfully sending a mock kiss her way.

With a mischievous wink, you suddenly toss the device toward her, the gentle force of your action causing it to barely reach over to her side.

Reacting quickly, she stretches her arm to catch it before it can fall down the hole, pulling herself safely back from the edge once it is in her hand.

Regaining her balance, Natasha's gaze shoots back to you, or where you should've been, but now there's only dust kicked up by the cold wind. Furrowing her brows, she scans her surroundings again but finds no traces of you anywhere.

You've slipped away.

Returning her attention to the device in her hand, Natasha turns it around, removing the back covering.

Now knowing who she is dealing with, she is not surprised when she finds no activation triggers or wiring—just a battery-powered red LED bulb and a piece of paper folded inside.

Natasha raises her hand to her earpiece, activating the comms. 

"Hill, the device is a fake. It was all just a wild goose chase."

"And the suspects?"

"Escaped," Natasha replies regretfully, looking back at the empty rooftop space.

"From you? That’s impressive."

Again, Natasha isn't surprised; time in prison clearly hasn't dulled your skills. Though, now, she needs to consider the implications of your unexpected and sudden return to the city.

"Can you check something for me?" Natasha asks into the earpiece.

"Sure, what is it?"

"The confinement statuses of all the members of the L/n family."

Maria lowly whistles before commenting, "Haven’t heard that name in a while. Isn’t that the crime family that you took down during your first solo undercover mission?"

12:01 A.M.

Natasha remains silent at that, her eyes fixated on the piece of paper in her hand. The fireworks illuminate your familiar handwriting periodically against the darkness of the night.

Happy New Year, Natasha  Let’s play again soon 🤍

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading, and an additional special thanks for all who have read any of my other writings this year. I really appreciated all the likes, reblogs, and comments that you have given me (many of you are so sweet and kind for reading most or almost all of the things I wrote). Thank you again, and I hope you all have a happy New Years!

[queen-of-the-avengers]

The Past Comes A Knockin'

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warnings: angst, bucky threatening to kill people if you don't go to him

Summary: You've spent so much time running from the man of your dreams, the love fo your life. You found out something heartbreaking about him and now you run in fear instead of toward him. You should know by now that he will always find you whether you want him to or not.

Between Love and Hate Masterlist

Squares Filled: on opposing sides (2023) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Then

Only that would happen in a movie. Pouring rain. A girl running to find the love of her life. Love confessions shared. Sometimes, you thought you lived in a movie. Any time spent with Bucky felt that way.

Bucky’s mansion sat on the top of the hill on the outskirts of town. The only people who went that way were either to see Bucky or because they made the wrong turn somewhere. The rain had not helped you see much in front of you but you still ran with purpose up to his big iron gates. Two armed guards stood outside of it to keep unwanted visitors away.

“I’m sorry, Miss, this is private property,” one of the men said.

“I’m here to see Bucky.”

Both men looked at each other before one of them placed his hand over his ear like he was talking to someone over his earpiece.

“Sir, we got someone outside asking for you… Miss, what’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Her name is Y/N… Yes, sir.” He nodded to the other guard who stepped back from the gate. “He’s waiting for you at the house.”

The gate started opening from someone with remote access, and you entered the property before you had a chance to talk yourself out of it. It seemed like the rain had gotten worse as soon as you stepped foot on his property.

No matter. It wouldn't stop you from doing this.

His mansion got bigger the closer you got to it. He knew exactly when you’d got to his doorstep because you didn’t have time to knock on the door. He opened it when you stepped onto the porch.

You were soaking wet while he stayed bone dry, safe inside his mansion.

“Fuck you,” you said, “for invading my head. I tried all week to get you out of my head but I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you since we met so here I am like some desperate girl asking you out.”

He chuckles and you almost melt right there and then. He had such a dazzling smile and he knew it.

“You came all this way in the pouring rain to ask me out on a date?”

Bucky could say with confidence that he has never had a girl do all of this for him. Usually, he did the chasing. It was a nice change to be on the receiving end of it.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” you chuckled and squeezed out water from your hair. He continued to chuckle but this is not a laughing matter. “This isn’t funny, Bucky. You’re like a parasite.”

“Not the first time I’ve been called that.” He stepped out from his cozy mansion and joined you in the rain. “What if I say no to you?”

“I’ll make you say yes.”

“What if I tell you to turn around, leave, and never come back?”

“I’ll come back tomorrow.”

That was enough for Bucky to make up his mind. He grabbed you and lifted you into his arms. You wrapped all four limbs around him as a way to keep him close, afraid that if you let go, he would disappear.

He kissed you as he carried you into his mansion, not caring if he got water all over the ground. That was all he needed to make his decision: you’re his and only his.

Now

That moment seemed like forever ago. Times have changed since then but would you go back to it? Living in ignorant bliss seems like the best way to live but then you wouldn’t have all the answers you want—need. Life seemed so simple back then but you have to keep your head high and try to move on as best as you can.

So, you ran and ran until you couldn’t anymore. You found a college on the other end of the country where you felt like you could try and live a normal life—a life away from Bucky.

You found your passion in fashion design while away from Bucky. You find joy in making clothes and blankets for people and hope to be a big designer one day. This college is going to help you do that if you can maintain your sweet girl facade.

No one here knows about your past. No one here is out to get you. No one here is going to bring you back to him no matter how much your heart aches for him.

You only started college nearly a year ago so you’re almost done with your second semester of your first year. It’s been a quiet experience only because you don’t let anyone in. If you do, he might get to them in order to get to you. Since you left, you know he’s been desperate to find you and you’re going to try as best as you can to remain hidden.

If he does happen to show, you’ll be ready.

You walk on campus, heading to your first class when someone from your fashion design class jogs to catch up with you.

“Hey, Rayne, right?” You gave him a fake name like you did with everyone. You’re not stupid enough to give him your real name. “You’re in my fashion design class.”

Yeah, you recognize him. He has short dark brown hair that fluffs out on top with skin that looks like light caramel. He has a sharp jawline and dark brown eyes that seem to hold mysteries. He’s a few inches taller than you but built like a baseball athlete. Not too muscular but enough to make him look strong.

“Yeah. You’re Giovanni.”

“Gio. Only my dad calls me Giovanni,” he chuckles.

“Right. What’s up?”

“We’ve had the same two fashion classes for two semesters. I know this is bold of me but I think you’re beautiful. Would you like to have a drink with me? Maybe dinner this weekend?”

Going on a date with another man seems harmless but if he found out about it, he’ll kill him. Plus, you’re not sure if you’re ready to move on from him.

“I don’t know. It’s not that you’re not un-datable. I just have so much shit going on in my life. It wouldn’t be fair to you if I couldn’t give you my all, you know?”

“Will you be okay if I asked for your number?”

Again, if he finds another man’s number in your phone, he’ll kill him. Then again, you’ve been on the run for nearly a year and he hasn’t popped back up in your life. Are you done for good? Can you finally move on and live your life the way you think you deserve?

“Sure,” you find yourself saying.

What’s the harm? He’ll have your number and if you don’t want to respond, you won’t. You’ll even block his number if you need to. It’ll be awkward in class but you’re saving his life if you do.

He takes out his phone and gives it to you so you can input your number into it. He calls you immediately after you have his number before putting his phone away.

“I gotta go to class but I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.”

Gio runs off in the opposite direction to his next class while you continue to walk to your first one. This English class is a requirement for your degree even though you’re not interested in the subject at all. You’ve never been a writer or a reader, and you don’t have an interest in Othello or To Kill A Mockingbird. You read those books in high school. Still, you do your work and keep your head down like you have done every day for the past year.

About halfway through the class, an alarm bell sounds over the loudspeaker. Weird, you’ve never heard this alarm before. You’ve done fire drills, sure, but never with this alarm. The professor immediately walks to the door and locks it before pulling down every shade to cover the windows from anyone lurking outside.

“Alright, folks, that is our lockdown alarm. Until they give the all-clear, please gather to this side of the room and remain quiet.”

Every student gets up and huddles in one corner of the room, away from the window on the door. If anyone were able to look inside, they wouldn’t see a single soul. Is this a drill? Is this real? Are you in any danger? He’d never put you in danger but that only applies physically. He did a lot of damage to your heart and mind which is why you escaped from him.

Half the students are silent in fear that this is real while the other half are on their phones without a care in the world. You take your phone out to check the time when the loudspeaker crackles to life.

“Y/N… pisică, I know you’re here.” Your entire body floods with fear. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” It’s no surprise he found you. He finds everyone eventually. Why did you think you’d be able to run from him? “I’ll be nice and give you five minutes to show yourself. If you don’t, heads will roll. Your choice. Time starts now.”

Everyone in the classroom is confused except for you--you’re paralyzed with fear. It takes you thirty seconds to break out of your shell and get up despite the professor calling your fake name. No one knows your real name is Y/N. No one knows he’s here for you.

You grab your bag from your chair and flee the classroom. With the halls empty, it’s easy to get to the stairwell fast. If you can get to your car in the parking lot, you can speed out of here and go someplace where he won’t find you. If you’d ever be so lucky to.

You walk outside and see multiple armed guards walking the campus in search of you. On one end are men you don’t recognize, but you do recognize the men on the other side. Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers. Bucky’s right-hand men. The two he trusts above everyone else. You need to be smart about this or your escape plan would have been for nothing.

You run down the stairs carefully and stay close to the buildings where there are bushes to hide in. If one of them looks like they’re going to spot you, you’d duck behind a bush and wait for them to pass. The parking lot isn’t far from your class but you still treat this as if it’s on the other side of the parking lot.

You sneak past Sam who has his back to you to the only bush separating him and your car. The parking lot only has a few trees but none of them are big enough for you to hide behind. If you want to get to your car, you’ll have to sprint and hope they don’t see you.

Sam scans the parking lot before turning away from it. You take this moment to book it to your car, hoping that he doesn’t turn and see you. You unlock your car by using the key to the door instead of the button because you don’t want to make a lot of noise. When you close the door, Sam turns back to the parking lot and notices you in your car.

If you happen to get caught, you have a knife in your bag that you’ll use. It won’t do good to the many guns Bucky and his men have but it’s better than nothing. Sam watches you peel out of the parking lot before tuning into his earpiece.

“Boss, I got her. She’s leaving the parking lot now.”

“Good. Follow her. I’m on my way.”

You push on the accelerator as soon as you hit the main road. It’s weird you don’t see any other cars on the road. Maybe that’s Bucky’s doing. Whatever. It makes for a quick escape. You look in the rearview mirror to see if you’re being followed and let out a breath of relief when you don’t. That is until you do, and fear spikes not only in your heart but your brain.

You don’t have a good car since you had to buy a junker with the little money you had for yourself. Bucky gave you a card to always use but the second you did, he’d have found you. To pay for the car, you’d take odd jobs here and there and always had them be cash, never checks.

The passenger’s window rolls down and a gun appears out of it. You duck down just as the person starts shooting at you. Well, the person is shooting at your car, not you. Bucky’s men are professional marksmen so it only takes two shots to puncture two tires. You grip the steering wheel as your car slides and skids to the side of the road.

Shit. You sustained maybe a few cruises from where your body hit the side of the car but you’re otherwise unhurt. You need to get out of here. You grab your phone and knife and leave the car. Everything else is replaceable. The car that was shooting at you is less than a mile from where you are but you can feel his eyes on you.

They’re far enough away that maybe you can run away from them. You turn to run the opposite way but another black SUV comes screeching to a halt in front of you. Maybe if you run into the woods on either side of the road, you might be able to get away. You run to the left onto to be stopped by Steve who looks as if he’d been waiting there for you. Behind you, two more men come out from behind trees. 

All of them with guns. All of them under Bucky.

The car that shot at you comes to a complete stop a few yards from you. The back door opens and Bucky steps out in a nicely pressed suit that should be illegal. He looks too damn good to be who he is.

“Steve, please let me go. Please!”

Steve doesn’t listen and ends up throwing you back into the middle of the circle. With nowhere to go, you turn to Bucky and grip the knife in your hand. When he gets close enough, you raise your knife to do damage to him but he is too quick for you. He takes out his own gun and points it at you, causing you to freeze in fear.

“Drop the knife,” he says calmly. You look around and try to think of a way out of this but he is one step ahead of you. As always. He steps closer and puts the gun to the side of your head, moving it down to your chin and lifting it so you can only look at him. God, he’s so tall. “Stop trying to figure a way out of this and do as you’re told.”

You have no choice but to listen to him. Seeing him again after nearly a year hurts your heart because you know you’re still so damn in love with him. You love him but hate the kind of person he is. He’s dangerous and ruthless and a killer.

“You won’t shoot me,” you confidently say.

“No?” You shake your head and he pulls the trigger. It’s a blank but the sound of the gun clicking is enough to send you right back into your pool of fear. “The next one might not be a blank.” He puts his gun away but his men are still on alert. “It took so long to find you. You’re getting creative with your escapes.”

“I’ll escape again. I’ve done it before.”

You’ve always been so amusing to him.

“I’ll deal with this when we get home. Get in the car.”

“No.” Bucky grabs your arm tightly enough to drag you next to him but not tight enough to leave bruises. He’ll never mark you like that. “What about my car?”

“I’ll buy you a new one. Steve, Sam, clean this mess up.”

Bucky puts you in the back seat of the black SUV before he slides in next to you. He has mansions all over the country so instead of taking you back to New York, he’ll go to the one he has right here in California near your college.

You honestly didn’t think you’d ever go back to the one place you tried so hard to get away from.

x

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[nicohischierz]

reunion for the books: john marino

tagging: @ivy-34, @francesfarhadi, @hzstry8, @cixrosie, @itsnotgray, @estapa94, @trevs-swiftie, @heartz4hischif you want to join the taglist let me know!!

“johnny, i can’t just stay with you,” you reiterated

your boyfriend grumbled on the phone and pouted. you chuckled at his expression and answered your brothers text.

“it’s not like you live in a different apartment building johnny. you guys live on the same floor for goodness sake,” you teased him.

john grumbled a bit more before being called by your youngest brother.

you arrived to new jersey the morning of the devils game against the rangers. jack and luke had driven you from the airport and you caught up with them before they went to the rink.

john saw you as you bid goodbye to your brothers. he smiled and waved, a light blush coating his cheeks as you blew him a kiss.

you too made your way to madison square garden for the game. you adorned a hughes jersey accompanied with a necklace from your boyfriend.

john had thrown you a puck during warm ups under the pretence that you were a fan. your brothers waved and luke continued stick handling beside your boyfriend.

the game hadn’t even lasted a minute before the first fight broke out.

john wasn’t much of a fighter.

and this was proven when he went to fight the rangers player. sure, john held his own for a bit but he went down easily.

your spot next to the penalty box proved useful as you looked at john unimpressed. johnny smiled at you before conversing with his teammates.

they didn’t stay long in the box before they were ejected from the game.

you enjoyed the rest of the game despite the devils loss.

jack had texted you earlier to meet him and luke at the away changing rooms so you walked around like a headless chicken trying to find your way.

you’d finally found the changing room and waited off to a side when john walked out. he grinned and ran over to you, picking you up from the ground.

“oh i’ve missed you so much,” he murmured in your ear.

the second he put you back down, you brought him in for a kiss. however, it was short lived as you heard chatter coming your way.

instead you opted to change your position to a hug. “leave your door open and i’ll be there as soon as my brothers are asleep,” you whispered pulled away.

john gulped hard before turning to his teammates that filled the hallway. jack and luke had trailed behind and hadn’t spotted the two friends reuniting.

that was until dawson opened his mouth “hey, you’re hughesy’s sister!” he pointed out.

luke then pushed past his teammates towards his sister but stopped in front of her and john.

“you two know each other?” he questioned.

you nodded and moved away from john to your younger brother. “oh lukey, you need to stop growing up!” you exclaimed.

jack came up behind the two of you and hugged you in greeting. “how do you know john?” he asked.

“well we went to harvard together and we happened to be in the same class. also because i did some work with the team,” you explained.

the boys let it slide and informed you that john, nico and dawson were coming to their apartment to hang out a bit.

you smiled and nodded along.

the rest of the evening was spent with you sending longing looks to john and excusing yourselves to the kitchen whilst trying to remain under the radar.

“baby, i think we should tell them,” john announced.

you stopped pouring your glass and turned to your boyfriend. “you want to tell my brothers right now?” you asked.

john nodded. “we’ve been dating for three years, i want to be able to take you out on dates and not worry about your brothers finding us sneaking around,” he confessed.

you were about to agree with him when jack barged into the kitchen. “you’ve been saying for three years!”

luke and the rest of the guys followed after. dawson handing the captain some money as he grumbled about his luck.

“i thought quinn was crazy when he said he thought you had a boyfriend!” jack rambled.

“but then when you kept going for our games in boston and penguins games we thought it was cause of your crush on crosby,”

john laughed at the last part, watching as your cheeks turned red. you promptly elbowed your boyfriend “i was like eight,”

john kissed the top of your head and smiled at your brothers.

luke narrowed his eyes at you and john before widening them.

“wait a minute. when duker and i called you last year and he saw someone’s head was that john?” he asked.

the two of you looked at each other and blushed.

“eww,” the two hughes brothers gagged.

john wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your cheek. “now if you’ll excuse me, my girlfriend and i haven’t seen each other in months,” john excused.

[inkonparchment]

there's a man in the woods | Leon Kennedy

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

summary: everything changes when you find a man beaten, bruised and bleeding half to death in the woods.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: horror imagery. unsettling themes. mentions/description of blood, organs, guns. canon-typical violence. injuries. slow burn. eventual romance. hurt/comfort. plot armour goes crazy. language.

a/n: happy reading my dears.

series masterlist

Chapter 5

You stare at your reflection dancing on the surface of the boiling water, the steel bouncing off the afternoon sun streaming through the window. Your palm rests on the counter next to the stove, two ceramic mugs mere inches away from your fingertips. You steal a glance at them, powder blue colour with their handles turned away from each other, the string of the teabag resting over the rims.

You inspect their form, so visibly different from each other, one with a chipped bottom, colour dull and fraying, the other looking pristine, never having been touched a before. It was strange taking out the spare one out, its outline marked by a dust ring from the obvious disuse.

The loud thumping sound of wood against wood echoes in the background, sometimes the muffled sound of a curse word following it. It was rhythmic, a beat to it with three consecutive thumps, then silence and then repeating, each thud like a heartbeat, steady but strained. You glance over your shoulder in time to see Leon’s hair glittering in the sun, sweat collecting on his brown, before it disappears behind the wall.

He’s been practicing with his new walking stick for the better half of the past hour now, not daring to step out from the threshold of the room he was staying in. You wondered why, mind drifting to recount the days he had been here, never once venturing out or even asking if he could, sitting cross-legged on the far end of the sofa and absentmindedly scratching Luna behind her ears. You had never told him to not step out of his room, no warnings or threats made his way. But he also never shuts the door.

Maybe it’s because of you that he doesn’t wander out.

You had suddenly clambered up from your seat and whisked away to the furthest corner in the kitchen, the noise incessant and striking to your ears, resisting the urge to escape outside and slamming the door behind you. His voice is what stops you, the conversation from yesterday singing itself onto the surface of your brain, his bold and clear “Thank you” still lingering like the smoke after a fire.

You never could have though two words could hold so much weight or maybe it had been so long since someone had directed such kindness and softness towards you. It had wholly upended you, the ghost of his face so delicate in the moonlight vivid in the front of your eyelids.

The water bubbling over the pot onto the stove pulls you back to the ground, Luna walking over and nudging the back of your knee in assurance. You twist the knob, turning the fire off, wincing at the sizzling noise of water falling on the hot stove. Before you have the chance to pour the water into the mugs, a loud crashing noise makes you jump out of your skin. The sound of Leon walking around ceases, faint heavy breathing filling the air instead.

Quickly pouring the water into the mugs, careful not to top it off to the brim, you hoist them up from their handles, walking across the living room and coming to a pause outside the room. You peak inside to find Leon sitting on the side of his bed, head hanging in exhausting, hands gripping the edge of the mattress firmly with his walking stick lying on the ground at a distance away from him.

Squaring your shoulders, you walk into the room, Leon’s head snapping up to watch you place both mugs on the side table before crouching down to retrieve the stick. You lean it against the bed next to him, standing up and handing him his mug of tea.

Wordlessly he takes it from you, fingertips caressing against yours, a warm sensation blooming in them so different from the scalding temperature of the tea. He holds your gaze, skin glistening with sweat, exhaustion set deep into his features, the bags under his eyes having grown heavy. But his eyes still gleam filled with deterrence and determination with something kinder simmering in the back of them.

You are able to hold yourself better under his watchful eye, or so you’d like to believe. The feeling of wanting to run is still very strong within you but its muted now. I’m not going to hurt you. And yet you’re still the first to look away. You grab your mug and make to leave, the ceramic warm under your fingers.

“I’m getting better at the whole walking around now,” Leon says, words halting your exit.

You turn to look at him, a tired smile tugging at his lips. His eyebrows are turned up at the middle, a hazy look returning to his eyes before vanishing completely, a plea hidden in them. You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing at the empty chair from across him.

You stand there for a moment, the silence growing in thickness, overlaid with tension, feet dancing on the ground and then finally deciding to hesitantly walk back in. The crease in Leon’s forehead eases, earnestly watching you pull the chair and take a seat.

The wisps of steam rise from both of your mugs in symphony, twirling and twisting together in the air and then dissipating into the cool air of the room. You blow onto the surface of your tea, taking a tentative sip to soothe your drying throat. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard,” Your voice comes low and steady, tongue not used to sounding out comfort and assurance.  

He simply hums in reply, mimicking your actions and taking a sip from his mug. For a while the two of you simply sit together, raising mugs to lips and taking measured gulps from them.

His eyes linger on you, scanning your form, sometimes catching yours before flitting off to look elsewhere. It’s strange, you realize, having company. You’ve spoken more in the past few days than you had for the entire time you had been here.

You notice things of course, how he holds the cup awkwardly in his right hand, his motions abrupt when he brings the tea to take a sip. The slight wince in his face or the low grunt that escapes his lips when he rests his right arm back down against his knee. You notice how he sits leaning more to his left, the nervous movement of his forefinger grazing the skin of his thumb.

But it’s the shoulder that keeps your attention, so you finally ask. “Did you get shot in your shoulder?”

Leon stops picking at his thumb, eyes coming to meet yours, something passing by quickly in them. He pauses for a minute, considers and then finally says, “Yeah. A long time ago.”

You nod, curious at the way he said it but deciding not to push further. “So not your first time getting hurt then?”

“Definitely not,” Leon supplicates, smiling without humour.

You sip your tea, swirling the liquid around in your mug, both of your hands coming to clasp the mug. His words make you snap your head up. “You seem like someone who’s seen a lot of injuries. You don’t seem very phased by what happened.”

You find your next words to be humorous, laugh dying in your throat when you echo his words back to him. “Yeah. A long time ago.”

This time his smile is genuine laced with sadness. The two of you go back to sipping your tea in silence but curiosity still eats away at you, mind unable to help itself as it wonders about the bullet wound, the way he had stopped to mull over his words before affirming. Sometimes the answer is loudest in the silence.

“So how’d you get shot?”

Leon pauses mid sip, blue eyes striking over the rim of the mug as he stares at you. He brings the mug away, lips glistening with moisture, “I was trying to save someone.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Was it worth it?”

He pauses again, plunging back to the depths of his brain, “In a way.”

“God, you’re awfully cryptic,” You scoff unable to help the roll in your eyes. “What way is that?”

Leon holds your gaze, his free hand instinctively itching close to where the wound on his thigh was. He straightens his head, bangs falling away from his forehead and exposing fully to you, a knowing expression on his face that softens his features, making him look younger. “It’s always worth saving a life.”

The weight of his words settle on your shoulders like a warm blanket, different from the crashing pain that you are so used to. He makes you look away from him, he’s very good at that, hands tight against your mug. The causal vulnerability he expresses always unearths you, a man of few words but the meaning behind them always too rich.

It’s so foreign being around him, it becomes hard to discern if it’s because you haven’t been around anyone or he just so happens to possess the ability of pinching your heart with every word that leaves his lips.

You rise from your seat, gently this time, hand outstretched in a silent ask for Leon’s empty mug. Sunlight pours in from behind, bathing his silhouette in a warm glow. It always seems to find him, you wonder, the sun and the warmth, making a stark note of how you’re standing in the shadows untouched by the light. Except for your outstretched hand, it meets his in the middle as he hands off his mug to you, the remainder of his tea swirling around at the bottom.  

You look over your shoulder just before you leave to see him staring fixatedly at the walking stick. “Hey,” You get his attention, “You should get some rest.”

Leon shrugs, smiling, “You first.”

--

The evening sun settles in by the time you return from your short walk around the cabin, not venturing too far into the woods. The weather had begun to cool along with the sun’s descent, the tips of your fingers cold deep inside your pockets. Luna had sat herself on the porch, curiously watching as you took laps around the cabin, happy to take some with you until she had grown bored and padded towards her favourite spot in front of the door.

Or maybe she had sensed the turmoil happening inside your head and gotten overwhelmed by it.

You hadn’t even properly worn your coat, leaving it open on the front, sniffling loudly when your nose had begun to run from the chill in the air. The usual songs of the birds and the rustling of the trees was not enough to calm your racing mind, fingers bunched up in fists as the cold bit your knuckles.

It was almost as though you were punishing yourself, throwing yourself so callously at the mercy of mother nature, to deplete yourself from the warmth that had occupied you so fiercely in the afternoon. Leon’s fingertips were still ghosting over your own, refusing to let them be gripped by the weather. It was bizarre how much room Leon had taken up in your mind in the short time that he has been around.

Fear was not the primary emotion now lingering around him but curiosity. There was so much you wanted to know about him but the words would die in your mouth whenever you’re around him. Although there was an improvement in your general conduct around him, it wasn’t enough, frustrating you. You could feel him now too, even through the walls, convinced that the fabric of your reality had forever changed ever since you tripped over your own feet in dragging him back.

But you had to keep your guard up, prepared for the worst as you still did not know him. Maybe his calm demeanour was a front, waiting for one slip up from you before he would start baring his teeth.

In panic your mind flashes to the chest in the cellar, halting your steps as you almost kick yourself for hiding his gear there. What if he goes searching for his stuff? What if he finds the chest? What if he uncovers the contents of it? You’d have chosen another spot for his gear but you barely had time to think that day. You consider shifting it but that train of thought comes to a stop immediately, not wanting to expose the entrance of the cellar. You shudder, making your approach back to the entrance, guessing that you’ll have to make do. For now.

Luna perks up, standing up and wagging her tail in enthusiasm, happily accepting the head scratches as you walk past her to the door, shutting it gently behind her. Stowing away your jacket, you catch a glimpse of the rifle resting peacefully in the closet, not having felt the need of having it out today.

Inching forward inside the cabin, you look to your left dismissively towards the kitchen and nearly jump out of your bones, a startled gasp leaving your lips. The suddenness of your motion tips the glass away that Leon was drinking from causing water to dribble down his face. You clutch at your chest, heart slamming against your ribs with the tips of your ears burning hot, all of the cold from the outside washing out of your system.

You hadn’t expected to see Leon outside of his room, eyes nearly bulging out of your sockets. Leon sets the glass down, wiping the corner of his lips with the back of his hand, apology heavy on his face. “Sorry, I was just thirsty. And it felt ridiculous bothering you to get me water every time I wanted a drink.”

 You wave him off, stepping into the kitchen with him, fighting every urge to not peer at the carpet covering the cellar to see if it had moved at all, “No its okay, sorry. Just not used to seeing someone else in my space.”

Leon nods knowingly, grabbing a clean glass and pouring water in it from the jug, his other hand gripping the walking stick firm to keep him upright. He offers you the glass and you hesitantly take it, feeling odd at being at the receiving end instead of the giving one. He watches you as you gulp it down, not realizing how much thirst had built over the time of your walk.

The thump sound of his stick returns as he takes a step back, gesturing at sink which was dripping away like it usually does. “Is it always like that?”

You nod, setting the glass down on the table and catching your breath, “Yeah pretty much.”

“Do you have tools lying around?”

“I think so. There must a kit in the shed.”

“If you want, I could fix it for you.”

You stare at him dumbfounded, unsure if you had heard correctly, hearing yourself talk on instinct like a teleprompter on its cue, “No don’t worry about it, it’s not a big deal.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” Leon assures.

“No honestly, it’s fine,” You try to wave him off, rounding the table to come stand opposite him.

Leon tilts his head, intrigue burning in his eyes as he stares at you. You grow bit restless under his watch, irritation building up at his reluctance to let things go, eyes meeting his and this time you don’t look away. Light finds him again, brushing him in shades of deep orange and red with the sun setting in the window behind him, his shadow falling on you.

“Let me fix it,” He says it so low that you almost miss it, his tone gentle as though talking to a panicked animal that would scamper at any sudden motion.

“Why?” You whisper, hoping you hide the shake in your voice.

“Because I want to,” Leon asserts firmly.

 You think your crazy with how quick your resolve dissolves, feeling yourself flounder in his presence. You dust off imaginary dirt from the table, nails scraping against the wood in frustration, “Fine but tomorrow. You’ve already exhausted yourself.”

Leon smiles, taking your used glass with his and turning to the sink, the motion causing some sunlight to fall on you, “Thank God. I was going insane lying there on the bed.”

You don’t answer him, staring at the dark grey flannel that stretched across his moving back as he washed the glasses, not finding it in yourself to tell him to not do it. So instead you take the opportunity to look at the carpet, eyes darting all over it to see if anything is out of place.

You feel your breathing quicken, palms grow sweaty as you fixatedly stare at one of the corners, slightly upturned. The steady flow of the water from the sink fades into the background as all you can hear is the roar of your blood in your ears.

[nhlclover]

𝐉𝐔𝐌𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 | 𝐆𝐀𝐁𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓

summary: now that gabe's back in town, new feelings arise potentially changing the relationship between the two of you.

warnings: pure fluff

word count: 2.05k

Summertime was your favorite. It involved days on the lake, hours spent in the sun, and evenings around a bonfire with friends. Most importantly, it meant that Gabe came back to town.

Throughout your life, Gabe spent his winters travelling throughout the States, playing hockey in Michigan at the program and now at Boston College. But during the summers, he was yours to cherish.

Gabe had been your friend for as long as you could remember. He was a constant in your ever-changing world. He was the one who would challenge you to races when you were young and let you win (a secret you always knew even though he professed you beat him fair and square). He was also the one who knew all your secrets and dreams, he could practically read your mind. Summer was the season when the two of you could pick up right where you left off as if no time had passed at all.

This summer felt different, however. It felt as if something had shifted. You couldn't pinpoint when your feelings had changed, but now, every moment with him felt charged with new emotions. The realization had been both exhilarating and terrifying. Nerves ran through you as you wondered if he didn’t feel the same way. Yet, the possibility that he might filled you with a nervous kind of hope.

Despite getting in late the night before, Gabe didn’t waste any time checking in with you. It was a perfect summer morning, with not a single dark cloud in sight and the slightest breeze that made sure you didn’t feel like you were actively melting when you stepped outside. You lay in bed, still in your pajamas, your phone pressed to your ear. Gabe’s familiar voice came through the speaker, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as he spoke.

“Listen, I’ve been craving some ice cream so how about we hit the ice cream shop in town?” he suggested, his voice warm and full of energy.

"That sounds great," you replied, trying to keep your excitement in check. Just hearing his voice made you smile uncontrollably. "What time should we meet?"

“How about noon?” Gabe asked. “You’re no doubt still in bed.”

“It’s the summer, you can’t expect me to be up at six in the morning,” you argued. Gabe chuckled, his laughter sending the butterflies into flight again. “Noon sounds good, I’ll see you then.”

“Perfect, see ya soon,” Gabe replied, hanging up the phone.

As you put the phone down, you couldn't help but lie back and replay the conversation in your head, savoring the sound of his laugh and the way he said your name.

Arriving at the ice cream shop a little past noon, your heart raced with anticipation. The place hadn’t changed much; it still had the same checkered floors and light pink walls, exuding a nostalgic charm. The bell above the door jingled as you entered, its sound a comforting reminder of countless summer days spent here. Standing by the counter was Gabe. He spotted you immediately, his face lighting up with a bright smile that made your heart skip a beat.

"Hey, you," he greeted, pulling you into a hug. “How’re you?”

“‘M good, how’re you?” you ask.

“Better now that I’m here,” Gabe replied. You knew that he meant Sherbrooke, but part of you couldn’t help but wonder if he also meant back with you.

“What flavor are you feeling today?” Gabe asked.

“Mmmm… I’m thinking French vanilla,” you said.

“Oh come on, pick a fun flavor,” Gabe said, poking your side.

You squirmed away, a small giggle escaping. “Fine, fine. I’ll try moose tracks.”

“That’s better.” Gabe smiled.

“What’re you getting?” you asked.

“C’mon… you know me,” Gabe said.

You rolled your eyes, knowing Gabe was ordering strawberry ice cream as always. As you got your ice cream, you picked a table by the window to sit and catch up. As Gabe talked about his experiences in the States, you found yourself mesmerized by his animated expressions and the way his eyes lit up. You were content just watching him, soaking in the sound of his voice and the comfort of his presence.

You listened as he told you about his new teammates, specifically about his goalie Jacob who he swears you’d get along really well with, the different parties he’d gone to, and all the away arenas he’d loved to play in. You caught him up on the hometown drama he’d missed, as well as how your individual university experience had been.

“So, any new guys in your life I should know about?” Gabe asked, leaning back in his chair.

You chuckled softly, knowing that Gabe was the only boy who’d caught your eye the entire year. You shook your head. "Not really. What about you?"

Gabe looked at you for a moment. “There's someone, but I don’t think she knows how I feel.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Why haven’t you told her?”

He shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe I'm just waiting for the right moment to tell her."

You felt your heart skip a beat, wondering if there was a hidden meaning behind his words. “Well, don't wait too long. You might miss your chance.”

Gabe's eyes met yours, and for a brief second, it felt like time stood still. “I won't,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving yours.

Your breath catches in your throat as you consider his words. You almost feel taunted by the vagueness of his answers, which are just enough so to give you a flicker of hope that they might apply to you.

“I've missed this, you know. Just hanging out, talking about anything and everything.” Gabe admits softly.

“Me too,” you agree.

Silence washes over you, the afternoon sun beaming in through the window beside you. The sunlight catches strands of his light brown hair, giving them a shimmering effect.

“Let's go somewhere,” Gabe says.

You chuckle, amused by the brunette's inability to sit still for a moment. He stands up, stretching his arms above his head, and throws away your now-empty ice cream cups. “Where?”

Gabe shrugs, a playful glint in his eye as he thinks for a minute. “Mini-golf?”

A flood of memories rushes back as you realize he’s talking about the old mini-golf course in town, the one you’d visited countless times during your childhood.

You nod in agreement, and soon you’re both on your way. The walk is filled with the kind of easy conversation that flows naturally between the two of you, mixed with nostalgic anecdotes and shared memories. When you arrive, the mini-golf course looks almost exactly as you remember it, though a little more worn down by the passage of time. The once vibrant greens are now faded, and the paint on the whimsical obstacles is chipped and peeling.

As you pay and step onto the course, a familiar sense of excitement washes over you. The course might be in disrepair, but the fun and competition it promises are as alive as ever. Gabe grabs a putter and a bright orange ball, handing you a bright pink one, the combination mirroring the one you’d always chosen through childhood.

You began, and with each hole, you fell into a comfortable rhythm of teasing and playful banter. You’d tease Gabe whenever he missed a shot, while he feigned outrage whenever you got a lucky shot. Every laugh and taunt feels like a step back in time, yet with an undercurrent of something new.

Every brush of fingertips when he’d collect your ball for you, or shared look when one of you made a particularly good or bad shot, carries a weight that wasn’t there before. The lighthearted jabs and teasing comments are laced with a tension that neither of you acknowledges out loud. It’s in the way Gabe’s eyes linger on you a moment too long, and in the way your heart skips a beat every time he smiles at you.

You’re used to Gabe kicking your ass when you played, but you’re surprised to find yourself tied in shots as you approach the final hole. It takes Gabe two shots, and he flashes you a cocky and triumphant grin not believing you could get it in less than him.

You line up your shot, but your mind is more on the boy standing beside you than the game itself. You watch it roll and hit off obstacles haphazardly before rolling softly towards the hole and dropping in. Gabe is next to you in an instant, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a celebratory hug. You feel your feet lift off the ground as he cheers for you. When you’re finally back on the ground and Gabe pulls back, you notice his eyes searching yours as if he’s looking for something, though you can’t name it. For a moment, it feels like he might say something more, but then he just smiles and drops his arm from your waist.

“Congrats to the new golf champion.” he smiles softly.

You curtsy, allowing Gabe to take the clubs back to the front desk. From the mini golf course, you wandered down the main street, exploring quaint shops and reminiscing about old times. You found yourself leaning closer to him, your arms occasionally brushing against each other. The simple act of being near him made your heart race.

As evening approached, you decided to have dinner at a cozy little restaurant on the edge of town. You chose a table on the patio, where they could watch the sunset. The conversation continued over dinner, not running out of topics to talk about. The undercurrent of tension was there, but it was comforting, like something inevitable yet right.

After dinner, you walked to the nearby park. The sky was now a tapestry of stars, and the air was cool and refreshing. You found a bench and sat down, Gabe draping his arm around your shoulders in a gesture that felt both protective and intimate.

You leaned into him, goosebumps painting the exposed skin on your arms and legs. The comfortable silence was broken only by the chirping of the crickets and the rustling of the leaves from the breeze. It felt like a perfect summer night as a sense of calmness enveloped you as you sat with Gabe.

Gabe shifted slightly, his fingers tracing soft shapes on your bare shoulder. “You know,” Gabe said, breaking the silence with his soft tone. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

You turned to look at him, your heart beginning to pick up its beat. “Oh? About what?”

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. “About us. About how much I've missed being around you, how much I miss this.” He gestured between the two of you, his expression earnest. “You're not just my best friend. You're…”

Gabe’s voice trailed off, but you recognized the weight of his words. “Gabe I-” you started, but he interrupted you.

“Let me finish, please,” he said softly. “I… I haven’t said anything till now because I was afraid of ruining what we had. But not saying anything is killing me. I spent the last year in Boston thinking about you all the time and I realized that I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

You felt your lips curve into an uncontainable smile, your heart swelling with joy as the words you’d been dying to hear came out of Gabe’s lips. “I feel the same way, Gabe,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I've been so scared of saying anything because I didn't want to lose you.”

Gabe’s face lit up with a mixture of relief and joy. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” Gabe said, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.”

You felt Gabe’s hold on your shoulders tighten as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours delicately. His lips brushed against yours tentatively. The kiss was soft and sweet, filled with the emotions that both of you had kept bottled up for so long. Your hand slid up to his face, cupping his cheek softly. When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.