#but I had to have floor time which was an indignity

[ohnojackals]

Building up the nerve to go get blood drawn :( keep me in your thoughts

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.

[scarletmika]

So It Goes : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Bradshaw!Reader

Summary: From the moment you laid eyes on Bob Floyd, you were head over heels, and he was too. Your overprotective brother, though, was making it increasingly harder for either of you to make a move. Maybe it's time you defy his wishes.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, SMUT (unprotected p in v, oral f. receiving, dirty talk, praise, multiple orgasms, might be a slight hint of a breeding kink in there, kinda takes place in a public setting, aftercare!), porn with a LOT of plot, fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, brother's best friend trope, language, female reader, alcohol consumption, reader works at a vet clinic, kinda a slow-burn, there is ONE "killing myself" joke in here, lightly edited so I apologize for any mistakes!

Word Count: 19,944 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

You hated Bradley’s Bronco.

Well, hate was a strong word; it was just…outdated. The seats were cramped, there was barely any room for you to hang your feet up on the dash, and the stereo system was also way too old for your liking. The lack of Apple Maps compatibility, or just Bluetooth in general, had gotten you and your older brother in trouble many times when it came to directions. He also loved driving without the top on, which part of you believed he did specifically because he knew it annoyed you to no end, but you had learned to deal with the roaring wind in your ears.

Honestly, you didn’t have too much of an issue with the vehicle until times like this: driving almost three hours north, further into California, with the wind constantly beating your face and your brother’s music blaring. Bryan Adams’ classic hit, Summer of ‘69, was blaring through the old stereo, but it was also the third time you had heard the song since you hit the road. Three times was enough to have you reaching forward to manually switch the song.

“Absolutely not,” Bradley’s hand left the steering wheel for just a moment to slap at yours. You recoiled with a scoff, kicking your feet up onto the little dashboard space you had, and pulled out your phone instead. “Dude-! What have I told you about feet on my dashboard?”

“You fucked Jamie Pierce in these front seats in college,” you shot back at him, not missing the sideways glare he shot you for the comment. “This dash has seen worse than my feet.”

“A hot girl’s tits and my sister’s dirty ass sneakers are two different things, back on the floor chickie,”

He didn’t care for the indignant groan you let out, just reached over to swat at your leg before you finally threw your feet back on the floor of the passenger side with a huff.

“This is abuse, I’m telling Mav,”

“It’s not abuse, but we both know you’re his favorite and he’ll side with you anyway,” Bradley shot back as you locked eyes with your brother, knowing smirks on both of your faces. Mav really did let you get away with a lot. Bradley only shook his head with a laugh, keeping straight at the intersection before you, Big Bear Lake finally in your view in the late afternoon sun.

The song switched: Higher by Creed. Bradley didn’t waste a second in singing along, shoving one hand in front of your face like a pretend microphone to get you to join in. You only shoved him away with another laugh, digging your phone out of the back pocket of your shorts as it buzzed.

“Mick says hit the gas before Hangman breaks down the door to the cabin,” your brother rolled his eyes at the update from your friends. “Told them that I think we’re ten minutes out.”

“We are,” Bradley cleared his throat performatively, straightening up in his seat as he glanced over at you with a semi-stern look in his eyes. “Which means it’s time we lay down the ground rules for this trip.”

Ah. You were wondering how long this would take, for your brother to go full ‘brother mode’ on you and ‘lay down the law’ for your extended trip to the lake. You let out an exaggerated sigh, one that got you another look shot your way.

“This is your birthday trip, Roo. Do we really need to do this?”

“I’m your older brother, I make the rules-”

“Older by, like, two and a half years–give me a break!” you laughed incredulously, turning your head to watch the trees passing on your side of the car.

“Still older. Rule one: I know my squad are your friends too, but if anyone makes any comments toward you, you are to tell me immediately,”

Yeah, as if that would happen. It had been almost exactly a year since you had met Bradley’s squad: The Dagger Squad, the elite squadron formed at North Island under the command of your godfather, Pete Mitchell. It was right around Bradley’s birthday the year before that they’d been made a permanent squad. He’d called you immediately and convinced you to move back home to California with him, since you had stayed close to your college after graduating.

It wasn’t a hard decision to come home. You and Bradley…you were all each other had left, besides Maverick. There were also an abundance of vet clinics in the country, it wasn’t hard to find a new place to work. So, you flew in to go apartment hunting in San Diego on Bradley’s birthday, and met the entire squad. Meeting that crew of pilots was the easiest thing you had ever done. They accepted you with open arms, brought you in as if you were one of them, calling you their ‘Baby Roo’ or sometimes stealing Bradley’s own little nickname of ‘Chick.’ You were family to them; no one was going to be making any comments toward you.

“Highly unlikely, but go on,”

“Rule two: never be alone with Jake Seresin-”

“Bradley, you don’t even need to make that a rule; I do that of my own volition. Get on with it,”

“Rule three, the most important one of them all: keep your eyes and your hands to yourself and off of Bob,”

Ah, Bob Floyd. You saw that rule coming from a mile away. The only one of that entire squad, your group of friends, that you didn’t look at like extended family, like long-lost cousins, or more siblings. The moment you had walked into the hard deck and locked eyes with those deep, blue eyes hidden behind those dorky little glasses, you knew you were fucked.

“Bradley-”

“That means no eye-fucking him, chickie,” Bradley cut in, not allowing you to speak. You only sank lower into your seat with a sigh, knowing this was going to go on for a while. “Don’t be cuddling up next to him on the couch, don’t try sneaking off with him, don’t be ogling him when you think no one is looking, don’t make those little heart-eyes, for the love of god don’t wear those stupidly tiny bikinis…”

Your phone buzzed, a saving grace to save you from having to listen to your brother’s rant (that happened once a month at this rate). Opening your texts, you expected another message from Natasha or Mickey that Hangman had gotten impatient and broken down the door of your rented cabin.

A smile crossed your lips involuntarily the second you saw his name: Bobby. The rush of butterflies that flew through your stomach and into your chest, making your body feel weightless, as if you were floating in the clouds from a silly little text. That’s what Bob Floyd did to you, and he barely had to try.

Another flight of butterflies through your chest, almost begging to be let out and set free. Your smile only grew as you looked at his contact photo, just picturing him. His glasses probably slipping down the bridge of his nose, that little smile formed by those lips you spent way too many nights thinking about, and looking at. You wondered how he was dressed right now, if he was dressed down in a white t-shirt that would hug his biceps in a way that would almost have you drooling.

“-DUDE! You’re doing the heart-eyes shit right now–oh my god, he fucking texted you, didn’t he–knock it off!” Bradley reached over as you came up to a stop sign, grabbing your arm and getting a quick look at your screen before you could pull your phone away fully. “ARE THOSE HEARTS BY HIS NAME?”

“You have a heart by your name, too! So does Natasha!” you argued back, settling back into your seat with your phone back in your pocket. Bradley’s two hands returned to the steering wheel, and you let out a sigh as you saw the white knuckle grip he had. “Bradley, you treat me as if I’m not a grown woman. I’ve dated men, I’ve fucked men…what’s your problem with me having a crush on Bob?”

“Because he’s my best friend,”

Here you both went again, around in circles on the same argument you had been having since the night you met Bob Floyd. 

You liked Bob…hell, at this rate, you were verging on the edge of saying you loved him. His laugh, his ability to get snarky when timing called for it, the way he was an absolute gentleman and opened every door for you, even brought you lunch at work some days when he had the time. You weren’t blind, either: he liked you, too. Neither of you ever said it out loud, but it was obvious. The constant brushing of hands when walking, the lingering stares, the way you always chose seats next to one another in a room, you both made your feelings evident without needing to say it. But there was Bradley, ever the over-protective older brother, standing in the way of things for an entire year with the simple excuse of ‘he’s my best friend’ every time. And sadly, neither you nor Bob wanted to anger him.

“Bradley, you would think that you’d be happy I chose Bob of all people. He’s, like, the perfect gentleman compared to most military men,” you shot back at him with a shake of your head. “I could’ve fallen for Jake-”

“Okay, first off, don’t even joke about you and Hangman. I don’t need that mental image,” he gagged at the thought, shuddering in his seat, as he turned down the road that led to the cabin. “Second, don’t even use the word love. Just…we aren’t going there. Bob is my best friend, and that just breaks so many sibling codes. You want to fight me on this topic when we get home, fine, but not for this trip.”

You didn’t get another word in before the Bronco pulled into the multi-car driveway of the cabin. You could make out Jake’s car and Natasha’s, meaning that the group was all here based on the earlier plans made for carpooling. You could see them, too, just barely up ahead, crowded around the electronically locked front door that only Bradley had the code to get into since he’d booked the place.

He was silent as he unbuckled himself, but when his glance turned to you, your gaze was formed into a glare and set on him as you practically threw the seatbelt off of you and threw the passenger door open.

“This conversation isn’t fucking over, Bradley,”

“Finally!” it was Hangman who called out from his place by the front door, waving over Bradley before he could comment back to you. “The fucking Bradshaw Bronco stopped moving at a snail’s pace, I see. You take the fucking scenic route? Come open the door so Reuben can get the grill going!”

You shook your head at the antics of your friends, laughing lightly under your breath as Bradley shook his own head and jogged over to get the cabin you’d be calling home for almost two weeks unlocked.

With him occupied, you moved around to the trunk, popping open the door and reaching in toward the back to grab both of your suitcases that had flown further back than you had placed them when loading. The door of the trunk was cutting into the skin of your thighs as you reached back into the trunk, when a hand suddenly curled around your waist. Fingertips barely brushed the exposed skin between the top of your shorts and your shirt as an arm reached past you to grab the suitcases. Despite the butterflies once again beating against your ribcage, you cursed the fact that your hormone-addled brain had the veins of Bob Floyd’s arm fucking memorized.

“I got them,” he’d mumbled out with a short laugh, tugging the suitcases to the edge of the trunk where you could fully reach them now. You spun, jumping up to sit on the open trunk bed so that you could fully look up at Bob. His smile grew the second you locked eyes, the hint of a red flush visible in his cheeks, but that hand didn’t stray from your waist. Instead, his thumb drew a small shape into your bare skin, and the heat that bloomed from his touch travelled through your body in an instant. “Hi.”

“Hi, Bobby,” you hated the fact that you were giggling like a little schoolgirl. He was barely touching you, had just said ‘hi’ of all things, and you were putty in his hands. “I told Bradley to step on it, heard a certain WSO missed me.”

“Yeah, we both know i-if you told him I said that, he’d have you halfway back to San Diego by now,” Bob joked, his hand leaving your waist to lug the suitcases from the trunk down onto the driveway at his feet. Your eyes followed every movement. The way his biceps strained against the sleeves of that ‘U.S. Navy’ t-shirt he wore, or the way his veins seemed more prominent from lifting what you knew was your heavy suitcase. Nothing was able to stop your depraved mind from even trailing your gaze to his ass for half a second.

“True,” you gave him a tiny grin as he leaned against the suitcases, looking back to you now with that softness in his eyes that you knew was reserved just for you. “I missed you, too, you know.”

Flustering Bob Floyd was one of your favorite pastimes, and it was just so easy. An easy brush of your fingers against his own, his arm, sometimes right across his chest if you could get close enough without Bradley breathing down your neck. Those simple little touches brought that delicious red hue to his neck and his cheeks, even the tips of his ears, if you really got him going. Words were the easiest, even the most simple of compliments from you got to him.

You had flustered him now with that simple admission: I missed you, too. Granted, you had just seen him the night before at a team dinner with Maverick in celebration of Bradley’s birthday, since the older pilot wouldn’t be joining you on the trip, but you missed him nonetheless. He had sat directly across from you that night at Penny’s dining room table, and every time you glanced up, his eyes were already on you, even if they looked away with a sheepish grin the second you caught him. The game of chicken with your gazes was interrupted by the swift kick that Bradley had landed to your shin with his foot from his seat beside Bob, followed by the piece of garlic bread you threw at his face that had Maverick mumbling about how ‘you two were why he never had kids’ as the entire squad laughed.

“I-I just saw you last night,” Bob was shaking his head, teeth biting just barely into his bottom lip as he looked up at you. His hands were tucked into the front pockets of his shorts as he rocked back and forth, a nervous tick you had picked up on of his.

“No–you don’t get to turn this around on me, Floyd!” he laughed at your teasing as you jumped back to your feet, standing now before him as you tilted your head to look up at him fully. His eyes only left yours for a moment to trail along your index finger, pointed right into his chest. “I have the text message proof that you said you missed me first.”

You could tell he was biting back another laugh, his lips curled into a cheeky smile that was tinged with adoration, just like your own was. A cord of tension hung in the air between you both. Not an uncomfortable one, just an ever-present one. It was hanging by its last thread, looking between you both to see who would snap first and finally cut it, but neither of you moved, just locked in your own little bubble together as if the rest of the world didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, not when you were with Bob, the only man who ever had your heart ready to leap out of your throat with nothing but a smile.

That was, until Bradley himself broke your bubble. His sun-kissed hand came in, almost out of nowhere, swatting at your hand until it hung back by your side. The pilot’s other arm wrapped around Bob’s neck, and you could tell by the slight wince in Bob’s face that Bradley was tugging him in just a tad bit harder than he needed to be.

“Ah, it’s so nice to see my best friend and my sister getting along…such platonic friends,” your eyeroll was instant as your brother exaggerated his delivery of each of those key words. His smile was tight, teeth gritted, as he shot you a look in his eyes that read ‘what the fuck did we JUST talk about.’ “Bob, help me bring the bags in, please. Coyote has the grill going, and we need to do inventory before we make a run to the store.”

Bob obliged your brother, just as he always did. Of course you two were stuck in an endless ‘will they, won’t they’ loop with one another: Bob refused to cross Bradley’s boundaries, and you were a firm boundary that had been drawn since day one.

They stalked off as Bob sent you one last look over his shoulder, and you could barely make out the slight tinge of disappointment in them. Hangman blocked your view of your favorite Navyman, falling into step behind them. He casted a glance your way, mouthing a quick ‘cock-blocked’ your way that got him a mock laugh and a middle finger.

“I’m not sure what Bradley would rather let go of first…this damn Bronco or his obession with keeping you and baby-on-board from fucking,” Mickey’s comment drew a laugh mixed with a groan from you as Natasha’ slung her arm around your shoulder, giving you a place to rest your head as Mickey leaned on the car door in front of you.

“Neither, because he’s a stubborn and over-protective dick,”

“It’s just because he loves you,” Nat tried to remind you, leaning her own head against yours. “You’re rooming with me, by the way.”

“Ah, which means Bradley put you on cock-blocking duty during the night-”

“Have no fear, baby Roo, because I had an idea earlier,”

Your eyebrow immediately shot up at Mickey’s comment, his face full of pure delight and excitement as if he’d thought of the most brilliant plan in the world.

“Mick, last time you told me you had an idea, you ended up driving Reuben and me halfway to Sacramento before realizing you put the directions in wrong-”

“NO–that’s besides the point!” he interjected as you and Nat laughed at him, his cheeks burning at the memory he wanted to forget. “Look, I know you don’t want to anger your brother, and I know Bob doesn’t want to piss his best friend off, so you’ve respected Bradley’s wishes…for the most part. All you’re really doing, though, is driving us all insane. So, I’m going to make it my goal to get you and Bob as much alone time as I can.”

“Bob and I have been alone together plenty,” you shot back, feeling the rumble of Natasha’s body as she laughed at your statement. “He’s been to my apartment, he’s visited me at work, we’ve gotten dinner. If he hasn’t thrown caution and Bradley’s threats to the wind yet, what makes you think he will now?”

“A peaceful, tranquil, romantic lake? I don’t know, chickie, but you’re just as capable of saying ‘fuck it’ and making a move. Aren’t you tired of not being able to call him yours?”

You hated to admit it, but maybe Mickey had a point. The lake was beautiful, the house was beautiful, and if your best friend really could manage to distract your brother as much as he said he could…maybe that cord of tension could finally be snapped.

You were sick of not calling Bob Floyd yours.

❤︎

Your first night in the cabin was eventful, though it always was with the Dagger Squad. Coyote was an excellent cook, and the steaks and burgers he had managed to cook up were to die for. Payback and Fanboy had volunteered to make the food run to the local supermarket, coming back with what felt like the entire liquor aisle. It only took four drinks mixed by Hangman, who you suspected was mixing you doubles, before Bradley had carried your drunk ass off to bed for the night.

Not even a hangover stopped you from waking up at the crack of dawn the next morning, though, not that you wanted to be up. Your phone was showing it was only 5:30 in the morning, but given how quickly you had passed out the night before, you weren’t surprised. So, with one of Bradley’s old t-shirts tossed over your body, bare legs freezing in the cool California morning, you’d trudged as quietly past the sleeping Natasha in your bed and through the otherwise quiet cabin.

It gave you time to truly admire the cabin your brother had chosen. A fully open concept layout, the living room, dining room, and kitchen essentially mixed into one. A gorgeous a-frame shape, outlined in exposed wooden beams, with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the entire home in the faint light of the sun just barely peaking over the horizon and glinting over the lake. Truly picturesque…and romantic, as Mickey had called it.

You’d been afforded just a few minutes of silence in the kitchen, just a single warm light over the stove turned on, as you dug through the now fully stocked pantry and fridge to grab everything you could: pancake mix, butter, eggs, sausage, bacon, bread, the entire works to feed an entire crew of Navy fighter pilots.

“You’re not a morning person,”

You almost didn’t recognize Bob’s voice this early in the morning–or was this still considered the night? It was lower, lower than you had ever heard it before, and raspy in that way that most voices were when you’ve just been pulled from sleep. The sound itself sent a shot of heat through your veins and your lower body. No one’s voice was allowed to sound that hot–it should be criminal for a voice in general to be that hot.

He was leaning against the island counter, a sleepy little smile on his lips. His ‘Dagger Squad’ t-shirt hung from his frame, a funny gift you’d given the entire group for Christmas the year before. You watched with your own little smile as he rubbed at his eyes from under his glasses, which were sitting just slightly tilted on the bridge of his nose, and as he ran his hand then through his hair to try and flatten it out. 

It was almost inevitable the way your eyes trailed downward, though, as he stretched. That navy blue shirt rode up just slightly, letting your eyes feast upon the sight that was Bob’s well-concealed abs and defined V-line that ran beneath the edge of his boxers. You hated the way your mouth almost dropped open at the sight as you ogled him like he was a museum sculpture, modeled to perfection. It took every ounce of willpower in your body to not eye up the bulge in his boxers, either.

You caught his own eyes as they, too, traveled along your body wordlessly. Over Bradley’s oversized t-shirt that was just barely covering your ass–which was already barely concealed by your black, lace panties–and down the expanse of your bare legs. Even in the dim light of the kitchen, you could tell there was a blush coating his cheeks as he tried to look anywhere but at you, but you knew you were sporting a similar red on your cheeks.

“I’m not, but I crashed so early last night I couldn’t sleep anymore. But last I checked, you aren’t a morning person either,” you shot back at him, turning back to the counter before you and rifling through the ingredients, reaching over to flip on the stovetop and arrange your pans. Anything to not think about the work of art that was Bob Floyd. “Except for work, that is.”

“T-That’s true. Guess I forgot to turn my work alarm off, though, because it went off a few minutes ago. Rooming with Fanboy and Payback, and I didn’t want to wake them, so I just came out here,”

With your back still turned to Bob, you smirked slightly to yourself. You could only assume that Bob’s alarm being on was no accident, and reminded yourself to give Mickey a sly ‘thank you’ later for his ingenious plan.

“Lord knows those two will be cranky if you wake them up this early,” you shared a laugh as you glanced back at Bob, nodding him over. “Since you’re up, come help me.”

He obliged, coming to stand right by your side at the countertop. The kitchen wasn’t small by any means, but Bob had placed himself directly at your side, edges of your arms just barely brushing one another, as you moved ingredients around before you both.

“Breakfast for the squad?”

“I typically do this on Bradley’s birthday. At least, when we’ve been in the same city over the years. If I’m already up, though, I might as well do it today instead of getting up early again on his actual birthday,” you explained as Bob held the glass bowl in front of you so that you could mix together the pancake mix with just a few cups of water. “It was a tradition our mom started when we were really little. I always got a cookie cake with a fun design, and Bradley always got breakfast.”

There was silence in the kitchen for a moment, just the quiet little hum of the gas stove as it heated the pans. Suddenly, Bob’s arm found its way around your shoulders, tugging you into his side with a press of his lips to your hairline.

“She’d be really proud of you two,”

Leave it to Bob Floyd to have you choked up before it was even 6 in the morning. Neither you nor Bradley talked about your mother often; it was still a touchy subject, but the squad knew the story. Bob must have seen it; the tension in your shoulders, the slight hint of melancholy that trickled into your tone at the memory. Bob knew you too well, better than anyone besides maybe your own brother.

When the guy at the Hard Deck months ago was flirting with you until you were ready to punch him, it was Bob who came to your rescue, noticing your discomfort from a mile away. The day you’d lost a patient, a young stray dog your coworker had found abandoned on the side of the road, and came into the Hard Deck after as if everything was fine. Bob had pulled you outside, simply took you in his arms, and let you weep without even needing to know what happened. At Maverick’s birthday party at his shared home with Penny, it was Bob who took your hand gingerly in his with a squeeze when you saw the photo hanging on the wall of your father. 

Bob Floyd could read you like an open book. You weren’t sure if you had left the pages open for him to read, or if he just truly knew you that well.

You let yourself lean into the feeling of him for a moment, wrapped up in the warmth and the way his arm felt like it belonged around your shoulders and that lingering heat from his kiss to your skin, before you dug your finger into his side until he laughed, swatting you away as you wore matching grins.

“Hey-!”

“No making me sad,” he only laughed again as you waved your spatula threateningly in his direction, his hand gently moving it out of his face. “There will be no sadness in my kitchen!”

“Oh, my apologies, your highness,” he gave a mock bow that had you rolling your eyes, even as your lips quirked up at the sight, before he fell into place beside you at the stove to lay the sausage and bacon in a pan while you flipped pancakes. “We ever tell you about the time Hangman tried to make us breakfast?”

“Hangman, doing something nice for you guys?” you teased, flipping the pancakes on the pan in front of you before piling them onto the plate next to you on the counter. “You probably didn’t tell me because it didn’t happen.”

“We would’ve been better off if it didn’t happen, actually,” Bob laughed out, reaching around you to grab another packet of bacon from the counter, his hand just barely grazing along your arm as a shiver shot down your spine. “He has t-this belgian waffle maker in his kitchen, right? But he’s never used it, it was a gift from his sister. So I had to teach him how to use the thing. He gets it flipped, until I realized that he used two cups of mix…and 6 cups of water.”

“Wait, hold on, 6 cups of water-?”

“Runniest waffles you’ve ever seen,” Bob explained, dumping the cooked sausage and bacon onto the plate next to him at the stove. “The mix came pouring out of the sides of the machine. I’m telling him to flip it back, but he’s not listening and instead hits the damn thing so hard it gets jammed. Suddenly, t-the thing is smoking and burning the batter inside and the fire alarm is blaring. Had to evacuate the entire apartment complex because of it.”

You threw your head back laughing for a moment, just picturing the absolute chaos that was probably happening in that kitchen that day. Bob laughed with you, leaning into your side until your arms were pressed right against one another.

“This is why, anytime I’ve cooked around him, I tell him to stay out of my kitchen,” Bob was still laughing. You watched him for a moment, gaze flickering to the bowl of mix beside you, before back to him as your lips quirked into a smirk. “At least none of you started a food fight…not like I’m going to.”

“Like you’re going-”

Bob didn’t get to finish his sentence before your hand, slathered in pancake mix, ran across the lower half of his face. You were conscious of his glasses, you always were.

His eyes were wide as he turned to stare at you. Your non-mix covered hand instead covered your mouth, trying to conceal the cascade of giggles that were endlessly pouring out of you at the sight of him. His shock was gone not long after seeing you laugh, his batter covered lips spreading into a grin of his own as he reached for the glass bowl himself.

“...alright, war it is,”

Your shriek was still concealed by your own hand as you darted around the island counter behind you, using it as a barrier between yourself and Bob. He was laughing uncontrollably, hand covered in mix that was dripping down onto the wooden floor beneath your feet, and you felt yourself stuck there for a moment, reveling in the domesticity of the situation.

So many of your dreams had been of moments like this. There was one, once, just like this where you and Bob chased one another around the kitchen in the dim refrigerator light. There had been another dream, the same setting as before, but instead you were dancing in his arms as “The Way You Look Tonight” played off one of your phones in the distance. Late night drives, stargazing nights on the beach, dinner dates in restaurants by the shoreline. Many of the dreams were you, curled up in his arms on a couch as some movie played aimlessly in the background. Those dreams always took a turn, from innocent to downright filthy, as those large hands you’d spent too many late nights getting yourself off to the thought of would drift up your calves, your thighs, and then finally touch you right where you wished he would.

The middle of a food fight–one you had initiated–was the worst place to daydream about the man in front of you. Suddenly, Bob wasn’t in front of you, but at your side. Another playful shriek left your lips, this time not muddled by your hand, as Bob’s arms encircled your waist and spun you around. Pinned against his body and the fridge, your laughter never stopped as Bob’s hand covered in pancake batter ran over your face, from your forehead to your chin as the tasteless batter seeped past your lips and across your tongue.

“I concede, you win this war,” your giggles had turned soft. Both of your hands were wiping at your eyes, trying to keep stray bits of batter from sneaking their way into your eyes. Bob laughed with you, his hand still covered in batter trying to help, but ultimately just making the situation worse than it already was.

“No longer certain that one ever does win a war, I am,” Bob’s comment came under his breath, but he was close enough that you heard it loud and clear. Even through the batter smeared on his face, you could see the red seeping into his cheeks as you deadpanned at him.

“Robert, did you seriously just quote Star Wars to me?”

“I-I’d prefer if we pretended I didn’t just do that,” he shook his head, laughing at himself as a smile grew across your face. “Kind of embarrassed that I did.”

Your laughter mixed with his as you wiped at the batter on Bob’s face, clearing it from his skin. His gaze was trained on you, watching your every movement, as you cleared what you could from his skin. You could feel the sharp intake of breath he had the second your fingers ghosted over his lips, swiping the mixture from his skin, as Mickey’s voice played in the back of your head.

Aren’t you tired of not being able to call him yours

Bob’s breath audibly hitched again as you leaned up, lips brushing over his skin and against the corner of his mouth as your hand cupped his pancake mix covered cheek. You could almost feel the burn in his skin as, with a shot of confidence only found in the dead of night, your tongue poked out to rid his pale skin of the batter streaked along his face.

The hold of his hand, gripped onto your hip, grew tighter as you were suddenly made aware of it. Bradley’s old t-shirt had ridden up, exposing the expanse of your skin to Bob’s hand. The large appendage engulfed your hip, fingers pressing into you and leaving behind a trail of heat as his thumb drew circles into your skin, catching on the string of fabric that barely separated your body from his.

The bulge you tried not to look at before was making itself very known right now, pressed into the skin of your thigh in the close proximity you had found yourself in with Bob. As you pulled your lips from his skin, you had to force yourself to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat as your brain grappled with the sheer size of what was pressing against you now.

“Well…you’re lucky you’re cute,” the second you pulled back enough to look in Bob’s eyes, heat shot down to your core. Feral, hungry, you weren’t sure what the look was that was dancing across those blue irises. You could feel his groan in your own skin as his grip on your hip tightened, his teeth biting into his bottom lip.

“Y-You can’t do that. You can’t look at me like that,”

“Like what?”

“Like you like me,”

“I do…and I know that you know that. Just like I know that you like me, too,” you breathed out as your fingers danced along his jawline lightly. “So I’m just left wondering why you don’t do something about it.”

His dilated pupils stayed locked on you for a moment, teeth still sunken into his bottom lip, before his eyes cast a glance toward the direction of the living room. As if waiting for someone to appear. A sigh left his lips as he leaned forward, resting his head against the fridge behind you as his breath ghosted just over the shell of your ear. Your hand trailed down from his jaw, resting now over his chest. His heartbeat was quickened, you could feel the rhythmic beat beneath your hand, and you knew your’s matched his.

“Because there’s someone in the other room that will kill me if I do,”

“Maybe, but it’s really not fair if he controls our lives,” it took a moment for you to speak, dancing on the edge of pushing yourself over that line and making the leap you’d been too afraid to make for so long now. “It only matters if we’re happy, right?”

Bob moved back to his original position, his forehead just barely grazing yours as you looked down. Those dilated eyes behind those beautiful glasses darted between your lips, your eyes, and then finally back down to your lips, before an easy smile spread across his lips. His hand on your bare waist tightened, and a flurry of butterflies shot through your stomach and into your chest.

“You’re right-”

“Hot DAMN is that bacon I smell?”

The moment was shattered in an instant. Bob’s hand left your waist, space put between you both as he leaned against the island counter, leaving your back pressed against the fridge. A deep sigh left your body, almost emanating from your bones and soul itself, as you looked to the ceiling and cursed whatever forces were keeping you and this man apart.

Of course, it was Jake Seresin that rounded the corner into the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes glancing between your pancake covered face, to Bob’s pancake covered face and his terrible attempt at hiding his boner from his teammate. His signature smirk, the one he shot both the ladies and every time he was ready to be a smartass, crossed his lips in an instant.

“Whoa there, didn’t know I was interrupting something. If you want to bring food into the bedroom, might I suggest actually trying that out in a bedroom next time?”

The glare you shot him was downright murderous as Jake only laughed. Bob retreated back to the stove, clearing the rest of the food onto plates with his back turned as Jake shoved you out of the way of the fridge with his hip to get himself a drink.

“Hangman, have I mentioned that I fucking hate you?”

“No, right now you should love me for keeping you two from playing hide the zucchini in the middle of the kitchen,” you could hear the short laugh that snuck past Bob’s lips at the comment, and you couldn’t help the quirk in your own lips at the comment. Hangman just shot you a wink as he passed by you. “Especially when your brother is going to walk in here any second now.”

“...oh,”

“Yeah, oh. Never say I hang you people out to dry ever again, I just kept this entire trip from imploding,”

❤︎

“Wait…so you two finally almost kissed?”

“Don’t ignore that almost part, Nat, that’s the most annoying part,”

Bradley had filled your first two days at the lakehouse with a packed itinerary. An entire day on your own private stretch of beach, followed by another dinner on the grill courtesy of Coyote’s masterful grill skills. The second day he never let you leave the water, crowding you all onto the boat that came with the house and dragging you out onto the lake.

“I just have to say, I’ve been doing the best I can,” Mickey chimed in, throwing his hands up in a surrender motion. “Your brother’s meticulous schedule has made it almost impossible to get you and Bob time alone.”

You huffed out a laugh, turning the page of your book. Your brother had, finally, allowed you all a day of nothing planned, and you had chosen to spend most of the afternoon lounging on the top floor balcony seating area with a good book. Perfect views of the water, the boats, the trees, and nothing but a beautiful breeze and plenty of sun.

“It’s okay, it’s still appreciated,” Natasha and Mickey were seated around the outdoor table with you, curled up on their own respective patio chairs. You’d claimed the couch, tucking your legs up under you on the cushion and letting the crochet cover-up over the top of your bikini set drape around your legs. “It’s annoying, but…I don’t know, something feels different now. Like that moment changed something. Turning his alarm on was a nice touch, though, Mick, I have to give you props there.”

“You turned that on?” Natasha shot Mickey an incredulous look, reaching over to whack him on the shoulder as he dramatically acted as if she’d really wounded him. “I’ve been making fun of him the last two days for that, Fanboy!”

“I woke up to go pee and heard little chickie over there in the kitchen,” Mickey tried to defend himself. “So, with Bradley fast asleep, I used Bob’s passcode and then set his alarm. Ingenious idea, if I do say so myself!”

You glance up from your book, eyebrows raised in question as you looked at your best friend.

“You know Bob’s password?”

“Most of us do,” it was Nat who chimed in this time, a smirk on her face as she took a sip of her drink. “It’s Bradley’s birthday.”

It was impossible to hold back the laugh that you let out at that statement.

“I’m sorry, you’re telling me that Bob’s passcode is my brother’s birthday-”

“Yeah, because it’s the day you two met,”

That…you weren’t expecting that. Mickey’s simple statement had you pausing, racking your brain for something to say. You weren’t able to speak before your best friends were hunched over, grabbing at one another’s arms as they laughed so loudly you were surprised the entire lake couldn’t hear you three.

“Jesus, Mick, I think you broke her with that!” Natasha’s laughter wouldn’t stop as she wiped at the stray tear that managed to spill in her laughter. Mickey simply picked up his water, trying to drink it through his own laughter.

“Did you see the way her brain literally stopped working? I think she started buffering the second her skin turned as red as a damn tomato!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re both fucking comedians,” you shot back at them, grabbing one of the chips on your plate from the patio table and tossing it in their direction.

There was a yell from somewhere downstairs that sounded like Reuben, telling the two of them to hurry up. He’d, somehow, coerced the two of them into joining him for an hour trip back into the heart of San Bernardino to go to the local mall. He claimed he just wanted to look around, but you had a sneaking suspicion Payback had managed to forget to buy Bradley a birthday present for the following day’s celebration.

“Alright, enjoy your book, baby Roo,” you huffed out a fake laugh, shooting your smiling friends a middle finger that they waved off. “And just know: we weren’t kidding. That really is why that’s Bob’s passcode.”

That thought floated through your head, even as you tried to relax in the warm California sun and read your book. It brought a smile to your face, one that you couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard you tried. Instead, you tried to just focus on the romance playing out in your book.

The couple were dancing together at a wedding, albeit not traditionally given the man’s medical condition. She talked about how in any other timeline, he would’ve never noticed her. He agrees, but says it’s because he used to be ‘such an arse’ and she laughs and agrees with him. Then, he gets a look on his face that she can’t stop staring at, and he tells her that she is the only thing that makes him want to get up in the morning. The most blatant confession of ‘I love you’ without having to say the words.

“Thought you told me that was a sad book?”

Ripped out of the moment, you glance up from your book to Bob Floyd himself. He was leaning against the back of your patio couch, blocking the sun from your eyes, and smiling down at you in his swim trunks and University of Montana t-shirt. You gave him an unimpressed look, but smiled nonetheless at just the sight of him.

“It is, but it’s still beautiful. And one of my favorite books,”

“You just reread it last month, didn’t you?”

“Well, now you just sound like a stalker, Floyd,” he laughed, standing up straight to let you situate yourself against the corner of the couch, bookmark tucked into your pages and book discarded to the other end of the couch. You eyed his outfit for a moment. “Where’s Brad dragging you boys off to?”

“Back out on the lake,” he nodded his head over the railing as you turned to look, seeing your brother working with Hangman and Coyote to get the boat ready to head back out onto the water. “Saw you sitting up here, t-thought I’d come check on you.”

“Always the gentleman,”

Bob smiled at that, leaning back down against the back of the couch so that he was just slightly closer to you now than before.

“Work hasn’t called to pester you yet?”

“I had a quick text from Taylor this morning, there was an older cat that she had some concerns about-” your eyes lit up as you snapped your fingers, pointing to Bob with an excited grin on your lips. “Oh! I never got to give you an update on the kittens the other day!”

“The feral ones some lady brought in?” he asked as you nodded.

“Healthy mom, seemed like she was once a housecat that either got abandoned or escaped. But seven healthy little kittens that we gave off to one of our foster families we usually work with,” your grin turned into a smirk. “And guess what? Six boys and one girl!”

Bob stared at you for just a moment, doing the math in his head, before hanging his head with a dramatic sigh.

“Chickie, don’t tell me-”

“There were two brothers that kept fighting with one another, so they obviously had to be named Rooster and Hangman,” Bob’s laughter was contagious, his entire body shaking as he looked up at you with a hint of amusement in his eyes as you hand settled on his forearm over the edge of the couch. “Hangman had a little bit of a shadow always following him, ready to back him up, so that obviously was Coyote. Two of the other brothers were like two peas in a pod, so they were easily Fanboy and Payback. The lone girl? Every time she made her presence known, the boys stopped fighting, so even if Phoenix weren’t the only girl in your squad, that little girl would’ve gotten her name from her.”

“And the last kitten?” Bob asked.

“Oh, he was my favorite. A perfect little angel,” your grin grew as your hand left Bob’s arm. His eyes followed your movements, locked in as your finger traced the edges of his glasses, barely skimming over the skin of his cheeks as you went. “The strangest little markings, like two big, black circles around his eyes, as if he were wearing glasses. It just made sense that we named that little angel Bob.”

Your hand fell back down, resting on top of Bob’s forearm again as you smiled sheepishly toward him. His own grin only grew, his other hand landing on top of yours with a squeeze.

“W-Was he cute?”

“Easily the cutest one of the bunch,” you replied with ease. “Possibly the cutest kitten I’ve ever seen.”

Bob laughed again, his hand engulfing yours with another affectionate squeeze that had your heart feelings as if it was tying itself in knots.

“Are you still talking about the kittens here?”

“Hm, maybe, who knows-”

“BOB! Get your ass down here!”

You rolled your eyes. Even when your brother didn’t realize he was being a cockblock, he was. Though if he knew he was interrupting a moment, he’d probably jump up and click his heels together like a lucky little leprechaun.

Bob chuckled at your brother’s insistence. Your eyes never left him as he hesitated for just a moment, before squeezing your hand one again and leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. The second his lips made contact with your skin, your eyes shut in just pure bliss as that familiar flutter erupted in your chest as you leaned into the feeling that was gone all too soon.

“I SAW THAT FLOYD!”

You both shared a laugh before Bob was gone off the deck in an instant, and you immediately missed his presence. When you dared to turn around and look toward the dock, your brother was shooting you a glare that you happily gave him the middle finger for, while Hangman and Coyote were making kissy faces and many lewd gestures in your direction from behind his back the entire time.

That little kiss weighed heavily on you the rest of the day. That cord of tension in your chest, the one tying you to Bob, was on the verge of snapping. You weren’t sure how much more of it you could take.

Since Payback, Fanboy, and Phoenix had already been in the city, Bradley had tasked them with bringing back pizza as he proclaimed a movie night in the living room on the giant flatscreen. They’d obliged, walking through the door of the house hours later with a stack of pizza boxes almost half the size of Phoenix herself.

“The Hangover? Seriously, Rooster, that’s so basic,” Jake complained with a groan from his place on one end of the sectional, plate of pizza and a beer in his hands as everyone took their places around the living room. “Thought you had better taste?”

“It’s my birthday trip, Bagman, I get to pick the movie,” Bradley shot back, settling down on the loveseat next to the sectional sofa with Phoenix, taking his plate from her as he queued up the movie on Netflix. “Not all of us want to watch chick flicks or 2000s romance movies all the time, I get enough of that with chickie.”

You shot him a fake laugh from across the room, ducking out of the kitchen with your own plate of pizza and beer. Bradley nodded toward the wall next to you before you could get too far, and you took the hint, flipping the light switch to plunge the living room into darkness. The only light now was the setting sun and the moon creeping into the sky from the windows.

“I’m not a chick flick guy,” Hangman scoffed, waving off Bradley’s comment as Payback settled on the couch next to him.

“Dude,” Bradley shot him an unimpressed look. “I caught you crying over Bridget Jones’s Diary, like, three weeks ago. Don’t even try it.”

There was a chorus of laughter through the room as Hangman mumbled something that nobody caught. You rounded the couch, falling into the open space on the opposite end of the section beside Bob, stretching out your legs on the chaise before you.

Coyote and Fanboy entered the room last just as Bradley started the movie. While Javy took the open space on the floor near Hangman’s end to use the couch as a cushion, Mickey stole the pillow out from behind your back, plopping it down right where your legs were as he shot a smirk at you.

“Mind moving your legs so I can lie down?” you shot him an incredulous look, until he gave both you and Bob an overexaggerated wink. 

Ah, another ploy by him.

Bradley always locked into movies hard whenever they were on, which worked in your favor at this moment. You curled your legs into your chest, allowing Mickey to lie across the chaise with another wink in your direction. The second you glanced at Bob, he lifted the blanket across his lap with a tiny smile, and you lay your legs out across his lap without hesitation.

The sun set, plunging the room into true darkness, just 20 minutes into the movie. Coyote had volunteered to do the clean up, clearing the plates and bottles from around the room while Jake and Bradley argued over who was the best character in this movie.

With hands now free, you tucked yourself further under the blanket that Bob had laid out across you both. Bob too tucked his hands under the warmth of the blanket, but they hovered there for just a moment, until his brain seemed to make up his mind and they rested against the skin of your own legs.

The movie was an afterthought in your mind at that moment, even as your eyes stayed locked on the screen. Every thought that ran through your head was about Bob’s hands. Their size, the way they engulfed your skin, and spread heat through every inch of their touch. The soft circles he drew into your knee, sending a small shiver straight through your bones that was complemented by the heat of his touch.

You couldn’t help but let your mind drift further, wondering what that delicious heat of his hands would feel like if they just drifted further up your legs. If they splayed out across your thighs, fingertips digging into your flesh like they had dug into your hip so early in the morning in the kitchen. What it would feel like for his featherlight touch to drift up the inner portion of your thigh, to graze over the edge of your sleep shorts to the spot you had dreamed about feeling him touch. Where you’d dreamed of the pleasure he could bring you from just one little touch to the most sensitive part of your skin.

Bob’s gaze turned to you in the dark of the room, and you looked back at him. Another shiver shot up your spine, goosebumps coating your skin, and you weren’t sure if it was from the chill of the air conditioning in the room or from that soft, adoring look Bob Floyd had every time he looked at you. He could feel the goosebumps under his own hands; you knew he could. His teeth bit into his bottom lip in contemplation, and action you couldn’t look away from, before his eyes flickered to Bradley, still engrossed in the movie.

In the shroud of darkness in that living room, spurred by Bradley’s inability to look away from his movie of choice, Bob’s hands left your legs. His arm wound around your waist, tugging you closer until you were sitting directly in his lap, legs curled up beside him. Your arms wound their own way around his shoulders, linking together at the nape of his neck as your fingers twirled through the strands of hair, tickling the skin there. Your eyes drifted to Bradley, who was still oblivious, as Bob draped the blanket further over both of you. His hands settled against you, one splayed across your hip while the other found its home on your thigh, sending heat just a short distance straight to your core as those thoughts filtered through your head once again.

Bob’s head leaned toward yours, his nose and the edge of his glasses just barely grazing along the edge of your hairline. You glanced at Mickey, who was looking back at you both with a triumphant grin. Even Hangman was giving you a thumbs-up from down the couch, which was met with your middle finger once more from behind Bob’s head. From the small rumble in the couch from his laughter, you knew he could see it even in the darkness.

Bob pressed another kiss into the side of your head, and you melted.

The movie was long forgotten to you the second you let your head rest in the space between Bob’s shoulder and his neck, your nose and lips brushing against his skin as you inhaled the scent of his cologne that you knew all too well: cypress and bayberry, the perfect sweet but earthy scent. You’d helped him pick the cologne out months ago. The second you said you liked the smell of it, Bob was at the counter purchasing it without ever smelling it for himself.

In Bob’s arms, wrapped in the heat of him and listening to the gentle beating of his pulse that could’ve lulled you to sleep, you realized there was no other place you wanted to be. You also were about ready to chew your over-protective brother out for keeping you from this man as long as he had.

❤︎

“I hope you all know I AM judging these presents and there will be an official ranking from best to worst after,”

The sun had just disappeared beyond the horizon on Bradley’s birthday, a day full of non-stop celebration. Hangman had been the one to wake up early that morning and make breakfast, almost burning the lodge down. When Bob met your eyes with an ‘I told you so’ look across the room as he and Coyote opened every window to fan out the smoke from the stove pans, you couldn’t help but break down into laughter. Another afternoon spent on the boat, followed by a fancy dinner in the nearby town, had all wound down to now.

Mickey had drug the firepit out of the lodge’s garage, situating it on the private stretch of beach belonging to the home. The teal Adirondack chairs littering the sand were situated in a circle around the fire Mickey had put himself in charge of attending to, and everyone had settled in. 

Your chair was placed directly next to Bradley’s, a request by him so that you could inspect each of the gifts placed at his side with him.

“Well, I say we go with the best gift first, which is obviously mine,” Jake said, sitting across the fire pit and gesturing toward the comically large green bag placed at Bradley’s feet. “It’s the one that’s quite large, just saying.”

“Compensating much?” Natasha snuck in her comment from her chair beside him, getting a cloud of sand kicked up into her lap that she happily kicked back at him.

You shook your head at their little spat, sipping on your beer as you pulled your feet up onto the chair. The lake breeze floated through the early night, providing a perfect contrast for the heat that still lingered in the air. Your arms sat wrapped around your knees as your glance found Bob’s, like it always did. He was sitting directly across from you, the orange glow of the flashes accenting his face and painting it in beautiful shades that reflected off his glasses. He shot you a tiny smile, and you hated the way even something so little had such an effect on you.

“Jake, seriously dude?” Bradley’s voice sounded done with Hangman, even as he was trying to conceal his laughter. Your gaze snapped back over to your brother as he held a very tiny bag that sat within the larger bag, reaching inside to pull out a circular, almost rubber-like object. “Is this a gag gift–did you seriously buy me a fucking cock ring?”

The group erupted into laughter. Bob and Natasha both almost tipped backward in their chairs from laughing so hard. Javy was pacing the sand, waving his hands in the air, and just repeating ‘nah, I’m done’ over and over again. Mickey was busy patting Reuban’s back as he coughed into the sand, having spit out his beer and choked on the air that rushed into his lungs. You simply covered your mouth, trying to contain your laughter while you could barely look in your brother’s direction. Jake just sat with a smug look on his face.

“You haven’t gotten any action in a while, thought this could…spice things up for your right hand,” he shot him a wink with that damn heart-breaking smirk on his lips. “Your real gift is, I told Maverick I’ll do all your paperwork for the next few weeks, so…you’re welcome.”

“Yeah, such a sweet gift that’s for sure going at the bottom of the list…next!”

Bradley took his time opening every gift that sat by his side. Natasha had played it safe, just a few new pairs of button-ups that she joked would ‘never stay buttoned up’ and a new pair of aviators. Fanboy and Coyote had joined together to get Bradley a brand new golf club set, one that poor Mickey had to run off to get from the garage so it wouldn’t have ruined the surprise.

Payback’s gift bag had some books that your brother had been wanting to read for a while, along with another bottle of the cologne he typically wore. He’d forgotten to take the price tag off the bag, though, so when you shot him a look and he avoided your gaze with a fake whistle, you knew you were correct about why he suddenly wanted to run into town the day before.

“Little chickie’s gift comes in an envelope,” Bradley announced to the group, proudly showing off the little letter envelope in his hand before tearing into it to get to the card. “As my sister, I’m immediately expecting great things from you and will judge this gift harshly.”

You just watched from behind your beer bottle, using it to mask your smirk as Bradley flipped the card open, and his mouth dropped in an instant.

“Holy shit…”

“Don’t leave us hanging, Rooster! What is it?”

“Suspense is killing us, dude!”

“Los Angeles Chargers tickets?” Bradley turned to you with wide eyes, and a laugh tumbled from your lips at the look on his face.

“I know you’ve been dying to go for a while, so I figured I’d be the world’s greatest sister. 50-yard line, home team side, down in the 100 section,”

Bradley was at your side in a second, leaning down over the side of the chair to wrap you in a hug, rustling your hair and pressing a kiss to the side of your head before you shoved him off with a laugh.

“Quick question,” Hangman chimed in from across the beach. “Do those tickets come with a ‘must take Baby Roo’ stipulation, or…?”

“Bagman, I’m taking Mav to this game before I’m taking you,” Bradley shot back as another round of laughter echoed through the group. He picked up the final bag by his chair, a light blue in color, and pointed across the fire toward Bob. “You’re up, Bobby! Let’s see if you can beat little chickie.”

Your eyes found Bob again, head resting against your hand, and you just watched. Watching him was one of your favorite things. The little quirk in his lips when he smiled, those expressive blue eyes that were always blown wide like a baby deer. Even watching him now, as he seemed to watch Bradley nervously, your thoughts drifted back to all those little moments.

The feel of his hand on your waist. The gentleness that he touched you with, subconsciously knowing he had permission to but still walking the line until you gave him the go-ahead. That soft look in his eyes, that one he seemed to have reserved only for you. The second you’d locked eyes in the Hard Deck that day, you knew you were a goner, but somewhere along the way…you weren’t sure when it became love, but it did.

Loving him quietly was killing you.

“Sis…”

Bradley’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. All eyes were trained on you, and Bob’s nervous smile was turned in your direction now. You whipped around to face Bradley, a stray tear falling down his cheek that had you jumping out of your seat within a second. But then, he turned the picture frame in his hands around, and your breath caught.

You’d only ever seen Nick Bradshaw, your father, in photos. He’d passed away while you were still a little bun in the oven, and there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t give in this world to meet him. But you knew what he looked like; you carried a photo of him with you everywhere. That light brown hair that looked almost blonde in certain lights, those big, brown eyes that were the same color as the chocolate bars you loved so much. He was almost always in a Hawaiian shirt, buttons undone, when he wasn’t in his flight suit. You knew where Bradley got it from.

Carole Bradshaw, on the other hand, you knew her like the back of your hand. That light blonde hair and bangs she’d sported her entire life, barely ever letting her hair grow past your shoulders. She let it grow that long just once when you were in middle school, and complained about it every day. Those pale blue eyes, such a stark contrast to your father’s darker ones, always looked down on you in pure adoration and affection. She loved color just as much as your father, you swore every dress in her closet was colorful and patterned.

One gone before you even graced the world, and one gone too soon. You never got to have a photo with them both, never got to stand beside your father for homecoming, prom, or graduation photos. Bradley had so many photos from when he was little with your father, but he always said how he wished you were in them, too. He never spoke it out loud, but you know he wished that his father was beside him in his own prom pictures, or holding his high school diploma with him.

But now, in the frame in Bradley’s hand, you both had what you never did. What you had always wanted.

The picture of you and Bradley had been taken two months ago, another night out at the Hard Deck. Natasha had taken it, while Bob had convinced you to put on Bradley’s Hawaiian shirt. He had stood behind Natasha, positioning you and your brother against the Hard Deck’s patio railing, the ocean and sunset the perfect backdrop.

This was that photo, but different. Wrapped around your other side was your father, light brown hair, deep chocolate eyes, mustache that matched Bradley’s, and his very own Hawaiian shirt to match the one on your shoulders. His arm lay around your shoulders, hugging you to him as your other arm was wrapped around your brother. Your mother stood at Bradley’s side, just as you always remembered her. Blonde hair hitting just below her ears, bangs styled to perfection, soft smile on her lips, and hands wrapped around Bradley’s arm as the colorful plaid pattern of her dress stuck out.

The perfect family photo you had never had, taken as if their ghosts had been beside you that night, posing along with you.

“Y-You both just always talk about them, about how you miss them. How you wished you had a photo like this,” Bob chimed in from across the fire pit, a slight stutter to his words, and he cleared his throat. “I found someone who kind of specializes in things like this…thought it was time you guys finally had a Bradshaw family photo.”

You couldn’t take your eyes off your parents, even as Bradley moved the photo into your hand completely, his feet moving through the sand. That black frame was hugged tightly to your chest as you looked up, seeing Bradley hugging Bob to him tightly, patting him on the back over and over as he mumbled something to him.

Bob’s gaze caught yours, and all you could muster was a watery smile as you looked at him, letting a single tear slip past your defenses. His eyes seemed to soften upon seeing that, mouthing something along the lines of ‘you’re okay’ in your direction.

“Well, I think we all know who’s at the top of Bradley’s gift tier list…”

Hangman’s comment didn’t matter, nor did the laughter of your friends. All that mattered to you was the frame in your hands, and the man who had so graciously thought of it and gifted it to not just your brother, but to you.

You weren’t sure when you quite fell in love with Bob Floyd, but in this moment, you knew there was no man in this world you could ever love more.

That thought stuck with you as the night wore on. The fire was put out, the chairs left buried in the sand, all as the moon rose higher into the sky. Most of the team huddled in the game room, conversing about something Maverick had texted them earlier in the day, and laying out the plans for the hike around the lake trails that would begin the following morning while engaged in an intense game of pool. Bob wasn’t with them, though, off somewhere else in the house.

You were alone in your shared room with Natasha, sorting through both of your piles of dirty clothing so that you could throw them in the wash the following morning. Those thoughts wouldn’t leave your mind, of Bob and the love that was bursting out of your chest at the seams, as you mindlessly sorted through the clothing. There were three quick raps on the doorframe, and you tilted your head up to see Mickey leaning against it with a grin.

“Convinced your brother we needed more alcohol,” he informed you. “There’s a 24-hour store in the little town down the road where we had dinner, so we’re going to run out and grab some stuff. Might be done in 20, maybe 30 minutes…”

You simply gave him a nod as he trailed off, turning your attention back to the clothing in front of you.

“Sounds good, be safe,”

He hummed in response, going quiet for just a moment.

“I know you, chickie. I know what’s going on in your head. I’m taking your brother out of the house for half an hour,” you glanced back at him again just as he was disappearing around the corner with a smirk and a wink. “Bob’s in the hot tub, if you’re not too busy with your dirty laundry.”

His words hung there in the air as your gaze flickered over to your suitcase. Sitting right on top was one of the bikinis you had yet to wear: a tinier, black string one, much more suitable for tanning than swimming. But Mickey’s words hung in your head, the softness of Bob’s stare was burned into your memory, and those butterflies were beating against your ribcage.

Moments later, there was a towel wrapped around your body as you padded out into the quiet living room. The overhead lights were off, just the light of the TV and the one above the stove in the kitchen illuminated the area. You could hear your friends off down the hallway, laughing in the game room, but your mind was set on your destination.

The lower-level patio door was already cracked open, letting the cool nighttime breeze flow into the house as you stepped into the doorway. The moon shone down over the lake, but your gaze was too busy admiring the man resting in the hot tub in the corner of the patio.

The patio light was off, leaving just the blue shine from the lights in the water to reflect back on Bob. For once, his shirt was off, half of his torso buried in the steaming water. His head hung back against the edge of the circular tub, resting his eyes and occasionally wiping at the steam that fogged his glasses. That blue light illuminated him, every inch of his body, and highlighted every dip and crevice along his collarbone that your eyes trailed along as if they were a map. He looked so beautiful, so peaceful in this light with just the faint sound of the hot tub's jets ringing through the air.

“Have room for another?”

Bob’s head shot up, mouth falling open just slightly as he reached for his towel hanging off the side of the tub, wiping the fog from his glasses. He relaxed just a bit at the sight of you, lips pulling into a soft grin.

“Always,”

Your eyes never left his as you let the towel fall, tossing it off to the other side of the patio to the hammock swinging in the gentle breeze. Bob’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and you could see his eyes trail down your body. Over your neck, your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts in the bathing suit that did nothing for modesty, down your hips to the strings just barely hanging on at the sides, before back up to your eyes.

Neither of your gazes moved as you settled into the hot tub across from him, the heat of the water warming your skin in seconds. It was barely meant for two people, your knees brushing in the middle as you took your seat. Bob’s legs instantly parted, allowing yours to slot in between his own as you were caged between them. Only then, soaking in the steaming water, did you let your gaze trail away from him and out to the lake, to the shadows of the pine trees in the distance. That blue light illuminated you both, now, and it only seemed to make his blue eyes shine even brighter.

“That gift…felt more like a gift for both of us than just one for Bradley,”

You could hear his soft laughter, the way it stumbled slightly with the nerves running through him.

“It was too good an idea. D-Did…you like it?”

Your gaze found his again, voice low in the quiet night.

“I loved it,”

That cord of tension was back, tugging between you both in the most unbearable way. It almost hurt, how close yet how far Bob seemed at that moment. So, you toed your foot along that line, just barely dipping it across as you spoke again.

“You want to play a game?”

Bob quirked his head, like a puppy trying to understand its owner. Then, he nodded.

“Sure, why not?”

“The yes or no game,” you responded. “We ask each other questions, simple ones. Answer yes, or answer no. That’s all.”

“Sounds…e-easy enough,”

“Good,” you took a deep breath, before shoving yourself fully over that invisible, mental line that had been drawn between you. “Do you like me?”

Bob didn’t seem shocked by the question. It’s like he already knew the second you settled into the water that the line between you both was gone, was blurred. He ran his hands over his thighs, taking in a deep breath, before giving you a small nod.

“Yes…and I think you know that. Do you…like me?”

“Yes, and I know that you know that,” he huffed out a short laugh at that, enough to bring a smile to his lips that had one growing on your own. “Do you want to follow my brother’s rules?”

“God no,” Bob laughed again, as if saying the words was finally releasing the tension from his shoulders that had been hanging there heavily for months. “Do you?”

“No. Never wanted to in the first place,” you gave a little shrug, stretching your arms out along the edge of the tub on either side of you as you watched him, that cord of tension hanging by the barest of threads. “So…why are you still doing what he says?”

Bob paused for a moment, just watching you, but that smile slipped into a tiny smirk.

“That…wasn’t a yes or no question,”

“Well, yes or no is going to get up about as far as the last year of hopeless pining and sneaky glances have gotten us, so forgive me,” 

There was another shared laugh between you both before you fell into silence. Comfortable, but heavy, the weight of your words and the conversation at hand hanging in the air. Bob rolled his neck around, before taking in a deep breath as he found his words.

“Because…you’re Baby Roo, and he’s my best friend,” Bob gave a shrug, his hand drawing little circles in the water as he watched the water swirl around. “You walked into the bar that day, and I thought…fuck, I-I think the girl of my dreams just walked in. Then you talked, you joked like you’d known us for years, and sassed Hangman back with ease, and I knew I was so incredibly fucked. But he’d given us the talk upward of four times that week that you were off limits, that not a single one of us was allowed to make a move, no matter what.”

“He gave me the same talk, too,” you responded, giving him a tiny shrug of your own with a short laugh. “Told me all of you were off limits because you were his best friends. But I still walked into that bar and fell for you without even realizing I had.”

“You’re all he has, though. You’re the last thing he has, the most precious thing in the world to him. I couldn’t defy him like that,” Bob continued, letting out another laugh and running his soaked hand over the bottom of his face as he glanced at the ceiling, before looking back at you. “You are…the embodiment of sunshine. I-I could listen to you talk for hours and never get bored, because I never get tired of just being around you like I do others. You invade every one of my waking thoughts, every one of my dreams, and I can’t even pretend that I try to make them go away because I want them there. I get to have you in those thoughts when I know I shouldn’t, when I promised my best friend I wouldn’t look at you that way. But then you smile at me, you call me late at night and say you just want to hear my voice…and I can’t bring myself to push you away because, selfishly, I don’t want to. I can’t.”

You stared at him. There was nothing you could do in that moment, not when it was all finally out in the open. Your chest was tightened up into a knot, your stomach in your throat, but you also knew there was nothing but pure love shining through your eyes as you looked at him across the water.

Bob waited quietly, looking as if he were holding his breath. You could see his hands gripping onto his seat beneath the water, as he waited for you to speak.

“He’s all I have left, too. That’s why I’ve always listened to him, why I-I’ve always trusted him,” you leaned forward, hands dipping under the water to rest on your own seat as you gave him the smallest smile you could muster, nerves shining through as you stumbled over your words. “I might be his little sister, but I-I’m not a little girl. He can’t dictate my life forever, especially not when…not when it’s keeping me away from the man I’m so hopelessly in love with.”

That word hung in the air: love. The weight of it crashed over you, and you could see it crash over Bob in real time. The way his eyes widened just a fraction more in shock, before that shock dissipated into more of a disbelief. Then, you could physically see the way his pupils dilated, the way his eyes almost seemed to darken, as a flash of something new washed over them.

The hot water sloshed around the tub as Bob surged forward, invading your space. You sat still, letting it happen, as his arm wound its way around your waist and simply tugged. A small noise tumbled from your lips, something akin to a gasp, before Bob settled back into his seat on the far end of the tub. The hot water splashed up your torso as you instinctively spread your legs, letting them settle on either side of his waist.

The water began to calm, the little ripples and waves dying down, as you both sat there for a moment. Bob’s large, calloused hand splayed across your hip, fingers just barely toying with the string of your bikini bottoms, before they traveled downward, fingertips inching their way over the edges of your ass with a firm grip. Your hands left the water, trailing up the expanse of his bare chest that you took a moment to admire in the dim blue lighting. They settled on his broad shoulders, water dripping down his collarbones and back down into the pool of water you were submerged in. Bob’s other hand didn’t waste a second, cupping your jaw, thumb running over your lips with such intentionality that a shiver shot down your spine even in the heat of the water.

“I’ve been in love with you since the moment you stepped into the Hard Deck,” his voice was low, soft, but there was a giddiness to it. It was even present in his smile, in his eyes as they trailed over every inch of you. “And if you don’t stop me right now…I’m going to do something that’s going to piss off your brother-”

“Piss him off, please,”

He didn’t need to be told again. His hand tugged, the one now fully cupping your ass pulled until you were fully seated across his lap, and Bob Floyd’s lips met yours. You sank into the feeling, and there was only one word moving through your mind: finally.

He kissed you with so much love and devotion woven into the very fabric of his movements. Every drag of his lips pressed in firmer, hotter, as if it was a brand against your own lips. Leaving his mark so that you’d never be able to forget the way he loved you.

“I love you,” Bob had all but moaned out, tongue just barely peeking past your lips as yours met back with him, hands sliding into his hair with a tug that had another moan tumbling from his lips. “Fuck–I love you–I’ve dreamt about this. So, so, so many times, baby.”

“I-I’ve dreamt about it too,” a sigh of pleasure tumbled past your lips as Bob’s lips left yours, a flash of heat through your skin at that simple little pet name. They trailed to your cheek, to your jaw, and down your neck in a trail of heat and saliva. Your hands in his hair held tighter, nails scratching against his scalp as Bob let out a groan against your pulse point, leaving a searing kiss over your neck. “Tell me…tell me what you dream about.”

The hand enveloping your ass pressed down hard, firmer, pushing your core directly against the bulge waiting for you, just you, in Bob’s lap. Another moan of pure ecstasy fell from your lips as the hand on your jaw quickly woven into your hair, tugging over so slightly. You didn’t hesitate to roll your hips after the initial contact, a shared moan falling between you both in the quiet of the patio as your barely covered core dragged itself over the bulge of his hardened shaft. Your breath quickened the second you did, holding onto Bob as if your life depended on it, as you felt the sheer size of him beneath you, a flood of arousal coursing through every inch of you.

“I-I’ve dreamt of this,” his words were breathy against your skin, hot, wet kisses still trailing up and down your neck, and down to your collarbone. His hand left your hair, trailing down your spine as he bit into the hollow of your neck, leaving a soothing kiss along the mark moments later. “You right–fuck–right here, falling apart. Ruining me. God, I-I was ruined the moment I met you.”

“So was I,” it felt like you had been deprived of all of the oxygen in your body, your words barely audible at the moment. One hand left Bob’s hair, trailing down his chest, over the toned abdomen he so expertly hid. You let your nails leave a trail over the defined lines of his abs. You felt his breath hitch against your collarbone, his kiss frozen in place, as your nails ghosted down the deep V-line that ran beneath his swim trunks, dipping just below the waistband. “Most of my dreams d-don’t have me on top, though. That’s usually you, ruining me for any other man for hours on end until I’m begging you to stop…even though I don’t really want you to.”

Bob’s head flicked up, glasses fogged, nose trailing over your side of your neck, up your jaw, before just barely nudging against yours. His lips were just a breath away from yours when you finally dipped your hand beneath the waistband of those swim trunks and held him in your hand.

God, you could feel how swollen he was just from this, and there was only maybe a third of him sitting in your hand. Not even the heat of the water could compare to the heat of him, of the way the skin of his throbbing, thick cock burned into your hand. Bob shakily exhaled, his lips barely ghosting over yours as your thumb just barely brushed over the head. His member twitched in your hand, his hips rutting up into your hand to feel you move, as his lips caught yours in a searing kiss that had you moaning into his mouth. His lips alone swallowed the sound, his teeth just barely grazing your bottom lip as the hand cupping your ass tugged your forward once more, dragging your core back along the bulge in his swim trunks.

“Fucking hell,” Bob groaned out, your hand still gripping him with a light squeeze. “Tell me this is real and Phoenix didn’t kill us in the air and send me to heaven.”

His words tore a laugh out of you, your hand sliding out of his trunks and back up his body until it rested against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm brought a tiny grin to your lips. Bob tugged you in again, forehead resting against yours, as those bright blue eyes shone with unconditional love when they looked at you.

“This is real, I promise. Late, but real,” he laughed with you that time, leaning in to steal yet another kiss from your lips, a flutter cascading through you at that sweet, timid, loving press of his lips to your own. “If Phoenix accidentally killed you now, I’d probably kill her in retaliation.”

“That’s fine, because Phoenix is thinking about just ending it herself given whatever the fuck she just had to walk in on,”

The third voice on the patio drew a yelp out of you. Bob tensed as you both jumped away from one another back to opposite ends of the hot tub as if the other person were on fire and you couldn’t get away fast enough. Your head whipped around to Phoenix leaning in the sliding glass doorway, a hand shielding her eyes from the sight of the two of you.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you muttered, running your hands down your face as you glanced at Bob. Messy hair, swollen kiss-bitten lips, and eyes as wide as saucers as he stumbled over his words.

“P-Phoenix, that uh–uh-that wasn’t-”

“Save it, Floyd,” she cut in, her voice clearly exasperated as she still kept her hand up so she didn’t have to look at either of you. “Look, I’ve been rooting for you to two say fuck it to Bradley’s bullshit but–this is a PATIO! Any one of us could’ve walked out here, my god! You couldn’t find a more private place to try and fuck each other?”

“Nat!” you groaned with a bit of a shout, seeing Bob out of the corner of your eyes shake his head, cheeks flushing an even darker red than before. You dragged yourself out of the water, stepping onto the wooden patio and walking past Natasha to wrap yourself in your towel, finally catching her eye. “The fuck did you even come out here for?”

“Mickey told me to come check on you two, see if the raging sexual tension had finally broken,” Nat finally dropped her hand now that you were wrapped in your towel. Bob was stumbling out of the hot tub himself at the other end of the deck, drying himself off with his own towel. “He and Bradley just pulled into the driveway, so you’re welcome. My god, imagine if he had walked out here instead to see you two well on your way to a homerun-”

You shoved past Natasha, cheeks flaring red at her laughter, her attention now turning to congratulating Bob on ‘making a move’ while you focused on getting into the shower before Bradley walked in to question why you and Bob were alone in a hot tub together.

Your brother was none the wiser to what had occurred the rest of the night, too engaged in his game of pool with the others over another round of beers to even think about it.

Then, there was you, lying in bed beside a fast-asleep Natasha, very much unable to not think about the hot tub. About every drag of Bob’s hands across your skin, at the heated trailing of his lips along your neck, at that cock you were desperate to feel pressing inside you-

Jesus Christ, you needed to sleep. You flipped onto your side with a sigh, grabbing your phone; 1 a.m., and you still couldn’t sleep. A soft groan tumbled from your lips as you flopped back onto your back again, before a foot from the other side of the bed reached out and kicked your shin under the covers.

“Chickie, I have been able to feel you tossing and turning for, like, two hours,” Natasha’s voice was muffled by her pillow as she, too, groaned. “Just go the fuck to sleep.”

“I can’t, that’s the problem!” you huffed in exasperation, running a hand down your face. “I keep thinking about the fucking hot tub, and Bob’s hands, and his lips, and his fucking big ass di-”

The fighter pilot was up on her knees in seconds, grabbing her pillow in her hands and whacking you with it multiple times as you held your hands up in defense, begging her to stop. When she finally did, the glare she fixed on you was illuminated by the streaks of moonlight pouring through the blinds.

“I do not want to hear about Bob’s genitalia, dude. Good on you for finally saying fuck it to Bradley’s stupid rules and getting your guy, but I don’t need to hear the play by play of your hot tub fondle session,”

“Okay, but like, it’s true. They always say it’s the quiet ones that have the big dicks-”

Natasha’s groan cut you off again as she flopped back onto the bed, head buried into her pillow.

“I am drunk and exhausted. Go have wet dreams over my back-seater by the lake or something, not right beside me, for god’s sake,”

Well, it wasn’t a terrible idea.

In just one of Bradley’s t-shirts and a pair of panties, just as you had been days ago in the kitchen, you found yourself not long later standing by the lake in the dead of night. The patio light was off, every light within the house was off, leaving the private beach to be illuminated by nothing but the moon. The sand was cool beneath your feet, those tiny little grains pushing into every crevice that they could. Gentle waves from the lake lapped at the tips of your toes, soaking the sand before you before it retreated once more, just to repeat the cycle. 

A quiet night. Lines of pine trees separated your private home from your neighbors, leaving you well and truly alone in the peacefulness. The perfect place to think, to let your thoughts roam to the man you had been hopelessly in love with for so long.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

There Bob stood as you whipped around, a gentle breeze billowing the large sleeves of your t-shirt just slightly. The moon reflected off his glasses, casting a small sheen of light over his eyes. His own t-shirt hung loosely from his body, barely covering the top of those dark blue boxers that hung around his hips. Your eyes couldn’t help but dart down to them, now knowing what lay beneath. When your eyes met his again, you could feel the heat in them as that same heat rushed through you.

“Was hard to,” your voice was breathy, soft as if not to disturb the peacefulness of the night. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Glad I wasn’t alone in that,” a small laugh tumbled from Bob’s lips as he spoke.

That cord of tension had already broken when his lips touched yours for the first time, when his calloused hands had caressed every inch of your body, when your own had pushed past the waistband of his swim trunks into the land of no return. It was back, now, but heavier. It hung in the air between you both again, but different this time. It wasn’t so much tension anymore as it was pure hunger, pure need for a feeling your body craved.

Your hand toyed with the edge of your shirt as you spoke before you could stop yourself to think.

“I think…I’m going to go for a swim,”

Bob’s lips quirked up, eyebrow shooting up just slightly.

“In that?”

You tugged the shirt over your head without another word, discarding it to the sides somewhere in the sand. The hitch in Bob’s breath was audible even from where you stood, his lips parting as they soaked in every inch of your bare chest and torso on display for him. Without ever looking away from his gaze, you leaned forward, slipping the lace panties that clung to your hips down your legs at an agonizing pace, before they joined your shirt in the sand.

Bob shifted in place, and you could visibly see the bulge in his pants grow and harden just from the sight of you: bare, standing before him in the quietest hours of the night.

“Don’t need clothes to swim, not on your own private beach,” you gave him a small smirk, taking small steps backward and further into the cool lake water waiting for you, and beckoned him with a single motion of your finger. “Want to join me?”

“Y-Yeah…yeah, I do,”

The water was cooler in the night, sending a shiver up your spine and coating your skin in a layer of goosebumps. It rested right below your breasts by the time Bob had thrown his own shirt in a pile by your own, and his boxers joined it seconds later.

Fuck. He was big.

You had already felt it before, but seeing it with your own eyes was something else entirely, something that soaked your core without ever having to be touched. Thick and flushed, the head just a few shades darker than the rest of him, one large vein visible from where it ran down the side of his length that you could only imagine was pulsing.

Before you knew it, he was standing before you in the water, towering over you just slightly. The waterline sat somewhere along his abdomen, and you could see the goosebumps running along his own skin. You flicked your gaze from his collarbone to his eyes, still partially shrouded by the glint of moonlight across his glasses.

He took a step closer, invading your space, as the heat that radiated off his body seeped into your own skin and warmed you in the cold water. It was almost as if, on instinct, guided by something deep inside yourself, your arms wrapped around his shoulders to rest your hands across the nape of his neck as his own found their rightful place around your waist and tugged until your bare body was flush against him.

Bob didn’t give you a second to think about it before his lips were back on yours.

The kiss was heavier than your first kiss, his lips parted, and his tongue traced along the edge of your own until you parted for him without a second thought. His touch sent cascades of pure want and need through your very being, every little moan that slipped past those beautiful pink lips accentuated with the softest confessions of ‘I love you’ that you’d ever heard. That alone had you pressing further into him, carding your fingers into his hair and tugging, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth with a gentle nip at them. It was rewarded with another groan that emanated from somewhere deep within him, the grip around your waist firmer than it was just a moment before. Bob’s lips travelled to your ear for just a moment, hot breath ghosting over the shell of it, as he whispered.

“Jump,”

You obeyed. You’d obey anything he told you to do at this moment. His hands caught your thighs, slotting your legs around his midsection as your ankles locked around his back. Bob’s lips found yours again, head tilted just barely to the side as his mouth all but devoured your own, and the two large, calloused hands that had found their way to the curves of your ass tugged your body against him as hard as he could.

A gasp, a choked moan, even a mewl, whatever the unholy noise was that tumbled from your lips and was swallowed by Bob’s own mouth was unknown the second his flushed cock was settled between your folds. The heat of it alone was enough to soak you again as it throbbed against you in need. You could feel it physically twitch against you as Bob’s hips ground into your core just slightly.

With a hand still locked into his hair, you raked your nails against his scalp and ground your own hips against him.

You could feel every inch of him. The ridge right around the flushed head of his cock, the pulsing vein that ran up the side, you felt every bit of him as you rolled your hips back and forth over him, breath escaping your lungs in stuttering breaths. Bob choked on his own breath, pulling away from your lips with a thin trail of saliva connecting you before his lips locked to the side of your neck, biting into the kiss with a groan. He held you impossibly close to him as your hips ground against him, seeking any minuscule form of friction that they could as the water sloshed around your bodies, creating tiny waves of its own.

“Fucking h-hell,” Bob groaned against you, fingers digging into the skin of your ass so tightly you were sure his hands would be marked into your skin for days to come. “Baby–fuck–if you keep doing that I-I’m not going to last very long.”

“What a shame,” you choked out a laugh mixed with a moan of your own as the head of his cock caught just slightly over your opening, before gliding upward again. Tugging his head toward you, you bit just barely into his earlobe as you spoke. “I was hoping you’d at least be fucking me when you came.”

A small shriek flew past your lips as Bob turned you both on his heel in seconds, marching you up the sand bank and out of the water. He stumbled just slightly in the water, almost dunking you both back under, as shared laughter echoed through the quiet night and soft apologies were muttered from his lips.

With a gentleness that you could only ever expect from a man like Bob Floyd, he laid you back against the sand, the waves lapping just barely up around your thighs. On instinct, your legs parted, letting Bob settle between them like he belonged, his upper arms caging your head as he looked down at you with a passion that was anything but gentle.

You were pretty sure you clenched around absolutely nothing. It was sinful how soaked you were for this man when he’d barely touched you. At least, hadn’t touched you with intention.

Another kiss was placed against your lips, softer but still so full of love that another high-pitched and broken moan left your lips. Those plump, kiss-bitten lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, and over the valley between your breasts. A shaky breath left your throat as his fingertips just barely ghosted over the edges of your breast, skating right past your nipples that were already stiffened from the cold and arousal that flooded through you, before his lips languidly continued south. Over every inch of skin, a gentle kiss placed above your belly button and then a matching one below it, before they continued their journey south.

Bob’s hands found the bare expanse of your thighs, parting your legs further apart. You held your breath without even realizing it as he placed intentional kisses along the sensitive skin, before he hovered just where you wanted him most. You watched him as he simply stared, admired. A breathy chuckle left his lips, his hot breath just barely ghosting over your lower lips as you clenched once more.

“God…you’re the most beautiful thing this world has ever created. I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this,” he rasped out, need blown eyes looking up at you through his eyelashes, a thin sheen of fog coating his glasses. “Let me touch you…let me make you feel good.”

“Please…please, Bob, please touch me,”

He took your words to heart, tongue flattening as he dove in, licking one stripe directly up your core as your breath stuttered out of your lips.

“Darling–fuck–you taste like heaven,”

With one last groan, Bob buried himself in your folds. Eager, breath hot, lips drenched in the arousal that dripped and coated you. Whimpers fell from your mouth with every flick of his tongue right against your clit, every lap of his tongue through your folds and down to your opening as he dipped inside for just a second. He put every ounce of himself into it, tongue and lips buried in your core as if he were a starving man and you were a four-course meal spread out before him.

One of your hands curled in his hair, the other trying to find something to grip onto in the sand as the grains moved through your fingers, as those long, slender fingers you stared at way too many times prodded right at your opening. You cried out into the night, no care in the world for the volume of your voice, as his fingers pressed into you, stretching your walls as they curled against the spot you needed them most. Your back arched, and one of Bob’s free hands was quick to leave your thigh in order to press against your abdomen, holding you down onto the sand as the waves lapped cold water up your ankles.

“Bob–oh my god–Bob, please, don’t stop!” you mewled, breath leaving you in heavy gasps as your grip in his hair tightened, his groan reverberating against your core.

“I won’t,” you could barely hear him over your own cries and shattered moans. “I won’t. Let go, baby, I-I got you.”

He devoured you, tongue lapping at every bit of your juices that flowed from you in a consistent gush. His fingers never stopped, curling against that spot as they moved back and forth, your walls constricting around him as that ball of heat coiled tightly and tighter in your lower abdomen. You tried to lift your hips to get closer, but Bob held you firmly to the sand and somehow drove himself even deeper, practically drowning himself in you.

“B-Bob-!”

A single, desperate cry of his name was all the warning he needed. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and lapping at the bud and ravishing it with every ounce of attention he could give it, his fingers still curling deliciously against that spot as you cried out.

That coil inside of you snapped, a shattered moan leaving you, as your body pulled taut against him.

You were left in a haze, one where you were only able to repeat his name over and over again like a prayer. His fingers slipped from you, his hands finding themselves back against your inner thighs as they massaged little circles into your skin as the stars slowly faded from your vision, the tension in your body releasing as your muscles relaxed. Bob lapped just one last time at your opening with a hum that you could feel against your lips, before leaving one last gentle kiss to the most sensitive part of you that was still pulsing with need.

He was hovering above you when you finally peeled your eyes open. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched as he wiped at the fog that coated his glasses, but your eyes were locked to his lips. So red, so swollen, coated just like his chin in a sheen of your own arousal. He saw you then, watching him, and leaned in to kiss you with a soft lip on his lips. You mirrored it, a giggle bubbling out of you and into his mouth as he laughed with you, the aftertaste of your own slick seeping past your lips.

“You okay?” he whispered against your lips with a final peck, pulling back to see you fully. One of his hands came to cup your cheek, and you leaned into the feeling with a blissful, giddy look stretched across your face.

“Never better. It really is always the quiet ones that can absolutely ruin you, isn’t it?”

One small laugh shot out of Bob at that as he wiped at the beads of sweat rolling down the side of your face. God, he looked down at you so tenderly, so lovingly that it almost hurt. You weren’t sure what you did to deserve this man.

“I love you,” it was whispered against your lips as he leaned down for another kiss. Whispered into your skin like a promise. “I don’t think I could love you more than I do right now. But I know, come tomorrow, I somehow will.”

Even when he’d completely ruined you, Bob Floyd still managed to make your heart beat so erratically in your chest that you feared it would stop beating altogether.

That moment hung there for a minute as your body fully came down from the pleasure, as the heat left your body and allowed the cool night breeze to settle over you once more.

But even if the physical heat had left your body, the heat inside of you didn’t. Every moment you looked into those blue eyes, so full of love, it only grew hotter and hotter. You finally moved one leg, wrapping it around Bob’s waist and tugging him into you, letting your core meet with the incredibly stiff cock that you’d been dying to feel now for months. Bob sucked in a breath at the contact, and you could physically see the way his pupils dilated again.

“A-Aren’t you sensitive-”

“I don’t care,” you practically begged, hand curling back into his hair with another little tug. “P-Please, Bob, I don’t care. I need you, I’ve needed you for months. Please.”

“Shit–okay, okay,” Bob nodded along to every word you said, hand gripping the back of your neck once again as he pressed another passionate kiss to your lips that had you bucking your hips against him. “Fuck–okay, m-message heard. I…I don’t have a condom-”

“I don’t care,” you whined, watching as Bob let out a breathless laugh, tugging on his hair once again. “I’m on the pill, I don’t care.”

“Darling, i-it’s not safe-”

“Then that’s tomorrow’s problem,” you begged him, desperately. You knew you looked like an absolute mess. Dripping in lake water and sweat, remnants of make-up you hadn’t washed off probably streaked down your cheeks, pupils blown so wide in bliss that you were probably barely aware of just how much you were begging this man. “I need you to fuck me–I need to feel you–just, please, fuck me. If you knock me up, then we can just blame Bradley for driving us this far into fucking insanity.”

You weren’t sure which part of what you said it was that broke him, but you could guess. The way that Bob’s gaze got heavier, his breath catching, and his grip growing even tighter on your skin. Another bruising kiss was placed against your lips before his hands were on your legs, wrapping them around his waist, before he took his cock in his own hand and lined himself up with your core without another word and pressed forward.

God, the stretch burned, but in the best way. Your body gave almost no fight to him, still soaked to the core from the need you’d carried for this man for months. Your hands wrapped under his arms, resting against his back as you held him close, fingernails digging into his skin. Bob’s forehead dropped to your shoulder as he leaned in, biting at your skin just barely with every inch of him that sank into you.

“P-Perfect,” Bob’s moan was so broken as his lips trailed up to your throat, resting right over your pulse point. He was wrecked, as wrecked as you were, as your walls fluttered around him and drew another moan from him. “So beyond fucking perfect. So warm–so tight–all mine. Only mine.”

“Always yours…”

He bottomed out the second you spoke, your words cut off by your own gasp at the feeling. Bob’s hips sat flush against yours, sweat clinging to your skin and his own. Every inch of his cock was buried in you to the hilt, and you could feel the way it throbbed and twitched inside of you, the way that Bob’s own body shook at the overwhelming feeling. Your walls clenched around him, breath caught in your throat as your nails dug into his back again, so overwhelmed by the feel of him.

Better than anything you’d ever dreamed of.

Bob’s head left your neck, and he hovered over you for just a moment, as both of your bodies adjusted to the feel of the other. But as you looked at him, at the love that poured out of his gaze, it didn’t feel like adjusting. It felt like a welcome home, like the rejoining of two things that were always meant to be.

He dipped down, lips enveloping yours in a messy and heated kiss, as he pulled himself out of you just to dive back in.

And, fuck, you were a goner. You keened with every delicious drag of him against your walls, swallowing every grunt that poured from his mouth as his hips pistoned into you time and time again. A steady pace, one that had heat blooming through every inch of your skin and a flush crawling up your body. 

He’d drive into you, hold himself there, and drag himself out so slowly it was almost like torture. He’d repeat it again, and again, and again until your nails would dig into his back hard enough to pull a low groan from him. Then, the pace would change, hips his driving into you in shorter, faster strokes. All the while, his lips never left yours, saliva dripping between your plump, red lips as every wonton moan that left you echoed into the night.

“You take me so well,” his words were whispered in praise against your skin, lips trailing over your cheek to your ear, groaning directly into it as he drove into you faster until you were another mewling mess under him. “God–made for me–so perfect, so beautiful. So tight, so warm. Squeezing me, taking me so fucking well. God, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Bob–please–fuck me,” the feeling was overwhelming, tears almost pricking at the corners of your eyes as you held onto him, the sound of his hips snapping into yours mixing with the sound of your cried. “Harder–deeper–fuck me, p-please just fuck me.”

Bob’s head buried itself back in your neck as he did just that. His hips pistoned into you at the fastest pace his body could maintain, his hips driving into you so hard you could already feel the ache in your bones. Your nails raked scratches down his back, cries echoing in his ear as you could only find it in yourself to repeat his name over and over again like a mantra. Every thrust built that coil of heat inside of you, the thread begging to snap with every drag of his cock against your walls, with every squelching sound of your arousal pooling between you.

Your release came without warning, his body having shifted yours up just slightly enough that his hips were driving into you at a new angle, pushing him deeper than he’d been before. The second his hips had snapped into you, that spring coiling inside of you snapped, your eyes fluttering shut as the ripple of pleasure flowed through you. Your body clenched around him, his cock still slamming into you again and again as you sobbed out a moan into the night.

Even as it subsided, Bob didn’t stop, searching for his own release. Despite the ache between your legs, the rush of sensitivity in your core, you refused to stop until he’d found salvation. Your hand wound its way into his sweat-soaked hair, nose brushing the side of his head from where it was buried into your neck, as you held him close.

“Cum for me,” you’d choked out the words, barely a whisper. “Ruin me.”

It only took another three rolls of his hips against your’s before he bottomed out, nestled as deep within you as he could be, before Bob finally choked out a moan of his own and let go. You could feel him throb, feel it as he twitched, warmth flooding your insides and pooling inside of you. All you could do was hold him, eyes trained on the stars above through half-lidded eyes as you lay there together, panting and gasping.

Bob finally lifted his head, hovering above you. Your shaky hand reached for his glasses, wiping at the fog that coated them, letting you see the dazed look that had crossed his eyes. His lips quirked into a smile, a blissful one, that you mirrored instantly.

Not a single word was spoken as he pressed the softest of pecks to your lips, then another, and another. And when it had all subsided, when your breathing had finally returned to normal, Bob finally dragged himself out of you. He was quick to kiss away the wince in your brow the second your body was empty of him, adjusting to the feeling. Another kiss was pressed to your temple, your nose, your cheek, and you knew that smile on your face was never going to leave.

“Hold on,” he whispered, unlocking your legs from his waist in order to rise to his feet. “I got you.”

You didn’t fight back. Bob pulled you to your feet, hands on your hips, steadying you as that ache in your hips and thighs threatened to pull you back to the ground. Bob’s arms were quick to swing your legs up, cradling you against him as he stepped back into the lake. Your head never left his chest, letting his steady heartbeat almost lull you to sleep in his arms as he submerged you both in the water, ridding your bodies of the sand that had invaded every crevice. All the while his hands never stopped massaging little circles into your skin.

He carried you back up the beach, grabbing your bundles of clothing from the ground and bunching them up in his hand, before he placed you gently against the stairs going up to the patio. Your head leaned against the railing as his lips rested gently against the side of your head, promising to be right back.

You could only smile to yourself in the moments he was gone, replaying every moment from the night you knew you’d never forget in your head like a movie.

The sliding glass door opened softly before Bob appeared before you again. He was drier than he was moments prior, kneeling on the steps in front of you now in a new pair of boxers. He draped a towel around your shoulders, letting you snuggle into the warmth and run it over your soaked skin before taking the water bottle he so gently held out to you with an appreciative grin.

“So,” your voice was slightly hoarse when you finally spoke, chugging a good bit of the water before offering him the rest. He accepted, one hand resting on your knee with light patterns being drawn into your skin by his fingertips. “In all those dreams you’ve had of us, was our first time ever on a lakeside beach?”

“Absolutely not,” Bob responded with a laugh, tossing the empty water bottle up onto the patio somewhere. “But I wouldn’t have traded it for the world. It…it was perfect.”

You rung the last bit of water you could from your hair with the towel, tossing it up over the railing to dry before leaning forward, cupping Bob’s cheek in your hand to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

“It was perfect because it was with you,” you weren’t sure you’d ever get tired of that giddy smile on his lips. 

Bob reached behind you, slipping one of his own t-shirts over your body now that you were dry, before taking the spot beside you on the stairs. You leaned into his side without hesitation, his arm settling in its place around your shoulders as he pressed another kiss to your temple.

“I love you,”

You let those words really wrap around you, let yourself really feel them, as you looked up at the stars and moon glittering against the lake.

“I love you, too…now, what do you say we go pass out on the couch and give Bradley a coronary at seven in the morning?”

Bob’s laughter echoed through the night.

“Well, if you aren’t going to be the death of me…guess your brother gets that honor in the morning,”

[colouredbyd]

okay sooo i had an idea that might be incredibly outdated by now but it’s my favoriteeee and i’d love to see ur own spin on it

i’m thinking either regulus or barty (which ever u think fits better) who is incredibly warm like all the time, think walking radiator😭 and reader is just really cold 24/7 and uses him to warm up whenever she sees fit :,)

love love ur work and your page btw !! so beautiful

Stolen Warmth

bartylus x fem!reader

synopsis: in which barty, always the warmest among you, finds his heat intensified by a lingering fever—an unexpected advantage that you and regulus cannot ignore. perpetually cold, the two of you compete and conspire to claim his reluctant warmth, turning every cuddle into a battle.

warnings: mild illness/fever, light bickering, playful teasing, animagi chasing, mild emotional tension, some physical discomfort (cold/heat sensitivity), regulus being a little shit, sick/soft barty, fluff fluff fluff

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i did a little twist to this, and since i couldn't pick between barty and regulus, thought i'd do both <33 hope this meets your expectations!

masterlist

You bolt out of class the moment the professor mutters dismissal, not even bothering to shove your quill fully into your bag as you barrel through the corridors. 

Your fingers are already numb, curled tightly around your scarf, and your thoughts are consumed by a single, glorious truth: Barty is in the dorm, and according to the sacred cuddle schedule, it is your turn—not Regulus’s.

You love both of your boyfriends, you really, really do, but cuddling with Regulus is an actual nightmare. 

He’s beautiful, devastatingly beautiful, but he’s also so bloody cold, and curling up with him feels less like affection and more like someone’s slipped a block of ice between your ribs. You have endured it before, out of love and obligation.

Barty, on the other hand, is blessedly, unfairly warm, like some ancient elemental spirit of heat and comfort wrapped in sleepy eyes and strong arms. 

And while most people assume that being in a relationship with two boys would come with all sorts of complicated emotional drama, the truth is, the only real conflict you ever face is the bitter, eternal war between you and Regulus over who gets to absorb Barty’s body heat first. 

Today, the universe has aligned. Barty is in bed, warm beyond reason, and by all that is holy in the cuddle constitution, that warmth belongs to you.

Which is why you’re here, running full speed through the corridor like your life depends on it, because if Regulus gets there before you, he will wrap himself around Barty like a smug, aristocratic scarf and never let go, and you won't have any leftover heat.

Your footsteps echo sharply as you sprint down the stairs, nearly slipping when you round the corner that leads to the Slytherin dormitory.

You slow just enough to give the stone wall the correct password, then push through the entrance, half-blind with purpose and windburn.

But the second your eyes land on the corridor leading to your shared room, your stomach drops.

There he is.

A sleek black cat sits calmly just outside the door, tail flicking with smug precision. His pale green eyes meet yours, gleaming with the unmistakable glint of mischief.

“Regulus, you little shit,” you hiss, voice thick with betrayal.

He meows, almost mockingly, then turns and bolts.

Your legs move before your brain catches up. “Oh no, you don’t!” you shout, slamming your bag against the wall as you give chase. 

Your boots skid on the polished stone floor as you race after him, your scarf flapping wildly behind you like a flag of war.

He darts around corners with practiced grace, sleek and unbothered, tail curling just so as if to taunt you. You, on the other hand, are panting and flustered, your frozen fingers clenched into fists as you throw yourself forward, heart pounding not from fear but from pure, unfiltered indignation.

He’s going to beat you to Barty. 

And you’ll be damned if you let that smug little bastard steal your heat slot.

“Regulus!” you yell, chasing him as he darts like a shadow toward your dorm door and the warm, toasty boy inside.

You lunge the moment his slick black tail flicks around the corner, and just as Regulus-still in cat form—is about to slink triumphantly into the dorm room, you skid in front of the door and slam it shut with both palms.

The thud echoes like victory.

You whip around, hair disheveled, chest heaving from the chase, as the cat freezes just inches from the door. 

He glares up at you with those imperious green eyes, his tail flicking like an insult, his tiny cat nose twitching in blatant offense—as if you’re the one committing treason.

But you’re already reaching into your robe pocket with the righteousness of a lawyer mid-trial, and you produce the parchment scroll with theatrical precision.

Barty’s gold-inked title gleams at the top like a royal decree: “Heat Access Schedule: Property of Bartemius C. Crouch Jr.” It sparkles obnoxiously.

You crouch to his level, unravel the scroll with theatrical flair, and jab your finger at the bold, clearly marked time slot.

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” you pant, triumph dripping from every syllable as you flash him your most evil grin, “it is my time. Seven to eight thirty. Right there. And I quote—‘Lap and chest privileges at full discretion of Y/N.’ That clause was reviewed, signed, and stamped with Barty’s wax seal. This is legally binding under the cuddle constitution and you damn well know it.”

He blinks slowly.

Then slowly, too slowly, he lifts his paw, unsheathes one delicate little claw, and rips the parchment in half. The sound of tearing paper is somehow louder than it should be.

You freeze, staring at the ruined remains of the schedule as they flutter pitifully to the floor like the ashes of your last shred of patience.

“Are you kidding me?!” you shriek. “You absolute menace! I need my cuddles, Regulus! Stop being a selfish little—”

You launch forward to grab him, but he’s already leapt backward like a slippery shadow, tail high and smug as he bolts for the dorm.

“Get back here!” you yell, nearly tripping as you scramble after him.

“YOU'RE A CAT, NOT A THIEF!—COME BACK AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!”

He lets out a low, unimpressed meow that sounds suspiciously like a scoff. You swear he raises an eyebrow, somehow, despite having fur.

“Fine,” you mutter, standing up with exaggerated weariness.

“If rules don’t mean anything to you, then I guess I’ll just go all alone into the cold, where I’ll probably freeze to death. But no, it’s okay—don’t worry about me.”

You sniff loudly, tugging your scarf higher over your nose like a tragic orphan. “It’s not like I haven’t been feeling faint all day. I mean, I’m only showing early signs of hypothermia—tingling fingers, shivering spine, loss of will to live—minor things, really.”

You wobble slightly on your feet for effect. “I was just hoping for a little warmth. A little kindness or cuddle, maybe. But clearly…” You sigh as your voice breaks. “Clearly I was wrong.”

The silence stretches.

Then, with the softest rustle of fur and magic, Regulus shifts.

It begins with a shimmer around his paws, a ripple of something ancient and practiced. In the space of a heartbeat, where the cat stood, there is now a boy—pale-skinned and annoyingly elegant even barefoot in a dorm hallway.

His black curls fall into his eyes as he studies you, his expression exasperated but ever so slightly fond.

“Oh, amour,” he murmurs, voice like velvet steeped in sarcasm. “Are you truly that cold? I am so sorry.”

You blink at him, lips trembling—not from cold, but from the effort it takes not to laugh.

And in that single, suspended moment of sympathy, you twist, grab the door handle behind you, and barge inside.

“Barty!” you yell, throwing yourself onto the bed in a blur of scarf and limbs.

Behind you, there is a stunned silence.

“You sneaky lying maniac!” Regulus bellows from the hallway. “Tu es un démon! Une menteuse! Une petite actrice  dramatique—je vais te tuer!”

You hear the slam of the door, the rapid slap of bare feet against stone, and then he is chasing you again—but it’s too late. You’ve already landed on Barty, who is lying sideways across the bed with his arms open in sleepy confusion.

He jerks upright with a startled grunt, arms instinctively catching you even as his eyes snap open wide.

“What the—what the bloody hell is going on?” he exclaims, voice pitched somewhere between alarmed and scandalized. “Did you just launch yourself at me?”

You look up at him, breath catching in your throat. His hair is tousled from sleep, shirt rumpled, and his hands are already settling instinctively around your waist despite his confusion.

Your voice drops, soft and a little breathless. “Barty,” you say, eyes searching his face, “I missed you.”

His brows draw together, tension easing just slightly as his lips twitch into something warmer, something fond.

“I missed you too, trouble,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your hair.

You barely have a second to enjoy the warmth of his chest and the way his heartbeat slows beneath your cheek—before the dorm door slams open behind you.

Regulus bursts in, wild-eyed and betrayed, breathing like he’s just sprinted across the castle and looking absolutely offended by the sight of you already cuddled into Barty’s arms.

“Putain de voleuse de chaleur !” he snaps, voice sharp and scathing. “You stole him! You stole Barty’s warmth, you freezing little traitor—sorcière glacée !”

Barty immediately tenses beneath you, looking from Regulus to you with the wide-eyed panic of a man caught in the middle of a house fire.

“What,” he says slowly, carefully, “did you both do?”

There’s a pause.

You and Regulus both inhale like you’re about to deliver reasoned, mature explanations.

And then—

“You ripped the contract!” you shout, flinging your hand toward Regulus.

“I’m colder than you!” Regulus yells back at the same time.

“You used your cat form to cheat and get here faster—”

“You cuddled him twice yesterday, for longer than your allotted time slot—”

“I needed this, my fingers were numb, Regulus—”

“I have poor circulation!”

“You tore up the only system we had—”

“You lied about being sick!”

“You always turn into a cat and sneak under the blankets—”

Their voices collide, climbing louder and louder until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Barty sits frozen between you, arms half-raised like he’s afraid moving might trigger further destruction.

Eventually, Barty sighs—a long, slow breath that carries all the patience and quiet surrender of a man who has given up.

He simply lies back down on the bed, rolling gently onto his side as if inviting the chaos to come to him. He pulls the blanket up over his chest, closing his eyes briefly before lifting one arm just slightly—an unspoken offer.

You and Regulus exchange a glance, both of you frozen for a moment, then drawn in by that quiet invitation like moths to a flame.

Without hesitation, you slip forward and curl into the warmth of Barty’s chest, your hands sliding beneath the soft fabric of the blanket, seeking the steady, comforting heat that only he can provide.

Regulus follows, settling on the other side of Barty, his cold fingers lightly brushing against your arm. His breath is soft and steady as he presses closer, resting his cheek near the curve of Barty’s neck, as if he’s finally found a place where he belongs.

The three of you lie there, perfectly still, the silence full and heavy with the weight of shared warmth and unspoken affection.

After a moment, Regulus slowly blinks up at you, his eyes shining with quiet tenderness.

“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle.

You smile softly, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Je t’aime, me or Barty?” you tease lightly, nuzzling closer.

Regulus’s lips curve into a mischievous grin. “Je t’aime, you and barty.”

Barty stirs at that, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the congestion weighing on him. He coughs softly, then says, “I love you too, Black.”

You both laugh quietly, the sound mingling with the gentle rhythm of Barty’s breathing.

Though Barty feels utterly miserable beneath his fevered skin, the contentment of being held by both of you is clear in his softened expression. His arm tightens just a fraction around your waist as he lets himself drift toward sleep.

He doesn’t complain, not really. If anything, there’s a sort of smug peace to him now, even in the throes of whatever miserable cold he’s caught. His fever, for once, has a purpose. His body, too warm to be comfortable for himself, is perfect for the two of you.

And even if his throat aches and his head’s spinning and his entire being feels like it's made of soup, he can’t help but feel vaguely victorious. He is loved, wanted, fought over. He is, in the worst of health, still the prize.

And for one perfect, quiet moment, it works.

The dorm is warm and dim, your breath soft against his collarbone, Regulus’s curls tickling the back of his neck, all of you tucked under the covers in one tangle of limbs and shared heat.

Barty lets his eyes fall shut. His body relaxes.

He starts to drift.

And just as the room settles into a perfect, peaceful stillness—

“AH!” you shriek, bolting upright as if struck by lightning. “Regulus!—move your freezing toes away from me!”

[crowttore]

What do you mean you're a cat today?

Summary: In which your HSR man has to spend a day as a feline. Or rather, can you endure your feline companion for an entire day? Characters (separate): Sunday, Sampo Koski, Dr. Ratio, Anaxa, Jing Yuan Tags: Established relationship, gender neutral reader, character is a cat for the day, sfw, non sexual pee mention (Ratio), ~200 word drabbles each Minors DNI

Sunday

"Come on, little guy," you cooed, shaking the ribbon in front of Sunday's face, "don't you want to play?"

You cheered gleefully when he reached a grey paw up to swat at the toy. Although his enthusiasm left a little to be desired, you couldn't help but grin from ear to ear.

Sunday had spent most of the morning pacing around while occasionally sitting down in the middle of the floor to fervently lick his paws. Knowing his skin could be a little sensitive, you'd opted to check for any rashes or similar beneath the fur (an inspection that quickly turned into him melting under your touch).

Laughter bubbled in your chest when he nearly managed to stand on his back legs to reach further into the air. Sunday merely huffed and shook his head, giving you a look that told you he was only participating to make you smile.

"Just one little jump and I'll let you off the hook~"

He blinked at you, and for a moment you thought he might do it. Instead, Sunday ignored the toy and walked straight to where you sat cross-legged, climbing into your lap and curling up. Once he'd deemed his own paws and face clean, your hands became the next victim of his barbed tongue.

Sampo Koski

MREOOOWWWWW

A groan left your lips at the harrowing yowl followed by claws scratching on your poor glass door. What was this, the fourth or fifth time in half an hour that he'd begged to be either let in or out?

It had been the same every time, you let him in, he splays on your lap for a few minutes, he gets up, he begs to be let out again. Every time. If nothing else, this escapade made you cherish your lover's ability to let himself through closed doors under normal circumstances.

"Why can't you just come cuddle on the couch?" Your whine made Sampo's ear flick, not a hint of regret as he waltzed past and rubbed against your legs. A flash of white in his mouth caught your eyes, and you barely resisted the urge to gag at the thought of him carrying around mice.

"Hey- get back here." Trying to snatch it was futile, Sampo's annoyingly agile form easily dodging. You rolled your eyes as you caught his tail eagerly swishing back and forth. "What is it this time?"

All too proudly, Sampo dropped a white sock onto the floor, purring contently as he showed off the latest 'catch'.

"You're a bastard, did you know that?" Still, it brought a smile to your lips when he came over to knock his head against your leg. You'd just have to add it to the growing pile of laundry he'd snatched from your neighbours today and make him return it once he was human again.

Barely had you gone back to the armchair and patted your lap - hoping he would finally settle down - before you heard claws scratching against glass, a cacophony of meows floating through the air as he begged to be let back out.

Bastard.

Dr. Ratio

This should have been expected from the very moment you laid eyes on the far larger than average housecat your lover had become.

Veritas' purrs vibrated through your body and had lulled you both into a peaceful slumber with him curled up on your torso (It was a little difficult to breathe, but compared to having human Veritas on top of you, this was nothing).

Your fingers gently combed through his fur, your heart aching at the small chirp that escaped him as he blearily opened his eyes.

Before the first word could leave your lips, his ears had already turned in mild displeasure. "Veri, I gotta get up..."

If looks could kill, you might currently be fearing for your life considering the indignation in his eyes. Instead, you were left trying to force down a chuckle as large paws began kneading every part of your body in his reach.

"I promise we can continue cuddling after, but I really gotta pee..."

Having finally gotten him to move, you shut the door to the bathroom behind you, sitting down with a sigh. You'd always been aware that Veritas enjoyed quiet days, but you'd never considered just how well the life of a cat might fit him.

He was quite the relaxed man at home.

The sight of a paw slipping beneath the door and fumbling around had laughter erupt, his meows of annoyance from the other side only making it harder to breathe.

And quite needy.

Anaxa

"Anaxa?"

A small thud followed by hasty steps caught your immediate attention.

"Anaxa?" You called again, rushing through your home as you searched for your lover.

Too late. Glass shattering reached your ears just as you threw open the door to your shared study. Upon the table sat Anaxa, licking his tail as though ink wasn't currently seeping into the carpet.

"You honestly thought you could write like that?"

The question had passed your lips before you could neither adjust your tone nor rephrase it. Your hasty apologies were in vain as he began meowing and batting pens onto the floor.

He writhed as you picked him up, holding him at arms length to keep a respectful distance between his claws and your face.

"I know this predicament means you've got ample time to think, but can you please try to respect the current limitations on your body?"

His ears were flat against his head in frustration, and you were certain it was only a matter of moments before he'd start hissing at his lack of scalding words.

Maybe if you just...

His eyes went wide as you dangled him in the air, shaking him as gently as you could before he began squirming once more, forcing you to drop him as you tried to let him keep at least a little dignity by not laughing in his face.

Jing Yuan

Having Jing Yuan wander around in the form of a cat honestly hadn't been much of a change. He'd been napping in the sun for most of the day, purring and nipping at you for attention the rest of the time.

And if you were too slow? Maybe he'd knocked over a few cups during the day.

So nothing too different.

But this? You frowned, internally cursing at yourself for not having seen it coming. "I won't stop you, but I'm not kissing you for the foreseeable future."

You tried to sound firm, eyes narrowed as you stared down the large white cat. Jing Yuan, being every bit as unbothered as usual, merely adjusted his position on the couch, tongue out and one leg raised.

Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you waited for him to move, relief washing over you when he instead of continuing yawned and got comfortable.

As soon as you sat down beside him, he came over and began trudging around on your thighs, fluffy tail repeatedly brushing against your face.

You couldn't help but huff, petting him as he finally settled. "You're enjoying this way too much."

Jing Yuan merely smirked, purrs rumbling from his chest as he pressed his head a little further into your hand.

Masterlist link

[mariacallous]

Seven years ago, while sitting in my eighth-floor apartment with my toddler, I heard a voice over the intercom: Our building had a gas leak, and we needed to evacuate. A few weeks prior, a coffee shop down the street had exploded from a gas leak, killing two people and injuring at least 25. Terror struck me: Our elevators were powered down—and I use a wheelchair. I was trapped, unable to take myself and my child to safety.

The fire department quickly determined that it was a false alarm. Still, I didn’t stop shaking for hours. After a similar episode a few months later, my husband, David, and I bought a duffel bag the size of a human. We invited our neighbors over for pastries and asked if anyone would be willing to help carry me out during an emergency; my toddler could ride in the bag with me. A few neighbors agreed, but I couldn’t ignore that my survival—and that of my child—was contingent on who else might be at home, and who might remember our request and be able to reach me. Eight months later, we moved out. We vowed never to live in a high-rise again. Yet nothing could free me from the indignities of seeking housing while disabled.

I’ve been disabled for 14 years, and in that time, I have resided in both the United States and Canada but have never lived somewhere safe where I can use all (or even most) of the rooms—an experience familiar to many disabled people who must find homes in a housing system that was not designed for them. According to the Department of Housing and Urban Development, 6 percent of U.S. households include someone who has difficulty using their own home because of accessibility problems. I know people who cannot do things as basic as enter their own bathroom. Jessi, a wheelchair user, told me that for three years, while she was pursuing her Ph.D., she had to take sponge baths because she couldn’t find a house that had a shower she could get to from her wheelchair anywhere near the university. (Jessi and many of the other disabled people I spoke with for this article requested to be identified by only their first name to speak candidly about their living situation.)

Setups like this are not only alienating; they’re humiliating. And they’re a continuation of disabled people’s historical mistreatment and exclusion, a legacy that shapes housing to this day. I was reminded of the so-called ugly laws, which forbade disabled people from being seen outside their home, when a condo we considered buying included a “warning clause” in its contract advising us that a local school “provides education to students with physical and developmental disabilities” and “may cause disturbances to the occupants of the Condominium.” The official “ugly” statutes may have come off the books in the 1970s, but this condo building still felt the need to alert residents to the proximity of disabled people.

And that’s just one way the history of discrimination influences current buildings and houses. Many older school buildings in the U.S. and Canada are not accessible to disabled students, in large part because disabled people were granted the right to education only in the mid-’70s. Most houses lack elevators and ramps, and for years, builders had little motivation to include them, because most disabled people were sent away to institutions rather than integrated into family life. Many of the most abusive and inhumane facilities for the disabled are now closed. But as long as disabled people like me can’t find suitable places to live, we won’t be able to fully participate in our communities and family. One disabled person I spoke with told me she has considered assisted living—even if it would mean being farther from friends—because she hasn’t been able to find a home with a setup that would let her live on her own.

Making older homes accessible is hard. Renovators have to contend with stairs, unreliable elevators, narrow doorways, level changes, high thresholds, small bathrooms, tight kitchens, narrow hallways. Many of these homes need near-complete remodels, putting the cost out of reach for many people.

Relying on collective support can ease the burden. Jayne Mattingly, an author and artist in Charleston, South Carolina, told me that her friends banded together to build wheelchair ramps for her. David Gissen, a disabled architectural historian and the author of The Architecture of Disability, told me that, in urban areas, neighbors can split costs for updates that benefit everyone; for example, residents in a group of brownstones might share an elevator.

For renters, the thicket of housing laws is complicated and varies based on where they live. In some cases, tenants may be expected to foot the bill for modifications; in other circumstances, landlords may be required to pay—but the requirements can include loopholes for changes that create an “undue financial and administrative burden.” And, as I learned, the “undue burden” standard can be slippery and applied too liberally. I spent months trying (and failing) to persuade a property-management company to install buttons that would enable me to open the exterior doors of my apartment building. Over and over, other disabled people told me how frustrating it could be to have to fight to get their needs met. For Farah, a PR representative in Los Angeles with arthrogryposis multiplex congenita, a condition that, for her, affects muscle development in her limbs, the process was deeply intrusive. She told me that when she requested a shower-door replacement in her current apartment, her landlord came into the bathroom with her and asked Farah to explain how she gets in and out of the shower.

Even when landlords are open to making modifications or when disabled people can cobble together the funds to do so themselves, some updates can be difficult to implement, depending on local preservation requirements. Advocates for preserving historic structures argue that architectural authenticity links us to our heritage and that certain historically significant neighborhoods should not be altered. Some point out the role that buildings have in maintaining an area’s character.

It is true that older structures can connect us to the past. But inaccessible architecture also perpetuates a history of isolation and excludes disabled people from both private and public spaces. I can’t count the number of times I haven’t been able to attend an appointment or event because I couldn’t get into a building.

More painfully, I had to abandon my dream of building what would have been my first fully accessible home, after a neighbor started a monthslong campaign against the construction. He argued that the house, which would’ve been the first in the neighborhood that could accommodate a wheelchair, wouldn’t fit in. That neighbor hosted a meeting (upstairs, in a building without an elevator) where about 50 community members and a city councilor discussed how to stop the project. I later learned that, at the meeting, one person suggested that I didn’t need a wheelchair-accessible house, because I could simply be carried up the stairs, like other disabled people they knew.

Looking back, I’m struck by the fact that those meeting attendees were inadvertently paving the way for their own eventual exclusion. Bodies and needs change over time, and accessible housing makes it easier for people to remain in their home as they age. Yet the inevitability of aging does little to make the housing system friendlier to the disabled or the elderly. As Wanda Katja Liebermann, a University of Oklahoma architectural historian and the author of Architecture’s Disability Problem, told me, people have a general “inability to imagine themselves as needing access.” I have certainly encountered people who find it frightening to imagine a future in which they can’t walk up the stairs, or in which any uneven surface might present a tripping hazard.

But imagine what would happen if, rather than cementing society’s fear of disability, buildings were to make more room for frailty. Could it be that aging would become a bit less terrifying? At the least, accessible homes would let disabled people, the elderly, and the injured fully take part in their household’s daily routine. Their lives, and those of their family members, would be all the richer for it.

Where my family lives now, I must spend most of my time in the primary bedroom. While in bed the other day, I heard the kind of body-on-wood thump that all parents recognize, followed by my 1-year-old crying. The baby was safe: David was comforting him. But it felt wrong on a primal level that I couldn’t be there too. I texted David, but his answer took time; he was focused on our child. “Bring him here,” I wrote. Finally, David carried our son upstairs, where I wrapped my arms around his soft body, his snotty face pressed into my sternum.

I’ve experienced too many moments like these, trapped upstairs while my family laughs, argues, sings, or cries, just out of reach. In these moments, I ache not only for the memories I’m missing but also on behalf of my disabled ancestors—the many people who, like me, made their families better but, because of ignorance and fear, were hidden away.

[woewriting]

turning point (g!p)

pairing: tara carpenter | reader summary: tara calls you to rescue her from a bad date and things take a surprising turn. word count: 3726 warnings: mdni, +18 only! no ghostface au, reader has a dick, friends with benefits (?), clothed sex, language, smut in general. a/n: will you guys believe if i say the date part was inspired by a terrible date my coworker had? because it was and @wesstars is the proof of it!

masterlist

When the 7th episode of season 4 of Stranger Things started you felt your phone vibrating somewhere in between the cozy blankets. As you blindly looked for it, eyes focused on the TV in front of your bed, you felt it vibrating once again, but this time more than once. 

Holding the phone in your hands, the name “tara” followed by a small heart emoji showed on the screen with 4 messages attached to it. Pausing the episode, you unlocked the device. 

tara ♥︎ can you come pick me up? please this is the worst date ever 😭

Sewing your eyebrows together, you were quick to reply, asking for her location. 

tara ♥︎ im at the motel near the campus, green valley or something chad is showering and i told him i’d take an uber home because i wasn't feeling well and didn’t want to stay anymore please come fast

Typing a simple “omw”, you grabbed your hoodie, throwing it over the white tank top you usually wore to sleep along with sweat shorts that easily became a second skin.

It was easy to spot the building as a gigantic green neon sign took over most of the illumination of the empty street. You parked in front of it, patiently waiting for your best-friend as you sent a message letting her know you arrived. The place seemed expensive and well cleaned, unlike most cheap motels that took over the right side of the street near the campus of your college, still, it didn't appetize you to walk in.

Soon, the younger Carpenter ran towards you, sighing in relief when she jumped into the car. 

“That bad, huh?” You asked with a laugh, setting the first gear ready to go back home. 

“You have no idea.” Tara whined, turning on the heat, complaining about how cold it was outside in a whisper. “I'll tell you everything when we get home.”

“I'm watching Stranger Things.” The focus on the road in front of you as you took a right turn didn't allow you to see the indignation expression on her face, more dramatic than it was necessary.

“Is Stranger Things more important than me?”

“I’m about to find out what happened at the Hawkins Lab…” You continued, trying to convince her of your cause, but her next words made you look at her with raised eyebrows, a convinced smile of someone who won drawing her lips.

“He has a small dick.”

“I'm all ears, princess.” 

The return home didn’t take more than 10 minutes, especially with empty roads and yellow sign lights. Tara started telling about her date from the second it started, which was 5PM, the exact time she started to get ready. Honestly, none of that was necessary to reach the part that it all went downhill, but you didn’t dare to interrupt, you paid attention to every word Tara was saying as you carefully parked your car in your designated spot.

The second the elevator stopped on your floor, Tara had finished telling you about the dinner part of her date. 

According to her, the food wasn't bad, but the place was crowded and the music playing was so annoying that it became a bit too much for her. It was already hard to pay attention to anything Chad was saying as the others' conversation was caught in the middle, stealing her attention, all she could was nod and smile, like one of the Penguins from Madagascar. 

You laughed at her indignation and the small wrinkle in between her eyebrows, opening the door and giving her space to walk in. Kicking your shoes away, the both of you automatically walked to the door at the end of the small hallway of your apartment, the episode 7 of Stranger Things’ last season still on pause when you sat on the bed being followed by Tara; Jamie Campbell’s beautiful blue eyes on the screen.

“... and after we got to the motel, things were heating up and his hands were on my ass and he kept pushing me against him and…” Tara stopped talking after noticing the disgusted expression on your face as you made yourself comfortable on the bed. The girl sat right by your side. “I will not spare any details.”

“I’m seriously considering automatically deleting every explicit part of it.” You retorted, shifting uncomfortably against the headboard.

Despite the years of friendship you and Tara had, from Junior High all the way to college — where you both were right now, nothing touchy ever happened between the two of you, not even a single, drunk kiss at parties. You two were close, of course, but not this close, and hearing the vulgar words easily slipping out of her mouth was creating a weird feeling inside your chest.

“I don’t care.” The girl rolled her eyes, moving closer to you. “Continuing, Chad is gentle, nice, and it feels good to be with him, but ugh… I couldn’t even feel anything when I was sitting on his lap.” You let out a small laugh, scratching your eyebrow. That wasn’t the first time Tara rambled about a bad date, but this was Chad, a common friend, and someone that the young Carpenter had a genuine interest in. At this point, that interest had disappeared into thin air. “And when he removed his pants, he had this military patch underwear and black socks on and it was a huge turn off.”

“Black socks really do sucks…”

“I know!” The exasperated way she agreed with you made you laugh, her hand resting near your knee. “Can you believe he didn’t want to take them off? He said he has cold feet.” Her face fell against your thigh, a tired sighing leaving her mouth, hot breath hitting your bate skin. “I should’ve ran when he said that.” Tara mumbled.

Your hand naturally rested on her head in a soft petting, “You really should have.”

The brunette moved a little, laying on her side with her cheek still resting on your leg to feel the soothing moves of your fingers on her hair. The new position gave her a small vision of what's beneath the thick fabric of your shorts, the hem of black boxers peeking through. She looked away, crimson color on her cheeks as she continued the events of the night.

“But, it’s Chad, so I decided to ignore that ridiculous sock and continue.” You nodded your head. “He removed that equally annoying underwear and I swear to God! It was smaller than my hand, and my hands aren’t that big! Look.” To prove her point, she held your other hand, measuring it with her own. She intertwined your fingers together after you agreed with her, resting them both on her chest. “But I was like… okay, it’s not big but maybe he can be good with his tongue.”

“Oh, God.” You choke, closing your eyes. “I will never be able to look at him again.”

“Imagine how I feel!” Tara whined. “But then I thought to myself, he’s a terrible kisser; if he doesn’t know how to use his tongue on my mouth, imagine how bad it’ll be when he use it on my pu—”

“Okay! Let’s not use those explicit words, please.” You interrupted her, shifting again. “But damn, is that guy good at anything?”

“He has a nice body… from the waist up.” This time neither of you could hold back the laugh, the delightful sound of her laughing mixed with yours filled the room for a couple minutes, your hand still playing with the soft strands that spread across your leg. “Chad is a nice guy, but… that’s not enough for me, you know? I crave touching, feeling something. And he was so small I would barely feel anything.” Tara cried out, covering her face with her free hand as the other still held yours against her chest.

“I’m not a sexual freak or anything but I agree, at least the kiss has to be good. So that’s when you messaged me?”

“I wish.” It was your turn to sigh loudly. “We kept going and when I asked him to wear protection, you won’t believe it…”

“He didn’t have any?”

“Oh, he did.” She bit her lower lip, hand still covering her eyes as the images played like a broken record behind her closed lids. “After that awkward moment where he put it on, he got soft.”

“Maybe it was too tight or something, that can be an annoying bother.” You tried defending your friend, but the girl denied with her head, pursing her lips together, deciding if she should say it or not, but after all the details she already had shared, this one wouldn’t matter either.

“It was loose. It was the smallest size and it still was big for him.”

“Jesus Christ. I am deleting every photo I have with him. I can’t bear looking him in the eyes after knowing all of that.” Once again, your laugh filled the bedroom, making Tara look at you with narrowed eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Is it me?” You tilted your head to the side in confusion. “Am I the problem?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I’m a terrible kisser and that’s why it didn’t fit.” She explained, looking at you.”Do you think I’m hot?”

“Where did that come from?” 

��The deepest part of my curious brain.” Tara sat back up, resting her hand and yours on her thigh. “Now answer me, am I hot?”

“You are hot, Tara.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure the problem wasn’t you. Maybe he was just nervous to be with you, I don’t know.”

“That does make me the problem.” Her eyes never left yours, looking for a small sign of a lie that was never found; after all, you did find Tara hot. “Why did you never kiss me?” 

You let out a deep sigh. “Because we’re friends.”

“You kiss your friends. Amber, Mindy, and I’m sure you tried to kiss my sister once too.”

“Please, don’t bring that to the table.” The pinkish tone that colored your cheeks made the other smile. “And it’s different, they’re just friends, and you’re my best friend.”

Tara moved on the bed, sitting on her calves, still looking at you, and still holding your hand. 

“Kiss me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Kiss me.”

You let out an awkward, breathy laugh, trying to pull your hand from hers and moving away just a bit, but the brunette was determined, you could see it in the dark brown eyes.

“Stop joking around, Carpenter.” You said one more time, her slender fingers tracing random patterns on your thigh with her free hand, feeling the goosebumps all over your skin, big bambi eyes staring at you. “Tara…”

“Please…” She cried out, the tip of her fingers trespassing the hem of your shorts, only a few centimeters away from your clothed cock. You could already feel it twitching inside your boxers just from those small touches. “I just wanna prove to myself that I can do it and that there’s nothing wrong with me. You, as my best friends, should help me with that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, I truthfully believe you can get someone hard.”

“Then why wasn’t he hard?”

“Maybe it was just a bad day or he was nervous, I don’t know.” You repeat what you said earlier, hoping that it was enough for the small girl. It clearly wasn't though.

“But we were having fun! He was sweet, polite, respectful, and paid for dinner and the motel, which was not cheap. It makes no sense!” She whined like a spoiled kid. Tara sat on your thighs, holding your face in her hands. “Lemme touch you. Please.”

“Can’t we just watch Stranger Things and forget about this terrible date?” You asked in hopes she would let that stupid idea go; she obviously didn’t. 

“We can, after we kiss.” Tara fixed herself on top of you, moving up. Your hands instantly grabbed her waist, before she could sit on your hips. “You know I won’t stop.”

“You’re like the donkey from Shrek.” You writhe under her.

“Please…”

“Dear Lord.” Your head fell back, hitting the soft headboard. “Why does it have to be me? And now?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” The girl shrugged. “Plus, you never let me see it.”

“I swear you have the strangest obsession with my dick.”

“I’m just curious about it.” Feeling the loosen on your grip, Tara moved slightly up, sitting right on top of it. “And I can definitely feel it.” The brunette pushed herself down, biting her lower lip. 

“Please, stop moving.” You whined, trying to hold her still, but she was determined, you could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t going to take long before your underwear became a bother. “Tara, I’m warning you.” 

“You sound so hot, you should use that tone with me more often.” Her hands grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, wrinkling it, pulling you closer until her mouth was yours. You didn’t stop her or kissed her back, but your grip on her waist grew stronger. She smiled against your lips, one of her hands sliding down your body, nails scratching your belly under your hoodie, threatening to trespass the waist of your shorts. “Can I touch you?” 

You gulped hard, staring at the brown eyes that looked soft, unlike her hands. “Are you sure you want to do this? There's no point of return.” Tara nodded fast, not giving a second thought to it, playing with the waist of your shorts. “You can touch me.”

When you gave Tara permission to touch you, you thought the girl was going to wrap her hands around your soft shaft, but all she did was kiss you, slowly and enticing, and this time you kissed her back. Your hands on her waist helped her move against your lap, grinding on you at a torturous pace. 

You wanted to turn around, change your positions so you could control whatever it was about to happen, but you allowed her to be in charge; this was all about Tara proving to herself she’s not the problem, right? So you held back the urge.

Tara’s hands moved up again, wrapping around your neck as she got closer, pushing herself down on you, moaning against your parted lips when she felt your dick pressing on her even though you weren’t hard. 

Her kiss trailed down your neck, gently nibbling on the skin there. You threw your head back, moving your hands down her ass, under the skirt of her dress to push her harder against you, increasing her hips’ speed.

“Fuck…” You let out a sharp breath, completely affected by the delicate touches coming from your best-friend, and that only made her more eager to pleasure you. 

“Do you like this?” Tara whispered in your ear, softly biting on your lobule, tracing the cartilage with her teeth. All you could do was nod. She could feel you slowly getting hard against her ass.

Licking your lips, you thrust your hip up in a strong move, making the both of you moan lowly. You could come just with that friction if she continued moaning with her mouth so close to your ear, only for you to hear it.

Tara’s hands trailed down your body once again, but this time she pushed down the elastic of the waistband of your gray shorts, in a silent request for you to remove it. She lifted herself just enough for it to slide down your legs, pooling just before your knees, the black boxer still hugging your thighs tightly. 

She didn’t want to look down, too shy to do so, but when she sat back against your bulge, it was impossible to not look at it. She pursed her lips together, the moan choked in the back of her throat as she felt you pressing hard against her. A wet spot taking form on the dark, thin cloth the more she rolled her hips on you.

It was an agonizing pain to let Tara in control of the situation. You could feel the warmth and wetness dripping for her cunt, you would easily slide in her, if she allowed you to. But you didn’t know how far she wanted to go with you, after all, this was just a test to see if she could get you hard, and she definitely could as she felt you twitching against her in desperate need to release. 

This could've stopped here and now, you were hard after all, but in a bold move, her hand slipped into your underwear, her hand holding your dick in a hard squeeze that almost made you scream against her mouth. Pulling your length out, Tara wrapped her hand around your shaft, moving it up and down in a provocative way, smiling against your parted lips. Her eyes were dark, staring at you with luxury dripping from the brownish just like she was dripping on your thighs. You could feel the hot, thick liquid oozing on your skin as she rubbed herself on you.

“Fuck, Tara.” You breathed out again, broken, lewdly. 

The brunette dipped her hand in her own underwear, eyes threatening to close as she rounded her swollen clit with two fingers, but she kept them open with a wicked expression on her face. Tara pulled her dress up, giving you the privileged view of her ruined underwear, the white fabric completely transparent. You couldn’t help yourself as your finger traced the wet stain, Tara’s mouth hanging open at the agonizing slow touch.

“Stop.” She asked in a trembled voice, shakingly holding your hand with flushed cheeks. “I don’t wanna cum like this.”

“And how do you wanna cum?” 

Letting go of your hand, she watched with focused eyes as you took two of your fingers in your mouth, sucking at the slick that coated them with a satisfied hum. Tara seriously considered saying she wanted to ride your face and fall apart on your lips, but she just, messily, removed her underwear. A thin line of arousal followed the cloth as she tossed it somewhere in your bedroom, your mouth watering at that.

Tara pulled your boxer slightly down just enough for your member to be released, proudly hitting your lower belly, before placing herself on top of your cock, the blood flowing in your veins reverberating against her clit, making both of you choke on your breath. She fitted your length in between her slick folds, almost crying at the warm feeling. 

She started grinding on you, shaking at every small move. 

“This feels so fucking good.” 

Throwing her head back, Tara supported her weight on her arms, gaining a fast pace. Your hands held the skirt of her dress up, giving you the perfect view of her shining cunt, smearing herself all over your cock. You could feel that tight knot on your stomach at that.

Moving one of your hands up and taking the dress with it, you crossed a barrier when you exposed her perfect tits, holding the stiff nipple with your thumb and index finger in a hurtful squeeze, earning yourself a crying moan that only made you throb against her center, while the other hand bruised the skin of her ass. You could see the red marks of your fingers all over her waist. 

Pulling her torso towards you, your lips wrapped around her other nipple, trembling your tongue on the hardened nub, making Tara’s hands pull on your hair, keeping you close to her chest. Her hips started to lose speed, squirming in your arms as she neared her release; you weren’t going to last much, not when she started whispering your name over and over, shakingly violently in your arms. You came right after her, shooting thick ropes of cum directly into your hoodie. 

Your arms were fast to hold her against you, keeping her body close as you came down from your high together. Tara's head fell on your shoulder, her hot breath tickling the skin of your neck, you could feel her smile. 

“You okay?” Being the first one to break the silence, you asked in a soft voice, running your hands up and down her back, feeling her heart beating like crazy; yours weren't different, smashing itself against your ribcage.

“I'm great.” She mumbled out, weak and out of breath. “Are you okay?” 

Feeling the nod of your head, she pulled away from her hiding spot. When you met her eyes, a pinkish color was filling the skin around her cheekbones, coloring the freckles that spread across her face, and unlike you were wondering inside your head, things didn't look awkward after that; Tara still had that familiar, warm look in her eyes when she leaned in to place a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips. 

“Are you proud of yourself?” 

“For making you cum without barely touching you?” Tara laughed in a proud voice, avoiding looking down as she felt your length still comfortably placed in between her slick folds.

Your hands were firm on her waist when you lifted her hips, guiding the tip of your cock against her sensitive bundle of nerves before slowly sliding in her cunt at the same time she fell back on your thighs, trying to catch her breath at the sudden invasion. A small smile on her face at the feeling of being full, her velvety walls clenching hard around your shaft, still recovering from her orgasm. 

“For the fact that I'm still pretty hard.” Pressing kisses over her jawline, you thrusted up, a surprised moan escaping her throat. “Can you feel it? How hard I am? How good I'm filling you?” 

“Yes…” She choked out, wrinkling your hoodie in her fingers, trying to find support on your shoulders when your hands forced her up, your member coated in a thin layer of her arousal before sliding her back down. “I'm very proud of myself.” The breathy confession made you smile against her neck, softly biting on her jugular before your movements gained a steady rhythm, mixing with the wet sounds and the melody tone of her voice calling out your name for every neighbor to hear.

[shyoko]

✧ You sleep with a plush toy and not with them✦༺

𓂃✧This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope     you like it.  ✦ 2.4K words * Masterlist˚ Taglist₊‧ ✦𓂃 

enhypen x reader

✧Heeseung ----------

Heeseung had given you a deer plush before leaving on his trip, assuring you that even if he was far away, a part of him would always be with you. That night, upon returning, he found you in the bedroom, lying on the bed, hugging the plushie with care. A smile formed on his lips as he saw how adorable you looked, waiting for him so peacefully.

He slipped into bed, expecting to feel your arms wrapping around him as usual. However, this time, instead of receiving your warm embrace, he noticed that you were still clinging to the plush. He furrowed his brows slightly, feeling a pang of jealousy.

—Seriously? You're going to hug him instead of me? —he muttered with feigned indignation.

You didn't answer, which only made him more impatient. Determined to reclaim his place, he slid under the covers until he was right beside you. In one swift movement, he wedged himself between your arms, causing the deer plush to fall to the floor. Now, you were so close that the tip of his nose brushed against yours, and upon noticing his childishly offended expression, you couldn't help but smile.

—You're unbelievable… —you whispered, amused.

Before he could protest, you leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Heeseung sighed against your mouth, completely surrendering to you.

—Tell me, why would you want that stupid deer I bought just because it looked like me when you have the real thing right here? —he grumbled, a mix of reproach and tenderness in his voice.

But you didn't let him keep talking. Without another word, you kissed him again, silencing any further complaints he might have had. At that moment, you knew that no plush in the world could replace the feeling of having him in your arms.

✧Jay ----------

Jay hated that annoying rabbit plush. Not only did it look suspiciously cute, but it also blurted out cheesy phrases at random whenever someone squeezed its soft paws. More than once, he had asked—no, demanded—that you keep that "monster" out of his sight, especially after it scared the life out of him by speaking in the middle of the night.

Of course, being you, you ignored his pleas entirely. Not only did you keep it, but you also snuck it into your shared bed, hugging it as if it were the most precious treasure in the world. You lay on your side, back facing Jay, clutching your beloved plush against your chest while he tried to sleep.

After a few minutes in the same position, Jay wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer in an attempt to cuddle. But the moment his hands touched something that definitely wasn't you, he knew exactly what was coming between you two.

His greatest enemy.

He huffed in frustration and, without hesitation, smacked the plush away.

—Get that thing out of this bed right now —he said dramatically—. If you wanted to hear embarrassing sweet talk before bed, you could’ve just asked me to do it.

Before you could react, Jay had already kidnapped the rabbit and banished it to the living room, putting an end to its reign of terror. When he returned, he slipped under the covers and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you'd replace him again.

—I love you to infinity and beyond —he suddenly whispered.

His unexpected confession caught you off guard, making you burst into laughter.

—Was that embarrassing enough to beat that monster? —he continued, a mischievous grin on his lips.

You shook your head, still laughing, but Jay wasn't done yet.

—Don’t worry, babe, I’ve been practicing even cringier lines. By the time I’m finished, you’ll be hopelessly in love with me… even more than you already are.

And knowing him, he definitely meant it.

✧Jake ----------

The puppy plush Jake had gifted you fit perfectly in your arms. Its softness and gentle warmth lulled you into a deep sleep within seconds, snuggled up in your shared bed.

When Jake walked out of the bathroom, dressed only in his pajama pants, his lips curled into a smile at the sight of you. You looked so peaceful, hugging that little plush so lovingly, that his heart melted on the spot… though at the same time, a tiny pang of jealousy crept into his chest.

Without thinking much about it, he slid under the covers and carefully tried to pry the plush from your grasp. But his mission failed instantly. You were holding onto it so tightly, as if you were afraid someone would take it away.

But Jake wasn’t one to give up so easily. He was supposed to be the one in your arms—not some stuffed puppy.

With a sudden idea, he gently turned your body and started peppering soft kisses all over your face, from your forehead to the tip of your nose, until, between murmurs and caresses, you finally stirred awake.

—Get rid of this tiny, stinky pup —he murmured, feigning indignation. Don’t you realize you have a bigger, cuter one to cuddle with?

His childish pout made you giggle, unable to resist his adorable jealousy. His eyes sparkled with a mix of playfulness and affection, making you sigh.

Smiling, you slowly set the plush aside and, in its place, wrapped your arms around Jake, hugging him tightly.

He wasted no time in responding, pulling you closer with his strong arms, his grin growing even wider. Before closing his eyes, he pressed a gentle kiss to your neck—a silent reminder of just how much he loved you.

✧ Sunghoon----------

The argument with Sunghoon still weighed heavily on your chest as you sought refuge in your bed, clutching tightly onto the stuffed animal he had given you. Despite the warmth of the blankets, you felt a coldness inside, one that nothing seemed to soothe. Silent tears rolled down your face, tracing the path of your sorrow.

When Sunghoon entered the room, his heart clenched at the sight of you. Guilt washed over him. He didn’t want things to end this way—he couldn’t stand seeing you cry, much less being the reason behind it.

He approached the bed slowly, hesitating when he noticed your eyes were closed. However, his need to make things right overpowered his doubts. Kneeling beside you, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips making you open your eyes.

"I'm sorry, love…" he whispered, his voice trembling. "I've been a complete idiot. Will you forgive me?"

You could see the uncertainty in his gaze, his hands trembling slightly, as if he feared your rejection.

With a sigh, you gave him a small "yes," instantly easing his burden. He wasted no time slipping under the covers, wrapping his arms around you. But as soon as you felt his warmth, you gently pulled away, still feeling hurt. Instead, you clung tightly to the plush toy.

Sunghoon clicked his tongue in frustration.

"Don't be like that, please… I know I was an idiot, but don't punish me by acting so stubborn…" he mumbled with a pout. "And get rid of that damn plushie. Let me replace it. I promise I give way better hugs."

His words only made you frown. With a bit of force, you grabbed the stuffed animal and threw it straight at his head. The toy bounced off and landed in the far corner of the room, leaving him utterly bewildered.

Sunghoon blinked a few times before bursting into laughter, his uncontrollable giggles filling the room. Despite your efforts to stay serious, you couldn’t help the small smile that escaped your lips.

Seizing the opportunity, Sunghoon lunged at you, tangling you in his arms before you had a chance to escape. He began pressing tiny kisses all over your face, murmuring apologies between each one, until both of you were laughing together.

Little by little, his warmth, his scent, and the way he held you so tenderly melted away all the tension. Eventually, without even realizing it, exhaustion took over, and the two of you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's embrace, as if the fight had never happened.

Meanwhile, the poor stuffed animal lay face down on the floor, forgotten and abandoned, as if it had been an unfortunate casualty in a battle it never wanted to be part of.

✧ Sunoo----------

Sunoo had always been competitive over the most meaningless things, but you never imagined his new “rival” would be a simple stuffed animal.

It all started when you bought that plush kitten at a store, not thinking much of it. It was soft, fluffy, and had such an adorable face that it was impossible to ignore. From the very first day, it became an essential part of your bed. You hugged it every night while you slept, completely unaware of the sharp glares Sunoo was giving it.

At first, he didn’t say anything. He just watched in silence, pursing his lips every time he saw you snuggled up with the plushie. He kept telling himself it wasn’t a big deal, that he didn’t care… but the truth was, he did. Since when could a stuffed toy take his place as your favorite cuddle buddy?

One night, as you both lay in bed, Sunoo finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey, since when do you prefer hugging that plushie over me?” he asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

You lifted your head in confusion, not understanding why he suddenly looked so offended.

“What? It’s not that I prefer it, it’s just… I don’t know, it’s comfortable,” you shrugged.

Sunoo rolled his eyes.

“Oh, sure. Super comfortable. I bet it also keeps you warm in the winter and gives you goodnight kisses.”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh, but he remained serious, as if he were genuinely evaluating his competition.

Before you could react, Sunoo stretched out and, with a swift motion, snatched the plushie from your arms. He mercilessly tossed it off the bed and settled into its place, wrapping his arms around you.

“There. Problem solved,” he said smugly, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Sunoo!” you protested, though you made no real effort to move away.

He smiled proudly.

“I don’t know what you see in that stuffed cat, but I highly doubt it hugs you better than I do.”

“You’re so dramatic…”

“I’m just setting priorities,” he murmured, adjusting himself more comfortably against you.

You tried to complain a little more, but it was hard to argue when his arms were so warm and cozy. With a sigh, you gave in and simply nestled closer to him.

Meanwhile, the poor plushie lay forgotten on the floor, its innocent little face staring up at the ceiling, utterly defeated in the battle for your affection.

✧ Jungwon----------

After a long day, you had settled into bed, surrounded by the kitten plushies that you and Jungwon had collected over time. They were soft and comforting, so you simply hugged one without thinking too much about it as you waited for sleep to take over.

When Jungwon entered the room, he took in the scene: you, completely relaxed, clutching one of those plushies tightly in your arms. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, feeling a slight pang of jealousy.

“Seriously? You’d rather cuddle those fake cats than me?” he asked with fake indignation.

Without taking your eyes off the ceiling, you simply responded, “Not today.”

Jungwon blinked, surprised by your answer. “What do you mean ‘not today’?” he repeated in disbelief.

Instead of replying, you turned your back to him, ignoring him completely. Offended, he decided that if you were going to ignore him for a plushie, then he would do the same. He grabbed one of the stuffed kittens from the bed and started hugging it dramatically.

“You’re so cute, so soft,” he murmured theatrically, making sure you could hear him. “You’re definitely the best cuddle partner.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his childish reaction, and with a sigh, you sat up slightly. “Alright, enough. Come here,” you demanded, stretching your arms toward him.

But Jungwon wasn’t giving in so easily. “No, no, no. You chose the plushies, so now I’m choosing this one,” he said, squeezing the plush against his chest.

Without thinking much about it, you gathered all the plushies and tossed them off the bed in one swift motion. Then, before he had the chance to protest, you climbed onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“There. Now it’s settled,” you said with a smile.

Jungwon chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I knew it. You just can’t resist my cuddles.”

“Shut up and hug me,” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he continued showering you with kisses and gentle caresses.

In the end, you had to admit: as adorable as the plushies were, none of them compared to him.

✧ Ni-ki----------

“I already told you I don’t like it when you sleep with a plushie that another guy gave you, baby,” Ni-ki grumbled, frowning as he watched you cuddle the source of his bad mood: the plushie Jake had given you for your birthday.

He walked toward the bed, clearly intending to take it away, but you, anticipating his move, quickly got up and ran out of the room with the plushie in your arms.

“Are you seriously running over this?” he laughed, following you at a relaxed pace. “You know I always win in the end.”

Every time he tried to grab you, you skillfully dodged his arms, staying just out of reach as you laughed playfully. However, a slight misstep caused you to stumble, and that was all Ni-ki needed to catch you. With quick reflexes, he wrapped his arms around you and effortlessly snatched the plush away.

“Ni-ki, give it back!” you protested between giggles, trying to reach for it.

Ignoring your complaints, he walked over to a high shelf and placed the plushie there, far out of your reach. He turned back with a victorious smirk, and before you could complain again, he easily picked you up and carried you back to bed.

“That’s cheating!” you pouted, but he simply lay down beside you and wrapped his arms around you.

“It’s not cheating, it’s strategy,” he murmured, hiding his smile against your hair as he gently stroked your back.

Defeated, you settled into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body and the way his breathing matched yours.

“Now we can finally sleep peacefully, baby,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses into your hair.

Just before sleep overtook you, you heard his voice close to your ear, soft and sincere: “I love you.”

[lokisgoodgirl]

Teenage Dream [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A trip to Asgard means a visit to Loki's childhood bedroom - and his teenage fantasy. (w/c 1.9k) Warnings: 18+ only. Loki x Female Reader. Established relationship. Smut. Body fluids etc etc. Language.

“This is your childhood bedroom?!” Loki’s arms spread wider, turning in a lazy circle as you gape at the high ceilings and golden cornicing. Open archways lead to a balcony which runs along the full side of one wall, Asgard sprawling below in afternoon sunlight. It’s huge.

“What did you expect?” Loki shoots a lovingly indignant look over his shoulder. “Some kind of hovel-sized quarter the kind of which Stark has bestowed on Lang?”

His boots thud in quick succession on polished marble before he jumps through the air and lands on the modest queen-size with a bounce – a hand balled at his temple. The sheets have clearly been replaced since he last laid in it, but old habits die hard. The green and gold of his colours is in full effect in this room from the curtains to the tapestries and the quilt draped across the mattress. “Lie with me,” he says, looking up through his lashes. “Please?”

Something about seeing Loki dressed in his, what he still calls, ‘Midgard garms’ suddenly seems ridiculous in one of Asgard’s royal bedchambers. A pair of tight black jeans cling to his muscles, denim shifting as he draws one knee over the other to rest on the bed. His forest green t-shirt has ridden up at his lower stomach, a victim of the obscene measurements of his stretching body. He chuckles lightly, making a thick line of his obliques tighten as he slips his fingers further into mussed hair. "I told you I was a prince," he says sheepishly.

You make your way to the bed and he flips to his back, releasing a happy groan as you straddle him. His eyelids droop, a flash of his upper teeth as he bites his bottom lip. "Frigga will be expecting us," you say as you roll your hips against his crotch. "Uhhh...gods-" he grunts, large palms rubbing up your thighs tight on either side of his chest. ‘Frigga can wait. I said I would give you a tour, and give you a tour...I shall.’ "Not from down there you won’t."

You yelp as Loki sits up and his lips fasten to yours, hand cradling the back of your head and forcing you in a violent kiss. He bites your bottom lip, sucking out gently. You moan softly as his hands begin to rub your thighs again. He’s needy. The sentimentality of bringing you Asgard for the first time is doing a real number on him. Your fingers run down his neck, down the hard dips and ridges of his abdomen through the t-shirt.

“I used to pleasure myself in this bed, dreaming of a woman like you-” he says huskily, beginning to thrust upwards. The painfully tight erection bursting against denim rubs against your gusset, toying back and forth. You feel a swell of arousal web between your folds as your eyes dart towards the open door. Just a crack, but it’s enough. The guards are never far in the palace it seems, even for a Prince who’s all grown up.

“Say more,” you tease. It’s a whisper, but it seems to echo. Loki chuckles quietly into the curve of your neck before he tips you easily to the side. You meet the mattress with a bounce, your head disappearing between the crevice of two plush pillows. Loki’s long form rises above you, impossibly rectangular, spread on his knees, the denim screaming around his crotch.

“It may come as a surprise to you that I was an awkward young man,” he starts, riding up the hem of his t-shirt. His leather belt sits maddeningly at the dent of his hips, perfect alabaster skin of his stomach flashing into view. “No!? I would never have guessed...” you joke, surprised at your ability to think straight as Loki’s shirt pops over his head. He throws it away, skittering gently across the marble floor. His eyes flash mischievously.

“But I had urges, of course; fucked myself night after night like a demon; elaborate fantasies formed in my head with excruciating detail.” He falls forward against the pillows, the bulge of his shoulders tensing as he cages you.

“I wouldn’t let myself cum until every detail in my head was perfect,” he breathes, letting long tendrils of hair drag against your throat in time with the filth of his dulcet syllables. “Again and again. It was enough to drive a young man to madness.”

“Did you ever have-?” you start, cut off by a pathetic moan as Loki drags his bound cock against your clit. “Never," he whispers. "This bed is as virginal as myself when I left it.”

The warm glow of his magic pulses from his skin. Loki’s jeans are gone, replaced by a green silk robe open at the waist. It's Asgardian craftsmanship, that much is obvious. Gold weaving edges the hem, its age betrayed only by the sleeves which are a little too short. The sage shimmer melts into the wave of his hair, and for a second you can’t bring yourself to believe there wasn’t a line forming outside his bedroom every night after he came of age.

He rests back on his haunches between your legs, flipping out the robe at the nip of his taut waist. Loki’s eyes smoulder, waiting for you to ask.

“Which one do you want?” you say. It times perfectly with a twitch of his proud cock as he draws a finger back and forth along its length. His chin dips and a small smile creeps at the corner of his lips.

Loki raises a hand, a theatrical snap of his fingers making the ceiling height door to the chamber swing closed with an almighty clang. Even under normal circumstances, doors don’t close quietly in the palace; it is by design.

“My goddess riding me,” he says, raising his gaze to yours. “Then once I’ve filled her, she crawls to my face; smothers me with her perfect, dripping sex; calls my name so loudly in ecstasy that my brother hears it all the way in the taverns.”

Your brows raise. “That’s quite specific.”

Loki shrugs. “I told you. It needed to be perfect. I spent a lot of time thinking about it.” You shuffle up on the pillows, curling one side of his silk robe in a fist and pulling his mouth to yours. He manoeuvres around, lying back against the pillows with bright eyes while you crawl on top of him once more.

“Are you my sweet virginal Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes. Loki snickers. "If you like." “I do.” “Aright then,” he sniffs. “Although I should warn you, for a virgin – I am rather an expert.” “Shhh-” You press a finger to his lips. "I read a lot of books," he explains with overly-earnest eyes, muffled against your finger. “Let’s get you some practice, then..” you whisper, rolling your hips up the length of his cock. Loki whimpers, brows slanting. You can't tell if that part is for show. With a slip of his hand against your ass you feel your dress dissolve, the nip of a breeze through the open arches making your nipples stiffen. Loki’s head leaves the pillow and catches one in his mouth as your hand guides his cock between your legs. You rub the tip against your slit, slipping back and forth as guttural groans roll in his throat.

"My virgin Prince," you coo.

Loki’s head falls back to the pillow, a warning brow rising. But his eyes sparkle. Slowly, you sink down onto his cock; each hard inch of muscle tugging against your walls as you settle to the hilt.

“Every time you do that,” Loki rasps, “it’s everything I ever dreamt of in this bed, I swear.” You flatten a curl of hair back from his forehead, rocking your hips back and forth. His hands slide up your waist, cupping your breasts as he pants beneath you. A vein in his neck throbs as he grits his teeth to the ceiling. He won’t last, not today. And that’s just fine.

You press his shoulders down, limiting his thrusts. If he wanted to, he could overthrow the touch in an instant. But he wont, not today; not in this bed. Every time you reach the tip of his cock you squeeze and his lips part; every time you sink him deep into your cunt they press together, like he doesn’t trust himself not to howl. The squelching is louder now. The moaning, too. You and Loki have fucked many times, in many places – in every conceivable position, each time you think you could never be more aroused, he proves you wrong. But something’s different about him here. When his beautiful eyes open, the dark fan of his lashes seem to pop against the vibrant blue ringing blown pupils.

Loki’s fingers sink deep into the plump of your ass. He pulls in time with your rhythm, drawing the flat of his feet up. In seconds, he sits up to meet your mouth; his tongue lapping against yours with quiet desperation. Your fingers run down his abdomen and you feel his stomach clench.

“Fill me, baby-” you whine into his open mouth, “show me what Asgard’s finest cock can give me.” Loki grunts in pleasured anguish, thrusting in erratic shudders as he erupts inside your heat. The angle is tight. Fresh seed creams at the seal of your slit and wells around the rim of his half-sheathed cock as he comes undone with a ragged exhale of your name. He captures you in a messy kiss, falling away from your mouth to your chest before collapsing back to the pillows. He squints with one eye, a lazy hand beckoning. “You sure?” There’s an unusual shyness in your voice. Loki nods with a wolfish, lopsided grin; drunk on sex. You shuffle up his abdomen, feeling a thick roll of hot cum settling against your inner thigh. Your fingers curl around the wooden headboard, Loki’s large palms settling on your ass and keeping you high. His head tilts, warm tongue tracing your inner thigh and sucking his seed from your skin. A violent shiver of desire rolls down your spine, making you thrust towards his face.

“I’ll try my best-” he purrs in character from between your legs.

His eyes are all you can see as his tongue outstretches. They disappear as he dips further back, running his warmth between your folds. He tilts his chin up, a white pool collected on his tongue. Loki of Asgard looks up from bottomless eyes, the planes of his cheekbones sharpened. You shoot down and jam your tongue into his open mouth. His cum swirls within the kiss, mingling with the earthy taste of your own pussy – swallows and moans and filth sliding down your throats. Loki gasps loudly as your kiss breaks with a slurp. “Was that in your fantasy?” you ask innocently, resuming your position above his head. “I regret now, that even in the depths of my teenage depravity, it was not,” Loki growled, squeezing your ass-cheeks. He nudges you closer. “Now, finish me,” he orders as he pushes you down against his face. The flat of Loki’s tongue meets your plump clit. Each flush and fat stripe of the muscle has no pretence – he intends to make you climax; and climax hard. Your nails dig into the headboard, scratching down pristine oak lined with gold. Images of Loki as a virginal youth rear in your mind, thrashing in these sheets, under this very ceiling, twisting and unravelling beneath the beat of his fist. Your thighs begin to tremble, held steady by his fingertips sinking deep into the curve of your ass. Loki’s tongue is relentless; it swirls and captures every flush of sparking orgasm and tends it with the next lap of his attentions. Before long, your legs tense – and somehow, one of your hands has tangled in his hairline, pushing him deeper, his nose slotted perfectly at the lip of your mound. The sight is all it takes. “Loki-” you choke, punctuated by a final devastatingly soft lick of his flat tongue over your sex. “Mmrph…” he grunts, brow furrowing. You hold your breath as climax shatters you, the exhale a strangled sob of his name that sings around the ceilings and tumbles out the archways.

You collapse on his chest, the two of you panting heavily. A thin sheen of fresh sweat clings to his skin. You trace the angle of his jaw, smiling as a dream-like peace descends on his features. “Do you think Thor heard?” “From Midgard? I doubt it,” Loki sighs, letting one of his legs fall open to the side. He’s hard again. “But I can let that part of the fantasy slide. Everything else was...perfection, my love.” You prop a fist beneath your chin. “Maybe we just need to try harder.”

“Fuck harder, you mean?” Loki says, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. “You did promise me a palace tour…” you say, drawing your knuckles up the velvet skin of his cock stretching against his stomach. Loki’s smirk grows wider.

Tags (continued in comments)

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[maomao-words]

Can I request where windbreaker boys got jealous over s/o (us) like simping over fictional characters, I wanna see their reaction getting sulking or jealous 8(>_<)8

Not me exposing my own list of hubbies in these headcannons /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\

I hope your tastes match mine, and you enjoy!

No TWs. Fluff with some crack sprinkled around.

Wind Breaker: How the boys react to you simping over fictional characters (Sakura, Kiryu, Endo).

Haruka Sakura:

No. Sakura does not get jealous over fictional men.

He does not sulk, lower lip jutted in the most adorable of pouts, whenever you joyfully yell each time Satoru Gojo comes up on screen. He definitely does not clench his jaw each time you delve into an unstoppable tirade over how strong the white-haired sorcerer is, how attractive his hands are, and how beautiful his blue eyes look.

Sakura absolutely does not try to distract you by holding onto your waist, as shyly as his nerves allow him to, and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

The fact that these moments of affection from Sakura coincide with Gojo's training scenes has nothing to do with your boyfriend. Or so he claims, voice close to a whisper, and eyes avoiding yours as much as possible.

Each time you catch Sakura frowning at your phone's home screen, which is evenly split between a fanart of Gojo's fingers held in his signature move and a candid picture taken of you both during one of your latest dates, you would simply laugh at his facial expressions.

How adorable, you would say, as you gently cup his cheeks and peck him once, then twice, and thrice. Once Sakura busies himself with hiding his blushing face, you turn around, resuming your dive into Tumblr for more posts about your fictional hubby.

Provoking your lovely boyfriend's jealousy is easy. But a soft smooch accompanied by your prettiest smile never fails to melt his icy facade, rendering him unable to leave your side, while you continue admiring Gojo's beautiful features on screen. Little did Sakura know that your favorite sorcerer shares almost all of his own traits. Starting from the feathery white hair, the gem-like eyes, to the incomparable strength and dominance, Sakura does not stray far from Gojo, which is what made him appeal to your eyes in the first place.

But, hush now. With how adorable Sakura behaves, you do not wish to divulge this secret to him.

Oh, and if you notice Sakura smiling once you mention the end of the JJK manga, you do not go down quietly. Needless to say that your lovely boyfriend had to spend the rest of the week sleeping on the couch, alone and grumbling about how unfair you were acting.

Kiryu Mitsuki:

Yes. Kiryu is jealous that you have eyes for no one but Rafayel from LADS.

Actually, scratch that, dearest. Hell fucking yes, Kiryu is beyond jealous that your main husband is a rich, attractive, and highly bewitching merman, whose voice seems to be the only way for you to relax as you fall asleep at night.

"Noo, keep your eyes on me, cutie," Kiryu cooes at you with a voice sweeter than honeyed cakes, his hand cupping your face and guiding it away from the latest trailer featuring Rafayel.

You pout at your boyfriend's ridiculous attempts and gently swat at his hand to focus all of your attention on the phone in your hand. Kiryu gasps, an exaggerated sound colored with indignation and shock, before he moves in one smooth move to smother you with his entire body.

You gasp, phone clattering on the floor away from you at the sudden jolt, while you struggle to handle your boyfriend's weight on you. Nothing was new about Kiryu's behavior. Each time Rafayel comes up on your screen or tongue, talking about a new banner, showing him a work of fiction you recently read, or an amazing fan art you spotted, Kiryu's affection would spill over.

His touches, already consistent and plentiful, double in intensity and frequency. A hand on the small of your back to guide you away from your friedn's collective fangirling over Rafayel, long fingers gently tapping over your arm to distract you from staring at your fictinal's husband lethal face, or in extreme cases, tight hugs that envelop your entire figure before he swallows your protests with a tender kiss that takes your breath away in a heartbeat.

Your foolish boyfriend never stopped to wonder why you picked Rafayel out of everyone else. He never seemed to connect the dots; a rich man, with pink hues and angelic shades, and hands that are impossibly gentle to you. Each one of Rafayel's features, traits, and "cutie" never fails to bring Kiryu's face to mind.

But seeing Kiryu's dramatic pouts, hearing his near-teary complaints, and enjoying his tender embraces, you simply couldn't bring yourself to tell him the truth. So, each time he complains, you pretend to sigh and think long and hard, before you loop your hands around your beloved's neck to pull him closer to you.

Oh, and if anyone ends up finally asking, you end up revealing that it's always Kiryu offering his own card and encouraging you to spend as much money as you want to bring your merman home.

Endo Yamato:

Endo's first reaction to seeing your phone's home screen, on the afternoon of your second date, was a loud laugh that nearly caused you both to be kicked out of the coffee shop. His arm was loosely wrapped around your waist, the other lazily slung across the back of your chair, as you pulled your phone and unlocked it to show him the cute dress you bought the day before.

But the minute Endo's green eyes landed on the now-unlocked screen, his body moved without hesitation, and he doubled over in laughter. After facing your wrath (a weak punch to his arm), Endo was finally lucid enough to ask the burning question on his tongue: is that a fucking clown?

That question ended up costing him a third date with you.

Because no, Hisoka Morow is not a clown. Well, when it comes to pure technicalities, he is one, but he is your favorite in the HunterxHunter world, and you refused to sit by and watch anyone make fun of him.

Endo never understood your obsession with Hisoka, but he never really felt gracious enough to stop making his typical comments to you. Relentless in his teasing, Endo's affectionate bullying extended to the small charms attached to your keys, the stickers on the back of your laptop, the lavender hoodie with Hisoka's figure on the front, and even your tiny notebook decorated in the magician's palette.

You pouted, shut him up using kisses, and laughed alongside Endo's teasing attempts. You were firm in your attachment to Hisoka, and Endo's playful attitude suited you just fine, as long as you were left to your own devices, free to love what you loved.

Yet somehow, along the way, you noticed a subtle change. Each time Endo caught you tearing up over the seemingly endless hiatus of the HXH manga, fangirling over the latest official art of your hubby, or rewatching the anime from start to finish, he would sweep you in an embrace that never failed to take your breath away.

Whenever your friends called and spent hours fangirling over the entire cast, Endo became glued to your side on the couch. With both arms wrapped around you, his head nestled in the crook of your neck, he would distract you from the conversation with his own whispers and comments. Laughing each time you swat at him in annoyance, Endo would only tighten his hold on you.

Your joy was indescribable the day Endo half-admitted he felt jealous of how much affection and attention you were pouring over that clown. You snorted, face flushing with the exertion of hiding your laughter, while Endo remained impassive by your side. You came closer to your lover, lips drawn in a soft smile, as you cupped his cheeks with your hands. Soft promises that confirmed your endless love for your boyfriend, and assurances that Hisoka's presence will never overshadow his own, were finally enough to return the lopsided smirk on Endo's face.

A smirk that disappeared as soon as it had appeared, however. Endo ended up sleeping on the couch that night for daring to call your hubby a clown. Again.

[svetamillss]

Headcanons: household chores with them🩵

Featuring: Thanos( Su Bong) x Reader(f), Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Kang Dae Ho x Reader(f), Se Mi x Reader(f)

A/N: If you have ideas about what to write, you can always talk about it!

🩵🩵🩵

Thanos (Su Bong)🖤

Unfortunately, you can have quarrels literally every day because of this. After all, your boyfriend is still a "household disabled person". You have to force him to do something around the house, of course, heavy sighs and indignation will come in response.

Thank God that he at least tries to do it without mistakes.

It happens that you are at work, and he is at home all day. You ask him to wash the floors and do the laundry, of course he promises to do everything in the best possible way, but in the end he does nothing, because he forgot. That's when you get nervous and start yelling at him.

- Well, you promised to do it! You stayed at home all day! Why do I have to clean the house after work? - you said almost crying, because during the day you got very tired and hoped for your boyfriend.

- Don't cry! I just forgot, anything happens! I'll do everything now! - the guy answers you irritably.

- I'll do everything myself, mind your own business. - you were angry with him, so you didn't want to see his help, but he still followed you, taking you by the hand and sending you the room.

- It's my fault that I forgot. I'll do everything now. - and he really started to wash the floor and deal with the laundry.

Cho Hyun Ju💗

Living with this woman is a fairy tale. You immediately divided the responsibilities around the house. You took more cleaning, and she cooks (since food turns out very tasty). Sometimes you change tasks if some circumstances occur (some of you were detained at work, some of you got sick, and so on), but this absolutely does not bother you.

- Baby, don't make any plans for Sunday, please.

- No problem, but why? - you asked her.

- I want to do a general cleaning, and it will take a lot of time, but don't worry, after we do it, we'll watch the movie and eat something tasty. - she said, kissing you on the forehead.

Of course, you agreed, it wasn't a tragedy for you to do a general cleaning. After all, you will still spend the whole day with your Hyunnie.

Kang Dae Ho🩵

Living with this guy is a dream. After all, he was raised by four older sisters, so he is very attentive to you (well, straight by 1,000,000 percent). He is ready to do all the work himself.

- My love, I don't need to help, you'd better rest, you've been very tired.- he said when you volunteered to help him clean the closet.

- It's not fair! You're also very tired for a week, if I help, it will take much less time! - you were indignant, but it worked, although he agreed with a heavy sigh, but you rewarded him with a kiss on the lips.

Thanks to you, the cleaning took about two hours, so you decided to go for a walk outside, after all, the weather was very good.

Se Mi💋

When you moved in, you had a problem about who would do what household chores. After all, both of you weren't really good at cleaning or cooking.

- Maybe we'll do everything together then? Then we won't have any difficulties! - you suggested with a smile, to which your girlfriend gladly agreed.

- It's a great idea, sweet. We will look after each other, at the same time we will spend more time together.

Of course, you sometimes have small arguments, for example, that one of you did not clean up very well and seems to be a little lazy, but you solve them very quickly. After all, you have a good harmony in your relationship.

🩵🩵🩵

[wileys-russo]

Mai i request a blurb or fic with Alexia or leah in their home with

"Oh my god if you buy one more plush to occupy my spot on the bed i'm kicking you out to sleep on the couch."

the collection II l.williamson

"babe!" you faintly heard your girlfriend call from downstairs, attention diverted from the laptop in front of you in the home office you and leah had turned your second bedroom into.

"yeah?" you called back, unable to hear her response. "babe? oi did you hear me?" leah yelled again as you sighed, closing your laptop and pushing away from the desk.

"lee, baby we've discussed this so many times that i cannot hear you unless you're in the same room or not-" you began to tell her off as you jogged downstairs but stopped as you saw the likely reason for her yelling.

"my package!" you squealed happily, almost bowling leah to the floor with the speed in which you zoomed past her and plucked the box from her hands, the blonde scoffing as you sat down on the edge of the sofa.

"this is what i was yelling about." you made an indignant noise as before you could even rip the box open leah appeared in front of you and snatched it from your hands, promptly pushing you back down onto the couch with her foot to your chest as you tried to stand.

"leah!" you huffed, smacking her sock covered foot away with a grimance as she tucked the box under her arm. "you, my girl, have a problem." leah began sternly, finger wagging at you as your eyes rolled.

"oh and do tell what is this so called problem i have?" you sighed, settling back into the couch with arms crossed and an eyebrow cocked in challenge toward the defender in front of you.

"you're addicted to online shopping." leah claimed boldly as you made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a choke as you shook your head. "i am not! leah this is ridiculous, give me my package." you demanded, wiggling your fingers at her expectantly as she firmly shook her head.

"this, is the fifth box to arrive on the doorstep addressed to you this week, and thats just whats arrived while i've been at home!" leah warned raising an eyebrow right back at you as you both stared one another down, unwavering.

"it is not the-" you were silenced by a fierce look from your girlfriend who suddenly went marching out of the room as you hurried to follow her, fingers itching to get a hand back on your package still tucked away in her arms.

"leah where on earth are we going?" you groaned in annoyance as again you tried to reach for the box and she darted out of your reach, marching through the house and right out the back doors as you sighed heavily and followed.

"exhibit a!" the english woman announced, having lead you around the side of the house and gesturing wildly to the near overflowing recycling bin hidden from public view.

it was due to go out tomorrow night as you made a mental note to remember to do that since leah was renowned for forgetting which is how the bin had ended up so full in the first place.

"what are you on about williamson?" you sighed deeply, crossing your arms and jutting your hip out to the side as you stared her down with pursed lips.

"evidence babe, cold hard undeniable evidence." leah held up a finger as if to pause whatever strange investigation she seemed to think was going on.

you groaned quietly as she placed your package down on the pavers, behind her and still out of your reach as, dramatically, she flung open the lid of the recycling bin and gave you an accusatory look.

"lee this is ridiculous just give me my package and-" "see!" leah interrupted, grabbing out an amazon box from the win and waving it about.

"a box? groundbreaking investigatory skills babe, consider me thoroughly impressed!" you clapped slowly, voice dripping with sarcasm as leahs eyes narrowed.

"you will see, exhibit b, the name on said box!" leah spun it around and tapped the label aggressively as you snickered and she glanced down, quickly flipping it around the right way and repeating the action.

"you mean to tell me a box was delivered to our home addressed to someone who lives here? scandalous!" you gasped, voice still alight with sarcasm as leah rolled her eyes and tossed the box onto the ground.

"exhibit c, d, e, f, g-" leah listed off, grabbing boxes of various shapes and sizes out of the bin, flashing your name on each one and tossing them into the growing pile on the ground as you watched on unamused.

"okay yeah leah alright you've made your point!" you finally snapped, stepping forward and promptly slamming the recycling bin lid closed, narrowly missing your girlfriends fingers as she whistled.

"touchy at the truth are we babe? ready to admit you've got a problem?" leah grinned happily as you shook your head and stepped forward.

"okay love you were right. i do have a problem-" you started with a small pout, hands coming to rest on leahs hips as she nodded in agreement. "-and that would be you." you promptly pushed her out of the way, snatching your package off the ground and striding away.

"don't forget to put those boxes back in the bin williamson!" you yelled over your shoulder, hurrying inside and ignoring the swearing and grumbling of the disgruntled blonde you left behind as you rummaged through the drawers for some scissors.

slicing down the tape you wrestled with the box for a moment before the flaps opened and you gasped, clapping happily and pulling its contents out, holding it at arms length with delight written clear on your face.

"oh you are fucking joking me! another one?" leah appeared at the back door, clearly nowhere near as impressed with your latest purchase as you were as you ignored her.

"you have about ten of those already! you do have a fucking shopping problem, i'm blocking your cards." leah huffed, attempting to snatch the plush pumpkin from your grip as you held it protectively to your chest.

"i do not! honestly and you say i'm dramatic leah?" you scoffed with a roll of your eyes. "and good luck considering i'm the one who deals with our finances." you blew her a kiss and ducked past her, only as you did she managed a hand on your latest stuffed friend and snatched it from you.

"leah! give it back-" you grunted, trying to wrestle it back but it was a fruitless task as she easily held you off with her other hand. "come." the defender barked, pushing you away again and headed for the bedroom as you scrambled to follow.

"exhibit...whatever bloody letter i was up to." leah waved it off, again shoving you away as you reached for the pumpkin she had in her grip. "babe, look! one, two, three, four, five, six-" your girlfriend began to count the series of jellycats sat on the bed.

"you have a problem!" leah poked at your chest as your eyes rolled and you mocked her under your breath. "say it, go on then." the girl demanded clapping expectantly as she tossed the pumpkin on the bed.

"no baby i can't, because we promised we wouldn't lie to one another." you pouted sarcastically, trying to reach past her to grab the pumpkin and squealing in shock as you were tackled to the bed.

"admit it! say you have an online shopping problem!" leah grunted, moving to sit on top of you as you wheezed and fought to throw her off.

"get off you haven't showered since training and you'll ruin them!" you whined, leah's eyes narrowing as she managed to pin your hands beneath her knees, not much taller than you but most certainly the stronger considering she was a professional athlete.

"oh? ruin these?" leah grabbed another jellycat in hand, this one a lime as you'd been on a bit of a food related kick with your purchases lately, and holding it up with a smirk.

"leah. put. it. down." you warned seriously, her smirk only growing. "i wonder what would happen if bella got a hold of one of these?" leah pondered, the two of you dogsitting for the week as amanda was away on a girls holiday.

"you do that, you'll be single faster than you can say north london forever williamson. put it down!" you growled as your girlfriend rolled her eyes, moving as if to place it down before she tossed it over her shoulder and you gasped.

"say you have an online shopping problem." "no!" this time it was a bright green frog which hit the bedroom floor and you gasped again. "say it babe."

"i do not have a problem. this is a hobby! like you collect vintage arsenal kits!" you accused, wriggling beneath her and groaning as you had no luck at all in throwing her off or getting a hand free.

"a hobby! please." leah scoffed. "i wear the kits, they have a purpose. these stupid little mounds of feathers or cotton or whatever the fuck they're made of just sit here all day. absolutely useless waste of money!" leah huffed as you inhaled sharply.

"they are not! they're loveable plush characters who have been around since the 90's with names and backstories and-" "oh my god if you buy one more stupid little plush to occupy my spot on the bed i'm kicking you out to sleep on the couch!"

"oh you'll kick me out will you miss needy?" you scoffed, raising an eyebrow in challenge, your girlfriend at her most clingy when the two of you were wrapped up in bed together of a night.

"if i need to. but these are just the tip of the iceberg of your online shopping problem! before this there was the stupid rocks-" "crystals." "then it was the stupid little action figures-" "pop vinyls." "then it was the fridge magnets-" "hey you said you liked that our fridge has personality now!" "and lets not forget the knitting, the colouring in, the necklace making kits, the paint by numbers-" leah listed off on her finger the countless hobbies you admittedly had invested quite a lot of money into before growing bored and moving onto something else.

"fine fine fine! i may have....some ever so slight difficulties with online shopping." you begrudgingly admitted, puffing our air with a scowl as leahs face softened.

"thank you. now was that so hard to admit?" your girlfriend smiled as your scowl only deepened. "get off me leah, right now."

leah rolled off of you as you couldn't wait and practically shoved her to the point she nearly fell off the bed as you stomped out of the room.

"babe! come on its out of love, i want to help you cure this problem." leah yelled out after you, hearing your footsteps thump back upstairs where the office was and sighing, already preparing her apology in her head before they sounded coming back downstairs and she paused.

"what are you-" she frowned seeing the odd assortment of objects in your hand, clearly looking as if you were struggling not to drop them as you carefully placed them down on the edge of the bed and leah scooted out of the way leaning back against the headboard.

"the hoverboard, the laptop dj set, the VR gaming headset, the rollerskates, the indoor golf set, the dartboard, the-" you listed off, pulling more things from under the bed or the back of the cupboard as leah suddenly seemed to run out of things to say, falling silent and blushing.

"now tell me, what are these leah?" you questioned the now quite large pile of leahs own dead hobbies on the bed as your girlfriend winced, hand awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck.

"um...presents?" "oh? and who bought you these then? were they for your birthday? christmas?" you asked, hands on hips and staring her down as leah cleared her throat and chuckled uncomfortably.

"um. presents to me...from me?" "mmm, so...you bought them online. correct?" "...not all of them." leah clarified as you scoffed.

"right, right. so..." you trailed off, raising your eyebrows expectantly as the blonde let out a deep sigh and slowly crawled forward so she was sat at the end of the bed on her knees.

"my beautiful, smart, gorgeous, sexy-" "not the time for flattery williamson." "i am very very sorry for-"

however before she could finish the front doorbell rang diverting both of your attentions, right as your phone dinged and leahs once sorrowful eyes narrowed, the two of you locked eye to eye.

you began to slowly back out of the room, hearing the doorbell go again as your phone started to ring and leah hopped to her feet, stalking after you with a knowing look as you chuckled nervously.

"leah no!" you squealed as within seconds she was sprinting past you, holding you off with one arm and a leg as she cracked open the door, the poor delivery man jolting in shock as just leahs head appeared and her hand came to cover your mouth, keeping you at bay with her foot pressed to your stomach.

"delivery for a-" "oh no i'm sorry for the mix up mate but nobody by that name lives here, better return to sender if you would!" "leah catherine williamson!"

[therogueflame]

The Small Council

Hi my sweet baby angels,

Here is the long overdue Aemond fic I promised all those moons ago. I hope you enjoy it, this one was definitely interesting to write. Writing someone as calculated as Aemond was a different kind of difficult, but using the dialogue from the show with Alicent did help quite a bit. Please let me know what you think! (Also if anyone can point me in the direction of making those cool like three gif/pic banner things cool authors put on their fics that would be so great love you bye.)

📖 masterlist

🖊 ao3

🗒 wip list

🔥 discord server

Summary: A brief conversation between the Queen Dowager and the Prince Regent brings you unexpectedly to the precipice of action.

WC: 5.0k

Warnings: 18+, sex (p in v), oral (f!recieving), multiple orgasm, cheating, no use of y/n, public sex, implied fem!reader

Aemond Targaryen x Mistress!Reader

Aemond remained seated at the head of the council table, exuding an air of effortless authority. The chamber had begun to empty, the scrape of chairs and measured footsteps fading into the corridor beyond. Only the crackle of the hearth and the rustle of parchment lingered in the stillness. His fingers drummed idly against the carved wood, his expression unreadable as he watched the last figures depart.

Alicent was nearly at the door, walking beside Ser Criston, her hands clasped tightly, her posture poised yet rigid. Afternoon light streamed through the high windows, casting sharp angles across the chamber floor.

“Mother? A word.”

His voice cut through the space, measured—a command rather than a request.

Alicent halted, her lips pressing together as if steeling herself. Then, slowly, she turned, her gaze unreadable as she stepped back toward him. “I caution you, Aemond—boldness is one thing, but—”

“I am relieving you of your place on the small council.”

Silence stretched between them, taut as a drawn bowstring. Alicent did not waver. “You know very well I represented your father in his final years and have counseled Aegon.”

“Capably so.” Aemond’s tone was even, unruffled. “Father is dead. Aegon is… mmm.” He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as though considering his phrasing. “You served the realm well in its time of need. That need has ended. You are no longer obliged.”

Alicent’s chin lifted, her gaze sharpening. “It is not a matter of obligation. This council is in need of a tempering voice.”

Aemond’s mouth twitched, something too faint to be a smirk but just as dismissive. “We have more than enough of those, if you ask me.”

Her shoulders squared. “You have the recklessness of ease. And its arrogance. Neither of which befits a king.”

His fingers stilled against the table. He did not flinch, did not betray so much as a flicker of reaction, but something shifted in the air between them. “I release you from your seat, such as it was. I trust you’ll find contentment in more... domestic pursuits.”

Alicent stepped forward then, close enough that the afternoon light slanting through the chamber windows cast a gentle glow over her face. She reached out, fingertips light as they pressed to his cheek—a touch meant to soothe, perhaps, or to remind.

“Have the indignities of your childhood not yet been sufficiently avenged?”

Aemond’s hand caught her wrist, his grip firm, but not unkind. The moment stretched, heavy with words unspoken. Then, slowly, Alicent pulled away. She did not look back as she turned, nor did she speak. Aemond stood, movements smooth, deliberate, and watched as she disappeared beyond the threshold.

“You have the gratitude of the Crown,” he said at last, though the words were spoken to the empty air.

The door closed behind her, leaving him alone in the hush of the chamber, the afternoon light stretching long across the stone. Aemond exhaled, long and slow, before turning back toward the window. He clasped his hands behind his back, posture rigid as he gazed out over King’s Landing. The city stretched before him, its streets winding and endless, its people moving below like ants, oblivious to the shifting of power within the Red Keep. The faint sound of the door opening again caught his ear, but he did not turn. He already knew who it was.

You hesitated in the doorway, the soft click of the latch settling into place behind you. He did not turn. You had not expected him to. Still, a quiet unease curled in your stomach as you took a measured step forward, the train of your gown whispering against the stone floor.

“My prince.”

His only response was a slow inhale through his nose. “My lady.”

He still did not look at you, his gaze fixed on the sprawl of the city below. That suited you just fine. You had no desire to meet his eye just yet, not after overhearing what had passed between him and the Dowager Queen. You had not lingered to eavesdrop—not intentionally, at least—but whispers carried through these halls like a restless wind. And you had learned long ago that it was wiser to listen than to be caught unprepared.

“You’re troubled,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

That earned you something—a quiet exhale, almost a laugh, though it held no true mirth. “What keen insight,” he murmured, finally turning to face you.

Aemond’s gaze swept over you, cool and assessing, and though you stood still beneath it, you felt the weight of it settle on your skin. You were no one of great consequence, no rival, no threat—merely a courtier, the wife of another lord. But you had remained in the Red Keep long past what was necessary, and he had noticed.

He noticed everything.

“Shall I presume you were listening at the door?”

The corner of your mouth lifted, though you did not dare call it a smile. “No, my prince. The halls carry sound.”

His expression did not shift, though something in his gaze sharpened. “And what have you come to tell me?”

You hesitated only a moment before lowering your head, a gesture of deference, though not entirely without purpose. “Only that I thought you might appreciate the presence of one who has no quarrel with you.”

Aemond studied you for a long moment, the afternoon light cutting across his features, sharpening the angles of his face. His silence was weighty, deliberate, yet you did not move.

“You believe I am in need of comfort,” he murmured, stepping forward.

You did not step back. “I believe you are in need of company.”

A breath passed between you, heavy with something unspoken. The chamber was empty now. The smallfolk below were nothing more than distant echoes. The day stretched before you, uncertain yet light.

His lips curved, slow and deliberate. “Then stay.”

You stepped closer, the soft rustle of your pale yellow skirts barely breaking the silence between you. Aemond remained as he was—tall, composed, hands still clasped behind his back—but you saw the shift in his gaze, the way his eye flickered over you in quiet recognition.

“You wear yellow,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, edged with something more thoughtful than before.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him. “Should I not?”

His lips twitched, the barest ghost of amusement, though it never fully formed. “It does not suit your purpose.”

A small smile found its way to your lips. “And what do you think my purpose is?”

Aemond did not answer immediately. He let the silence linger, his eye sweeping over you—your gown, your posture, the way you stood before him without hesitation. It was a game, this dance between you. Yours was a connection made in the quiet corners of the castle, in the moments stolen between duty and discretion. He had taken you first out of spite, his own cold, calculated revenge against a man who had slighted him. But what had begun as punishment had not ended so cleanly.

It was not hatred that brought you here tonight.

Aemond finally turned fully to face you, the sunlight catching on the sharp planes of his face, throwing half of it into shadow. “You came to me of your own will,” he said, a statement rather than a question.

You hummed lightly, a sound that was neither confirmation nor denial. “Would you like to believe that?”

His gaze darkened slightly, though not with anger. With something else, something heavier, something that had long since settled between you both.

“I believe,” Aemond said, voice low, “that you should be more careful of whose company you keep.”

You lifted a brow. “And yet, here I stand.”

A pause. A slow breath. Aemond reached out, fingers brushing against the fabric of your sleeve—light, testing. Not claiming, not yet.

“You should go,” he said, but the words carried no weight.

“I should,” you agreed, though neither of you moved.

Another long silence stretched between you, the kind that always came before you surrendered to what had long since become inevitable.

His fingers curled around your wrist, firm but deliberate, drawing you just a fraction closer. Your breath shallowed, your pulse quickening as his thumb brushed idly along the inside of your wrist. He was warm, even through his gloves. You knew that touch well.

“You wear yellow,” he murmured again, this time with something close to satisfaction. “Like a wife meant to be untouched.”

You let your lips part slightly, watching him, waiting.

Aemond tilted his head, considering. Then, his grip tightened ever so slightly, guiding your hand to rest against his chest, just over the slow, steady beat of his heart.

“And yet,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost intimate, almost soft, “we both know better.”

You watched him, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat betraying none of the control he so carefully maintained. There was something intoxicating about the way Aemond looked at you—like he already owned you, like you had always been meant to stand before him like this, close enough for him to touch, close enough for him to take.

His eye flickered downward, tracing the shape of your fingers splayed against the black leather of his tunic before he released your wrist, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he pulled away. Without a word, he turned and moved back toward the head of the council table, settling into the chair with a quiet ease, as if he belonged nowhere else.

You lingered a moment longer before following, stepping forward until you reached the table. The cold stone bit into your palms as you leaned back against it, shifting just enough to let your skirts sweep over the edge. You hovered between standing and sitting, the table supporting just enough of your weight to suggest ease without fully surrendering to it. Instead, you turned your head to face him, meeting his gaze from where he sat at the head of the table. Not quite relaxed, but not so formal either. A silent challenge.

Aemond studied you from his seat, his fingers tapping idly against the wood. “You make yourself comfortable.”

You shifted slightly, the fabric of your gown whispering against the stone. “Should I not?”

The ghost of a smirk crossed his lips. “You enjoy testing me.”

You exhaled lightly, not quite a laugh, tilting your head. “Do I?”

Aemond said nothing, only watched you, the sunlight filtering through the high windows casting shifting shadows across his face. You had known him long enough to understand what that silence meant. He was considering you, weighing your presence, deciding what he wanted from you today

And you would give it to him.

His eye flickered down, a slow sweep of your gown, the delicate fabric stretched over your form in soft, yielding folds. The color was warm, too gentle against the harsh stone of the council chamber, against the cold weight of the crownless throne he had claimed.

“You do not wear this color for me,”he murmured, almost idly.

Your fingers curled against the edge of the table, the cool bite of stone grounding you. “No,” you admitted. “But that does not mean I did not come for you.”

Aemond hummed low in his throat, a sound of acknowledgment, of something almost pleased. He leaned forward slightly, resting an arm against the table, his gaze steady. “Say it, then.”

You arched a brow. “Say what, my prince?”

His lips curved, though the amusement did not quite reach his eye. “That you came for me.”

You inhaled slowly, letting the tension stretch between you, letting it coil and settle before you finally spoke.

“I came for you.”

Aemond’s fingers stilled against the wood, his gaze dark and knowing. He did not move at first, only let the weight of your words settle before he pushed his chair back slightly, rising to his feet once more.

His presence was suffocating in the best way, the sheer weight of him as he stood before you, close enough to touch, close enough to remind you of exactly why you were here.

His gloved hand lifted, fingers grazing along the curve of your jaw, featherlight but deliberate.

“And what shall I do with you, now that you have?”

Your breath hitched, the heat of his touch seeping through the delicate barrier of your composure. The chamber, vast and cold, felt smaller with him towering over you, the air between you charged and heavy. Aemond’s fingers trailed from your jaw to the delicate line of your neck, his thumb pressing gently against the pulse fluttering just beneath your skin—a subtle reminder of the power he held over you.

Your eyes did not leave his, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of your surrender, even as your body betrayed you, leaning just a fraction closer to the warmth radiating from him.

“What shall you do with me, my prince?” you murmured, your voice a low hum that barely bridged the distance between you.

Aemond’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I could send you back to your lord husband,” he said, the words a dark promise, “make you walk these halls with the knowledge of where your loyalties truly lie.”

The suggestion sent a thrill down your spine, the dangerous game you played with him only stoking the fire that had long since consumed your common sense. “And if I said my loyalty was to you?”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, a flicker of satisfaction mingled with possessiveness tightening his grip ever so slightly. “Then I would say you have chosen wisely.”

You felt his other hand settle at your waist, pulling you off the table’s edge until you were flush against him, the hard planes of his body pressing into your softer curves. The cold stone was forgotten, replaced by the searing heat of him, of the knowledge that, for now, you were his alone.

“I have chosen you,” you confessed, voice breathless against the sharp lines of his jaw. “Again and again.”

His lips found yours, the kiss consuming, leaving no room for second thoughts or regrets. Aemond’s fingers tightened at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as his mouth moved over yours—demanding, claiming. Each press and pull was a reminder of what you had surrendered to him, of what he had taken from your husband, of the way you had given yourself willingly.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was as measured as ever, but his eye was dark, his gaze heavy-lidded and intent.

“You come to me in secret,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your lower lip, swollen from his kiss. “And yet, I think you wish to be caught.”

You held his gaze, defiance and desire mingling in the depths of your eyes. “Perhaps I do,” you whispered. “Or perhaps I trust you to protect what is yours.”

The words struck a chord in him, a gleam of something dangerous and possessive lighting his gaze. Aemond’s hands slid down, gripping your hips firmly as he lifted you onto the edge of the council table, the hard stone pressing into the backs of your thighs through the thin fabric of your gown.

He stepped between your legs, his presence overwhelming, your skirts tangling around his knees as he closed the space between you. Aemond’s fingers splayed against your back, pulling you forward, leaving no room for hesitation or modesty.

“I will protect what is mine,” he vowed, his voice a rasp against your ear, the words sending a shiver of anticipation racing down your spine. “And you, my lady, are very much mine.”

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the silvery strands as you pulled him into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, the taste of possession mingling with the thrill of secrecy.

He pulled away for a moment, his expression that of a determined man. Yours was tinged with confusion, but the confusion ceased when his face soon disappeared beneath the fabric, and other sensations began to take over.

Your fingers tightened in Aemond's hair as his mouth found the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. A soft gasp escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the empty chamber. His touch was deliberate, calculated, each press of his lips and scrape of his teeth designed to unravel you piece by piece.

The yellow fabric of your gown pooled around your waist, a stark contrast to the dark leather of his gloves as he gripped your hips, holding you steady against the unforgiving edge of the table. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the anticipation building with each passing moment.

"Aemond," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He paused, lifting his gaze to meet yours. In the afternoon light, you could see the intensity burning in his eye, the raw desire etched into every line of his face.

"Patience," Aemond murmured against your skin, his voice low and commanding. "You came to me. Now you'll take what I give you."

His words sent a shiver through you, a mix of anticipation and surrender. You relaxed back onto your elbows, the cold stone of the table a stark contrast to the heat building within you. Aemond's hands slid along your thighs, pushing them further apart as he settled between them.

The first touch of his tongue against you drew a soft gasp from your lips. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering closed as he worked you with deliberate, measured strokes. Each movement was calculated, designed to build your pleasure slowly, inexorably.

Aemond's grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as your body began to tremble.

Your fingers curled against the smooth surface of the table, seeking purchase as Aemond's ministrations intensified. The cool stone beneath you was a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth, the warmth of his hands as they held you steady. Your breath came in short, shaky gasps, each exhale threatening to form his name.

Aemond worked with the same focused determination he applied to all his pursuits. His tongue moved in deliberate patterns, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, precise flicks that sent jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. You could feel the tension building, coiling tighter with each passing moment.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as he pulled away briefly, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire.

Your eyes met Aemond's, his gaze burning with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting shadows across his face, deepening the hollows of his features and lending an almost predatory gleam to his eye.

"Good," he murmured, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I want you to watch as I undo you."

Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his head once more. The first touch of his tongue against you was electric, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your fingers curled against the table's edge, knuckles white with the effort of maintaining your composure.

Aemond's technique was relentless, each stroke of his tongue precise and measured. He knew your body well, knew exactly how to build your pleasure to dizzying heights.

Your breath hitched as Aemond's tongue swirled against your most sensitive spot. The tension within you coiled tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. Your hips strained against his grip, seeking more, always more.

"Aemond," you gasped, your voice a breathless plea. "Please..."

He hummed against you, the vibration sending a shudder through your entire body. His eye remained fixed on yours, dark with desire and something deeper, something possessive.

You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, every nerve alight with sensation. Aemond's movements became more focused, more insistent. His fingers dug into your thighs, sure to leave marks—a reminder of this moment, of your surrender to him.

The pressure built to an almost unbearable level.

Your body trembled on the edge of release, every muscle taut with anticipation. Aemond's gaze remained locked on yours, intense and unyielding, as he drove you closer and closer to the precipice.

With a final, deliberate stroke of his tongue, the tension within you shattered. A cry tore from your throat as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your back arching off the cold stone table. Aemond's grip on your thighs tightened, holding you steady as he worked you through your climax, drawing out every last shudder and gasp.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you lay sprawled across the council table, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through your body. The rustle of fabric and the soft clink of metal drew your attention back to Aemond. He stood between your parted thighs, his fingers working deftly at the fastenings of his breeches. His eye never left yours, dark with desire and something deeper, more possessive.

"Did you think we were finished?" he murmured, his voice low and rough with want.

A shiver ran through you at his words, anticipation coiling in your belly despite your recent release. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he freed himself from the confines of his clothing. The golden light spilling through the windows carved over the planes of his body, accentuating the lean muscle beneath pale skin.

Aemond's hands slid along your thighs, pushing them further apart as he stepped closer. The heat of his body radiated against you, a stark contrast to the cool stone beneath. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulled you to the edge of the table, leaving you exposed and vulnerable before him.

"Tell me you want this," he commanded, his voice low and husky.

You met his gaze, defiance mingling with desire in your eyes. "You know I do."

A ghost of a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "Say it."

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt him press against you, the promise of what was to come sending a shiver down your spine. "I want you, Aemond," you breathed. "Only you."

With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you.

A gasp tore from your throat as Aemond filled you completely, the sudden stretch and fullness overwhelming your senses. Your fingers scrabbled for support against the smooth stone of the table, seeking something to ground you as pleasure and pain mingled in equal measure.

Aemond remained still for a moment, his eye fixed on your face, drinking in every flicker of emotion that passed across your features. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as your body adjusted to his intrusion.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice low and rough.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. In that moment, with his silver hair gleaming and his eye burning with desire, he looked every inch the dragon prince he was.

Slowly, deliberately, Aemond began to move. Each thrust was measured, controlled, driving deep before withdrawing almost completely. The pace he set was torturous, building the tension within you with agonizing precision. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, each exhale threatening to form his name.

"Is this what you came for?" Aemond murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "To be taken on the council table, like the whore you are?"

A whimper escaped your lips, equal parts humiliation and arousal flooding through you at his words. "Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into soft flesh as he increased his pace. The sound of skin against skin echoed in the empty chamber, a rhythmic counterpoint to your gasps and moans.

Aemond's thrusts grew more forceful, driving deeper with each movement. The table beneath you creaked in protest, the sound mingling with your breathless cries. Your fingers curled against the smooth stone, seeking purchase as pleasure built within you once more.

"Look at you," Aemond growled, his eye raking over your flushed skin and parted lips. "Spread out before me like an offering. Tell me, does your husband know how eagerly you come to me?"

His words sent a tremor through you, mortification and desire coiling tight in your belly. "No," you gasped, the word slipping out in a breathless plea.

Aemond's lips curved into a satisfied smirk. "Good. Let him wonder why you return to him with bruises on your hips and my name on your lips."

Aemond’s words sent a heated rush through you, the thrill of his dominance laced with something illicit and intoxicating. His possessiveness only fueled your arousal, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The cold stone of the table bit into your skin, a stark contrast to the heat building within you.

Aemond's pace increased, his movements becoming more forceful, more desperate. His eye remained fixed on your face, drinking in every gasp and moan that fell from your lips. One hand left your hip, sliding up your body to grasp at your breast through the thin fabric of your gown.

"Mine," he growled, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. "Say it."

"Yours," you gasped, arching into his touch. "I'm yours, Aemond."

A low groan rumbled in his chest at your words.

Aemond's thrusts grew more erratic, his composure finally slipping as he chased his release. Your own pleasure built rapidly, coiling tighter with each powerful movement. The table creaked beneath you, the sound barely registering over the pounding of your heart and your breathless cries.

"Look at me," Aemond commanded, his voice rough with exertion.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The single eye that remained to him burned with an almost feverish light, desire and possessiveness warring in its depths. His silver hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his lips were parted as he panted with each thrust.

The tension within you reached its breaking point. With a cry that echoed through the empty chamber, you shattered.

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body arching off the cold stone as your release overtook you. Aemond's grip on your hips tightened, holding you steady as he continued to drive into you, prolonging your ecstasy with each powerful thrust.

His own climax followed soon after, a low groan tearing from his throat as he buried himself deep inside you. You felt the heat of his release, your inner walls clenching around him as the aftershocks of your own pleasure rippled through you.

For a long moment, the only sound in the chamber was your shared labored breathing. Aemond remained buried within you, his body a warm weight pressing you into the unforgiving surface of the table. His eye never left yours, the intensity of his gaze unwavering even in the aftermath of your shared passion.

Finally, he withdrew, the loss of his warmth leaving you aching for more.

Aemond stepped back, his movements precise as he adjusted his clothing. You remained sprawled across the council table, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. The yellow fabric of your gown was crumpled and askew, a stark reminder of what had just transpired.

"Stand up," Aemond commanded, his voice low and even once more.

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms, sliding off the edge of the table. Your legs trembled beneath you as you smoothed down your skirts, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Aemond watched you with a critical eye, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled appearance.

"You'll need to fix your hair before you leave," he remarked, a hint of satisfaction coloring his tone. "We wouldn't want anyone to suspect."

A wry smile tugged at your lips."Of course not," you murmured, your fingers working to tame your tousled hair. "Though I suspect the marks on my hips may be harder to explain away."

Aemond's lips curved into a smirk, satisfaction gleaming in his eye. "Good. Let them serve as a reminder of where your true loyalties lie."

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His touch was gentler now, almost tender, though the possessiveness remained. "You wear yellow like an innocent," he murmured, his thumb brushing along your lower lip. "But we both know the truth of what lies beneath."

You leaned into his touch, your eyes meeting his. "And what truth is that, my prince?"

Aemond's gaze darkened, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "That you belong to me. In all ways that matter.”

A shiver ran through you at his words, desire and something deeper coiling in your belly. "Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I am yours."

Aemond's thumb traced the curve of your jaw, his touch feather-light yet possessive. "Good," he murmured, satisfaction coloring his tone. "Remember that when you return to your husband's bed."

The reminder of your marital obligations sent a pang of guilt through you, quickly overshadowed by the thrill of your illicit liaison. Aemond's hand dropped from your face, and you immediately felt the loss of his warmth.

"Go," he commanded, stepping back. "Before someone comes looking for you.”

You nodded, taking a moment to smooth your skirts and adjust your hair one final time. As you turned to leave, Aemond's voice stopped you.

"One more thing," Aemond said, his voice low and commanding.

You paused at the door, turning back to face him. Aemond stood tall and imposing, his eye gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

"Next time," he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, "wear green."

A small smile played at the corners of your mouth as understanding dawned. Green, the color of House Hightower - his mother's house. A subtle rebellion against your husband's loyalties, and a clear sign of where your allegiances truly lay.

"As you wish, my prince," you murmured, dipping into a curtsy.

As you slipped out of the chamber and into the afternoon halls of the Red Keep, Aemond’s gaze seared into your back. The weight of your shared secret clung to you like a cloak, a whispered promise and a lingering threat, impossible to shake. 

[matchaelette]

gif by @yoongi-bts

when jungkook is a vessel of love, and love is as beautiful as the poets said it was

summary: idol!jk and oc!ash, established relationship, the first time 'I love you' was spoken out aloud. the more earlier stages of their relationship. yearning, tenderness, fluff, it's all sickeningly full of love.

genre: fluff

warnings: none.

word count: 3.4k

notes: life updates. one: i'm back. obviously. two: jung hoseok is back and ksj 1 is coming (!!!) three: I am officially a uni student and majoring in civil engineering. classes start from the first week of december. four: I have decided to officially name this drabble series *drumrolls* the hopeless romantic series. so, without further ado, welcome back, our hopeless romantic couple!

you’re in love with jungkook.

no, you’re not allowed to say that.

fuck what you’re allowed and not allowed.

you’re desperately, helplessly, hopelessly in love with jeon jungkook. your gorgeous, gorgeous boy.

yours.

then why are you not allowed to be in love with him?

because you’ve been dating him for three months. three months.

only three months, since you decided to stop pining after him, decided it was enough, after god knows how long. three months since that decision led you to be extremely nonchalant around him, calm and collected to a point where it almost looked fake (you’re a terrible actor), and the next thing you knew, you were heavily making out with him in the chilly air of a fall night. calm and collected, indeed. three months since you learned that jungkook was pining for you in the same manner, if not more, and three freaking months since both of you decided to date, being head over heels for one other ever since.

it's too soon to say ‘I love you’. even if you know deep down that you were in love with him even before dating him– but there’s no way you’re treading that water. the realization of being in love with him right now is enough to freak you out. no, it’s definitely too soon to declare ‘I love you’.

because you don’t know whether jungkook feels the same way. although it’s not like you need or expect him to feel the same way you do. just because you’re in love with him doesn’t mean he has to be. you can happily wait until he’s ready and feels the same way.

you’re just scared that he doesn’t want to feel that way. that you’ll scare him away.

look at him. does he look like he feels the same as you?

jeon jungkook looks like a slow-motion daydream, standing in front of you. tight-fitting jeans, snug around the well-defined muscles of his thighs, and a black checkered shirt, sleeves rolled up, displaying the protruding veins of his arm. his curly hair covers the vein in his forehead, almost reaching down to his lips which were pouting in distress.

yeah, you don’t care how he feels. you’re in love with him.

but you are a graveyard of all the people you ever loved.

you can’t have jungkook join those ghosts of the past.

“this thing–”, the boy of your dream grumbles out loud in real life, breaking your thought train, “–hates me!”

oh, that.

“three hours now. we’ve been trying to fix it for three hours.”, you shake your head, frustrated. you’ve been out all day today and the last thing you wanted to do when you got back home was your laundry. but the lack of fresh clothes compelled you to do it anyway. and everything would’ve been fine had you not entered your laundry room to discover the whole floor flooded with water. panicked and disoriented, your first instinct was to call jungkook, despite it being past midnight. when your boyfriend heard what had happened, he immediately demanded you step aside and that he was already on his way over to your house.

now, it’s four in the morning and you’re both dripping wet, absolutely drained, standing in a puddle of water and soap. all you could do is to stare dejectedly at the washing machine. it was a losing battle.

“oh my god!”, jungkook cries out in indignation, “a minute ago it was sprinkling water in my face, now it’s sprinkling soapy water!”

“jungkook, move away”, you hurriedly pull your boyfriend away from your washing machine. he rebels under your grip, the patience he displayed half an hour ago was now transformed into rage.

how can someone be so cute when they’re mad?

“let me go, ash”, he points a threatening finger at the washing machine, “you wanted a fight, buddy? I’ll give you!”

“jungkook!”, you laugh and wrap your arms around his waist, “it already won! look at us!”

jungkook stares down at your attached bodies, soaked from top to bottom, while the washing machine looks like it is having a field trip.

“okay, I give up”, he sighs and rests his chin on the top of your head, “unless–”

“no unless.”

“hear me out first”, he smooches your hair, “you smell amazing by the way. anyways, unless– wait, what was I going to say? I was supposed to say something amazing.”

“I’m sure it was amazing, babe”, you chuckle with fondness, “but that thing is a lost cause. I’ll call maintenance in the morning. let’s take a shower and go to sleep, okay?”

“mhm. yeah”, he replies in affirmation but only tightens his arms around you.

“I’m sorry for calling you so late. I should’ve just– I don’t know. I mean, it was just a minor inconvenience. not a big deal. I don’t know why I freaked out–”

“princess, ssh”, jungkook coos, “you have a problem, you call me. doesn’t matter how small or big it is.”

“kook, I literally called you at one in the morning.”

“and I am very glad that I am the first person that crossed your mind. even though I couldn’t help you. I swear to god, this washing machine has a personal grudge against us.”

“thank you anyways”, you mumble against his chest.

“hey, this is what boyfriends are for.”

how is it possible not to love him?

you wake up to the humming of a honey-caramel voice in the distance.

you yawn and grab the crisply folded silk robe from the foot of your bed. the clothes haphazardly tossed on the ground last night were nowhere in sight, and neither was the person who did so. yet you could hear his hums, feel his warmth.

you smile.

the clock on the wall reflects a bright 11:10, and it’s safe to say that you’ve just woken up. after staying up with your rogue washing machine till four in the morning, you can’t really blame yourself. you feel very well-rested though, for the first time in a while.

jeon jungkook’s presence has that kind of power.

you make an effort to stay silent in your own house. your bare feet tiptoe against the icy floors, carrying you to the sweet melody you’re fairly certain is your boyfriend in the kitchen. and undoubtedly it is. jeon jungkook has his back turned towards you– white tee clinging to his physique, his hair damp and disheveled, singing softly to himself while doing the dishes.

you hold your breath and hug him from the back, resting your cheek against his spine.

jungkook, momentarily confused, laughs when he realizes it’s you.

“good morning princess.”

“good morning jungkook”, you inhale him in. he smells like peaches and baby soap. and fresh laundry. “you smell heavenly.”

“I just came out of the shower–”

 “–hey!”, you cut him short when he gently peels you off him, unexpectedly devoid of warmth, but jungkook hugs you back in an instant; your ear against his ribcage, his chin on the top of yours.

“mmm, that’s better”, you mumble, “did you do the laundry? you smell like detergent.”

 you can almost reach out and touch the outlines of his smile. “you couldn’t do it last night so I thought I’d take some work off your shoulders. I folded your clothes as well!”

“aww, you didn’t have to do– wait, the washing machine is fixed?”

“yeah, I called the repairmen in the morning and they said they were coming over. I was pretty surprised at how quickly they arrived.”

“what happened?”

“one of the pipes got leaked somehow. I think I also did some damage when I tried to fix it. but don’t worry, it’s as good as new.”

“not worrying”, you let go of jungkook and let muscle memory guide you to the coffee machine, “why did you wake up so early?”

 “it’s one p.m. in the afternoon. what’re you talking about?”, jungkook laughs.

“it’s one p.m.?!”, you choke on your coffee, “the clock– but it was eleven–”

“it’s out of battery. I got new ones though”, jungkook points at the bags sitting on your counter.

“you went grocery shopping? you spent an entire lifetime while I slept!”, jungkook chuckles at your awe, “tell me from the beginning. what did you do?”

“well, I called the repairmen as soon as I woke up and then I went to take a shower. they were here by the time I was done. I made us breakfast while they fixed your machine, went grocery shopping afterward, came back and did laundry, here I am now”, jungkook kisses your forehead, “all while someone slept like a baby.”

“oh my god. thank you so much.”

I love you.

“you’re welcome, babe”, he smiles, “I gotta leave now. but listen, I got you ice cream, popcorn and those salty chips you seem to love so much. call me if you need anything else.”

“huh? why though?”, you peer in confusion. you’re usually not very big on snacking. and jungkook knows that. unless it’s your–

“your period is supposed to start tomorrow, genius”, he rolls his eyes, “you don’t remember, do you?”

you clearly didn’t.

apparently, he did.

you tiptoe forward to hug jungkook, too stunned to form any coherent word. you hope jungkook doesn’t notice the tears filling your eyes but when he lifts your face to gently kiss your eyelids, you realize that he knew you were gonna cry.

yeah, I definitely love you.

“hello, jungkookie’s girlfriend!”

kim taehyungs’s visibly enthusiastic face beams at you through the screen of your phone. your initial reaction is to wave brightly at him, despite the slight confusion of whether you accidentally called him when you picked up the phone to facetime your boyfriend.

“hi, tae!”, you say heartily, “gosh, it’s been a while since I saw you.”

“and whose fault is that, huh?”, taehyung’s voice is a warm breeze on a spring evening, “jungkookie tells me you’ve been like… hella busy”

“I was. I mean, I am. it feels like I am always busy these days”, you sigh, “but never busy enough for you guys! how are you?”

“good. busy as well, but good.”

“kook told me last night. you guys work way too hard.”

“wait”, taehyung exploded into laughter, “jungkookie was at your place last night?”

“...yeah?”

“our manager was looking for him and jungkookie was going on and on about how he was in his room all night and manager hyung didn’t knock loudly enough!”

“oh my god, he wasn’t supposed to be at mine yesterday?”

“no, I mean, he was done working but he didn’t tell anyone before leaving the dorm!”

“that might be my fault”, guilt fills your eyes, “I was doing laundry last night and my washing machine started leaking water everywhere. I panicked and called kook. I’m sorry”

“hey, it’s okay, no harm was done”, taehyung looks amused, “so you were doing laundry at midnight? no wonder jungkookie is obsessed with you.”

“obsessed with me, huh?”, you smile playfully, concealing the tiny somersault your heart does.

“he literally never stops talking about you”, taehyung grins widely, “bro is whipped”

“hmm, I did call bro’s phone, right? or did I accidentally call you?”

“how do accidentally call taehyung instead of jungkook? one starts with t and one starts with j”, taehyung suddenly looks disgusted, “unless you saved him as something weird, in that case, I don’t wanna know–”

“kim taehyung.”

“or you can just tell me that you missed me, you know”, taehyung flips his phone camera and you spot a dancing jeon jungkook in the middle of a huge practice room, “but since the only person you care about is jungkookie–”

“kim taehyung–”

“–you called him, okay?”, you hear taehyung’s laughter, “I was playing games on his phone. he’s practicing extra today.

“practicing extra?”

“he said you guys made plans to hang out tomorrow.”

“we– we did”, you’re puzzled. jungkook continues to dance furiously, his quick and precise movements almost defying gravity, completely unaware of his surroundings, “wait, we planned to meet tomorrow because both of us had a clear schedule. why is he practicing extra today?”

“hobi hyung was asking him the same thing”, taehyung nods his head in mock disappointment, “we don’t really have a free schedule tomorrow. but he said that if you couldn’t meet tomorrow it’d be a while before you did. right?”

“y-yeah”, you blink.

“soooo, yeah. as I said, bro’s so whipped.”

oh god. be still my wild heart.

“this boy”, you finally exhale after a pause; feeling bad that he’s overworking himself to meet your needs, feeling grateful that it’s worth it to him.

“this boy, indeed. no, actually, we’re kinda proud of how amazingly we raised him.”

“you really, really did. ya’ll should give out parenting lessons.”

taehyung chuckles, “okay, I’ll give the phone to him.”

“tae, don’t”, you smile, quickly stopping him from calling jungkook, “just tell him to call me whenever he’s free, okay? I’ll be up.”

“okay, then. take rest, okay? don’t overwork yourself.”

“look who’s preaching”, you shoot him a stern look, “the kings of overworking themselves. take care, okay?”

taehyung laughs, “yeah. come over to the dorm whenever you’re free. we all miss you.”

“I will. bye!”

“kook– stop it–”, you say in between a few puffs of breath, “you’re– god– tickling me!”

“am I?”, jungkook wiggles his eyebrows, and smothers his face on the exposed skin of your tummy once again, causing you to almost choke with another round of laughter. the sensation of his lips against your tummy has the butterflies inside going frenzy, but a part of you is scared shitless that it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with yourself.

you want to laugh; you want to cry. you wanna twirl into a knot and fly up in the sky. jungkook has no idea of the power he has over you– his body molds into yours, one his hands have shaped, a design he has drawn, kissed it into a sculpture.

you love him, you love this human being staring at you from between your legs with all the love in this whole fucking universe, kind and whole and happy and real, jeon jungkook, you love him so fucking say it.

I love you. I love you so much that I can’t deny it any longer, the promise stays silent on your tongue.

you wanna cry.

at least, you think you do.

“your heartbeat is going crazy”, jungkook calms down once he’s done tickling you out of your wits. he moves between your thighs and presses his ear against your heart space while gently laying his head on your chest.

yeah, do you know that is because I love you and not because you tickled the living lights outta me?

“princess?”, he asks quietly.

say it.

“princess?”, jungkook raises his head and looks at you, mildly concerned “are you okay?”

say something.

instead, you stare at him. you stare at his eyes. if eyes are actually a mirror of people’s souls, jungkook’s eyes perfectly represent his– filled to the brim with tenderness, tranquility, and mirth. a few years ago, you had read somewhere that humans were created from the burned-out embers of stars. you never believed it. the same folks who start wars, spill blood, stealing lying deceiving and doing everything evil, cannot be created from something so divine.

however, jungkook, over and over again, contradicts that belief. you have no doubt he’s born out of stardust. and fiery comets, northern lights, solar eclipses, everything magic.

“why are you crying?!”, jungkook’s anxious voice snaps you out of your reverie. without realizing you find yourself getting pulled up to sit on his lap, straddling his thighs. “is it me? did I do something?”

“itsh nn-not”, you utter weakly but the words come out as a stifled sob. when jungkook doesn’t understand what you’re saying, he completely loses his composure. he lets go of you and attempts to pry himself away, fairly convinced that he must’ve done something stupid. but you dig your fingers in his arms, trying to communicate with your firm grip that he did nothing wrong. it’s you, you’re the stupid one.

it takes him a few more seconds to realize that you’re crying for something else altogether, and only then does he relax. he wraps his arms around you, letting you break down in his little protective bubble.

what is wrong with me? why does every feeling of mine come out as tears?

“it’s okay, it’s okay”, jungkook coos, “breathe. breathe with me.”

“inhale with me”, he holds eye contact and carefully guides your breath, “good. now exhale. in. and out. it’s okay. I love you. you’re okay, princess.”

and

everything

just

freezes

for a moment.

for a moment?

seems like a lifetime.

you never realize how many types of ‘I love you’s there are until they’re spoken out aloud. most ‘I love you’s are expressed as a confession, while there are some which are born out of panic. I love you. do you love me back? these ‘I love you’s are full of anxiety, and a desperate longing for reassurance, for arms that’ll keep them safe. some are born out of anger and frustration. I’m doing this for you, because I love you, why don’t you understand? then there are those which are born out of pure terror because I love you but I’m afraid that all I’ll ever do is hurt you.

jungkook’s ‘I love you’ sounded like it was nurtured, a flower that bloomed inside a long time ago. like a blanket woven from your favorite human on the entire planet and falling asleep with someone inside your heart no matter how alone you feel outside; a promise.

not that any of you were in the right state of mind to realize that.

you and jungkook realize at the same time. the words that have been spoken out to existence.

he stares at you; you stare at him. devastated, mouth hanging, eyes bulging. none of you breathing.

jungkook closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again.

“that was not a mistake”, his voice is deep and low. you hold your breath, afraid to miss a single sound that comes out of his mouth, “I do. I will if you allow me to. not that I can help it– I mean, even if you don’t allow it I can’t help myself. I love you. it’s not like I can just un-love you! wait, why do I need your permission anyway? it’s my feelings we’re talking about! okay, but it does concern you”, jungkook looks mortified, “but still, you don’t have to say it back. it’s great if you do but like, there’s no pressure. just don’t tell me to un-love you because that one is none of your business, oka–”

you kiss him. you kiss the living lights out of him. jungkook doesn’t even register what’s happening, he just accepts everything– the way your lips smashes against his, the way your tongue envelops his, finding you in every corner of his mouth, feeling you in every inch of his skin; a drunkard clinging onto every last drop of alcohol yet never having enough.

jungkook is literally panting when you let go of him.

 “I was crying because I am in love with you. I have been in love with you for a while now and I didn’t know how to say so”, you confess. only a few words are enough to make realization flash in his eyes. after all, he knows you. he knows you well enough to know everything, even the things he doesn’t.

“I must’ve been a saint in my past life to deserve this”, jungkook closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours.

“I think this is your first life. you’re like the sugar in a cookie.”

“what? I thought I was the cookie!”, jungkook furrows his eyebrows, offended, “also, sugar isn’t good for you. what are you talking about?!”

you giggle in response.

“hey! take it back”, he overpowers you in a swift motion. he reels your bodies backward to hover over you, pinning your hands down on the mattress, smirking. “otherwise you’re gonna regret it.”

“regret? nah, I think I will enjoy it”, your smirk wipes off the one on his face.

“oh boy”, he sighs.

“jungkook?”

“yeah?”

“say it again”, you whisper.

“I love you.”

“again.”

“I love you.”

[charlottecutepie]

｡ꪆৎ ˚ Bully (Michael Afton x fem!reader)

while I'm writing fics with William (and making some people’s requests!), i decided to post Michael smut bc there’s lack of content about this boy :)

summary: you're mad at both Simon and Michael for not helping you with project. But guys only mock you, saying stupid jokes about your ex. Wait, was it you or Michael’s voice sounded rather… jealous?

tags: Michael is jealous and kind of possessive, bully!Mike, mention of break up, smut, vaginal sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, kind of rough sex?? (Michael can’t control himself), William Afton mentioned

"Stop smoking." in a loud, angry tone, you tell to a couple of guys beside. One of them turns around and blows smoke right in your face, laughing. "Fuck you, Simon."

"Don't tell me what to do, tuts," Simon frowns and leans against his friend Michael, who was busy reading comics, not paying attention to you. "You've been too nervous and angry lately." guy notices. "Is it because of your ex?"

"Of course, no dick and she's all worked up." Michael adds fuel to the fire without even bothering to turn to you. However, his back stiffened.

"What are you talking about? What does this have to do here? We have a fucking project together and I'm only one doing something, that's why I'm mad at you!"

Simon didn't answer because he just didn't know what to say. You were right. He and Michael didn't do shit, only you worked on the task. Simon just gave you a blank look, raising his eyebrows mockingly. There was a rage boiling inside you that almost made your face turn red.

"Ran after him like a tail." Michael lets out a strangled laugh, finally turning to you, his fingers clutching the comic. "You really loved that boy so much, didn't you?"

Now it's your turn to shut up. Insults and obscenities rise in your throat, threatening to jump out. Michael's face didn't flinch for a second as he continued to pierce you with blue eyes, as if trying to make you uncomfortable, which was puzzling. Michael has always been like this: aggressive, with cruel and stupid jokes, cheeky taunts. But why do his words sound like he's jealous now? Why so much attention to your personal life?

"You two are completely useless, I'll have to ask teacher to pair me with other students." you sigh, putting all your notes, notebooks, sunglasses in your bag, and the next second you leave both guys behind.

Their behavior, especially Simon, who was like Michael's faithful dog, doing everything just to get approval from its owner, infuriated and caused indignation. But more than that, you were hurt their comments about your personal life. Your ex has nothing to do with it.

You go back to school walking through empty corridors since classes have already ended. Of course, you'd have been home a long time ago, too, but thanks to a couple of jerks, you're stuck here until tonight. You angrily punch Michael's school locker, ripping off the poster of his favorite rock band.

"Fuck you, Michael Afton!" you swear, crumpling the poster in your hands and throwing it on the floor.

You had no idea that someone was following you slowly and carefully through the corridors.

Upset and frustrated, you enter lady's bathroom, go to the mirror and look at yourself carefully. Why, you think, he broke up with me? What happened between us?

You straighten your hair, carefully laying it on your shoulders, without interrupting eye contact with your reflection. You need to push these thoughts away, now is not the best time for self-reflection, you need to gather your strength and finish this damn project.

You try to find something in your bag as you take out a lip gloss from your makeup bag. And again feeling of sadness and longing comes through. Now it feels wrong and hurtful whenever you look at that gloss. Your boyfriend always liked it when you applied it. And now it's a painful reminder that will haunt you for a long time. It's just not fair.

Just when you're about to throw that lip gloss in the trash, someone comes into the bathroom. You think it's another girl, so you don't pay attention.

"It was my favorite poster." Michael's voice is slightly angry. An unpleasant surprise is reflected on your face as you turn to him, pressing lip gloss to your chest. This is definitely not what you expected to see in the women's bathroom.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" you hiss at Afton, looking him up and down. "You've been following me?"

"Knowing what a crybaby you are, it was the right decision." Michael shoves his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, leaning against the wall. "What if you went to hang yourself? And then Simon and I would be accused of driving to suicide."

"Stop your idiotic jokes at least now! Can't you see that I feel too bad?" you grit your teeth and frown. Your voice sounds offended. Michael's behavior has always been infuriating, but now it crosses all boundaries.

"My father taught me that if a girl is upset, she needs to be supported. That's how all gentlemen behave." the young man says with a sneer.

"Fuck you and your dad, Mike," you shout. "you're just like him, you selfish jerk!"

"Mmm," Michael nods, grinning. "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

You are silent again, not knowing what to say to this insolence. Does Afton really think that in eyes of other people, he's all cool and cocky? Doesn't he realize how stupid his behavior is? Yes, he is certainly a copy of his dad, Mr. Afton, but with a slight difference. The last one has at least some brains.

"My eyes are up here, honey," Michael grins, noticing your gaze. You blink in surprise, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"I didn't even look there, you idiot." you fold your arms over your chest and turn away, lifting your chin. That's when Michael pushes you against the wall, towering over you.

"Sure." he can't help but smile stupidly. "I must say, you have beautiful eyes, princess. That's what he called you, right?" there was something wrong with Michael's intonation, even this mockery sounded like he wanted to hurt not you, but himself. There was definitely a hint of jealousy in the young man's tone, although you didn't pay attention to it.

With every action and word of Michael, anger grows inside you, which has been accumulating all this time. And then the mixture of all the negative emotions finally reaches the top. You can't get over how much of an asshole Michael is. You'd do anything to shut him up, just to show him his place. But it doesn't take much time, the anger breaks out. Putting the lip gloss back in the bag, you raise your hand and slap Michael hard in the face.

Afton's cheek burns from your blow, it hurts unpleasantly so it takes him a couple of seconds to come to his senses, then he raises his head at you. His hand instantly reaches for the red mark, stroking it to ease the pain. Yes, it was insulting, even a little humiliating, but again he hides it behind an arrogant and satisfied grin.

However, his next words are strangely surprising.

"You know what?" Michael says in a calm voice. "That was hot."

You look at him, not even hiding your disgust at his words. Michael is such an asshole, even much worse than Simon and their two other bully friends. No wonder why Afton is the leader of their stupid bully four.

Just as you're about to slap him again, Afton grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to him. Your eyes widen with shock from his his behavior, you try to break free. Your heart is beating faster from misunderstanding. Being in the hands of a bully, in such an intimate position, when anyone can enter here, makes the situation even more dangerous.

"How stupid of him to lose a beautiful girl like you," Michael whispers, looking at your face, at how your lips are trembling. "I'll repeat, my father taught me to support when girl is sad." the last thing he says before leaning in for a kiss.

For a second, everything in your body, especially brain, stopped working, you froze. Even though Michael is holding you, you don't even try to pull away. Afton's actions become bolder because he sees no resistance, so he tries to get his tongue into your mouth. And that's when you finally realize what's going on and push him away.

"Fuck off, you idiot." you mumble, looking at him point-blank.

"I see that such support isnt enough." Michael bares his teeth and pushes his knee right between your legs what makes your skirt rise a little. At that moment, you blush and try to pull it back, but Michael's hand stops you.

You froze in another shock from another sudden kiss. You expected him to do everything but that. You try to push him away, but it's hard to get out of his grip. Or is it you who's fighting too weakly? At first kiss doesn't seem so pleasant, but then Michael deepens it as his hand moves to your waist, hugging you. The kiss gets more intense when you start responding, your body melts under Afton's touch. You don't even have time to keep up with your thoughts, confused by your own actions.

His lips suddenly feel so warm and pleasant which makes you want more, crave even more of this feeling: to be held like this, to be kissed like this even if it's Michael damn Afton. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder. This isn't what you planned when you went here.

When he pulls away from you, you are in oblivion, heat is burning inside. Michael looks at you hungrily, not understanding why you responded. He lets you go and you stumble away from him, but after a moment your back hits wall. You're trying to figure out what just happened. Did he really just kissed you? And you responded with same? Why did this happen at all? There are more questions than answers.

Your heart is pounding as you stare at him, into his eyes, trying to read the answers in them. He caught you off guard, but you didn't push him off right away, you even started responding. The bitter truth is that you liked it more than you wanted to admit. The way he kisses, kind of rude but so hot… It caused an exciting pleasant feeling. But you don't understand how you can be attracted to this bully, in fact, a tormentor, a brute. All thoughts are fucked up and your legs feel like cotton wool.

Michael is elated to see the confusion on your face.

"Little miss hard-to-get," he says, running a finger over his lips. "always trying to be unapproachable." you're staring at him, heart is still pounding from the kiss. You can't find words. Michael feels your vulnerability and it only gives him confidence. "Don't pretend you didn't like it," he says with a sly grin. "I know it by the way you melt in my arms.

So he's also a romantic. However, he sucks at making tremulous speeches.

Feeling of annoyance reappears.

You try to deny it, but deep inside you know that Michael's words are true. You hate what's happening, what you've gotten yourself into. You blame yourself for enjoying it. A feeling of incomprehensible and inexplicable resentment grows inside: why couldn't HE make you feel like this? Why does it have to be Michael? It's unfair.

It's wrong to be aroused by Michael, to feel a pleasant tingling in the lower belly. Wrong, you keep telling yourself. You need to slap that cocky face one more time and get out of here. Forget about everything that just happened.

Why the hell does it have to be Michael? You have to act like this with your boyfriend, it's almost cheating. But a second later, a bitter realization comes to your clouded mind. Right… You don't have a boyfriend anymore.

Michael sees the contradiction on your face and decides to try his luck, as if reading your mind.

"Maybe I'm the one you should be with," he leans closer. "I mean look at me," he says, pointing at himself. "I'm handsome, confident and I know how to treat a girl." he chuckles softly.

No way! You shake your head trying to come to your senses. You know what he's doing, trying to manipulate emotions by hitting on your weak spot: ex. But for some reason, you don't deny his words. It's strange, the feeling of impermanence, misunderstanding is infuriating. And Michael is like some kind of drug right now that you can't resist. Your palms sweating.

You're trying to regain your composure, push him away. But you don't don't strength, especially moral one, to do that. So you just look into his blue eyes, trying to understand the strange feeling inside.

"Have you been jealous all this time?" you ask, without realizing the question yourself, now you are acting only on emotions.

That's when the picture finally starts to show up… Michael's words, actions. All those stares, all those sneers. It was Michael's jealousy, which he could only show in this way.

"Jealous?" he repeats, his eyes widen slightly at your question. Michael was even surprised that you understood so quickly. "You have a rich imagination."

But you know better now. You didn't notice it at all before, spending all your time with your boyfriend. But others, especially Michael's friends, noticed the way he looked at you. Now it's getting clearer, now you see it. He was motivated and is still by something more than just hatred and the desire to mock you forever.

"Don't lie, you're really jealous." it seems that your words hurt him more than you thought. He looks away, staring at the floor.

"Maybe," Michael admits quietly. "maybe i am."

You feel a strange sense of victory, realizing that you've figured out reason of his stupid behavior. But at the same time, you feel guilty. You shouldn't like how the situation is developing and where it's all leading.

When you look into Michael's eyes, the tension only increases. It's as if all the pent-up emotions have been spilling out for so long, turning into an inexplicable lump that confuses both of you.

Suddenly his hands pull your hips closer to him, and you feel his erection through his pants. You both sigh from the close contact. Michael leans in kissing you again, his fingers sliding under your t-shirt, tracing the outline of your breasts. You moan softly into his mouth. Afton pulls away and begins to cover your chin line with hot, wet kisses, then your neck. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, surrendering to the sensations. You don't want to think so you drive common sense and thoughts away.

Michael slips his fingers behind your bra, unbuttoning it. After that, he gently rolls your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it a little. You exhale, clutching at his hair. This is madness, it's impossible to stand it anymore. Michael's lips leave a trail of passionate kisses along your collarbone, his fingers teasingly descend to your stomach. He stops for a moment to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You know," he begins, his voice already hoarse with arousal. "I can get any girl I want."

You bite your lip, trying not to show how much you enjoy it. You realize that Michael is just trying to play on your nerves.

"Yeah?" you ask, trying to hide a groan. "Then what makes me so special?"

Michael grins darkly, his fingers tracing your sensitive nipple.

"I don't know," he replies, and gets a menacing look from you that says he's about to get a smack on head. "Maybe it's because you're so damn sexy when you play hard to get."

His compliments and flirting, if you can call it so, are pretty stupid and dumb, but then why do they cause pleasant goosebumps that cover the whole body? You want this. You need him. You can feel desire intensifying with every second, body craves his touch. You turn to face the wall, pressing your butt against his hard-on, letting him know exactly what you want, even though Michael understood everything a long time ago. And he wants the same thing.

"That's it," he breathes, giving you a kiss on the neck. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

"Yes," you're squirming. "I want you to fuck me." you meet his gaze, giving him puppy eyes.

Without wasting a second, he lowers his hand down, his fingers push your soaked panties aside, exposing your already dripping pussy to the cool air.

"God, you're so fucking wet…"

Michael's fingers slide between your folds, exploring your wet cunt. Your knees are buckling, and you have to lean against the wall to keep your balance. Michael smiles slyly, his fingers sweetly toying with your clit. You're whimpering, snuggling up against him, pushing up your skirt. He sighs noisily, thrusting two fingers into you at once, sliding them deeper and deeper inside, stretching you as your body shudders with pleasure.

"Lovely, such a good girl." he mutters, still moving his fingers. "cum for me, cum on my fingers." he whispers.

You grab onto the wall as a pleasant shiver runs through your whole body. Michael continues to stimulate your clit, making you arch. And you reach the peak, your body shivers.

"I've wanted you for so long." his hand turns your face to him, Michael looks deep into your eyes. "Your ex," he says in a low and angry voice. "he's a loser, a real idiot, because he couldn't satisfy you. That's why you're here, with me, in my arms."

Your desire is mixed with guilt, realizing what Michael is hinting at. You think you've somehow betrayed your ex by falling into the hands of someone else. But it's not like that. And Michael will prove it to you.

"You're mine now. That bastard missed his chance." Michael says, pressing his lips to yours.

As soon as Michael's words reach you, he straightens up and pulls your body closer, spreading your legs. He rubs his hard cock against your wet entrance and you shudder again in anticipation, responding to his caresses.

Michael pushes inside you, trying to stifle the desire to fuck you hard and rough, to make you cry, to make you forget that you ever dated anyone before him. Jealousy devours him and a disgusting picture forms in his brain… of you hugging and kissing HIM. But not Michael.

He stops, he pulls almost out only to slam back inside again, this time much deeper. Your walls tighten around his cock, waves of pleasure overwhelm both of you. Michael exhales loudly, squeezes your hips and picks up speed, furiously driving into you.

He can't control himself.

You scream into your own fist, all thoughts of the wrongness of the situation disappear, Michael hits all the right places, causing you to moan sweetly. Each hard thrust echoes with vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin, which only excites you both more. Michael holds you tightly, fucking you as you move your hips in response to his thrusts. The orgasm grows again, a tight knot of pleasure twists in your lower abdomen.

"Michael, I'm… I'm gonna!…" you whimper.

Michael growls in response, already breaking into a wheeze. Sweat rolls off his forehead and he frowns as he continues to ruin your sweet pussy. He likes to hear you lose touch with the world around, knowing full well that he's reason of it. Pushing into you harder and faster, he lowers his hand between your legs, finding your clit with his thumb, ripping off another moan from you.

You cry, arching your back, his finger starts tracing your sensitive nub. The additional stimulation pushes you to the limit, your pussy walls clenches hard around his dick. Orgasm hits you like a wave, forcing you to swallow air.

But even when you're shaking from overstimulation, Michael doesn't stop. He continues to thrust, desperately driving deeper, already reaching your cervix, determined to show you what good sex is. Aggression, jealousy and resentment flare up inside him, regardless of the fact that you're completely his now, he cannot contain his emotions. He grabs you by the neck, squeezing just a little. Michael buries his nose in your hair, hiding his face in it and breathing heavily.

Michael fucks you so hard, so furiously, so fast that there's lack of air in your chest.

"His cock wasn't good as mine?" he pulls back slightly, leaving a kiss on your shoulder. It's like he purposely leaves bite marks and kisses to make sure that you really belong only to him.

You can't think, your eyes roll back in pleasure. You can only mumble plaintively to yourself.

"Yes! Your cock is so good, so good!. . ." you admit between ragged breaths. Michael smiles dreamily, feeling a sense of triumph, such recognition fills him with pride.

"That's right, baby," he bites your earlobe. "all you need is me."

The pleasure becomes all-consuming, hitting right into brain. Michael growls raggedly, feeling that hes also close. Another orgasm snaps in you, a discharge passes through your body. Mike also reaches his climax. His body is shaking. He pulls out of you at the last moment, cumming on the wall, moaning through clenched lips.

Both of you are just standing there, panting and trying to come to your senses. But you feel weak, still not understanding a single bit of what happened. You almost fall, but Michael holds you tight, both bodies sweaty and hot. Michael closes his eyes, breathing down your neck. Unlike you, he is aware and understands well what happened because he planned it all. Anger leaves him, but not jealousy. Michael is a very jealous person, especially when it comes to you.

The muscles begin to relax, a pleasant fatigue covers your body. Suddenly you feel his teeth digging into your neck, leaving a small painful bite. Michael runs his tongue over the small wound, at the same time his hands begin to squeeze your breasts, as if he is afraid to let you go.

"You're disgusting." you're mumbling.

"I take after my father." Michael answers you, not hiding the joy in his voice.

Though Michael will throw away the lip gloss anyway.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

"We need cash." Two, Soda, Steve, Dallas, Pony, 'n Johnny crowd the living room in a loose circle like mourners at a funeral. Between them, the shattered, stacked, 'n swept together corpse of what had once been their TV.

"We? Ain't my fault it's broken." Dallas kicks at a shard of glass 'n Pony narrows his eyes at him. "Blame it on the kid 'n call it a night."

"Hey!" Pony stomps a foot before he can catch himself, crosses his arms. "It wasn't me!"

Steve scoffs, rolls his eyes. Pony's face darkens murderously. "Was too."

"No, it was not! You were the one who fuckin' threw me!" Soda 'n Two's eyes ping pong back 'n fourth between the two of them.

"Did not! 'N if I did it was only 'cause you started the fight."

"Bullshit!" Pony's voice hits a shrill high note 'n Steve smirks at him, self-satisfied. "I only started it 'cause you were fuckin' callin' me names you asshole."

"Well, I wouldn't have been callin' you names if you hadn't been actin' like a brat." Pony lets out an indignant wail 'n Soda has to fly across the group to snag him by the waist so he doesn't start right back up again.

"Ok, ok. Enough you two." Pony writhes around like a fish on a hook for another moment before Soda jabs him in the ribs 'n he howls but stops fightin'. "This isn't solvin' our problems."

"I don't see how this is an us problem." Dallas tries again, hooks an arm around Johnny's shoulder 'n pulls him close. "I just got here, Johnny wasn't involved, 'n neither was Two. Soda bites the bullet for not stoppin' 'em 'n Darry can string the idiots up as he so pleases. What's the problem?"

Steve 'n Pony both turn on him, united for the first time that afternoon, fingers pointed 'n accusin'. "'Cause Two was bettin' on us-"

"Hey! Look, all's fair 'n love 'n war or whatever they say. Nobody asked ya to start rumblin' in the livin' room of all places."

"Yeah, 'n Darry'll love to hear that." Steve grabs his hip, wags a finger in a pretty damn passin' imitation of Darry. "Two-Bit Mathews you're how old now? Glory God almighty when are you gonna get any sense- OW!" Steve hollers at the comic Two's rolled up 'n thumped him over the head with.

"Ok, Ok fine. But I wasn't fuckin' bettin' against myself!" Two glares pointedly at Soda who rocks back 'n forth on his heels, suddenly findin' the floor real interestin'.

"Soda!" Steve stops nursin' his head to glare at Soda with wide eyes.

"Hey! Look! I'm sorry!" He blinks, tries his best tip-earnin' grin. "It was all on you, Stevie."

"SODA!" Pony whips on him quick as quick, quiverin' with as much indignance 'n outrage a fourteen-year-old can manage. Soda swallows back a snort, grabs Pony's face in his hands. "I'm sorry-"

"Well. Tough shit for y'all. But I don't see what this has to do with me or Johnny 'n I'm of the mind to beat it before Darry gets home 'n raises hell."

"Uh, Dal." Johnny clears his throat 'n tries to ignore the pointed stares of the rest of the gang hot on his face, runs a hand up the back of his neck, blows out a long breath. "IhadfiftycentsonPonyboy."

"Johnny!" Dallas drops him but doesn't sound half as annoyed as he does impressed.

"Well at least someone was in my corner-" Pony shoots Soda an aggravated glance 'n Soda throws his hands up placatingly.

"Yeah, speakin' of which." Two whips his hand out, palm up, 'n makes a grabbin' motion. Both Soda 'n Johnny huff but reach in their pockets 'n pull out quarters, dumpin' into Two's waitin' hands. He hoots his laughter 'n shoves the dollars' worth of change into his pants.

"Wait, who were you bettin' on Two?" Steve crosses his arms at the same time Pony plunks his hands on his hips, both glarin' accusingly.

"Me? I wasn't playin' for neither of ya! I bet y'all were gonna break somethin'!" Two cracks himself up, howlin'. It doesn't last for long 'n Pony 'n Steve turn succinctly on him, draggin' him down to the floor 'n landin' jabs wherever they can reach.

"Good lord. Well, y'all have fun with that one. I'm peelin' outta here."

"Oh no you don't." Soda catches one hand deftly in the collar of Dallas' jacket as he turns to leave, hefts him back. "You even think about wormin' outta this I'll tell Darry about that time you smoked all that pot 'n threw up 'n I had to carry a bowl a soup down to Buck's for your scrawny ass."

"Yeah, or that time you got picked up for shopliftin' 'n when the cops called I picked up the phone 'n never told Dar." Steve pauses in his onslaught of Two-Bit to throw his hat in the ring. The moment he's not focused Two wriggles out, flips him easily onto his back.

"Or that one time with Tim-"

"OK. Goddamn! No wonder Darry's goin' grey. Y'all are enough to send a man to an early grave." Dallas scowls 'n throw his hands up, shakin' Soda off. "So what now?"

"Now we need cash." Two says plaintively 'n they all stare down at the wreckage again.

"Ok. Thanks, genius." Steve rolls his eyes, clambers back to his feet, offers Pony his hand 'n hauls him up. "What are we lookin' at here? Like what? Twenty bucks?"

"Twenty bucks? Steve, what world do you live on where a TV is twenty goddamn bucks?" Dallas toes at the the box 'n it sparks. "Jesus Christ, none of you unplugged it? Hurry up 'n yank the plug out before we gotta by Dar a new house too."

Both Soda 'n Johnny dive for the cord 'n Johnny pulls up at the last second so they don't crack their heads together.

"So what, like fifty?" Pony 'n Soda exchange a glance, avert their eyes.

"Uh, try more like eighty, man." Soda plops down on his ass, looks desolately at the hunk of plastic 'n glass again.

"EIGHTY? Guys. We're dead. More than dead. Dar's gonna kill us, bury us, 'n then dig us back up again." Steve chews at his thumbnail, paces quick back 'n forth.

"Naw, Steve. Be realistic." Two grins, stuffs his hands into his pockets. "He'd never go through all that work for us. I think just killin' us the first time around'll do it."

Pony groans, presses both his palms into his eyes 'n collapses back into the armchair. "Not funny, Two."

"Aw, not even a lil-" He's cut off by the throw pillow Steve beams at his head, hittin' him square in the face.

"Man focus. We got cash, right?" Dallas refocuses the room, looks at them each in turn. The silence is answer enough, the celin', floor, 'n walls becomin' real fascinatin'. "Man, y'all've got to be jokin'. Steve, don't you have some money from the DX or your da put away?"

"Uh, well, no. Not really. Kinda, uh, lost it. All." He twiddles the bottom of his vest between his fingers, refuses to look up.

"Whatta ya mean lost it?"

"Look you lose one goddamn drag 'n suddenly everyone's crawlin' up your ass! How was I supposed to know that? 'N hey, what about you, Two? I don't hear you offerin' anythin' up."

"Ha! What money? I didn't have anythin' to start with don't look at me. Ask Soda, he's employed."

Soda throws his hands up guiltily. "Don't look over here. I got six bucks to my good name."

"Yeah, good 'n broke-" Soda pulls a face 'n kicks Dallas hard in the shin before he can duck outta the way.

"Where'd your paycheck go, Soda?" Johnny prods at him with his foot 'n Soda playfully catches it, yanks at him.

"Hey, I keep the lights on in this place!"

"And the rest of it?" Johnny pulls back 'n, when he realizes Soda ain't lettin' up, reaches down to jab at the ticklish spot on Soda's ribs.

"What? A man can't be afforded a lil' fun?" Soda yowls 'n drops his foot, wrigglin' backwards to get away. "How was I supposed to know a guitar was twenty-five bucks?"

"Soda!" Pony's jaw drops open. "You can't even play!"

"Hey! Yet! Gimme some credit! Plus I don't wanna hear anythin' from mister no job over there." Soda crosses his arms dramatically but he's grinnin' the whole way 'n all of them know he doesn't mean it.

"That ain't fair! Darry won't let me get a job. 'Course I don't got no goddamn money. Look at Dal. He's got a job!"

"First of all, I didn't even break the fuckin' TV. Second of all, how much money I got is none of your damn business." Dallas scowls, turns his nose up. Steve groans, drops down to the couch with his head in his hands.

"God so we're all broke."

"Hey-!"

"Shut up, Dal." Two cuts him off 'n Dallas' shifts his glare, damn near murderous. "Johnny Cakes?" He tries, weakly hopeful.

"Uh, I got three bucks." Soda quirks an eyebrow up 'n Johnny plops his hands on his hips.

"Where did you-"

"Ya gonna ask questions or are ya gonna take it?" Soda studies him for a moment, arms crossed still 'n doin' a cartoonish impression of a fussin' hen.

"Boys, we got a real hood among us here today." He hoots 'n Johnny kicks him in the hip, both of them still howlin'. "So that brings us up to, what?"

"Uh, nine bucks. Ten if someone can wrestle that change outta Two's pocket." Pony leans forward, elbows on his knees, 'n sizes Two up like he stood even a single chance.

"Man. I want lillies at my funeral. Can I put that out there? Should we do last rites now or-"

"Aw, hush up, Steve. Look, we just gotta scrape together a little money before Dar gets back. We can get, uh, what was it?" Soda frowns, counts absently on his fingers.

"Seventy more bucks." Pony dead pans 'n Soda's self-assured smile wavers a bit.

"C'mon, that's nothin'! We just gotta put our heads together." Soda climbs to his feet, rubs his hands together in thought. "How do we get our hands on some quick cash?"

Dallas 'n Two open their mouths 'n Soda throws out an accusin' finger to each of them. "'N nobody's doin' nothin' illegal 'cause if Dar has to pick one of us from the station before he comes home to no TV he's gonna start inventin' cruel 'n unusual punishments, y'hear?"

Dallas rolls his eyes 'n mutters 'n Two nods absently in agreement but they both don't offer any other ideas. "Anythin' else?"

"Uh, pawn shop?" Pony offers.

"Yeah, great idea, Pone. Anyone have any expensive jewelry they've been keepin' back?" Steve drawls, dryly, apparently resigned to his fate.

"Well, it ain't mine but I got, uh, a Singer we could sell." Dallas leans back in the doorway, waits for the onslaught of questions. They don't disappoint.

"A Singer? Dal, you've been watchin' me hafta hand hem 'n you had a Singer?" Soda howls, goes to kick him in the shin again but Dallas is prepared this time 'n dodges it.

"Where the hell did you get a Singer-?"

"Why-?"

"Look! It was Sylvie's, right? When I kicked her out she didn't get the chance to take it or nothin'. It ain't mine." He throws his hands up defensively, eyes Soda still standin' close enough to wallop him if he decided to. Soda glares back like he's still makin' up his mind about goin' for round two.

"Aw, man. We can't pawn off Sylvie's stuff." Johnny backs outta the way as Soda decides to give it another go 'n jabs at Dallas. "She mighta been a lil' mean but she don't deserve to have her shit sold off."

"The bitch- Soda get offa me- two-timed me? Remember?" Dallas knocks Soda's hands deftly away 'n Soda sneaks in on more solid kick before retreatin'.

"Oh, yeah." Johnny rocks back 'n forth on his heels, still clearly uncomfortable with the whole idea.

"Maybe Soda 'n Steve could pick up some extra shifts for a bit?" Pony tries again, clearly not as willin' as Steve to lie down 'n take his medicine.

"Yeah, another winner, Pone. 'N when Darry comes home to no TV tonight?" Steve scowls at him 'n Pony glares back, the two still dangerously close to another all-out scrap.

"Well, at least I'm comin' up with somethin'."

"Doesn't help if it's all stupid-"

"Alright you two, knock it off. We can't afford to have to buy anythin' else y'all broke 'cause y'all can't keep your traps shut." Two cuts in 'n they both round on him, glarin'.

"Look who's talkin'!" Steve mutters 'n Two grins 'n flips him off.

The laughter 'n bickerin' trail off, lapsin' into silence again. Each lookin' guiltily at the disaster, eyein' each other. "Well, uh, is anyone not above beggin'?" No one says anythin' 'n Two clicks his teeth, nods. "Yeah, didn't think so."

"Hey, guys." Six heads turn to look at Pony, suddenly ashen 'n lookin' past them up at the clock in the kitchen. "Is this a bad time to tell y'all Dar told me to tell y'all he'd be home early this afternoon?"

"Pony." Steve flies to his feet, grabs Pony by his shoulders. "How early?"

Somehow, Pony manages to pale even further. "Uh. In like. An hour?"

As if it had heard, the TV hisses, flashes, lets out one final death rattle 'n falls silent so it's just the seven of them, eyein' each other like men at the gallows.

"Dallas?" Johnny gives himself a shake, grabs his jacket from the back of the sofa.

"Yeah, man?"

"Let's get your girlfriend's stuff."