#make sure I do enough. and go home knowing that I’ll still make enough money to at least afford my rent. even if I can’t give it 110%

[strohller27]

.

[allsteddie]

Model!Steve AU, where Steve is a super famous model who has hundreds of people trying to win his affections and, yet, he never dates anyone.

Steve’s just so tired of all this; the empty flattery, the senseless idealization of him. Because these people don’t really wanna be with him, they just want to get into Steve Harrington’s pants so they can brag about it later. They want his name and his fame, not him.

Then he meets Eddie, a struggling musician trying to make ends meet by helping his uncle out at work. Wayne’s been Steve’s gardener for years, one of the few people in Steve’s life that actually treats him like a human being and not an object to be explored.

They meet after Wayne hurts his back in a stupid accident at home and can’t do most of his work for a while. And to Steve’s surprise, they just click.

Eddie is funny, smart and doesn’t give a shit about Steve’s fame. He’s always rambling about the absurdity of the world Steve lives in; people trying to use others to get money and recognition, the unrealistic beauty standards the industry sets and how this affects young girls and boys in the worst ways. Eddie has a lot of opinions about a lot of things and Steve loves hearing about them. It’s such a change from all the fake smiles and compliments he gets all the time. Steve’s smitten.

After three weeks covering for his uncle, Wayne gets better and Eddie has no more reason to tag along. On his last day, Steve asks him out but Eddie rejects him.

“Sorry, man, it’s been fun knowing you and all, but I’m not gonna be your dirty little secret,” Eddie says with an apologetic smile before leaving.

And this confuses Steve to no end because he never intended for Eddie to be his dirty little secret? Steve wants to date him, know him better, maybe build a relationship with him. What did he do that made Eddie believe he was just looking for a fuck buddy?

“You’re one of the most famous models in this country and my nephew can barely pay his bills with the money he gets from his gigs and his bartender job,” Wayne tells him when Steve expresses his confusion. “Do you really think he would believe you’re interested in him?”

“Then I’ll make him believe me.”

That’s how Steve finds himself going almost every week to the bar Eddie works and plays with his band.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Eddie asks the first time he sees Steve in the Hideout.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah, right.”

Week after week, Steve shows up at the bar and stays until he can catch at least a few minutes of conversation with Eddie. Sometimes he stays to watch the show, but sometimes he has to leave early because of work. Eddie entertains him, but Steve can see he’s still not buying Steve’s intentions.

One night, Steve shows up and doesn’t see Eddie anywhere. He waits for a while but Eddie never shows up. When Steve asks the bartender, they inform him that Eddie called in sick that night.

That’s all the excuse Steve needs to drive all the way to the Munsons’ house, making a quick stop to buy every single medicine he can think of, and knock on their door. It’s Wayne who opens the door and he doesn’t even ask what Steve is doing there; he just steps back and lets Steve in.

“He’s in his room. Second door to the right,” Wayne tells him.

Eddie has the flu, Steve finds out. He’s got a fever, and his body is achy and his nose is so stuffy he can’t breathe properly. Eddie is so out of it because of the fever he barely registers Steve’s presence when he comes in.

Steve spends the whole night there, making sure Eddie’s temperature doesn’t rise too much and that he has enough blankets and drinks enough water to stay hydrated. When morning comes, Eddie feels much better and almost has a heart attack when he sees Steve passed out on the armchair beside his bed.

After he wakes up, Steve asks Eddie out again and this time Eddie finally says yes. They have to postpone their first date, though, because Steve falls sick with the flu the very next day. But it’s okay, Eddie takes good care of him.

[nikkento-writes]

Babysitter - Part 1

Pairing: dad!Toji x babysitter!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: age gap (reader is 21, Toji is in his 30s), language, cheating, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), breeding kink, daddy kink

Summary: You're hired to babysit little Megumi for the summer, but you end up taking care of his father, Toji, as well.

Author’s Notes: This is repost from my old blog! I initially got this as a request and it became my first Toji fic ever, and certainly not my last lol. I'm posting this again because I actually wrote a Part 2, check it out! Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

You stand in front of a quaint house, checking your watch for the time. It’s been almost ten minutes now since you knocked, no answer. You gave the number from the listing a call, still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you take a seat on the steps leading to the door, waiting.

It’s the summer before you head back to university for your senior year. In an attempt to make some extra cash, you took a job as a babysitter through local ads in the paper. The first two clients were completely normal; this one is already leaving a bad taste in your mouth. 

Fifteen minutes have passed. You try once more, pounding on the door with your fist as loud as you can. Heel turned, ready to leave, it suddenly swings open, revealing a muscular man with black hair, glaring at you. “What the fuck do you want?” 

You step back, startled by his intimidating presence. Stuttering, you answer, “I’m the babysitter.”

He continues to stare at you, eyes following your body up and down, studying it. “Babysitter?”

Before you can explain any further, you hear a car rolling into the driveway. A woman in professional attire steps out quickly. “I’m so sorry I’m late!” She rushes towards you, holding her hand out to shake yours. “We spoke on the phone. I got stuck in traffic, I’m so sorry.”

You smile at her. “It’s okay.”

She faces the man, expression switching from cheery to dreary in an instant. “Toji, where is Megumi?”

He scratches his head. “Huh?”

“Megumi. Our child.”

He sighs. “Right. Uh, I’ll go get him.” 

While he’s gone, the woman pulls you aside, speaking in a hushed voice. “That’s Toji, my husband and Megumi’s father. Unfortunately, he’s a complete deadbeat. That’s why I want to hire you. I started my new job and I need someone to take care of Megumi while I’m gone during the day.”

She swallows hard, blinking to fight off oncoming tears. “I have no one. I’ve been shunned by my family, my husband doesn’t give a shit about ours, and I’m all alone trying to give Megumi a good life. I know this is a lot to ask, but I’m desperate. This is just until I can save enough money to hire a full-time nanny.”

She grips onto your wrist with both her hands, begging for help. Truthfully, it’s a lot to unravel, more drama than you anticipated. But the anguish in her eyes tugs at your heartstrings. Plus, knowing it’s temporary doesn’t make it seem so difficult. How bad can it be? “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Relief washes over her. “Oh thank god. Thank you. Thank you. Let’s go inside and I can give you a tour.” She leads you through the entrance, removing her shoes as you follow her. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Sure.”

“Toji is home most of the day, but he’s always couped up in his room, doing god knows what. Just leave a meal or two outside his door twice a day. That should be enough.”

“Huh?!” 

She glances at you with a nervous smile on her face. “Yeah. I told you, he’s good for nothing.”

You don’t respond while you maneuver through the house, barely paying attention while she shows you around. It almost sounds like you’ll be babysitting two children…

~~~

The first two weeks of your new job go by smoothly. Megumi is an adorable baby; he’s almost two-years-old with hair as black as his father’s. While he never really smiles, he doesn’t cry either, expression usually stern, unless he needs a diaper change. He’s self-sufficient, always immersed by his own toys until it’s time to eat. Overall, he’s easy. 

Toji, on the other hand, is another story. 

You follow his wife’s instructions, leaving two meals outside his door, breakfast and lunch. And this asshole has the audacity to critique it! The bread wasn’t toasted enough. The eggs were too runny. There wasn’t enough seasoning on the meat. All this criticism while each plate is licked clean, not a crumb to spot. He’s never even uttered a simple thank you. 

But what he lacks in social skills or personality, he makes up for in his physique. In between meals, he works out in the living room lifting weights, doing push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups at the frame of the door. It lasts for over an hour, and by the end of it, he’s shirtless, dripping with sweat. You’ve done everything in your power to avoid staring but it doesn’t prevent your mind from conjuring all types of lewd thoughts about him. You’re ashamed to admit that he is physically attractive, only because everything else about him is utter trash. Still, it doesn’t hurt to look, right?

On the third week, there’s a shift in energy between you two. When he isn’t working out or going out to meet with his sketchy friends, he’s usually couped up in his bedroom, ignoring you and Megumi. This morning, he actually joins you in the kitchen. You stare blankly at him, stunned by his sudden appearance. Megumi is unfazed by his father as he tries to pull your wrist towards him to get a spoonful of mushed up peas. 

When he catches you, Toji glares. “What?”

“Um, nothing. Just surprised to see you here.” You clear your throat, focusing back on the baby. 

He rolls his eyes. “This is my house. I can do whatever I want.”

“Yes, of course. Sir.”

For some reason, this triggers him. He stands up abruptly, stepping to you, leaning his face towards yours. The scar on the corner of his lip twitches when he gives you a wicked grin. “That’s right. I’m in charge here.”

You flinch from him, scared, maybe even slightly aroused. He’s intense, that’s for sure. But part of you finds it exhilarating to be in his presence. 

Megumi whines for more food, to which Toji grabs the utensil from your hands to start feeding him. “Damn kid, he’s hungry all the fucking time.”

You sit up in your seat, regaining your composure. “You shouldn’t curse in front of children.”

He faces you, chuckling. “Curse? Seriously? What are you, five?”

You cross your arms, answering, “I’m twenty-one.”

“Interesting.” There’s that naughty smirk again, as if he’s thinking something obscene in that twisted head of his. And while you should be turned off, you’re not. You squeeze your legs together, pussy throbbing between your thighs. And of course, he notices this. He must, because he leans forward, lips grazing your ear, whispering, “Come by my room whenever Megumi is taking his nap. That’s an order.”

~~~

This is bad. Very, very bad. 

You're supposed to be better than this. Clearly, you aren’t, because you’re currently getting railed by your employer’s husband while his child sleeps peacefully in the next room.

“Fuck, this pussy is tight,” he groans, pumping his thick cock in and out of you. You’re bent over the edge of the bed, his hips smacking against your ass as he thrusts into you. He’s got a tight grip on your hips, nails digging into your flesh, pounding away at your greedy pussy, absolutely drenched with arousal and lube. Your face is sticky with perspiration, pillow soaked with sweat and drool. It’s a fucking mess, but it doesn’t matter, because all you can think about is Toji fucking you until you’re seeing stars. Until your head is empty and nothing but his fat cock is occupying your thoughts.

“God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard, princess. You gonna come again?”

You nod erratically, reaching your fingers to your clit. He smacks it away, doing it himself, his thumb flicking against your swollen bud. “Fucking come on my cock then. Make it nice and creamy for me, got it?”

His cock is buried deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you unravel, gushing around him once more. You’ve lost count on how many orgasms you’ve had in this short amount of time. 

After your climax, he doesn’t pull out, fucking you even rougher. Your body is pliant around him, yielding to his every touch like putty. You’ve lost control of yourself, completely enraptured in the intense pleasure he surrounds you with. 

He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips brushed to your ear. “I’m gonna knock you up. Give Megumi a little brother or sister. Would you like that?” He’s crazy. Completely unhinged. Absolutely fucking psycho. 

“Fuck yes, I want that,” you moan. “Give it to me, daddy. Breed me.” 

And apparently, so are you. 

“Oh fuck yeah, take my fucking cum then,” he growls. The bed creaks violently below you, his backshots brutal and frantic now, cock desperate for release. “I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant. Make you mine.”

He shoots his hot load inside you, stuffing you full of his cum. He doesn’t stop until he’s fucked it deeper into your pussy, watching with that sexy look on his face as his creamy cum leaks out of your slit.

Lifting you up to lay comfortably on the bed, he rolls beside you, kissing you sloppily until Megumi’s whimpers blare through the baby monitor, indicating that he’s awake. Toji laughs, smacking your ass as you crawl over him to return to your real job. 

~~~

You spend the remainder of your summer employed at the Fushiguro household until you have to go back to school. You and Toji continue to fuck each other silly every day that you’re working. 

The day before you leave for college, you say your goodbyes to the family. Megumi’s mom, who remains blissfully unaware of your sins, hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much for all your help. I’ve finally saved enough money to afford a full-time nanny, so we’ll be fine.” 

“It was my pleasure. I had a lot of fun. With Megumi,” you clarify, avoiding Toji’s gaze as he watches from the kitchen. 

“Seriously. You’re a good person. I hope you know that.” She smiles, truly grateful. “And thank you for taking care of my good for nothing husband too.”

As the guilt of this dirty, filthy secret eats away at you, Toji stares at you from across the room, smirking. 

[yanderenightmare]

Can you write more for naoya zenin? Your writting is soo good omg, i was thinking about ex husband naoya

Naoya Zenin

♡ TW: toxic relationship, toxic family, arranged marriage, obsessiveness, possessiveness, denied divorce, abuse, kidnapping

♡ FEM reader

Ex-husband Naoya, who refuses to sign the papers as there’s no such thing as divorce in the Zenin clan—who says it’s shameful and that you should know better than to think you can just walk away from him just like that.

Ex-husband Naoya, who is very clear about it—how if you leave, it will be with nothing to your name—nothing but the clothes on your back, and barely even that—because everything you have is owned by him—and the only reason he’s ever been willing to share it is because you’ve paid for it in his bed.

Ex-husband Naoya, who can’t believe it when you leave him anyway—who’s certain he’s coming home to a dutiful wife, all silly ideas put to rest, sweetly apologetic for ever having raised the thought—but instead comes home to a quiet, cold, and empty house—divorce papers the only trace you’ve left behind.

Ex-husband Naoya, who immediately has the Zenin clan shun your clan and makes sure all other clans do the same, completely cutting you off—telling your clan leaders that until they deliver on their side of their alliance and have you return to your rightful place, their clan is to be held in contempt.

Your family begs you to go back to him, to stop this rebellion you’re so childishly insisting on. Your father even commands you, but you’re done taking orders from men—and their brainwashed wives. You don’t owe them anything—they’re the ones who sold you off to that misogynistic madman in the first place. Serves them right to suffer the way you have.

And so, you go off on your own. 

But with his resources, ex-husband Naoya’s always able to find you—and make your life hell. Any job you manage to get fires you only a few weeks later for reasons unknown—encouraged by a silent donation—and realtors will suddenly tell you that the apartment you’ve been interested in is off the market.

Ex-husband Naoya, who comes to collect you from the woman’s shelter you’ve taken refuge at, fed-up and beyond ready to put an end to whatever it is you think you’re up to.

“I don’t have any more time for this nonsense of yours,” he says— patronizing tone making him look ugly and nothing like the great man he thinks he is. “You’re out of money, and you’re out of places to run. Come with me now, and I will still allow you a gracious return.” 

Ex-husband Naoya, who really must be the most entitled man in the world.

“Make me waste any more time, and I’ll—”

“Fuck your gracious return,” you cut him off, continuing with a sneer, “Only way I’m going anywhere with you is kicking and screaming. Now get the fuck out before I call security and have you arrested.”

Ex-husband Naoya, who looks at you as if you’ve gone mad, then proceeds to feel driven insane himself—laughing at your threat like it was all a really funny joke.

“I’ve been lenient enough with you, humoring this little rebellion of yours, allowing you to come home on your own,” he says, his voice whispy with breath, just shy of unhinged—then dead and cold come his next words, “But I see now… I’ve been too indulgent.” 

Ex-husband Naoya, who meant it when he said he was done playing games.

Ex-husband Naoya, who doesn’t have an issue with your kicking and screaming.

♡ NAOYA ZENIN masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[morcez]

pervy bf headcannons (potential characters at the end).

Content: Yandere, suggestive, smut... I'm just a pervert...

not proofread

perv!bf, who tucks a zyn in his gums without you knowing, before every kiss. Allowing the nicotine to rush into your mouth, giving you a sudden euphoric feeling. You think it’s a feeling of love giving you so much serotonin, in reality, it’s an artificial nicotine patch. When he’s mad at you, he deprives you of all kisses, making you go through withdrawal. You start getting nauseous and anxious, and you assume it's because he's mad at you that makes you feel sick. He looks at your disheveled state in awe. “Aww, baby, you’re sorry?” He coo’s “I’ll kiss it all better if you promise not to do it again.” Ooouu he knows you aren't leaving him anytime soon. 

perv!bf, who leaves dark hickeys all over your chest so you can’t wear clothes that expose cleavage. He often leaves the hickey in the pattern of his initials, making sure everyone knows your his. He looks up at you with innocent puppy eyes when you grab him by his hair away from your chest. You're scolding him with your eyes. “Sorry, pretty. I got carried away.” 

Perv!bf who cum’s in your skincare without you knowing. He loves knowing that whenever another man dares to complement your face, there's a piece of him there. You’re so pretty, oblivious that the nastiest part of your boyfriend is all over your face. On the bright side… your skin is glowing… great vitamin C. 

Perv!bf who sucks on candies before wrapping them back in the wrapper perfectly, as if they haven't been touched. He has the nastiest grin on his face when he see’s you suckle on the candy coated in his saliva.

Perv!bf who cums hard whenever you call him a freak. “You’re such a fucking freak... Of course I ended up with a weirdo for a boyfriend” you yell at him in frustration. Suddenly, he’s getting shaky, and his breath is heavier with light whimpers. You look down to see a dark stain forming on his pants. “Mmm- Baby- keep going, please. I’m- mmm- listening.” 

Perv!bf who takes disgusting photos on your phone. You could be scrolling through your photos innocently, god forbid showing someone, and boom! His cock is front and center! If he’s feeling freaky enough, he’ll set the picture as your home screen.  

Perv!bf who takes pictures under your skirt in public. He keeps the shutter sound on so you and everyone else around knows. 

Perv!bf who steals your underwear, sulking when you demand them back. Stealing them straight from the hamper, he prefers them when they are dirty. He even wears them under his clothes sometimes. Don’t worry, he’ll give you more than enough money to replace the ones he stole. 

Perv!bf who isn’t allowed to be in charge of meals for you anymore. He’d only cook things like hotdogs and sausages. Shoving a banana in your mouth with a menacing grin painted on his face. “You need more potassium, baby.” He makes you guzzle down milk fast, chuckling when the white liquid drips from the corner of your lips. “Good girl, drink up. Make sure those bones are big and strong for me.”

Perv!bf who prints out and tapes a photo of you to a pillow whenever you’re away. He cuddles it, kisses it, and talks to it every night as if its really you. He humps it while listening to your voice on call. “Y-yes baby I’m listening- fuck- Just keep talking to me, princess.” 

Perv!Bf who knows you’ll never leave him because you're just as much of a pervert. He notices the way your thighs clench whenever he does something disgusting. He knows that you noticed the off, yet familiar scent in your skincare products, and you still continue to use it. He knows you leave certain panties on the very top of the hamper. He knows you stopped wearing shorts under your skirts right after you heard the shutter of his phone camera. You match his freak <3

Potential characters: Ryusei Shidou (blue lock) , Choso Kamo (JJK), Armin Arlert (Attack on Titan)

AN: I'm thinking about how i would only post teeth rotting fluff... god what happened to me

dividers: petalpxl

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Imagine the Sheriff is helping out at a huge charity silent auction and Peter jokingly submits “A Day With Rich Bachelor, Derek Hale” as an item to bid on (making a joke that maybe Derek will get out and meet someone). The Sheriff offers to pull it from the listing but Derek shrugs it off, it’s for charity after all.

At the auction, Derek runs into Stiles who looks a little defeated and broken-hearted.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks, a spark in his eye that looks like he’s ready to pick a fight.

“It’s nothing,” Stiles says. “There’s this limited edition Star Wars Lego set that I’ve wanted for years, I’ve been saving up for it but it always sells before I can save enough to buy it. There’s one here but I got out-bid almost immediately.” He shakes his head but before he can change the subject Kate Argent sweeps in, flashing a wicked grin as she tells Derek that she is going to win the Day with Derek.

Derek’s gut sinks. He swallows hard against the rising terror.

“Piss off, Kate,” Stiles says bluntly.

She doesn’t budge, instead, starts taunting Derek with a list of twisted ideas she has. “And I’ll have you all to myself all day long.”

Stiles stands up, shoving Kate back a step and putting himself between her and Derek. “I said piss off.”

Kate chuckles at him before looking past him at Derek. “I’ll see you soon,” she taunts before walking away.

Stiles watches her go, making sure she’s far enough away before turning back to Derek. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, on the verge of a meltdown.

“I won’t let that happen,” Stiles reassure him. “My dad won’t let that happen.”

“The auction is nearly over,” Derek mutters. “It doesn’t matter.”

Stiles sighs. “Want a drink? I’ll get some water and come find you,” he offers. Derek nods and Stiles leaves, weaving his way through to the crowd to the table that has the bid. He reads Kate’s bid and - without hesitation - puts down a bid that is only a dollar more than hers (but it’s everything he has).

The auction ends and the next day, Derek is waiting for his day of torture to begin. When Stiles shows up at the loft, Derek is confused.

“What are you doing here?”

“I won the bid,” Stiles tells him proudly, before teasingly adding, “You have to spend the whole day with me.”

Derek hides his smile.

“I have a whole day planned,” Stiles says excitedly. “Come on.”

First, Stiles takes Derek into town to a bookstore. They spend ages just waking around and Stiles asks Derek to tell him about some of the books, asks Derek about his favourites and what he’d recommend. Stiles finds a few books he’s interested in and takes note of them so that he can buy them when he has money again.

Derek buys a few books and offers to buy lunch. Stiles lets him pick.

After that, they head back to the loft to watch movies (on Stiles’s laptop since Derek doesn’t have a tv) and order pizza for dinner.

“Why?” Derek asks him as the day wraps up.

“You like books,” Stiles says as if it answers everything. “And I know you’d much rather spend a day at home than out at a theme park or something.”

“You did all of this for me,” Derek says, still confused. “Why?”

Stiles shrugs. “Because you deserve it.”

Derek smiles bashfully, but bolts upright a moment later. He rushes off to grab something and comes back with a gift bag and a paper bag from the bookstore.

“These are for you,” Derek says, setting them down in front of Stiles.

In the paper bag are the books Stiles took an interest in (the ones he’d taken note of to buy when he had money), and when he opens the gift bag, he freezes. He stares at it in disbelief.

The limited edition Lego set.

“How?” Stiles asks, tearing his eyes away from the box to look at Derek.

Derek shrugs. “I won the bid.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve it,” Derek says.

[occamstfs]

Community Service

Barreling into town with a trunk full of documents he's supposed to destroy, Dawson's blackmailed into cleaning up the mess he makes. Though with every breath of fresh air this rural homestead starts to feel more like home.

Figured it's been a while since I had some gay cowboys, so here's a longer, romantic cowboy TF! Quite like this to hairy, muscular and musky men and hope you do too! -Occam

It didn’t matter why Dawson was traveling so quickly through the Texas countryside. It was of no business to the people he sped past what substances he may or may not have been under the influence of. Indeed, had he just stayed in his lane nothing none would have been the wiser his this midnight drive through nowheresville. Unfortunately for the man who sees consequence as beneath him, there was a sharp turn in the road he simply missed. Most people would’ve seen the sign, but who can blame him, it’s not like he usually drives himself anyway.

Unfortunately, the man’s speeding car plows straight through a pristine fence and leaves the earth sundered beneath the company car as he soars a few dozen yards into a field. Air bags deploy and before he even realizes what happens he’s out and concussed. 

Really, Dawson’s lucky to have just lost his car and consciousness. Come morning the suit awakes to find himself surrounded by locals of this shithole paging through some confidential papers that have escaped his wrecked car. He plasters on a smile in the chance that this isn’t a dream and snatches any documents he can reach telling himself this is all fine. Who hasn’t had a wild night. His bosses will understand, these yokels probably can’t even read!

When one of their ilk stands firm in the face of the smarmy businessman, he hedges his bets assuming he’s collected or destroyed anything actually important and prepares to beat a hasty retreat and make a few phone calls. His bosses will be too sympathetic about his accident to even care about the surely destroyed paperwork anyway.

Unfortunately for him, the young man who continues standing in his way pulls out a cellphone and turns it to the joyrider so he may see that it is too late to flee. Dawson sees evidence, an image of himself sitting next to more than a few open containers, some decidedly suspicious substance powdered in the passenger seat, and a half smoked cigarette that is clearly not tobacco. 

Even still this could be easily wiped away. Even the detailed video evidence of the destruction left in the wake of his company car. Money in the right hands would make it as if Dawson never stumbled through. But then the mystery cowboy flips over to scans of the illicit deals and corporate espionage that Dawson was explicitly told to hide from prying eyes and summarily destroy. Looking around at the crew of men around him, Dawson feels the world begin to close in on himself. He proceeds to throw up.

Coming to once more, the corporate shill finds himself in a bed he knows not to be his own, far too cramped. He blearily looks around the shabby suite. There he finds the ringleader of what must be his captors once more, nosily paging through some of his company’s dirty dealings. The mystery man looks up with disinterest as Dawson groans at his misfortune, “Uggghh- Kay, sure. Just let me know how much you want and I’ll be on my way.”

The man adjusts his hat and sets the documents down, “Sure do a lotta shady business dontcha Mr. Davis?” Dawson rolls his eyes, not too pleased at how much this nobody seems to know about himself and his company. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he ignores the man’s comment and continues to try and buy his way out of here, “Yeah yeah sure, business is business. A number. Go crazy, no one even has to know- check cash card, I’ll give you money enough to this shith-”

Before Dawson has a chance to understand the hole he has continued to talk himself into, he’s interrupted as his captor slams his hand against the side of his chair. The massive man stands and stares down at Dawson with an intensity he only thought one of his superiors could produce, it’s enough to stun the glib asshole into silence. Then the cowboy speaks, “I’m Wayne. Since yew didn't have the wherewithal t’ ask yerself. Course, I already know yer Dawson Davis and yew have cash to make all my dreams come true.”

After rolling his eyes a few times waiting out the man’s slow drawl, Dawson prepares some surely asinine retort but is silenced by a single raised finger from Wayne as he continues. “Don’t want that. I want yew put in yer place. Damage yew did, coulda killed someone Dawson. I ain’t gonna let you pay yer way outta this mess.”

Wayne stands and turns to head out of the room, revealing Dawson’s work laptop sitting at a desk opposite him. Mind glimmering with the escape he’ll make as soon as this dullard leaves the room, his fingers almost twitching with the anticipation of ordering a car to his location. He imagines the open air, the weight of this rural hellhole not even a memory. But , he can’t.

He can’t go back without ensuring Wayne deletes those docs. His ego more bruised than his face from the accident, Wayne’s reminded that he’s truly trapped. “We’re gonna have yew repair the damages done and then some. Unless of course, you want those images leaked.”

His heart sinks as he imagines being blackballed for something so stupid- no, by having his life ruined by someone so provincial. His expression twitches into a frown. Judging by the silence, Wayne knows his words have sunk in and he departs, “Yew just send whatever messages to let yer bosses know yer still kickin’ and all. I’ll have a plate set fer yew at dinner. Havin’ pulled pork so hope yew don’t mind gettin’ a little messy.”

The local has to hold back laughter as he turns to wink at the destitute man. He did genuinely want to help Dawson be a better man, it’s not his fault that forcing a rich asshole to get his hands dirty. Left to his thoughts and devices Dawson struggles to find any path forward that doesn’t lead to him listening to these simple-minded yokels. 

Soon enough, with a heavy sigh, he gives in. His slightly shaky hands type out an email that he’ll be out of work sick for a few days. That’s all it will all be. Just a few days in hell. A minor setback and he’ll be back in the city, his vehicular-fuckup not even a blip on the horizon.

Smelling what must be dinner wafting through the air, Dawson shuts his laptop before he can see his reflection in the dark screen. The email was some of the best work he’s done in some time, alluding that while he’s away he’ll still be hard at work. Getting the job done.

Following his nose downstairs through this mystery house, he’s surprised at how roomy it is. Passing some old framed photos of Wayne, he wonders why there’s no ring on that finger. Gaydar going off he then starts to see a new angle presenting itself, perhaps if money won’t do the trick, he’ll simply need to pull out some of that old Davis charm.

Plan hatched to get out on ‘good behavior’ rather than bribery, the man still clad in the suit he wrecked his car in offers to help with dinner. Wayne waves him off as he finishes up stirring something in a slow cooker, though suggests Dawson go and set the table. The corpo pats himself on the back for avoiding a snide remark at doing the menial task and sets to it, grabbing plates and silverware and leaving them haphazardly at a small table just before Wayne makes his way over with a sandwich-laden tray.

  He hadn’t 100% known what the sandwich was when Wayne mentioned it, but seeing this strangely red pork sloppily spill out onto his plate he can’t help but grimace. Already eating his own messy sandwich and knowing he too may as well try and bridge the gap between them, Wayne starts to chat in between bites, “So Mr. Bigshot what is ‘bout my neck of the woods that gets yew all riled up? Ain’t that bad is it?”

Off the grid for the first time in years, looking at what is to his eyes a knock-off sloppy joe, knowing it is Wayne’s way or the highway, Dawson relents. With a sigh, he levels with the brutish man blackmailing him, “Sure- Wayne, is it? Does looking at me not suffice? It’s simply a matter of phenotype, of class.”

Across the table Wayne grabs for a second sandwich and waits for him to go on, “Ah- Let me restate. I am, quite literally, not made for this world. This is probably the longest I’ve gone in years without being on my phone, and it’s only been about five minutes. But again look at me! I mean really, I’m not sure I can even do what you’ve asked of me or why you demand I do so. Your arms may as well be the size of my waist and mine likely have as much strength as your index finger.” 

 Dawson crosses his thin arms and looks away, uncomfortable at how overtly he praised the man even if it was simply stating the obvious. Doing so he misses the blush that prickles behind the cowboy’s bearded face as he clears his throat, “‘S fair,’s fair. Still I do think yew could learn to like it out here. Think all yew city folk could stand to be more at one with nature y’know? Spend some time with a community less obsessed with status and getting ahead. Do somethin’ that ain’t movin’ number ‘round on spreadsheets.”

The pair let Wayne’s words sit for a few moments, Dawson goes for his first bite and is less than pleased with the presumably pork detritus that falls abc to the plate as he does so. Sauce staining his face he pleadingly looks to Wayne for a napkin. The man laughs and wonders why he’s suddenly so charmed by a man that was so negligent as to drive not only recklessly but blackout drunk. He pushes that down as he helps the man anyway, “Was yer job to grab those y’know,” he offers with a wink before returning with his dirty plate to the kitchen proper.

“Want a beer boss?” Dawson would prefer stronger spirits but figures any hair of the dog he can get would help his still panging head. He doesn’t realize the mistake he’s soon to make as he lifts the cold bottle to his lips, as soon as the hoppy swill touches his tongue he realizes just how unprepared he was for a drink that cost less than he’d pay for water.

Foamy beer shoots out his nose as he tries to get the stuff away from his taste buds with expediency. Wayne almost does so himself as he laughs at the man’s hysterics. When he sees the man sputtering though he can’t help but feel a strange pang of an emotion that he again refuses to interrogate as he makes his way over with a towel once more. 

Soaked in spit-up beer, Dawson stumbles to his feet and apologizes for the mess. Now standing he sees the world in front of him begin to go topsy-turvy, almost falling before Wayne rushes to grab him. “Woah! Okay there partner, guess yer still recovering from the accident. Here, lemmme- Hup!” Wayne hoists the still dripping man up onto his back, for a moment he’s surprised. He carried him with ease earlier, and still does of course, but he does seem slightly heavier. 

This falls by the wayside anyway as the man’s sticky breath on the back of his neck begins to produce another problem. Feeling Dawson’s dainty hands gripping his pecs for dear life, hearing the quiet groans of a man he despised moments ago. The man’s pathetic, absolutely a dick, but Dawson can scarcely ignore the strange sensations rising within him more with each heavy step.

When he feels his cock begin to stir he hastens and less than carefully dumps Dawson on his guest bed before racing back out of the room. “Well yew sleep well now y’hear?” Dawson shoots a lazy thumbs up and Wayne pats the door frame a few times, possessed with a desire to stay and stare at the man, “tomorrow we’ll uhh work on sodding the land yew scuffed up so, uhh- get some rest.”

Wayne beats a hasty retreat to his own bedroom, readjusting his pants as he does so. He tries to force himself to remember his disdain, how spiteful Dawson was at their first encounter. Something weird is going on. Though when he too quickly drifts to sleep his subconscious is more than happy to follow his strange, unbecoming desires for the obnoxious man.

In fact both men dream of the other. It’s no wonder Dawson does so, after acknowledging the man’s physique and putting forth effort to find any upside towards his blackmail induced community service that his dreamself finds itself fixating on the hairy hands and burly arms of his blackmailer. To not acknowledge the man as hot would be a lie. In the waking world Dawson’s sticky hands paw at his crotch, struggling under his waistband to play with the throbbing cock. There they struggle against a burgeoning bush of pubes. He grumbles aimlessly, some part of him wondering when the last time he shaved, but it’s of no matter. 

Down the hall, Wayne’s dreams are decidedly stranger. It’s like the last twenty four hours are being rewritten. He finds Dawson in the field, asleep at the wheel. He hears him offer to pay for the damages just as he did, but then he offers a helping hand. The man who’d scarcely lift a finger to do any labor besides pushing paper offers to take part in cleaning up the mess he wrought. Dream Wayne starts to inspect the car wondering if the man was even being black mailed anymore, but then he sees the man’s hands and steps back in shock.

Gone are the thin pale fingers, the porcelain hand that has never lifted an object heavier than a stapler. At the end of Dawson’s arms are hands with palms rough enough to not need a glove, hairy wrists that he knows the suit would Nair away in an instant. Realizing this is a dream Wayne begins to turn away to hopefully awaken, just before doing so however, he sneaks a peak of the man’s face. Wayne blinks and in less than a moment the man’s visage changes absolutely. His jawline sharpens and bulges before it’s hidden by a thick, musky beard. 

Wayne tries to close his eyes to not see the man transforming through nothing but the power of his own imagination. This only makes the cracking of bones and stretching sounds of muscle growing all the more vivid. The sound of his posh voice deepening with every grunt drives Wayne wild as he humps his bed from the dream of ecstatic transformation. Separated by a few doors both men lose control at the same time. And then the rooster crows. 

Awakening face down and feeling his crotch damp, Wayne pushes down everything and prepares for the day ahead. No need to think about the strange nightmare, wet dream, whatever- if he doesn’t give himself time to think at all. Grabbing some old, sure to be too large, clothes for Dawson to wear, he tosses them into the guest room without looking and runs to prepare the equipment for their work today.

With his hand down his pants, Dawson is grateful that his host seems disinterested in checking up on him. He hears the man shout, “get rinsed up and ready for some hard work D- Coffee’s goin’ in the pot.” Dawson does just that, not wondering how he knows his way to the bathroom upstairs. 

Left to his own devices for just this moment however, Dawson takes a look in the mirror and his eyes blur. He knows what he looks like, knows what he should look like. And yet, the man now reflected back at him is not that. Though, with each moment lost to the confusion that begins to change. His life up to this point begins to unravel and stitch back together.

Memories of eating barely enough to sustain a human body are washed away and replaced by the life of a man who takes care of himself, for vanity if nothing else. He feels his shoulders strain from holding arms far heavier than the twigs he should have had, before they too widen and burst larger with new strength. Ribs that have always been exposed through his pale skin are suddenly obscured by muscle he never imagined he’d grow or care enough to maintain.

Were he still wearing a shirt, its buttons would surely pop off as his thin chest is suddenly decorated with two delectable pecs that must have taken countless hours in the gym to produce. At the same time, across his form his pale skin begins to glow with a tan. The life spent more under phosphorescents and LEDs than the sun begins to feel unfamiliar as his upper body burns a healthy bronze. As his changes begin to wane, his hair shifting darker and messier as a treasure trail begins to make its way up his waist. 

He recalls his conversation last night with Wayne, over a beer he thinks? He remembers eyeing the man’s form with jealousy? No something else. Dawson flexes in the mirror and tries to imagine himself being more like Wayne, being more of a man. His chest quivers as his face burns red from the effort of flexing and before he can even take a shower he’s summoned by Wayne from outside, “Eyup! Ready to get to ‘er D!?” 

Briefly smelling his pits to see how much he actually needs a shower he almost laughs as he can barely make out any b.o. underneath the hefty deodorant and cologne he had put on previously. Throwing on Wayne’s hand me downs, Dawson finally departs and takes in the homestead with sober eyes for the first time. Sighing wistfully he can’t help but appreciate the sunrise through the thick tree cover. Then he smells the outdoors and grimaces, he much prefers city stink to whatever that odor is. 

Hopping in Wayne’s pickup, already loaded with sod and some tools, Dawson realizes he has no idea what became of his company car. Pit opening in his stomach he promptly discards his growing appreciation of the country to inquire about the car, “Good morning Wayne~ You wouldn’t happen to know if my truck was still in working condition, or uh, what you guys did with it?”

Wayne eyes him wryly as he starts driving the few blocks towards his crash site, “Yer truck?” It takes a few moments of Dawson looking him up and down before he realizes why that’s even strange, when he does he stammers embarrassed. Obviously he meant car, obviously. He can’t even imagine himself behind the wheel of something so large, so obnoxious. 

Distracted, he pouts to himself and quietly opts to watch the driver rather than the countryside. He looks at the man’s hairy arms with envy, tracing his veiny biceps and wondering how long he’d need to spend in the company gym to get as shredded as him. Biting his lip, his wandering mind can’t help but flicker back to his dream last night as his gaze trails down to the man’s crotch for the first time.

His mouth almost begins watering as he sees the package barely obscured by the rough and tumble man’s stained jeans. He can’t help but let his mind wander out of his control. Soon enough one of his hands begins to reach to the driver’s meaty thighs. 

“Woah there!?” Before it can even get close the hand is snatched by Wayne whose mouth squirms into an uncomfortable grimace. Dawson looks to the man’s face, leaving him unaware as even this contact is enough to force Wayne’s cock to twitch.

He clears his throat to cover his embarrassment and the sound of his pants straining before quickly hard braking the truck. “Well, here we are, lemme uhh, go get set up then. Yew ever gardened before there Dawson?” The clerk lets his silence speak for him as he too hops out of the raised truck. When his feet hit the hard packed earth he flexes his toes and realizes how the pair of Wayne’s work shoes he was swimming in suddenly seem to fit better. Much better.

Sneaking up behind his driver, Dawson watches as Wayne stretches to prepare for some heavy lifting. He almost feels possessed as he stares at the man’s bulging form being stretched to its extremes. Hungrily staring at every bulging muscle on the man, Dawson feels himself start to get riled up in more ways than one.

Every inch of his own body begins to burn, itch and grow. Seeing Wayne bend down, Dawson feels his ass and thighs twitch larger as with every movement of the country boy leaves his outfit fitting better on Dawson. Torn between mimicking the man and pawing at his cock pumping larger, Dawson figures after being caught staring once at the country boy today he might as well try to not let his cock completely control him. 

Doing his best to shadow tha man, Dawson grunts and groans from the effort expended by stretching his new form. His arms lengthen, giving biceps new room to grow as they fill the suddenly tight tee Wayne lent him. Now struggling to cross his arms in front of him as pecs continue to bulk and bulge larger, Dawson smirks and closes his eyes as he imagines his meaty arms starting to rival those of Wayne. 

Seeing the man pull his calves and extend his thighs Dawson struggles to not take the opportunity to stare at the bulge made all the more obvious. Instead he simply continues stretching as if he’s done it every day of his own life. Biting his lip, Dawson feels his borrowed jeans begin to fill with thighs thicker than he can even imagine. Feeling the prickle of hairs rubbing against the rough garment as from cock to toes he begins to feel the itch of new dense growth.

In no time at all, and before they’ve even truly begun to work, Dawson’s clothes are completely soaked through with sweat. His thicker neck glistens under the morning sun as disparate dark patches on his hairy thighs begin to show on the denim. The man once wholly concerned with the rat race grunts from the exertion of growing muscle he would’ve sworn his thin frame couldn’t support. Overheating, he grunts as he tries to remove Wayne’s shirt, now stuck to him from the intense sweat.

Doing so, Dawson doesn’t notice as his voice sounds deeper and rougher than the smooth corporate tone he usually maintains. The same cannot be said for Wayne, who falls to the floor from shock as he hears the man’s deepening voice. Flashing back to the moment just before he woke up, he scrambles away as he sees what has become of the businessman that should be standing before him. 

Dawson tilts his head in surprise as Wayne looks at him with what can only be described as fear. “What’s up Wayne? Gotta cramp or something?” He smirks, still unaware of his changing timbre or the simplification of his performatively haughty syntax, “Or are you just jealous of how big I’m getting hah!” Now escaped from his shirt, Dawson makes his way over to help the man up. Gulping as Dawson approaches him, Wayne tries to reconcile and understand what’s happening. His mind racing as he holds two realities in his head at once.

His eyes flicker across Dawson’s clearly changed form, seeing his toes poking at the front of his own tennis shoes that should be sizes too large and a wide Adam's apple bugling out of his neck. He sees thick pecs being held back by overall suspenders that he would’ve sworn hung halfway down the man’s waist minutes ago. When Dawson reaches down to help him up, there is no recourse but to take it. And then he feels the rough hand he knows he dreamt about.

Hoisted up, face to face with a man that absolutely should be shorter than himself, he feels his mind wiped. Something has changed, this is not the man who barrelled into his life with a trunk full of corporate fraud and secrets. Lost in a haze he shakes it off to focus on what they’re here for, pushing down on his rising erection to get to work. And work they do. 

Though it takes much of the day, together the pair make light work of the mess Dawson made. With each bit of grass laid, the motions and rigors of manual labor feel more and more familiar to Dawson’s hands. Soon enough the idea that he’d be sending emails and disparaging underlings right about now begins to feel anathema to the still growing man. 

In between every labored breath and peaceful exhalation, the pair steal looks of each other. Looks of hunger, of need, of familiarity. It’s strange how malleable they seem in each other’s mind. Dawson clearly remembers he didn’t want to do this, he knows Wayne had to convince him somehow. But for the life of him he can’t remember why he’d need to be harangued to clean up his own mess. At the same time Wayne struggles to remember his muscular helper as anything but, starting to see him more as a new transplant to the community than anything untoward.

This instinct is not helped as in nearing up their hard work for the day, Dawson wipes his sweaty brow with the discarded shirt and whines, “Yo- did you bring any of those beers out here Wayne?” Nodding, he goes to his cabin and grabs one from an ice chest. Tossing it over he watches as Dawson takes a contented swig before sighing in ecstasy, “oooh yeah~ No better way to follow up a job well done eh?” Stubble prickles on the man’s once clean shaven face as droplets sneak past his wanting lips. 

Wayne’s eye twitches as he can clearly recall Dawson doing such a poor job stomaching the stuff that he almost passed out from coughing it up. Staring at the man happily drinking the stuff as his tanned skin glistens in the sun, his desires begin to cloud his memory once more. Lust decidedly distracting him from the way the world should be. He’s not about to act on it however, instead getting in his car and calling for Dawson to do the same. “Finish that up, before hoppin’ in now-”

Tossing the can into the bed, Dawson rolls his eyes, “Ah come now, talkin’ about me like I’m irresponsible.” Wayne’s brow furrows as he turns the key and starts driving before his passenger’s even buckled up. Locked in the cabin with him, the driver is relentlessly distracted by the smell of his sweat. His mouth waters as he imagines the man’s sweaty pits and musky pubes. He doesn’t know how he makes it home without his cock bursting through his pants.

Just about doing so, he leaves the key in the ignition and sprints into his home. Dawson cries after Wayne, shocked at the bizarre haste of his flight. Barely making it into the bathroom before the friction of his needy cock rubbing against his jeans causes him to lose control, he ruts against the tight pants and falls to the floor as his mind is filled with innumerable images of Dawson as he is now. Each one adamantly suggesting that the idea of him being any different is ludicrous.

Still at the truck Dawson’s mind begins to change likewise. Walking over he takes the keys to the truck, to the house before turning to the equipment left in the bed. And then he begins to unload. Scratching his chest, a few curls begin to prickle out of his sweaty skin as he single handedly begins to load tools and machinery back into a workshop he has never been in before. 

The few new curls in his pits expand with haste, dripping with sweat as the bush extends halfway down his biceps. His treasure trail expands to encompass the whole of his stomach as every trip back and forth from truck to shed leaves him more of a man than before. Thick dark hairs launch over his clavicle as a peak of heady curls race to coat the center of his chest, creating singular coverage from his pubes to his burgeoning beard.

By the time he’s finished getting everything in its proper place Dawson can scarcely imagine a different life. Forcing his nose into his own hairy pits he smirks as he delights in how musky he’s left after an honest day's work. He scratches at his sweaty pubes and wonders what Wayne’s up to inside. All the while the few strands of stubble left on his jaw begin to expand and thicken. Sideburns shoot down his rougher cheeks as a mustache begins to decorate his upper lip.

His stomach rumbles as he crosses the threshold into their- er, into Wayne’s home. Scratching his hairy, muscular gut with equally furry thick fingers he figures he might as well start dinner for the both of them. Going for the fridge he finds a few containers of leftover pulled pork and his mouth begins to water. That’ll do nicely. Grabbing a cast iron and starting the gas stove, Dawson cries out, “Honey I’m home~”

Unaware that he lost consciousness during his release, Wayne hears the man’s voice carry through the air, rugged and melodic. He can’t stop his response as he meekly responds, “Duke-” His pupils dilate as the life he knows, begins to change into something new, unfamiliar but true. 

Stumbling out of the bathroom with a towel tied around his waist, Wayne sees Duke in a similar state of undress, overalls hanging down, exposing his jungle of pubes as he stirs at the pan. Dawson Duke turns to smile at his uh, his? Neither man is quite sure what exactly their relationship is. Wayne watches as the final changes begin to occur to Duke’s body. Muscles hardening with age as the few inches of exposed skin not decorated with his pelt are swiftly decorated with new dark curls.

Veins criss-cross down the man’s arms as he puts on a little show for his partner, calling out to him in his rough new baritone, “Hey there Wayney- Know we just finished up out there but I’m feelin’ like I’m good fer another round ‘f yew know what I mean.” Not exactly one for subtlety, or at least not anymore. Wayne feels butterflies he hasn’t felt in years as he stands in the presence of his partner

Watching Duke scratch his pubes and beard with the same hand while cooking, he kicks himself for always falling for such fixer-uppers. Nevertheless his cock begins to stir once more. Walking over to the man who eyes him like a puppy dog, Wayne purses his lips just to see what the newly-burly man will do. Duke stops his little arms show and just watches, trying to make heads or tails of what his partner is doing. 

Wayne leans in close before pulling the sweaty man into an embrace. Feeling Duke vibrate with excitement as his cock instantly grows rockhard, he sees the pan on the stove behind him and instead whispers into the brute’s ear, “Left dinner runnin’ there Duke.” Having forgotten everything in the world as soon as his eyes fall on Wayne, as he often does. Duke curses before returning to his task, lest he ruin their dinner and be playfully mocked by Wayne, “Shit!” 

Looking around their shared homestead, Wayne feels a weight he didn’t even know he was carrying lifted. Some unknown peace comforting him more than he can know. This is right, how it should be. Preparing the table before wandering back behind Duke with a damp towel to wipe his hairy shoulders clean, Wayne continues teasing, “‘Sides yew know we ain’t gonna fuck ‘til we clean up your mess in Ant n’ Jonah’s field.”

Duke groans as his cock pushes against the overalls. Not like he was joyriding or anything. He had to swerve or he’d hit that deer, uhh he thinks. Never been the sharpest tool in the shed but he’s pretty sure that’s what happened. Whatever, he’s not worried. Sides, he can’t wait to use their new post digger! Almost gets him as excited as getting off with Wayne, heh! 

And so the pair go on, neither quite remembering the finer details of their lives before now, though without a doubt knowing there is no better world out there for either. Ratrace behind him the kinder but duller Duke does real good in the world. Helping out their community and finding real bliss in doing what he can, as well as of course in the arms of his lover, his husband, Wayne.

For his part, Wayne didn’t even realize how lonely he was. Forcing himself to be the masc civil leader of their little hamlet left him little time for anything but the sweat of his brow. Now with a friendly face to return home to rather than a large empty house, Wayne finally allows himself time to relax. All in all, with the new southern lovebirds, their community has never flourished more.

[itzpookiepooh]

Hi! I love your LADs short stories! I don't know if you currently taking any ask, but i want to know what is your take on the "premium air" prank on each LI.

Hi! Thank you so much! I’ve been wanting to do this prank! I’m so happy you reminded me!

You love giving him a heart attack don’t you? As long as he’s known you he still can’t seem to know when you’re joking. You went to get an oil change, that’s all. When you came home he asked how it went and you knew it was your time to shine.

“It went fine until they told me I needed air in my tires.” You explained. He nodded listening along as he was pouring something to drink.

“Yeah at least they were nice enough to tell you.” He shrugs sipping his drink. You nod agreeing as you put the keys on the hook.

“Yeah I paid for premium air. It was like $300 but I mean, whatever.” You shrug it off. Rafayel chokes nearly falling to his knees. You rush over to pat his back as he fights to stand steady on the counter.

“Premi—AGH! Premium air?” He struggles to speak since his throat was just torn up. You nod with worry on your face from his fit.

“Yes! Oh my goodness are you okay?” You pat his back making him shrug you off and grab your keys.

“Where are you going?” You shout after him, “There’s no such thing as premium air! Air is free? Don’t you ever see that when we go to the gas station?” He rambles shoving his foot in his shoes.

“Raf! It’s a prank! I didn’t pay for premium air!” You stop him making him groan at you. He falls to the floor dramatically, you follow him.

“I’ll die of a heart attack one day.” He sighs putting his arm over his eyes. You lay on top of him and laugh.

“I love keeping you on your toes.” You tease. “More like in an early grave.” He mumbles making you smack his chest.

He trusts you to go places on your own…most times. Only because he doesn’t want anyway to play you for a fool. So when you told him you were getting your tires looked at he was already iffy about you going while he was at work. He told you to wait until he was on break and he’d take it but you insisted you do it. He wasn’t always going to be available so you had to do something.

“How’d it go?” He asked as you kissed him. This was gonna be good.

“They said it just needed some air” You said shrug and purse your lips.

“Did they fill them?” He asks sitting at his desk watching you intently. You nod folding your arms, you were already on the verge of laughing.

“Yeah, I got a discount on all four.” He looked at you in confusion. “Discount?” He waits for you to continue.

“Yeah they said I needed premium air so—“ He abruptly sits up and waves his hands around.

“Premium air?” You nod slowly at his question. “Yes premium air.” He slides his gloved hand down his face.

“There’s no such thing as premium air! The premium air is the one you’re breathing!” He shouts quietly. You burst out laughing. He doesn’t move from his look of disbelief.

“I’m just joking!” You squeal from laughter, he just falls back in his chair with a sigh while you crumple over with laughter.

You walked into his office with a smile. He was on lunch and you brought him something from his favorite restaurant. He smiles at you and silently thanks you for bringing him something. He asks how it went with your car.

“It went great! They put the premium air in my tires and I was on my way! It only cost me 500 bucks.” You smile proudly, Zayne freezes and slowly turns to you.

“Premium air? $500?” He questioned. He blinked three times to make sure he heard you right.

“Yeah it’ll keep my tires fuller longer.” You explained as if you weren’t just scammed.

“My love…there is no premium air in fact that’s the most free thing on this planet.” He explained to her, clasping his hands together. Now you were the one blinking at him.

“At least I got a discount.” You broke the silence. He sighs, over this conversation, “That’s not the point.”

He shot up from his seat moving with a purpose to get your money back. He was going to teach them a lesson about preying on someone who doesn’t know much about the mechanics of a car. You nearly hopped on his back telling him it was a joke. He then made sure you knew premium air wasn’t a thing and that you would take him with you from now on when your car needed servicing. Poor Zayne always a subject to your pranks

Sylus was all for you being independent…most days. He usually takes your bike to get serviced if it needs it however, today he had business to take care of. So when you came back you had just the prank in mind. He usually would entertain you but since he thought someone tricked you someone had to pay.

“So you’re telling me you have premium air in your tires right now?” He asks his pointer finger on his temple as he slowly blinks at you.

“Yes! I got a discount on both.” You explain, crossing your arms as you sat in his lap.

“Get up.” He says with his hands on your hips.” You furrow your eyebrows but doing as he says. He begins walking out of the room confusing you even more.

“Where are you going?” He chuckles darkly before smiling at you. “I’m going to have a chat with whomever thinks premium air is a good scamming pitch.” You felt chills go down your spine.

“I was just joking.” You squeak making him smirk at you. “Very funny.” He chuckles before pulling you into him.

It is funny, really! Who in their right mind would trick the Onychinus leaders girlfriend? On purpose…

Xavier may act clueless most times but he isn’t dumb. This prank was perfect for him actually because Xavier didn’t know much about cars well from what you know. He listened intently to you explain needing air in your tires but it caught him off guard when you said you paid for premium air. What even is premium air?

“So yeah now my tires will stay fuller longer.” You proudly told him with your fists on your hips. His eyes look to the side before they come back to you.

“Premium air?” He questioned genuinely, “Yes.” You answer with a firm nod.

He sits up in his seat focusing his eyes on you.

“Premium air?” He asks again. “Yes?” You question.

“Is the air you breathe not premium enough?” He asks genuinely looking at you as if you were crazy.

“Fair enough.” You nod firmly before pressing your lips together.

“There’s no such thing as premium air is there?” He squints at you. You sigh deeply knowing you were caught.

“No.” You sigh defeated, he chuckles at you, “I knew it.” Defeated yet again by Xavier’s ability to be aware.

Posting this now before it slips my mind!

[paleepeaches]

Happy Valentines Day

(Connor Rk800 x Fem Reader)

Warnings: Idk NSFW so 18+

Word count: 2422

Summary: It's Valentine's Day and instead of making Connor dinner you let him fuck your brains out.

A/N: This took way longer than it should have. It's pretty mid.

Tags: If you're still interested @joelsfavoritegirl

You were a festive person. Always have and always will be. Valentine's was your favorite holiday not only because of the pink and red strewn across supermarkets and stores but because it was a day of love: a reason to celebrate you and Connor’s union. You were sentimental. Sensitive and a bit of a sappy girl when it came to things like that. Connor was fully aware of it. He made note of it when you first got together. How you pouted up at him. Your bottom lip jutting out slightly covered in your lipgloss. When things didn’t go your way your pretty doe eyes would water with tears and coat your spiky lashes. Seeing you so whiney and needy all the time was an adorable sight. Especially when it came to him. You’d pout every time he had to leave for the DPD every morning. Today was no different.

“Do you have to go?” You fluttered your lashes up at him. 

Connor turned his head to look at you while he did his tie. His hands skilfully mastered it. He felt his resolve waver seeing you so like that. You’d just gotten up. Hair was a bit messy, eyes a bit tired but what you wore got him. It was the babydoll nightdress. Baby pink in color and the cups on it hugged your tits so nicely. It was sheer and cut off at the top of your plush thighs. He had to resist throwing you on the bed and just fucking your brains out. Poor baby girl didn’t know what you were doing to him.

“I have to. Hank needs me for another case. Plus who’s gonna make enough money to take care of you?” He cooed down at you with his signature smirk. 

You huffed out a sigh nodding in understanding. “Okay but are you gonna be home on time to celebrate? To eat dinner and do….other activities?” You blushed at the hint you threw out. Connor had been balls deep inside of you, lapped viciously at your pussy, and had you whining and calling him daddy yet you were still so timid. He nodded his head trying to hide his amusement at your shyness. 

“Of course,” He smoothed out his jacket and reached a hand out to you. He cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek and relishing in its softness. “I’ll never keep you waiting. You know that.” He leaned down and placed a peck on your lips. He could taste that lingering lip balm on you. Cherry. You always had to have it cherry-flavored. He licked his lips tasting it and hummed. He reluctantly let you go as soon as he felt his cock begin to throb to life. Just kissing you was enough to send him into a feral mood.

“I’ll see you tonight.” He promised you and grabbed his car keys leaving you wanting and yearning for him.  

You filled your day with meaningful tasks despite the growing ache of Connor leaving you high and dry. You were dedicated to making this Valentine’s Day one he would remember. 

You had decorated your shared home in heart-shaped garlands and had a few scented candles going. If it was any other Valentine’s Day involving a human with functioning organs then you would have made a delicious meal and set wine out. However, this was Connor an RK800 model who didn’t need food or water to keep functioning. So you had to get creative which was why when he came home he was happy to see the festive decor, the soft glow of the candles around the living room, and the trail of petals leading to the bedroom.

You knew it was a bit cheesy of a tactic and overused but what other things could you have possibly used as a romantic trial? Connor had come home with flowers and of course, a gift for you held in the other hand. “Y/N…” He called out softly as he pushed open the bedroom door. If he had lungs they would have surely strained and stopped his breathing. He’d seen you in proactive wear before but this was the cherry on top. 

You sat knelt on the plush soft bed with each leg under you. You wore a babydoll lingerie top that cupped your breasts, making them sit so pretty on your chest. The top was thin, sheer, and baby pink bringing out the color of your skin. A pretty bow sat in the middle between the valley of your breast effectively accentuating your body. A thong was keeping your pretty puffy lips in place from falling out. Connor could see you went all out this year. He set the gifts for you on the dresser and walked meaningfully towards you.

“You like it?” You giggled softly a playful smirk on your pouty lips. Connor sat down next to you, the bed dipping in the process. “Of course I do sweetie.” He moved your hair aside with his hand and leaned in kissing you on the exposed skin of your neck. You inhaled sharply your eyes softening and body feeling like putty. 

Connor was programmed to analyze and interrogate deviants. So, naturally, he was able to figure out what aroused you and what didn’t. He knew of all the special spots on your lovely skin. His lips skilfully kissed your neck leaving hot wet kisses. You mewled delightfully for him making his cock harden.

He leaned into your ear whispering, “You sound so fucking pretty.” 

It caused a pink shade to cover your supple cheeks. He never ceased to make you blush even when he wasn’t trying to fuck you.

“Lay down, I wanna taste you.” He lightly pushed you down to lay on the bed. Your hair was sprawled across the sheets and your arms were at your side. Connor spread your legs and dragged you towards the edge of the bed. He kneeled before you, slipping your thong off. His fingers skillfully spread your puffy folds revealing your wet slick cunt. 

“I haven’t even touched you and you're already soaking.” He smiled cruelly at you. 

“Connor…” You whined out, hips bucking up to get him to taste you, finger you, anything. 

He laughed at your desperation, “Always so needy.” Connor didn’t want to give in to you just yet. He wanted to draw it out, have you begging for him to touch you. His plans quickly changed when he saw your pleading eyes and fluttering lashes. You looked so docile and cute that he couldn’t help but give in. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” He spread your pussy folds further getting a good look at how drenched you were before giving you a long lick. He was hungry for you, tongue swirling around your clit and lapping at your puffy folds. 

“Fuck C-Connor-” Your moans were broken and rough as he continued his assault. Your eyes rolled back and your hands immediately tugged on his hair.

“You taste so good.” He muttered the vibrations of his voice over your clit caused you to throw your head back. 

He took your whines as fuel and dipped his tongue deep inside your hole. He groaned feeling it grip and clench, greedy for anything to fill it. He retracted his tongue humming and relishing in the sweet taste of your juices. 

“Shh baby you’re doing so good for me.” He cooed to you and before you could reply he plunged two long and slender fingers into you. You gasped for air, body squirming under him. He had to hold you in place to keep you from moving.

“Connor I-I think I’m gonna cum-” You choked out, voice cut off by his fingers slipping out with a loud squelch. He smirked down at you and you knew he’d refuse to give you an orgasm. At least not with his fingers.

“Connor, please.” You whined out for him desperately clawing at his trousers and tugging his belt. You wanted to see him, stop this torture, and have him fuck you raw.

He smiled down at you, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You’re so needy Y/N.” Connor slapped his hand down on your cunt making you yelp. It came out breathy and far from painful. His hand smacked you again, hitting deliciously against your throbbing clit.

Connor engrained your reaction into his hardware, studying, and learning. He yanked off your babydoll lingerie, pulling it over your head and leaving you in nothing but your bare skin. 

Connor was quick, fingers deftly opening each button of his shirt. His belt was next, his hands deftly moving to unbuckle it. He threw it on the floor, making it clang against the hardwood. He pushed down his trousers and underwear down and his face fell in relief. His cock sprang free, the head was swollen and leaking pre cum. 

At the sight of it, you felt your hole flutter and clench around nothing. You squirmed on the bed, withering in need. “Connor please, please, I’ve been a good. girl” You mewled out, batting your sweet lashes up at him.

There was something so thrilling and almost primal about you laying before him so vulnerable. The way you begged for his cock had him hardening even more. You never ceased to make his heart clench and cock jump from how sweet you were.“Shh, baby it's okay. I’ll give this pussy what it needs.” He cooed to you so softly.

Connor pumped his cock a few times, his pre cum seeping from the tip and spreading over his shaft. He pushed your legs up to your chest and lined his cock up to your hole. He could see your pretty pussy tighten up in anticipation. An amused exhale left his nose as he looked up into your eyes. They were foggy, glassy with lust and pure need. 

Connor pushed the head of his cock in and he groaned, hand coming down to the side of your head to brace himself. He gripped the bedsheets below you two and his face scrunched up in restraint. He knew first penetration was always hard for you. Your poor pussy couldn’t take so much cock so he had to take his time. He struggled to keep his composure and just thrust his full length into you. He knew if he did you'd cry out, sob, and claw at him. It was thrilling.

He sighed out and smoothed the skin on your hip with his palm. "Relax baby." With each second that passed he slipped in further and further in taking his time to stretch you out.

You were a mess below him, clawing at his shoulders and back. If he were human you would be sure he'd have red claw marks on his porcelain skin.

You panted like a bitch in heat, cunt clamping hard on him. “M-more, more Connor, I can take it.” You pouted up to him.

Connor chuckled at your bold statement. “You can take it huh?” 

“Y-yeah I can take it-”

Connor slammed his cock into you causing a yelp to escape your throat. The big stretch was painful as his tip bumped your cervix. Your body jolted upwards away from him but he just pulled his cock out and shoved it in again.

“Thought you could take it, princess. This is what you’ve been whining about?” Connor smiled down at you cruelly. He folded you in half, pushing your legs farther up to your chest. His cock slipped further in, making a lewd squelching sound.

“Y-yes!” You cried out in response.

“Then stop fucking complaining and take my cock like a good girl.” Connor leaned down and kissed you roughly, tongue slipping into your mouth. His hand gripped your chin as he pumped his cock into you.

His heavy balls slapped against the plump flesh of your ass. The noise echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and into your ear. Your juices leaked out of your cunt, coating his cock and dripping down his balls. He could feel it warm them and groaned into your mouth. He pulled back from the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours. “That’s my good princess, fuck clench down just like that.” 

You blushed, your pussy clamping down on him just from the compliment. “Ahh! Mphm! Fuck…Connor!” You were loud letting high-pitched moans fall from your pouty lips. Your eyes rolled back and you bit down on your lip relishing in the sweet bliss of his cock.

“Don’t do that. I wanna hear you.” Connor smacked your face lightly and you released your bottom lip from your teeth. 

“C-Connor I’m not gonna- I can’t-” Your words were chopped up, as you struggled to speak. They came out in whiney babbles and Connor couldn’t help but become amused. He thought you looked so cute like that. Your face controted into pleasure, words not even forming sentences just sounds. He loved seeing you completely drunk on his cock. 

“Good girl, just like that.” He praised you. He pressed the pad of his thumb to your swollen clit, rubbing slow and tight circles around it. You cried out, clawing at his back. Your bambi eyes brimmed with tears. You blinked, lashes fluttering and coated in the wetness. Fat tears rolled down your pink cheeks as you came.

Connor noticed but didn't fret. You would cry often due to the pure delight of cumming. He leaned down, cooing to you and licking them up with his tongue. He could taste the bitter and salty flavor of your tears.

That simple act made your walls clench down on his throbbing cock. Your legs locked him in place, wrapped around his waist and not letting him retract further than he should. He pounded into your soaking wet heat. “Fuck!” He cursed as you milked his cock. One final thrust into your spongy sweet spot had Connor spilling ropes of cum deep into your pussy. He gave a few sloppy thrusts helping you both ride out your orgasms. Your cream and his cum oozed out as he pushed his cock deep in, making it overflow and spill. You poor pussy was a mess. All fucked out and painted white.

Connor panted for a few seconds but recovered quickly due to his android body. He placed sweet soft kisses on your red cheeks and your forehead. “You did so good for me baby.” His voice was soft and sweet as he spoke.

You smiled up at him, panting softly, “Happy Valentine's Day.” 

[yumiblaze]

Oh my goodness, I'm so glad you opened KDH requests!!

I had an idea for a one-shot. I don't fully understand it myself, so feel free to add or change anything.

So fem reader who is dating poly saja. The boys have been trying to convince her to quit her job and just let them work, but she believes she needs to work to provide for herself. One day as she's walking home from work a random demon [disguesd as a human] starts flirting with her. She continuously stresses that she's not interested. The demon starts to get mad and tries to attack her [nothing serious, maybe a few punches]. Luckily one of the boys finds her and immediately gets the demon out of there. He takes back to the apartment they all shar and she has a sweet moment with all of the boys comforting her.

Sorry if this is to much! I've seen other authors on here do this you can know kinda who I am if I send in more requests. 📖 I claim this emoji as my signature! Thank you so much in advance!

Not sure if it's a sweet as you wanted it to be at the end, but I tried XD Hope you enjoy ~~~~

“Let me go.” You whined one of your boyfriends arms wrapped firmly round you waist. “I’ll be late!”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need that silly job we earn enough money!” Romance cooed from his place on the sofa.

“Yeah stay home with us!” Baby insisted, pouting like a child.

“No.” You replied wriggling out of Mystery’s tight hug. “I want to earn my keep too no matter how much you earn.”

“You’re really set on going aren’t you?” Jinu asked flatly.

You nodded in return to his question throwing your bag strap over your shoulder, quickly checking you had everything you needed for your shift. The dark haired boy sighed, watching you trot toward the door with your stubborn determination.

“Don’t worry I’ll be back before you know it.” You tell the boys and you open the front door.

The boys all shout their goodbyes to you, Abby even playfully ruffling your hair, before you make your way to your workplace. You had been working at the café for months now and just because you were now in a relationship with 5 hot men who all had their own job didn’t mean you were going to quit. Regular customers were polite and friendly and you really got on well with your co-workers so you really enjoyed your job at the moment. Not to mention the free lunches you got and how they always tasted amazing!

Your six hour shift flew by as you served customer after customer and cleaned up the small café after closing hours. Luckily it was the middle of summer so even though it was fairly late the sun was still setting as you grabbed your stuff from the staff room.

You smiled as you looked down at a text one of the boys had sent you, asking you if you needed them to come and walk you home. You shook your head and texted back: ‘No, I’m not a child I can find the apartment on my own. :P I’ll be home in 5.’.

As you left the café you waved to your female co-worker and went your separate ways, eager to get home and change out of your shirt and skirt and into something cooler. You were a little startled when someone you didn’t really know very well approached you. It was a man that you vaguely recognised serving at the café today, his brown eyes filled with hope as he came up to you.

“Hey there gorgeous. I was going to go out for drinks you should come with me.” The man said to you giving you a sly grin.

“I’m sorry but I’m not interested.” You told the man, being blunt.

“Come on babe, just give me a chance.” The man insisted standing in your way to stop you from walking away from him.

“No I already have a boyfriend, I just want to go home.” You started to get a bit scared of the stranger and how persistent he was being.

“I bet I could make you happier than him.” The man grabbed your wrist his face flashing with anger.

“Get off of me!” You hissed trying to pull your wrist away. “Fuck off!”

“You ungrateful brat!” The man hissed his eyes flickering yellow.

You gasped as you realised what he was before the man slapped you across the face with his hand hard, the loud sound ringing out in the quiet street. Your shaking free hand reached up to your red cheek as tears escaped your eyes, in shock at the blow. Your eyes widened in fear as you saw the man raise his hand one more, that was until a larger finger appeared behind him.

A strong hand grabbed his hand mid-air, spinning the smaller man round to face the much larger pink haired man that had come to your rescue.

“Did you just hit our girl?” Abby asked his hand tightening around the man’s wrist. The man whimpered, his grip on your own wrist dissipating as he realised how much trouble he was in. Romance darted past Abby, a gentle hand cupping your still stinging cheek, his long delicate thumbs wiping the tears from your face.

“Romance take (y/n) home I’ll be back after I show this demon what happens when he touches something that isn’t his.” Abby said his voice cold and his eyes burning in a silent anger.

Romance nodded pulling your shaking form gently into his chest, a loud crack making its way to your ears just before you were teleported back to your shared apartment. As soon as you were inside your legs gave out, Romance lifting you into his arms and taking you over to your sofa.

“What happened?!” You heard Baby ask as you buried your face in Romance’s shoulder.

“A demon was trying to get her to go out with him and when she kept saying no he slapped her.” Romance explained gently rubbing your back, cradling you against his chest as he sat on the sofa.

Baby’s eyes shifted from blue to yellow, his body shaking from the need to punish the being that dared to touch his girlfriend. Mystery just silently appeared at Romances side, his hand angling your face toward him. The boys eyes were mostly covered by his fringe but you could feel the worry radiating from them as he glanced at your red cheek.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now and we won’t let anything hurt you again.” Jinu said as he approached you from behind, planting a soft and gentle kiss on your head.

“Once they learn what happened to the last guy they won’t even think of looking her way.” Abby told everyone teleporting into the apartment a possessive smile on his face.

“I’m just glad you’re safe now.” Romance told you before pulling you in for gentle kiss, his lips soft against your own.

Mystery was next to kiss you, his lips ghosting along your neck and cheek on his way to your waiting lips. You felt two arms wrap around your waist from behind, Baby nuzzling his face into the back of your neck.

“I’m never letting you go to work again.” Baby mumbled against your back.

“Me neither.” Abby confirmed sitting the other side of Romance. The strong man picked your hand up in his own intertwining your fingers with his own, a soft smile on his face.

You sighed out in defeat, five loving demons surrounding you.

“I guess I could at least take tomorrow off.” You agreed.

[ldydeath]

Don’t Look Back | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Jiyong is stressed on tour and says something he can’t take back

Warnings: mild language 

Author’s Note: Hi guys! This is a part one of a two part collab fic. My best friend, the lovely and talented @wcnderlnds wrote part two, go check out her post to see how it ends!

PART TWO HERE

Everything was too much. You knew that, Jiyong knew that, but you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t protect him. He should’ve never taken on this tour so close to his enlistment. You knew he wanted to do this one last thing for his fans, something to remember him by. But the stress was about to swallow him whole and there was nothing you could do to stop it. You glanced down at your buzzing phone and sighed.

Jiyong’s face appeared on the screen, you knew he was calling because you weren’t in Japan yet. You were two hours away by flight and the show was still hours away, but you’d promised you’d be there. You answered the call, his voice filling the line before you could even say hello.

“Are you coming to the show tonight?” Jiyong’s voice whined through the phone and you let out a sigh, your hand rubbing your temples.

 You had hours of work to finish in order to get to the airport and you weren’t sure you were going to make it. The tour was nearing the end and you’d promised you’d be there for the last leg. Japan, the Europe dates, and the final night in Taiwan but work wasn’t letting you get away easy.

“I’m going to be getting in right as the show starts at this rate.” You sighed before slamming your hands down on your keyboard.

“You’re still at work?” You could hear the disappointment in his voice and slowed your typing. “I just have to finish some things before I’m gone for three weeks.” He let out a sigh and you chewed on your bottom lip, waiting for him to tell you not to come. 

“Okay, I’ll let you go. I miss you.” the phone went dead before you could reply. 

You slammed your phone down in frustration, trying your best to clear your thoughts so you could at least get to the airport in time to not miss your flight. You missed him too, you hated being apart for as long as you had been.

 At least he hadn’t told you to not bother, that was a step in the right direction, unlike his dates in North America. An ongoing theme throughout this tour was his back and forth on wanting you there. You knew he was going through a lot, but it didn’t excuse his behavior towards you. 

Deciding they could finish the rest without you, you left, making it to your plane just before doors closed and sat down in your first class seat. Of course he had gotten you the best seat money could afford. As you were getting situated, your phone buzzed and you stilled, almost afraid that it was work calling you back. A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you saw who it was from. That sigh turned to a groan when you read his words. . 

If you can’t make it, just stay home. I’ll be back before I head to Europe and we can just fly out together.  

You didn’t know why he was pushing you away so much, you knew how lonely he’d been all tour. At least you’d be there in time for the show to start, you could hang out and see Japan after. He was there for a couple days anyway and you’d already made plans to sight see before you headed home. 

I’m on my way. Plane taxiing now. See you soon. You hastily replied back before shutting off your phone and sliding your eye mask over your face. 

You had just enough time to catch a nap before you’d be whisked off to the show. In true Jiyong fashion he’d had a car sent for you once he’d realized he couldn’t pick you up himself. You turned your phone back on once you were in the car to see several missed calls and texts from Jiyong, Daesung, and his management team. 

Well, that wasn’t good. You ignored everyone else blowing up your phone and dialed your boyfriend's number. Straight to voicemail. He was probably just getting into costume for the show. That was all. Everything was fine. It didn’t stop your heart from racing, the nerves settling in the closer you got to the stadium. 

One of Jiyong’s managers met you outside and led you backstage. It wasn’t hard to find Jiyong, he was standing by his entrance spot, his shiny jacket sparkling in the lights, your nerves settled as you saw him. 

“Hey” You grinned, that grin faltering as soon as your eyes met his. 

He looked exhausted. When was the last time he’d slept? Or eaten? He was so thin. You should’ve been here sooner, you could’ve forced him into a bed with a bowl of soup and not let him get up for a few days. You hadn’t seen him this bad off since that night he’d fainted over a year ago. Your heart dropped into your stomach and you reached for him, wanting to beg him to cancel the show. You knew he wouldn’t though and he smiled at you before turning away, your arms falling pathetically to your sides. 

You hesitated before following his crew to the side stage, your favorite spot to watch Jiyong. It always amazed you how quickly he could transform from the exhausted man you saw a few minutes ago to the king of the stage. His fans were none the wiser to how he was truly feeling as he used up every ounce of energy he had on that stage. But you knew, and you caught every stumble, every large inhale, how many times he looked up towards the ceiling. 

Once the show was over Jiyong headed over towards you, grabbed your hand and led you towards his sitting room. He looked up, eying the team of people following behind the two of you closely and shook his head before leading you inside and closing the door on them. He took one swift step towards you before his lips were on yours, his arms winding around you tightly. You could almost feel the weight of the day falling off him as you kissed him back. 

This is what he needed, after all the long days and sleepless nights. You. He knew he was being needy and a bit all over the place with his emotions but now that you were finally here he was going to do everything in his power to make it up to you. 

“Jiyong” You whispered as you broke the kiss, your hands sliding up his chest as you looked into his tired eyes. “Come on, let's get you changed and get some dinner. I’m putting your ass in bed tonight.”

The annoyance that crossed his face was alarming, he’d always appreciated you being the one looking out for him. He’d been off all day though, you reminded yourself as you stepped around him, moving to collect his hoodie. He took it from you wordlessly, stripping out of his sparkly red suit jacket and sliding the hoodie over his head in one swift movement. 

“I don’t want you to be here if you’re just going to baby me.” Your eyes widened as you looked over at him. Surely you’d heard him wrong.

“I’m not babying you, Jiyong. You’re clearly not sleeping and when was the last time you ate?” He glared at you, folding his arms across his chest. 

“This morning. I’m fine.” 

“That’s bullshit, Jiyong. You’re not fine.” You pulled out your phone, pulling up the various missed calls. “If you were fine you wouldn’t be crying out for help when I’m on an airplane. What’s going on with you?”

He glanced down, running his hand through his already messy hair and let out a sigh. “You were supposed to be here for this, not come at the end and start worrying about me.” He glanced up, all the pain you thought maybe you’d imagined was visible on his face. “I needed you here.”

“I had to work!” it was a lame excuse and you knew it but it was all you had. They wouldn’t just let you take months off work to let you follow Jiyong around the world. 

“I told you I’d take care of you. What do you think that fucking ring meant? You don’t have to work.”  His icey tone caused you to flinch, he’d never been this angry with you before. You glance down at your ring, absentmindedly twisting it on your finger.  

“We talked about this, Jiyong. I’m not going to quit my job and sit at home worried about you for the next two years. After the wedding, we agreed to revisit that topic. Don’t throw it back in my face now. I’m here. I’ve been here for you every night regardless of the distance.” 

You two had had your share of fights before, but this felt different. Like you were both toeing a dangerous ledge and if you weren’t careful someone was going to get hurt. You held his gaze daring him to say something. Anything.

“Maybe it’s not good enough.” Your eyes widened in shock, your heart thumping so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it.

He didn’t mean that. You knew he didn’t mean that, but all rational thoughts had seemed to exit your brain as his words cut you so deeply. All you wanted to do was hurt him back.

“Not good enough? Being awake at three in the morning when I have a meeting at seven to make sure you’re ok, that you’ve eaten, isn’t good enough? Hopping on a flight to be here with you wasn’t good enough? I have supported you through everything, Jiyong. I have loved you through all of it. If that’s not good enough then I don’t think anything will be. Maybe you should take this back, if I’m no longer good enough.” Your voice cracked and you willed yourself not to cry, he wasn’t going to see your tears today.

You slid the ring off your finger, holding it out for him. He blinked, looking down at the ring. This isn’t what he wanted, he had always wanted you. He’d be damned if he broke in front of you right now, though. If you were just going to give up on him because of one bad day, then fine. He moved over to you, snatching the ring out of your hand and slid it onto his pinky. 

You shook your head, moving towards the door. “If you walk out that door don’t come back.” His sharp voice broke the silence in the room and without looking at him, you opened the door, walked out and slammed it behind you. He closed his eyes, letting out a long exhale. He’d really fucked this up, hadn’t he?

tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren

[its-time-to-write]

OMGGGG WELCOME BACK QUEEN!!!!! honestly you can write quite literally ANYTHING (esp hurt/comfort pls pls pls) with jamie bc all your fics are simply immaculate 🫶🏼

THANKS QUEEN. I’m starting off with the most open-ended prompt and let me tell you, ya girl is RUSTY. This took way longer than it should so pls forgive me😅

But yeah requests are still open so ask away!

birds of a feather

The lights are off when you get home, but you don’t bother turning them on. You’re familiar enough with Jamie’s house that you can make your way upstairs and to his bed without looking. You drop your bag, kick off your shoes, and trudge upstairs.

The light’s on in his room but he’s passed out. You smile to yourself despite the day and switch off the lights.

You weren’t going to cry again, really you weren’t, but by the time you’re brushing your teeth, they’re sliding down your face.

But it’s dark, so no one can see.

You slip into bed where you can (hopefully) cry yourself to sleep when a sob escapes your throat.

Another slips out, then another, making it hard to stop and harder to breathe.

“Babe?” comes Jamie’s hoarse voice. “You alright?”

You can feel him reach for the light, so you blindly grab for his arm. “Don’t,” you gasp, “Please, just leave it off.”

Jamie understands what you mean. You’re trying to say, I don’t want you to see me cry.

He shifts so his face is two inches from yours. He’ll be awake in a few hours, but it doesn’t matter at the moment.

“What happened?” he whispers, but he already knows the answer. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Beard had been running the team ragged in training.

You take a shuddering breath and Jamie’s eyes have adjusted enough where he can wipe away a tear. “Went exactly as expected, didn’t it?” you say. “She did what she always does. Asked for money, was furious when I said no. Asked for advice, was mad when I gave her an answer. Asked me to listen, was upset when I wasn’t giving her solutions. She stormed out after an hour, but not before throwing her wine on me. I ruined the dress you got me, I’m pretty sure we got papped, and I’m really, really sorry.” That’s going to be a lovely article to wake up to in the morning. If Keeley were here, she would be able to come up with a catchy headline for it, rhyming “Tartt,” with something about sisters and WAGs and thrown wine. 

But Keeley isn’t here, it’s just you and Jamie, and you can’t help but think it’s too early in your relationship for this.

Really though, you haven’t been together long enough for your name to tarnish his. That’s a milestone that should be passed in ten months. A year, even.

Jamie barely catches himself from asking, “Why do you still see her?” just like everyone has asked him about his father.

Instead he says, “I’m not fuckin’ worried,” and wraps you in his arms. 

You exhale and snuggle as close as you can. 

It’s times like this where you remember exactly why you’re with him. He just- gets it.

You met him through Keeley. Keeley had been your sister’s friend first, met at a photo shoot, but it was hard to stay friends with your sister. You and Keeley became close while your sister accused you of stealing all her friends.

“Keeley would love to see you,” you had tried to tell her one time in an attempt to keep her from shouting.

“The fuck I would,” Keeley had snorted when you relayed the story hours later.

Keeley’s a genius, really. She took a horrible a vitriolic viral tabloid story about Jamie’s dad and a charity gala, and managed to create this, whatever “this” is.

Jamie’s running his thumb up and down your arm as your breathing evens out.

“Want to go on a run with me and Roy tomorrow?” he asks. “I’ll get you breakfast.”

You whisper back, “I can buy my own breakfast,” and Jamie’s grateful that it’s dark so he can roll his eyes without getting smacked.

“What if I fucking want to get it for you? What then, ey?”

You respond, “Hm,” and then you’re asleep.

—

If Roy’s surprised you’re with Jamie in the morning, he doesn’t show it. He grunts and says, “Don’t think I’m going fucking easy on you, Tartt,” but he sets the warmup at a pace you like before saying, “You’re doing fucking sprints today and I don’t want to hear fucking shit about it.”

He’d never admit it, but Roy’s excellent at reading people. The sprints are so you don’t have to have a single thought inside your head. By the time the sun rises, you’re enjoying coffee on a bench with Roy while Jamie completes his eighty-second pushup.

“Don’t fucking read the fucking Sun,” is the last thing Roy says before leaving to go to his actual work. You grimace, but Jamie takes your hand and swings it the whole way back to his house.

“I’m not going to see her again,” you tell him. He knows you’re lying. He said the same thing about his dad month and a half ago, but he’s going to see him in rehab next week.

Jamie hands you a credit card on his way out the door “to get something fucking hot, babe.”

It won’t change anything and it won’t even fix anything either, but that’s not the point.

The point is he’s looking at you. He sees, he understands, and he’s still there.

You do end up reading the article. It’s complete shit, a made up story about you being a bitch whose newfound celebrity has alienated you from your loving family. Nowhere does it mention that said “loving” family only comes crawling around when they need something. That what they take from you will never be enough.

The fuck did you read that shite for? comes Jamie’s text after you’ve ignored his last five. ik that’s why ur not responfing

Why is your autocorrect never on? you write back instead of answering.

Jamie’s reply is quick: for the aesthetic

You: So you can write “aesthetic,” but have trouble spelling “responding?” Seems strange

Jamie: Sma helpd

Then: *Sam.

You smile, despite yourself. Sometimes you wonder how much of this he does just to get a rise out of you. You suspect it’s more than he lets on, but you’ll let him pretend to be stupid for now.

You check the time. If he’s texting at this hour, it means training’s done. Your finger hovers over the call button for a fraction of a second before pressing it.

Sam picks up on the second ring. “Your boyfriend is hitting Isaac with a towel,” he says, no preamble. “It is chaos.”

“He was just texting me a second ago,” you say.

You can practically hear Sam shrug through the phone. “It escalated quickly. Do you need him? I’m sure they will stop since you’re calling.”

He doesn’t sound too sure, which makes you laugh. “No, it’s all good, can you just tell him-”

You’re interrupted but the muffled sound of the phone being wrestled away from Sam.

“Jamie’s a dickhead,” comes Isaac’s voice far too close to the speaker before there’s vague wrestling again and you hear Jamie, very much out of breath.

“What’s up, babe?” he asks and you don’t even remember why you called him in the first place because you’re smiling too wide.

“I really fucking love you,” you tell him and even though it isn’t the first time you said it, you feel nervous. The good kind, where you know he’s going to say it back and mean it, and that his words are just for you.

Jamie says, “I love you too,” and tries his best to convey a thousand meanings into four words.

“Great,” you say, “because the top Google story for you is me with a giant wine stain on my dress. So I think we should go out tonight and look so hot that everyone forgets all about it. Thoughts?”

Jamie says, “Fucking mint,” then, “fucking ow,” and you can tell by the sounds in the background that Isaac’s gotten him again. 

“GottagoloveyouheresSam,” he says in a rush before you hear him practically hurl his phone.

“You have some strange coworkers, Sam,” you comment.

“You have a strange boyfriend,” he retorts, and he’s right. But Jamie’s strange matches your strange, so you think it’ll last.

[janeyseymour]

A Case of You

Summary: You and a certain redhead are deeply, and undeniably in love- although the two of you don't realize it. Cue Barbara and someone unexpected to fix that for you on Fourth of July.

WC: ~5.4k

(lemme know if you wanna hear my rendition of the song mentioned in this fic :))

It’s an odd situation that you’ve found yourself in. You’ve been living in Philadelphia for a while now. You somehow manage to scrounge up enough money after years of odd jobs, a few investments, and your day job of teaching at Abbott Elementary to finally be able to afford a house. It’s a beautiful little house- one that you’ve been able to turn into something of a quaint little cottage core house. Your backyard is filled with flowers and emulates what some might say is a house in the movies.

And because you finally have a house that you’re proud of, you invite your folks to the city of brotherly love for Fourth of July. There’s no place like the founding city of the country to be in for the day. From the red and blue dyed beers, to the fireworks that burst over the museum of art (and you’ll have a beautiful view of the display room your house), your new city is one of the best places to be.

Once your coworkers find out that you’ll have the view that they’ve always wanted, it’s decided that you’re going to be hosting the holiday not only for your family, but for your work family as well. So, it might be a little crowded, but… it’ll be fun. That’s what you tell yourself. It’ll be fine.

So here you are, on July 3rd, frantically cleaning your house. Not that it’s messy by any means, but you want to impress. Your house is cozy, and you want to give off the effect that it’s well lived in (and it is) while maintaining the sense that you’re clean and proud of the place that you inhabit. It’s not all that hard. There are pictures dressing the walls, beautiful paintings that you’ve done, little knick knacks that you’ve collected over the years. It all feels homey.

But still, you’re making sure that it’s presentable enough that you won’t get ridiculed and lectured by your mother and your coworkers won’t make fun of your home.

That is, until your cell phone rings. Expecting it to be your mother, letting you know that she and your father have landed, you answer the phone, “Hey Mom.”

“Not your mom,” a voice that you’ve been missing comes through the phone.

Your brow furrows as you pause your scrubbing the toilet as you glance at your phone. “Melissa?”

“Yeah, hun. Just callin’ to see if you needed any help with the party tomorrow,” the redhead tells you. “Any cleaning or want me to bring anything or something?”

You bite your lip. You wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but the person that you’re trying to impress besides your mother is Melissa- the woman that you’ve been hopelessly in love with since you started working at Abbott. “Uhm… I’m just cleaning the last few things now,” you tell her honestly. “But I really do appreciate the-”

“What’s ‘the last few things’? Because you’ve told me that you only have a few things to get done before you head home from work, and then I find out that you stayed at the school so long Mr. J handed you his keys to lock up the building for the night.”

You have to let out a laugh at that memory. You sigh softly as you decide to tell her the truth. “I still have to finish cleaning up the living room and the kitchen. But it really isn’t all that-”

“Jeet?” At your silence, the redhead continues. “I’m bringing over drinks and dinner and helping you clean. I’ll be over in an hour.”

“Melissa,” you try to protest.

She’s quick to cut your argument off though. “I’ll see you in an hour, hopefully less than that.” 

And then you hear the phone line disconnect, and you quietly groan to yourself as you look at your appearance. You’re in your cleaning clothes that are covered with bleach stains, your hair is tied up messily, and makeup hasn’t been applied since probably the last day of school. You look a mess. With a sigh, you head for your bedroom to at least put on your face- you want to look at least somewhat presentable.

The redheaded second grade teacher is knocking at your door less than an hour later.

“Hey,” you smile softly as you open the door. She’s standing there with a case of beer and a bag of what you can only assume is dinner. And somehow, even in just shorts and a tee shirt, she looks as incredible as ever. You find yourself blushing.

“Are you gonna let me in, or should we just have dinner outside?” Melissa quips.

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “No, no, come in. P-Please don’t mind the mess.”

“You’re cleaning, I’m ready to clean,” the woman laughs. “It’s all good. Let’s eat though first, yeah?”

Dinner is nice. The two of you chat about what you’ve been up to since school let out for the summer and potential plans for trips that either of you are looking to take. 

“I just don’t have all that many friends in the area,” you admit shyly. “So, most of my trips are solo.”

“You do have friends in the area,” Melissa refutes. “You got the Abbott group. You got me.” She nudges you with her elbow.

“I do,” you sigh softly. “I just don’t want to be a bother.”

“A lot of people are bothers to me,” the redhead laughs. Then she turns serious. “You ain’t one of ‘em.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “How kind of you to say.”

“If you ain’t doin’ nothin’, I spend a lot of time down at the shore in July,” Melissa offers casually.

You can’t help but smile. “That- that’d be nice, yeah.”

“Well,” your coworker sighs as she sets down her fork and begins to clean up. “This house won’t clean itself. So what do you want me to help you with?”

“You helped enough by making sure I ate dinner,” you tell her with earnest. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m helping, so just tell me what to do, or I’ll start snooping around for cleaning supplies anyway.”

The two of you clean the kitchen and the living room as music floats through your house from your record player.

“You got quite the selection,” Melissa tells you as she dusts the case that holds all of your music. “It ain’t half bad.”

You blush. Your music taste is all over the place.

“Mind if I pick an album to listen to next?”

“Of course not,” you call from the next room over. “Pick whatever.”

You expect her to pick a rock band, so when Joni Mitchell’s hauntingly beautiful voice begins to dance in the air, you’re a bit shocked.

Still, you let the music take over your heart and your soul, and when “A Case of You” starts, you can’t stop yourself from singing along softly. As you sing the words to yourself, you realize that you would drink a case of Melissa and still be on your feet. There’s something about her that is so intoxicating and yet always leaves you on your feet. 

Apparently though, your voice travels more than you were aware of. In the living room, Melissa can hear your gentle melody. Her cleaning pauses as she silently makes her way to where she can hear your voice better.

You’re standing there scrubbing the sink as you quietly echo Joni Mitchell’s vocals. It isn’t until the song is over that you hear a different voice.

“You sing real good,” the redhead compliments quietly.

Instinctively, you jump. You weren’t expecting her to hear you. And then your face flushes as you turn to face her. “I- uh…” You can’t get much out than that. You fumble for words for a few seconds before you just barely whisper out an apology.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Melissa smiles. “I think I like your version more.”

Your jaw practically drops at those words. “Oh, I- uh, thank you. But nobody can sing it like Joni.”

“I think you did it,” the redhead tells you, and you can tell in her voice that she truly means it. “I saw the guitar in your living room too. You play?”

You shrug. “Kind of.” You don’t want to admit that you’ve been playing for quite some time and oversell yourself- better to underestimate than over.

“Well, after we’re finished cleaning, I think I should get to hear it.”

You blush. “Maybe.”

By the time the two of you have the house straightened up to your liking, it’s quite late. If you’re being honest too, with the amount of alcohol that the two of you have consumed tonight, you aren’t necessarily comfortable with sending Melissa on her way.

“So, I believe you owe me a song,” your colleague teases you as she opens up another beer and settles on your couch.

“I was hoping you’d forget,” you laugh as you sit next to her.

“I’d never forget that voice,” the redhead smiles innocently. “C’mon, just one song?”

With a heavy sigh and a dramatic eye roll, you reach for the guitar that you keep in the corner of the room. You tune it up quickly, chuckling when you see the impressed look that Melissa wears on her face when you don’t actually need a tuner.

You strum the guitar a few times to ensure that it’s tuned to your liking before beginning to play.

Of course, you play your own rendition of “A Case of You” to prove to Melissa that you simply can’t do the song justice the way that Joni Mitchell does. Your approach doesn’t work. By the time you’re finished fingerpicking the last few notes, green eyes are wide and in shock.

“What?” you ask weakly. “I told you I only kind of play.”

“That’s a lot more than ‘kind of’,” the second grade teacher says. “You should be teaching Music, not fourth grade.”

You shake your head. “If I had to do it for a living, I’d hate it. But as a hobby, I do love it.”

“Play another for me,” Melissa requests as she leans back and takes another sip of her drink.

Somehow, the two of you end up going through another two drinks as you give the redhead her own personalized concert. Those sparkling green eyes stay mesmerized with your charming voice as you tell her the stories behind why you learned a few select songs, how you wrote a few, and the way that your melodies are nothing but soothing.

“You should be out in LA writing music,” Melissa tells you. “You’re… incredible.”

Your already red and warm cheeks from the alcohol only become more flushed at her kind words. You can only set the instrument down in response.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” you chuckle as you sip your beverage.

The redhead sighs softly. “I guess I should head out for the night.”

“Stay,” you tell her quickly- probably a bit too quickly. “You’ve had more than enough to drink, it’s late, and I don’t want you out there driving.”

The smirk that tugs at Melissa’s lips, along with that mischievous glint in her eyes gets you to look at her curiously.

“Somehow I knew that when I brought drinks over that would be your response, so I packed a bag,” the redhead reveals. “Let me just go grab my stuff from my car."

You can’t help but throw back your head with laughter. “Of course you thought that.”

“Was I wrong?” your coworker teases.

The two of you end up sharing a bed that night, and when your alarm goes off the next morning, despite the fact that it’s July, you find yourself cold. You turn over, only to discover that the redhead isn’t next to you.

But you can hear soft humming coming from downstairs, along with the record player. She’s downstairs. And then once you’ve woken up a bit more, you can smell the coffee and breakfast being made. You make your way downstairs and can’t stop yourself from practically drinking in the sight of Melissa Schemmenti cooking you breakfast.

She must hear your footsteps, because she turns on her heel and smiles at you. “Hope you don’t mind that I made breakfast.”

“I’ll never pass up a Schemmenti meal,” you tease. “You know that.”

It’s only a few minutes before the two of you are sitting at the kitchen table with plates in front of you.

“You know you cuddle in your sleep?” Melissa asks.

You turn a violent shade of red. “S-sorry.”

She shrugs. “Don’t be. It was nice.”

Your heart flutters. You never thought that the rough and tough Melissa Schemmenti would be one for cuddling, but here she is.

Breakfast is nice and warm, and you can’t help the blush in your cheeks as the two of you clean in a comfortable silence. More than once, the two of you accidentally brush hands together or her hand finds the small of your back to guide you out of her way.

The both of you get ready for this party, and by the time you’re making your way down the steps to change the record, your doorbell is ringing.

It’s your parents- of course they show up first. It’s not that you aren’t happy to see them, but you wish the house was a bit more full so that you wouldn’t get the third degree as soon as you see your mother.

“Is it Barb?” Melissa’s voice floats down the steps before she comes into sight. When she turns the corner, she sees your parents still standing on the front step. “Oh.”

“Who are you?” your mother eyes your coworker warily.

“Melissa,” the redhead states. “Just a coworker of Y/N’s.”

Your mother hums quietly before inviting herself in. Her eyes glance around your place with a slight frown. “This isn’t much.”

“It isn’t,” you mumble. “But I very much like where I live and how I live.”

“When you said you could afford to buy a house, I was expecting more.”

“Jane, lay off,” your father cuts in. “Y/N, your house is very… you. I like it.”

You’re not quite sure what to say to that. So you simply smile at your father as a silent ‘thank you’ and direct the conversation elsewhere, praying that your coworkers show soon. “Did you want anything to drink? I have wine in the fridge, or I just have to set out the ice for the coo- shoot.”

“What is it?” Melissa asks, brows furrowed with concern.

“I forgot to buy ice yesterday.”

“Oh,” the redhead rolls her eyes as her arm wraps around your waist. “I can just run to the corner store real quick and grab some.”

Your eyes soften significantly as Melissa Schemmenti saves the day. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, hun.” She grabs her purse from the kitchen table and heads out with a soft hum, only to pop back in. “You need anything else? Or… do you guys want anything?” she directs that last part at your parents.

All three of you shake your heads, so she smiles that Philly smile of hers and heads out.  You momentarily forget that your parents are present, and you can’t help the shy smile and blush that creeps into your cheeks as you watch her figure leave.

“Your little friend is very pretty,” your mother states once the door is shut.

You turn to her sharply. “Oh?”

“She’s very pretty,” your mom says again.

“Oh, good. I thought it was just me,” you mutter.

“No,” your father cuts in this time. “It’s a fact. You should probably get a move on if you want to do something about that. A girl that pretty won’t be single for long.”

“I was planning on pining from afar for anywhere from two to ten years and seeing where that got me. Probably nowhere, but I won’t know until I try,” you quip cheekily. “

"Your mother and I both saw the way she looks at you- she definitely has a thing for you too,” your father tells you. “Just… think on it. Yeah?”

You roll your eyes dramatically, and sigh. “Just… don’t go doing your meddling, please?”

“I won’t,” your dad raises his hands in mock surrender. Your mother, on the other hand though, stays quietly.

Melissa makes her way into the house again not twenty minutes later, a smile dancing on her lips. “The ice is in the cooler, along with the drinks.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her warmly. You then note that she has three drinks in her hand: a beer for her and your father, and a seltzer for you. She passes them out silently before cracking hers open and taking a sip.

She then leans in and wraps an arm around your waist again before mumbling into your ear, “If my mother said that to me about a house this beautiful, I would’ve lit the trash can on fire.”

The giggle that erupts from your soul is hard to contain. Thankfully, you don’t have a chance to say anything else because your doorbell rings. And when the two of you go to open the door, you’re more than pleased to see the entirety of the Abbott clan. Anything to get your mother’s attention off of you.

As it turns out, your mother and Barbara seem to get along swimmingly. What surprises you is how much your mother likes Janine and Ava as well. Your father quite enjoys Mr. Johnson’s tales, is able to talk sports with Gregory, and even falls for Jacob’s awkward charm. And Melissa is able to meander through your backyard with you as you ensure that nothing gets too out of hand.

When you’re chatting with your father and Mr. Johnson, your mother glances over at you. Melissa has an arm slung around your shoulder, and you don’t seem to mind it one bit.

“Tell me,” your mother implores Barbara. “Melissa.”

“What about her, dear?”

“Her and my daughter.”

“Oh,” the kindergarten teacher chuckles as she sips on her wine. “Those two have been pining for each other for years. If you ask me, it’s just a matter of time before they finally pull their heads out of their asses and get together.”

Your mother sighs a breath of relief. “I’m glad I’m not the only one to notice.”

“Oh, you aren’t, Jane,” Barb laughs. “Don’t tell either of them, but we have a bet on how long it’ll take them to finally start dating. I said by the end of July. Everyone else still thinks they’ll be dancing around it come the beginning of the school year.”

“While I don’t approve of a lot of the choices my daughter has made,” your mother sighs. “Including moving away from us, I do want her to be happy. Do you think she’ll be happy with Melissa?”

“That daughter of yours is never happier than when she’s with Melissa,” Barbara states simply. “And just so you’re aware: your daughter has done a whole lot of good while she’s been out here with us. We are very proud of her, and you should be too. I know she sometimes feels that she isn’t good enough for you.”

Your mother bites her lip, a bit ashamed at how she knows she’s made you feel- both today and in the past. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll mend that.”

“As you should.”

“But for now… my husband promised he wouldn’t meddle in her love life, but I made no such promise. Should we win that bet for you?”

The kindergarten teacher is clearly intrigued as she raises a brow. “And how do you propose we would do that?”

Their plan, as it turns out, is not the most intricate. It’s to simply get the two of you hammered while your mother quietly feeds you comments about how you’re already practically in a relationship with the redhead. Meanwhile, Barbara will plant that same seed in Melissa’s head before daring her to just make a move- Melissa is never one to turn down a dare while intoxicated; that’s how she ended up doing cartwheels on South Street one night after a particularly wild night at Oscar’s.

“You know she spent the night last night?” Barbara asks your mother. “Came over to help clean and ended up just staying.”

Your mother’s perfectly sculpted brow lifts. “I just assumed she was the first one here.”

“Nope,” your mother smirks. “I was supposed to pick her up so all of us Abbott people could come together.”

“Interesting… if you’ll excuse me, I believe I have some snooping to do.” With that, your mother rises from her seat and enters your house. Immediately, her eyes turn to the steps where your room and main bathroom are. She ascends up the steps. Melissa’s things, at least that’s what she assumes, are still scattered around in the bathroom. And… bingo: two toothbrushes. Then her eyes wander into the bedroom. Your mother knows that you don’t typically make the bed, but she is surprised to see that both sides of the bed are disheveled- bodies had clearly been on both sides.

Meanwhile, outside, Barbara makes her way over to you and Melissa.

“Where’d my mom go?” you ask.

“Bathroom,” Barb tells you gently. Her eyes don’t miss the fact that the redhead’s arm is still around you. “You two seem to be having a nice time.”

Green eyes glare at her work best friend, but you just smile and lean into Melissa. That glare washes right off of her face.

“It’s nice,” you smile. God, that smile of yours has the second grade teacher wrapped around your finger. “I’m almost done my drink though.”

That’s all the kindergarten teacher needs to hear to begin her side of the plan. “Let me get you both drinks.”

“Oh, I can get them for us,” Melissa tells your coworker. Her hand slips away from your back, and it’s odd that you feel the slightest bit cold without her holding you.

The kindergarten teacher watches the way that your eyes linger on Melissa’s figure. And when she’s bringing back the drinks, you simply attach yourself to her hip again.

“Cheers,” Barb smiles as she lifts her glass in the air. The three of you clink, and then drink. She makes a mental note to pace herself while raising her glass in your direction often. Melissa and you never turn down a toasted drink. 

When Barbara sees your mother make her way back out, she moseys over. “What did you find?”

“Those two are so in a relationship, even if they aren’t admitting it. They shared a bed and everything!”

“Well, I’ve already initiated them getting drunk,” Barb informs your mom.

“Perfect,” your mother grins. Her eyes glance in the direction that you and your coworker are in. “Those two are idiots if they don’t think they’re in love. Well, time to go start.”

When you see your mother walking in your direction, you simply tap your can with Melissa’s before downing a good portion of it. The redhead follows your actions, although her eyes do widen when she sees how much and how quickly you’re drinking.

“My dear,” your mother starts. “Can I have a word with you?”

With a soft sigh, you nod and allow her to pull you in another direction. 

“What, Mom?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” your mother instructs strictly. Then she softens significantly, and you feel like you’re a young child again. She used to look at you with so much love. “I just… wanted to apologize.”

“For?” you raise a brow.

“The things I’ve said about your career choices and the likes,” your mother sighs sheepishly. “I- I am very proud of you. I hope you know that.”

You frankly aren’t sure what you’re supposed to say to that, so you just give a sad smile. “Thank you for saying that, Mom.”

“I know that you probably don’t believe me, but I am very proud of you. You’re shaping the future generations, and you’ve been able to make it out here on your own. You seem to have a lovely work life, and… you’re a hell of a lot happier here than you were back home.”

“I am,” you admit. “I love it here, Ma.”

“That’s all I could ever want in this life for you- happiness,” your mom smiles as she squeezes your hand. “My sunshine deserves sunshine.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

“I think I know how you could be happier though.”

“I’m not moving back-”

“I’m not asking you to move back home,” your mother rolls her eyes. “I’m asking you to pull your head out of your ass and get with that little friend of yours already.”

“I thought I told you and Dad not to meddle in my life love,” you smirk.

Your mother replicates your facial expression- one of mischief. “I never agreed to that, dear. But I mean, come on. It’s quite clear to me that you have feelings for her.”

“So what if I do?”

“It’s also quite obvious to me that she reciprocates those feelings for you,” your mother states. “I mean, the two of you act as though you’re already together as it is.”

“We do not,” you blush.

“She stayed at your house last night, the two of you shared a bed, her toothbrush is right next to yours in the holder.”

“Friends stay over at each other’s houses sometimes,” you counter.

“She’s been hanging off of you all day,” your mother points out. “She calls you hun.”

“She calls every one ‘hun’.”

“Her eyes never leave you, and your eyes never leave her. Just admit that you’re in love with her. And she’s in love with you.”

“She is not,” you roll your eyes.

“All I’m saying is: the two of you act like you’re in a relationship already. Just… think about your happiness for your ol’ Ma. I do want grandkids at some point, you know.”

Barbara grabs her work wife by the arm. “Cheers!”

The redhead only throws back her head to laugh before taking a long swig.

“So when are you gonna just tell that girl that you’re in love with her?” the kindergarten teacher probes.

“Never,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “I plan on pining from afar for… forever. There ain’t no way someone like that would ever want me.”

“I see the way she looks at you, Melissa,” Barbara reminds her friend. “She loves you, and the two of you act like you’re in a relationship as it is.”

“No we don’t.” The pointed look from her coworker has the redhead blushing. “Okay, maybe we do. But there’s a difference between acting like it, and actually being in a relationship.”

“I think you should go for it,” Barb says. “Tonight.”

“What?” Green eyes go wide.

“Why not? Nothing is more romantic than fireworks. And, the two of you are drunk, and if it doesn’t feel right you can always blame it on the booze.”

The second grade teacher bites her lip. “I don’t know.”

“Just… think about it.”

No sooner is the redhead back at your side, holding you by the hip again. And while she seems like everything is wonderful and there is nothing but pleasant thoughts going on in her head, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Her mind is swirling with what it would be like to kiss you, to be in a relationship with you.

Maybe, Melissa thinks to herself. 

Well, that maybe turns into an Absolutely I will, when Barbara dares her a few hours later to do something about the mutual pining that is going on between the two of you.

“I dare you to kiss her while the fireworks are going on,” the kindergarten teacher smirks, pretty intoxicated herself. 

“I will,” the redhead chuckles, never one to turn down a dare.

By the time the fireworks start going off, everyone is either on a blanket that they had brought or in a chair that lived at your house. Of course, you’re the last to search a seat due to your expert hosting skills, and you find yourself coming up with nothing.

“Come here,” Melissa rolls her eyes. As if you would find anywhere else to be but near the redhead. You stand beside her, ready to take in the spectacle that is about to light up the sky. And in a daring move, the second grade teacher easily tugs you into her lap. She her arms around your midsection and rests her chin on your back.

Your mother nudges Barbara with her elbow, grinning from ear to ear. “You think it’s gonna happen?”

“I dared Melissa to,” the kindergarten teacher mutters back. “So, yeah.” 

“Perfect.”

As the first fireworks go off, you can feel the excitement practically radiating off of Melissa. It’s adorable when you turn and see how awestruck she is by the lights in the sky. Your coworkers are entirely entranced by the display, and when it’s clear that the finale is about to take place, you expect to see those green eyes focused on the dark night above you. But instead, the redhead is looking directly at you.

“Lis,” you chuckle, and you try to turn her head so she can look up at the last of the fireworks. She doesn’t seem to care about the spectacle. No, her eyes are trained on you. “You’re gonna miss the finale.”

“I don’t care,” the redhead breathes.

“But they’re beautiful,” you whisper.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Melissa tells you quietly. And then her lips meet yours. And… the fireworks in the sky are no comparison to the fireworks in your heart.

Everyone that had gathered at your house is mesmerized by the display in the sky- all except your mother and Barbara. Silently, they high five before turning their eyes back to the finale of the fireworks.

Once the fireworks are over, it isn’t long before your friends and family begin to file out of your house.

“Don’t think that we aren’t talking about that kiss that I saw,” your mother whispers to you as she hugs you goodbye. Immediately, your cheeks flush red. But you can’t say anything, because she’s off of you, and giving Melissa a hug goodbye.

Barbara, on the other hand, doesn’t give any inclination that she knows what had taken place just a few short minutes ago. She heads out with a hug and a kiss to your cheek, thanking you for your wonderful hospitality.

And then you and the redhead are alone. And before you know it, her lips are back on yours.

Fast forward to the end of Summer, and Melissa has been your girlfriend since the Fourth. It’s been a wonderful summer spent down at the beach with her, and all too soon you’re walking back into the halls of Abbott.

Barbara doesn’t say anything when she sees the two of you walk in together or the way that Melissa instinctively prepares your morning beverage for you. No. She chooses to wait until the last of your Abbott family has made their way into the staff lounge.

“So,” the kindergarten teacher claps her hands together with a bright grin on her face. “Where’s my money?”

“Your money?” your girlfriend raises a brow.

“My money,” Barbara states with a smile.

“For what?” Jacob asks.

“The bet.”

“No one won,” Ava rolls her eyes. “Not yet at least. I still got my bet going.”

“That’s where you would be wrong,” the kindergarten teacher reveals. “Y/N and Melissa got together on Fourth of July.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “What?”

“You heard what I said, baby.”

“H-how?”

“While everyone else was watching the fireworks, I saw what I needed to see. So, just confirm it so I can win my three-hundred dollars.”

“Three hundred dollars?” Melissa asks incredulously. At her best friend’s nod, the redhead just continues to flounder for words.

“I ain’t payin’ until one of them confirms.”

You sheepishly smile as you raise the two of your hands from under the table, intertwined.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits @schmentisgf

[alvfr]

Karma - Part 2

Part 1 | Masterlist

paring: andrew pope cody/stripper!reader tags: 18+, starts in s1, slow burn, implied age gap, no use of y/n, implied stalking. customer service. reader has fake names, a large family, and a past (that is catching up). no smut for this part. wc: 8.3k an: thank you so much for the feedback on the first part. not sure if this is going the direction some of you are expecting, but i like a bit of plot with my romance and I promise most of it's gonna make sense eventually. hopefully. also, I made my first gif ever to use for this chapter and i have a newfound respect for gif-makers because that was really hard even for such a simple gif. don't come at me about the quality, it is what it is.

summary: Who says you can't meet the love of your life in a strip club dressing room after his brother paid another girl a thousand bucks to wish him a happy birthday? Okay, so he's a bit strange and he might be stalking you and his mother is terrifying and you're really just trying to make enough money for rent and tuition without getting into any kind of trouble, but on the bright side, at least he's not a cop.

Karma - Part 2 - [AO3 LINK]

“…so was that going to be iced or hot today? Amazing, it sounds delicious. Can I have your name, please? Okay, got it. If you’ll slide down to the bar there, we’ll have it out in a sec! I really love your shorts, by the way, they’re the ones from J. Crew, right? I think I have the same ones in black, but I don’t wear them half as well as you. You look great, seriously. Aw, thanks. I hope you have an amazing day too! Enjoy your latte! Hi! Welcome to Craft Coffee, how are you today?”

“Jesus, does she ever stop?”

“Right? It’s giving Uncanny Valley meets Stepford Wives meets customer service.”

Ignoring the whispers behind you, you kept your focus on the customer. “Really? Wow, that’s so funny! So, what can I get started for you this morning? Uh-huh, and would you like that to-go or sit-in? All right, and anything to snack on?”

“Do we need to call someone? I feel like we should call someone. This isn’t normal behavior.”

“We got these really tasty energy bites made of organic dates and cocoa powder. Super natural, no additives, just nature’s candy and… Two of those? Sure thing, I’ll get that in a bag for you, just hold on…”

“You know what a coke OD would look like? Because I feel this is kinda it.”

“Can you guys,” you waited until the customer moved along before you turned on your heel to face your whispering coworkers while still smiling from ear to ear, “shut the fuck up, please? I need the tip, okay?”

“Sure, we all do,” Kelly, a petite girl with pastel pink hair and home-chopped bangs, agreed and tore down the new chit to add to the line, “but at what cost?”

Mio, a dark-skinned guy with a diamond stud in his right ear, shook espresso and ice with vigor. He looked genuinely worried. “Have you even slept tonight? It’s giving major mania episode.”

“No, I haven’t,” you replied, still smiling like your life depended on it. “Because I’m working three jobs now to get ahead on the bills after my roommate, who you vetted for—”

“Which I’ve apologized for like a hundred times already!”

“—trashed the place and took off with everything I had!” You spoke in the upbeat, sing-song voice you used when working the register and Mio flinched. “So unless you’re going to pay me back for what she took—”

“I didn’t know, okay? She seemed really cool. Right, Kelly? You met her. She fooled all of us.”

“Uhh.” Kelly shrugged when Mio tore around to glare at her. “I mean, come on, you met her once at one of those crazy parties up on Denmar.”

“And she seemed cool!”

“Yeah, ‘cus she shared some blow with you. Like, cool at parties and cool as a roommate are two different vibes, man.”

“Shut up,” you told Mio before he could get himself worked up over Kelly’s casual betrayal. You had already heard all of this before — even if it made your blood itch to hear it again — so you just kept on smiling. “Unless you’re gonna pay me back,” you repeated in a louder voice to stop him from talking again, “just shut up, do your jobs, and let me do mine. Okay? Amazing!”

You sucked in a sharp breath, spun back to face the register, and smiled even wider than before. “Hiii, sorry about the wait. Welcome to Craft Coffee! Beautiful day we’re having today, right? Yeah! Okay, what can I get started for you?”

You kept this up through the morning rush, playing the role of the perky and fun barista, who was all about the good vibes and great times. At least your efforts paid off — the tip jar was steadily filling up and you made sure to give every customer the slightly surprised and humble: “Aww, really? Thank you so much!” when they put something in it. 

“Are you sure you’re not on drugs?” Mio asked at some point when he restocked the paper cups by the register. As you just rolled your eyes, he cleared his throat. “Do you want some drugs?”

A gentle throbbing had started at your temples and was spreading to the rest of your head, a natural consequence from the lack of sleep combined with the non-stop smiling, but you shook your head at his offer. The line inside the coffee shop was already slowing down and you were determined to power through until you could take a break in the dead hours between morning and lunch service. 

“Hi, there! Welcome to Craft Coffee! How are you today? Yeah? Awesome, yeah, me too. Yeah, I know, the waves look super chill today, man. So, what can I get you?”

Finally, the coffee shop emptied apart from the few freelancers and aspiring authors occupying the tables with their laptops out, taking advantage of your free Wi-Fi and readily available power outlets. Mio thrust a large cup of ice water in your face with a warning glare and you realized you had had nothing to drink since clocking in several hours ago.

With no customers waiting, you snatched up the tip jar and leaned against the counter while taking slow sips through the straw. The AC was going on full throttle, but it was always boiling behind the bar because of the coffee machines and the dishwasher running non-stop. Not as hot as doing tricks on a pole though, but that was mostly because Sam, the cheapskate, barely ran the AC at night. 

You counted out the tip so far — you still had to survive the lunch rush before going home — and grimaced. Even on the slow nights of the summer, the strip club paid you three times as much per hour and you did not have to work nearly this hard for it. This was just a stepping stone, you reminded yourself. A way to get relevant experience so you could move on to something that both paid well and did not require you to work under a fake name. 

It was not that you did not like dancing — because you did — and it had allowed you to finally move out from Jenna’s while you kept building your resume. It was just your bad luck that your next roommate was a drug fiend in disguise, but you still got more sleep now, working three jobs to pay the rent than you ever had at Jenna’s place. And it was just a weird coincidence that you got that strange message a few weeks after going back to dancing, right before said shitty roommate took off with everything you owned. And it was just your inherent paranoia that ever since that, you had felt watched.

You stuffed half the money back in the jar, taking care to leave some of the larger bills on top to inspire people. Yes, you knew it sounded ridiculous that you felt watched when you worked as a literal stripper, but you did not know how to explain it otherwise. Something had changed in the last few weeks after your roommate left. Like someone was watching you more intensely at the club than before, if that made sense. Which it didn’t. 

It was all in your head, you told yourself, and dabbed a paper towel at your face to remove sweat, hoping in vain that the hastily applied makeup from earlier had somehow endured. This lack of sleep and stress was giving you anxiety. And that weird message didn’t help. But you had taken every precaution you could think of and never caught anyone following you. You had even bribed one of the security guys to check out the camera footage from the club, and found nothing out of the ordinary.

The bell over the door rang and you hurried to take a last sip of water before turning to the register, big smile already in place. 

“Hi, there! Welcome to Craft Coffee, how’s your day going so…”

You broke off mid-sentence, staring at the newcomer who was too busy scrutinizing the rest of the coffee-shop like it personally offended him to notice you.

“…far?” you finished, but without the fake cheery voice. It was him. “Oh my gosh, hi. Pope? How’ve you been?”

Pope’s head snapped towards you at the sound of his name, and you could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Hazel eyes, you realized, now that you could see them in broad daylight. And auburn hair that had grown a bit in the few weeks since you last saw him, balancing out his slightly protruding ears. Same frown on his face, though, and a confused furrow to both his brows and mouth. He looked like he was about to respond, but of course that’s when your two idiot coworkers erupted behind you. 

“Oh, finally! She’s back! Praise the Lord!”

“Hallelujah, bitch! I swear,” Mio pushed himself next to you at the register and leaned over the counter to show Pope how close his thumb and forefinger were, “I was this close to calling a frickin’ exorcist. You, sir, are a hero.”

Pope’s watchful eyes flickered from you to Mio and back. “What?”

“This is the first time she’s been normal all morning. Thank you. Whatever you’re having today, it’s on the house.”

Helpless in the face of Mio’s shenanigans — it would only get worse if you tried to bite back — you kept a tight smile in place and waited for it to be over. 

“What does he mean ‘normal’?”

“She’s been seriously manic, not sleeping—”

“Can you,” you still smiled as you interrupted Mio, “go back and do inventory, please? Take a smoke break or something?”

Mio, that piece of shit, looked like he was going to argue just for the fun of it. But he must have caught the edge to your smile, and he grinned instead. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh? All right then. I’mma take five. Cool?”

“Cool,” you mumbled in agreement, and stared at the ceiling until Mio sauntered out the back door. He’d get his later. You could hear Kelly behind you making a show of cleaning out the pitchers, but decided to focus your attention on Pope and tried to remember any of the niceties you had spewed all morning. “Hi. Again. Uh, how are you?”

Something must have clicked in Pope’s recollection, because he tilted his head to stare at you for an uncomfortably long time. “You.”

“Me.”

He kept staring, like he had troubles coming to terms with your presence. “What are you doing here?”

With the monotone way he spoke, it was almost hard to detect any real emotion in his voice, but the tilt of his head and curve to his eyebrows showed both surprise and confusion. And maybe a hint of annoyance.

“Working.” You gestured at your own attire, specifically the apron and t-shirt with the Craft Coffee-logo in case he somehow had missed it. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting coffee,” Pope answered without a hint of sarcasm.

“Well, yeah, I get that. I mean, what are you doing here? I work most mornings and can’t remember seeing you around here before.”

“Well, I’ve been in prison,” Pope said with a shrug while his eyes wandered around the coffee shop. “This place looks different.”

“Oh, yeah, new owners took over a few months back. That’s when I started working here. You probably missed it when you were… not here.”

Pope made no sign he had heard you, but released the coffee shop of his attention and focused on you again. “You look different, too.”

“Uh, yeah.” You self-consciously ran your hands over your apron as if to smooth it down and waited until Kelly ran the steamer before answering with a half-smile. “This is what I actually look like.”

Pope stared.

“I don’t really like wearing that much makeup in my day-to-day,” you continued to explain, resisting the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. “And I have to keep my hair out of my face when I work here, food and safety regulations, you know.”

And you went to great lengths to ensure your daytime and nighttime personas looked as different as possible.

Pope nodded, but the cloudy expression on his face did not clear even a fraction. “Is that your real name?”

You glanced at the name tag he indicated, which spelled ‘GRACE’ in large, easy-to-read letters. “No.”

His lips twitched into a fleeting, bitter smile. “Just your name in here, right?”

“Something like that.”

 It was different seeing him too in daylight, you realized. He looked tanner and healthier than you remembered. Dressed in a short-sleeved shirt buttoned all the way up that looked slightly too tight — had it fit him better before he went to prison? — and dark full-length jeans. You had no idea how he had not passed out from the dry summer heat outside — it was one of those rare days without the usual cooling breeze coming in from the sea — but maybe his internal hotness counteracted the temperature outside. His voice was the same as you remembered at least, low and gravelly, and utterly confusing sometimes.

“You look good,” you found yourself saying in a wavering voice, suddenly nervous, as if you hadn’t been dishing out compliments all morning. “The hair. It’s growing great.”

It’s growing great? What the hell was wrong with you? Sometimes you really wished for better brain-to-mouth connection because who talked like that? It did not help the mortifying pit opening in your stomach when you heard Kelly’s soft snort behind you and you just knew you were going to catch some shit about that later.

You cleared your throat loudly when Pope just nodded instead of responding. “So, uh, what can I get you?”

“Coffee,” Pope said, like he was repeating himself. “Just coffee. Black. To-go.” Apparently, he saw the way you hesitated, because his eyebrows lifted a fraction. “What?”

You made an apologetic face and waved your hand at three signs on the top of the bar. “There are different blends.”

“Blends?”

“Like, different combinations to get a specific flavor profile. Today we got a medium roast from Ecua—”

Pope cut you off and his chin pulled in as he asked, “Which one tastes like regular coffee?”

Before you could reply, Kelly cleared her throat to get your attention. “Hey, I’m gonna go restock the self-supply,” she said and dropped her voice to a whisper as she passed behind you, “because I seriously can’t listen to this anymore.”

“Okay, yeah, sure.” You avoided catching Kelly’s knowing glance over her shoulder. “Uh, I guess the Jamaican Blue Mountain is technically a single-origin, so…” You trailed off at Pope’s skeptical expression and bowed your head as if to apologize. “Medium, medium-plus or large?”

“What?” Pope snapped, and you silently held up the three cups of different sizes. He glared at you, the cups, and then you again. “The middle one.”

“Medium-plus,” you clarified, unable to completely turn off your customer service-persona. “Sorry, I didn’t make the names.”

“It doesn’t even make sense. Why isn’t the smallest one called small? What’s medium-plus?”

“I dunno, guess it’s part of some marketing tactic. Like the customer feels they get more with a medium than a small.”

“When did coffee become so complicated?” Pope asked in a surprisingly soft voice as you poured the cup. “My mom, too, she got this espresso machine back at the house and it’s got all these buttons and settings. I just want coffee.”

“It’s trendy.” You shrugged apologetically and held up a lid as a way of asking if he wanted one. He nodded, still with that mildly confused expression, and you put it on, making sure it was secure all the way around. “And I’m glad Mio gave you this one the house, so I don’t have to tell you it’s gonna be three dollars seventy.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“For coffee?” 

“Yeah, unfortunately. But we do have this customer loyalty card that gives you every sixth beverage for free, so that’d make it… just shy of three dollars and ten cents per coffee.” You held up the card in question and Pope eyed it like you were presenting him with a black widow spider. Not waiting for a reply, you went ahead and scanned it on the register, then picked up a sharpie to write ‘POPE’ followed by a messy heart, your signature on all the orders. “And since this one was one the house, it’ll be less than two dollars fifty per coffee. Come on, you can’t tell me that’s not a bargain.”

You held the card between two fingers and smiled when he grudgingly accepted it. He studied it for a second before it disappeared into his wallet and glared at you again. The intensity of it gave you goosebumps, and you almost held your breath, waiting for what he was going to say.

“I gotta go.”

Which was not what you had expected, but was definitely in character for him. Without a ‘good bye’ or ‘see ya later’, he took the coffee and stalked out of the shop. You blinked at his sudden departure, flinched as the door slammed shut behind him, and then watched him cross over the small parking lot up front. He walked like he was ready to throw down at a moment’s notice, like a predator on the prowl, even if he was obviously just headed for his car.

“Hey, Kelly, can you watch the front for a sec?” Having made up your mind, you did not wait for a reply and hurried out after him. “Hey, Pope! Wait up.”

He already had one hand on the door handle of a dark truck, but stopped and watched you approach in a light jog.

“Listen, I just…” Your nerves got the best of you and you paused with several feet’s worth of distance still between you, pushing your hands into the front pocket of your apron. “I just wanted to say thank you. Again. For what you did, I mean. It really saved my ass. Turns out my landlord had all the paperwork ready and was legitimately going to kick me out that day if I hadn’t made rent on time. So, yeah, thank you.”

“Have you found a new roommate?”

After you first met him, you had spent some time analyzing the strange conversation and the way he talked and you were almost relieved to find you had not remembered it wrong. Blunt and direct questions that might not fit correctly into a conversation. But he was not the one for small-talk either, so you got the feeling he would not have asked if he did not genuinely want to know.

“Uh, no, that search is still ongoing. I’ve put out a few ads, but it’s mostly surf bums who’s here for the waves and not all that interested in working or, y’know, paying rent on time. And the ones that have jobs have all turned out to be perverts, so…” 

You trailed off with a resolute smile, waiting for his reaction, but got none.

“Anyway, my lease is up by the end of the summer and I’m looking at other places, but it’s been really busy lately. Work and all that. I forgot to account for taxes when I did the math, you see. Usually it’s cash in and cash out without the IRS needing to know, but I gotta report it as income if I want to use it to pay rent.”

“Yeah, that’s how it works,” Pope agreed with another patronizing nod and gave you an unimpressed look. “You probably shouldn’t go around telling that to people.” 

“Uh, no, I guess not, I just figured a bank robber wouldn’t have issues with some light tax evasion.”

His lips twitched in something that was not a smile, and he reached into his back pocket with his free hand. “You need more money?”

“What? No!” You automatically took a step back. “I mean, yeah, I do, but not— It’s not like that. I just wanted to thank you.” 

“I never tipped you for the coffee,” he pointed out with one side of his mouth slightly lifted. He still had his hand in his back pocket. 

“The Jamaican Blue Mountain is good,” you took another step back when he pulled out his wallet, “but it’s not that good. And trust me, you did not see me at my most service minded today. Seriously, stop. I don’t want it.”

“But you need it,” he pointed out, and again you were struck by that hint of juvenile concern that layered beneath the condescending tone. “Right? To pay rent and that school stuff.”

“I’ll manage,” you said and held out a hand to stop him from pulling out any cash. “I like to earn my own money, Pope. I’m really grateful you helped me out last time, but it’s fine now. I’m breaking even.” 

He tilted his head down to give you a contemplative half-smile. “If you find a new roommate by the end of the month.” 

It struck you that Pope might be a little strange, but he was far from stupid. With the few weeks that had passed since last time, the end of the month was coming up fast. And he was hanging it over your head, but you could not figure out why.

“Well, unless you need a place to stay—” You had intended it as a joke, but there was something in Pope’s expression that made you pause. Like a miniscule flicker of his eyes, so fleeting you were not sure if you had imagined it or not. “Do you need a place to stay?”

Again, that teeny tiny eye movement, but then he shook his head, sounding indignant. “No.”

“Okay,” you replied, because his denial had an edge to it you did not want to explore right now. “Okay, well, uh… Thank you, again. Enjoy your coffee and have a nice day, I guess. Bye.”

You waited for him to return the farewell, but he was staring at his wallet like he was lost in thought. Not about to repeat yourself, you nodded, and turned back to the coffee shop.

“Are you working at the strip club—”

You flipped back around and practically skipped closer to him while going: “At-at-at! Shhhh!” 

“—tonight?” he finished so softly you wouldn’t even have caught it if you hadn’t been all the way up in his face now. His eyebrows pulled up to his hairline while you kept waving your hands at him to shut up.

“Keep your voice down, please,” you hissed and scanned the completely empty parking lot in case Mio or Kelly had somehow teleported outside. 

“Why?”

You gave him an incredulous look, but found nothing but sincere confusion on his face. “Because that’s not a part of my life I need everyone knowing about, okay?”

“Then why do you work there?”

“Because it’s the best paying job I’m qualified for at the moment.”

“Okay?”

“No questions asked, I get to pick my own hours, and I like dancing,” you continued distractedly, still on the lookout for potential eavesdroppers. “It’s just not something I’m gonna put on my resume, you know.”

“Okay.”

“And in hindsight, I could probably have been more discreet when you came in the door just now, and for that I apologize, but it was not like I publicly called out where we’ve met.”

“Okay,” Pope repeated. He had withdrawn slightly from your close proximity, but he was caught between you and his car and did not have much space to work with. “Are you?”

“What?”

“Working,” Pope seemed to search for words, “at that place tonight?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“When?”

“I go on at nine. Why?” 

“Okay,” Pope said again, but right then his phone buzzed and he checked it almost absentmindedly. “I gotta go.” Something seemed to occur to him and he paused. “Do you know where I can find,” he glanced at his phone, “Blue Horizon Sportfishing? Ran by a guy named Dave.”

“Uh, yeah, Dave comes here all the time. Really great guy. It’s over at South Harbor, next to Joe’s Crab Shack.”

Pope nodded and opened his car door. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

“You’ll see me later?”

“Yeah, at the… other place. I’ll buy a dance from you.” Pope climbed inside the car, depositing the coffee in the cup holder, and then seemed to remember something and added, “If that’s okay?”

It was hard to tell if his low, gravelly voice was full of concern or sarcasm. 

“Are you serious?”

Pope pressed on, a bit impatiently with his brow and lip raised in question. “Is it okay?”

“Sure, I guess, but—”

But Pope had already nodded and closed the car door.

“—why?” you finished, but it was lost in the roar of the car engine. You raised your voice anyway, shouting at the car window as he pulled out of the parking lot. “It didn’t exactly seem like you enjoyed it last time! Aaaand you’re gone. Great. Fine. Whatever. See you later, I guess.”

***

For some reason, you did not expect Pope to actually show up at the club later. He had no reason to, really. You had gone to lengths that would’ve made most guys blow their load in their pants last time, and he had not even looked slightly affected. So you figured the only reason he had to come here again was to give you more money — which made no sense, no matter how you looked at it. Even if he was flush with cash — and based on the car he was driving, it seemed that way — rich people did not usually just give away several thousand bucks, either. It was almost like he was teasing you with it, which again would’ve made more sense if he wanted something in return.

It felt like you were being set up for something, but no matter how much you mulled it over, you couldn’t figure out what. 

When the clock struck midnight and he still had not shown, you figured he had come to his senses and was secretly happy for it. And slightly disappointed, but it was hard to analyze why you were disappointed while grinding topless against a pole. 

When yet another song was coming to an end, you signaled to the DJ that you were taking a break. On busy nights, you only got one or two songs at a time with girls lined up to claim their turn to show off, hoping to catch someone’s eye, but on slow nights you could go as long as you wanted. Especially on the poles, as only you and a few others knew how to work them. 

You were probably the only girl in the club who spent more time dancing on stage than working the floor, though. Everyone knew the money laid in private dances, but if there was one thing San Diego taught you, it was how to entice. To hint instead of fully reveal. So when you finally came off the stage and allowed someone to buy a private dance from you, they felt extra special. So special they suddenly did not mind paying twice as much for it.

Sam, the manager, liked to have girls on stage at all times to keep up appearances, and you saw Pepper getting ready to take your place. The song ended, and you did a cute wave to your audience of guys half-hidden in shadows and the old pervs who sat with their noses practically on the stage. Both categories could spend the entire day in here sometimes ogling the girls — lousy tippers, but Sam didn’t care as long as they paid their cover charge.

“Jeez, it’s slow tonight,” Pepper commented while she waited for you to finish up. You secretly loathed this part when the music and the fantasy stopped and you scrambled to pick up your clothes and whatever cash remained on the stage. “I hate summers. Can’t wait for all the suburban dads to get back from vacation, desperately needing a break from their families.”

You just smiled at Pepper’s lewd hand gesture and slipped your top back on. It really was slow, and you headed for the bar, more in the mood for water than trying to make someone buy you a drink. Mid-sip, Jasmine appeared at your side.

“The creep’s back,” she said with a smile, and your heart skipped a beat at her words. She was in an unusually good mood, probably due to the cocaine still visible by her left nostril, and gave you a knowing look. “Asking for you. Booth four.”

“You go, girl,” Candy, a well-endowed black woman, said from where she sat at the bar sorting out her tips. “Regulars are how we pay the bills, am I right?”

“That’s right,” Jasmine purred, and the full extent of her floral perfume hit you when she leaned closer to you. “There’s cameras in the booths, so don’t do anything stupid. You can borrow my dressing room, but then I want a cut. Thirty percent.”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of night,” you managed to say, too stunned to consider the percentage, and Jasmine frowned. “I’ll let you know.”

Head buzzing from the music and lack of sleep — you had only had time for a quick nap between your shift at Craft Coffee and here — you made your way to the booths. Everyone called them booths, but they were basically circular couches with extra tall backs made of some weird plush red fabric. They looked like something straight from an old-school sci-fi movie, but were designed to give some illusion of privacy. You could see the rest of the room when standing, but the guy sitting down would only see you.

Somehow, you half-expected it to be some other ‘creep’ that had asked for a dance and felt your stomach do flip-flops at the sight of Pope waiting for you inside booth four, as promised.

He sat half-hidden and unmoving in the dark, only occasionally illuminated from the spotlights from the main stage. A beer in his right hand, his left resting in his lap for once, knees spread lazily to each side. He looked slightly more relaxed this time, a minor comfort.

“Hey,” you said, in lack of better things.

In response, Pope nodded and took a long sip of his beer before offering it to you.

“No, thanks.”

He tilted his head to the side. “I haven’t roofied it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t drink when I’m working.”

“You did last time.” 

Last time was different, you thought, but did not say it. He really had a knack for calling you out on stuff, though, and you decided to just roll with the punches. You grabbed the beer bottle, took a long sip and relished at the coldness of it in your mouth, and accidentally made eye-contact with him while swallowing.

In this darkness, his eyes looked black.

“Thanks.” You gave him back the bottle and tried to get your head back in the game. “Are you really here for a dance?”

“Yeah,” Pope replied in a way that made you feel stupid for asking. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

A fair question because you had no answer. Instead, you admitted, “I don’t really like mixing my day job with this stuff.”

“A little late for that.” 

Pope’s factual tone held no venom, but it reminded you how you had been the one to call him out at the coffee shop. A total lapse in judgment and not as discreet as you wanted to be.

“I can keep a secret,” he rasped with that strained cadence of his. “Can you?”

Another fair question. 

“Yeah.” Discretion was part of the job description, even if you had momentarily forgotten earlier. And this was your job, or one of them, at least. And he was just another customer. This was no big deal. “All right. It’s forty bucks per song. Clothes stay on for the first one — you wanna see more, you gotta stick around. No touching unless I’m the one doing it and absolutely no pictures. If I see your phone, you’re out. If I see your dick, you’re out for good.”

There were your standard terms, but you probably wouldn’t have added that last part if your brain had been involved in the talking. You cleared your throat, avoiding looking at his eyes.

“Big Brother’s watching,” you continued and cocked your head in the direction of the overhead camera, “but no one else. You got all that?”

“There’s a lot of cameras in here,” Pope stated and swung his head this way and that while staring at the ceiling. “You ever get robbed?”

A bit thrown off from the sudden change of topics, you blinked. “Me personally or the club?”

“The club.”

“Not this place, no. Not that I know of, anyway. I think the general idea is that the club robs you, not the other way around. That beer cost you like twelve bucks, right?”

Pope still stared overhead. “Something like that.”

“Are you bothered by the cameras?” you asked carefully after a few seconds. You had not seen a ring or ring indent on his finger, but that did not necessarily mean he was not spoken for. Or had other reasons he wanted privacy. “They’re only for security, not blackmailing purposes.”

“Someone’s watching the feed the whole time?”

“I wouldn’t say that. More like keeping half an eye on it while shooting the shit with the other guys.”

“Doesn’t sound all that secure to me.”

“I think they’re more for deterrence than anything else. Or for establishing blame after the fact. Trust me, you do not want to mess around with some of the girls in here. They will fuck you up if you try anything.”

“Like Jasmine the biter?”

“Not to mention Trixie, who dances exclusively in steel-capped boots. I just know she has some metacarpal fractures on her conscience.”

Pope let out a huff of amusement, one side of his mouth pulling up in a smile, even if it looked like he was trying not to. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

His eyes wandered back overhead, like he was still pondering the cameras.

“Hey, you don’t have to do this,” you said just loud enough to be heard over the music. “If you want to leave, that’s fine. I won’t be offended.” 

Pope rolled his head until his stare landed back on you and his left eyebrow lifted in a clear challenge. “Same goes for you.”

“I just meant that it’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t.”

You squished the urge to ask if he was sure — to be fair, he looked like he was here for a root canal and not a lap dance. 

“Okay, then,” you said instead. “Do you agree to the rules?”

It was hard to tell, but you thought Pope’s jaw rolled before he gave a curt nod.

You, however, hesitated; so tempted to ask if he was really sure about this. Then again, he was a grown man and had made the decision to come here on his own. And you were, by all definitions, a professional. So instead of saying anything, you smiled and tried to ease back into character before you took a lazy step forward to stand between his knees.

You needed to be in character for this to work and you lathered your voice with honey as you said, “Then relax and enjoy the show.”

Lucky for you, Trixie, with her steel-capped boots, was taking the main stage and the DJ switched to her playlist of heavy metal. This meant you got to start with a sharp hair flip to a heavy guitar riff, your extensions flying through the air like opening the front curtains of a show.

You could dance to any song, but you liked the loud songs, like this one. The ones drowning out your own thudding heartbeat and self-conscious thoughts. The ones that filled the entire world like you were in a movie — like you were just a character — and not someone real.

You started out slow, as always, because the trick was to make every song count. The first moves felt as natural as breathing, the same ones you always used — testing the waters for what the client seemed to enjoy the most. If their eyes glazed over when you ran your hands over your curves; if they licked their lips when you played with the edges of your clothes; if their fists clenched when you bit your lip or tossed your hair or showed off how far apart your legs could go. If their eyes settled on your face or traveled to any other spot — to your breasts or your ass or your thighs or even your feet. 

Pope, however, did none of that. Every time you managed to look at his face to see his reaction, he was staring right back at you. 

It was one of the first things you had learned. Try to maintain eye contact as much as possible — again, the illusion of intimacy; making them feel seen and special. Desired. Like you were doing this for them and them alone because you wanted to. But with Pope, you could only take it for a few seconds at a time. The force of his attention gave you goosebumps, ones you hoped he didn’t see in the dim light, and it felt like he could read every thought you had through your eyes.

Remember, the first dance is nothing but a tease. The words echoed in your skull, spoken in a voice not your own, but you refused to get distracted. You couldn’t get distracted. 

The song played on as you showed yourself off, spinning slowly, rolling your hips and letting your hands wander. With your back to him, you spread your legs and swooped down without bending your knees, still looking over your shoulder through the mess of hair hanging over your face. On the way back up, you ran your hands up your legs and thighs and finally landed on your ass, where you gave it a good squeeze under the bottoms you wore.

Did Pope’s chest expand slightly? As if breathing a bit more heavily? Impossible to tell, but just the idea helped your confidence.

Facing him again, you played with your hair and wound down to the floor like a spiral, snaking and rolling your chest, waist and hips in turn. Your ankles held steady even in the tall platform shoes, and you did not hurry back up. Taking your time to bounce slowly on your heels and spread your legs almost lazily. One hand on each knee, running your fingers over your thighs and all the way back up to mess up your hair. 

You tried to glance at Pope from beneath your heavy lashes and sure enough, his eyes were still glued to yours. Not even glancing at any other part of your body. What was the point? Why was he even here?

Remember, that first song is all about making them want more. You could play with your clothing, hinting that it would come off — later. Not this song. But for an extra forty bucks, who knew? Maybe you’d take your top off? Get nude? Touch yourself, touch them, get close enough so they could almost taste you? The customers had no way of knowing that you had a system. That you constructed your costumes and dances strategically so that you could keep someone reeled in for as long as possible. Always maintaining the illusion that there would be more.

Except you doubted that Pope even cared. He’d had the chance of more — of everything — and made no move to take it. And yet he was back here.

The song was coming to an end, signified by a heavy guitar solo, and this was when you would normally sink your teeth in. Where you would make sure that the customer felt the song ended too soon. That with just a little more time, all their wishes would come true. 

Fuck it. 

Still down and resting on your heels, you forced yourself to face Pope’s dark stare and waited for the next hard beat of the song to slam your hands onto his knees. Spreading your fingers like literal claws over the rough denim. His mouth opened a fraction, then closed, as if he was forcing himself to not react. Even if you definitely saw the way his jaw flexed as you used his legs for support to crawl on top of him. Not touching, not much anyway, as you made sure to place your knees on either side of his legs with enough room to keep hovering several inches over his lap. 

Remember, never give them anything real for the first song.

Instead of his shoulders, you held onto the cushiony sofa back for balance, which had the added advantage of pushing your cleavage into his face. Not that he was looking — his head had tilted backward to keep staring into your eyes — and his hands remained next to him on the seat. 

And that’s where the song ended. 

Neither of you said anything in the short interlude between songs where the DJ played transitional beats. The lack of real music made you uncomfortably aware of how close you were — maybe an inch away from sitting in his lap again, and maybe two inches away from your noses touching. In fact, the longer sections of your hair was dancing in his face, not that he seemed to have noticed.

Normally, you would ask if they were staying for one more song, but your mouth did not want to cooperate to form the words. Or any words, for that matter. Like your ability to speak was temporarily on hold as long as Pope stared at you like that. 

Pope’s eyes never left yours — the guy could probably out-stare a freaking cobra — as he gently shifted in his seat in order to get out his wallet. He only glanced down briefly to sort out the stack of bills and you watched him slowly count out two twenty-dollar-bills. His eyes returned to yours, almost as if trying to provoke you, as he stuffed the money into the waistband of your shorts. The back of his fingers brushed against your skin and you swallowed hard.

“Forty bucks per song, right?” he asked and his raspy, uneven voice sent shivers down your spine. 

You nodded, not trusting your mouth just yet and were about to get off him when he counted out two more twenty-dollar-bills. Forty bucks for another song.

Why? You desperately wanted to ask, but didn’t. Couldn’t. He had turned this whole thing on its head. Made you feel like you had to earn his spending instead of him paying for your company. Was he just riling you up? Pope still stared at you as he tucked that money too into your waistband. Not offering it to you; not giving you a real chance to decline. 

Except he did move his head to get further in your line of vision, as if trying to deepen the already intense eye contact. His eyebrows raised a fraction, and you interpreted it as a question of sorts. If you were okay with this.

Was he giving you the illusion of choice while you tried to sell him the illusion of intimacy?

Were you okay with this? You had no idea anymore. But by the time you figured you should probably excuse yourself — that you had to get back on the main stage or something — the next song was already starting. This song was a bit slower, but not much. Not that it mattered — you could dance to any song. And you could dance for anyone. And you were still poised on top of him, primed and ready to go. 

Fuck it. Fuck. It.

You decided to drop all pretenses, moved the cash in your waistband to a more secure position, and then forced yourself to keep looking at him. It felt like a challenge, a silent and bitter fight with your eyes, each of you waiting for the other to blink. Him unmoving and you always moving, like some twisted mating ritual from the animal kingdom.

You swayed slightly to the beat. Letting the intensity build as you rolled your hips in increasingly larger circles, riding the miniscule space left between you. Letting the music take control. You trailed your hands down from the sofa to his shoulders and shoved him further into his seat. If he reacted at all, you did not catch it and at this point, you did not care. 

Could not care. If you started to care, you would not be able to dance.

The edges of your hair danced in his face again as you snaked forward, pushing your chest out so the heat of his breath danced over your sweat-slicked cleavage. You held one hand on his shoulder for support, and ran your other palm down his arm, feeling the ridges of muscle and veins where his biceps threatened to burst the seams of his short-sleeved shirt. Down his arm all the way to the cool glass of the beer bottle that was in stark contrast to the heat of his skin. You tugged the bottle from his grip and threw your head back to drink, locking your legs under his for balance.

Even with the temptation of emptying the bottle to get some liquid courage, you took care not to. Instead, you ran the glistening bottle against your jaw and down your neck, using it both to cool off and to highlight the swell of your breasts. To drive his focus away from your eyes to the rest of you. It worked, even if only for a few seconds, and you languidly handed him his bottle back while your hips never stopped moving.

Pope did not break away again though, keeping his eyes open and on you even as he took a hard chug of beer. You could see the way his throat worked as he swallowed, nothing but powerful muscle through and through. Definitely emptying the bottle before he set it resolutely to the side while you continued with the lap dance. 

The second dance was all about turning up the heat — pretending to deliver on the vague promises of the first dance. And this time, you were determined to make it harder for him to focus on your face. 

Taking care where you placed your heels, you hooked your legs under his knees more firmly and threw your hair up as you swooped back and down into something like a bridge pose. Hanging from the heft of his thick thighs, staring upside down at the other side of the booth and swaying to the beat. It gave you a break from his attention and you arched your back to push your chest up. Give him something else to focus on when your eyes were unavailable. Roaming your hands all over yourself, caressing and squeezing at every part of you, while you worked your way back up to look at him. Your core muscles protested — you had been dancing on the pole all night — but it did not really register over the fire in your blood. 

For some convoluted reason, you wanted to impress him. Wanted to earn the money.

Still hovering over his lap, you leaned forward again, pretending to go for his face. You veered off at the last second though, letting him feel your breath on the side of his head as you pushed up over his left shoulder. You supported yourself on the sofa instead of him, even if the position pushed your breasts into his chest, and arched your back so his whole view was nothing but your ass. Your ass, that you bounced slowly to the heavy bass line, rocking side to side.

This close, you could feel every hard breath pushing through his muscled chest. It made sense, you thought, what else was there to do in prison besides eat and work out? And it felt and looked like Pope had done both. Visions of how easily he could overpower you flooded your imagination; that and his questions about the cameras made your stomach tighten, but you could not tell if it was fear or… something else.

You kept this up, pulling out your best moves, getting so lost in the music that it wasn’t until it stopped that you realized you had kept all your clothes on for the entire song. Normally you would have at least loosened your top somewhat, entice the customer to buy another song. 

Not that it mattered to Pope, apparently, as he quietly pulled out another forty bucks and held it out to you. One more song.

A little out of breath, you hesitantly took the money and looked at it. 

“I’m not paying you with monopoly-money,” Pope slunk back in his seat, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, I’m—” You paused. The grating sarcasm of his tone pushed buttons in you that you did not know you had. “Are you sure?”

Pope had his head tilted as he watched you and thus gave you a diagonal nod. 

What are you worried about, girl? Despite your best efforts, you could still imagine her reaction to all of this. Oh yeah, get paid to do your job for a good-looking guy who doesn’t complain that you keep your clothes on and doesn’t even try to cop a feel. Most girls would kill to be in your position.

Except Jasmine had backed out, a little voice in the back of your mind piped up. Jasmine, who was literally hooking up with Sleazy Sam who reeked of Old Spice, had gotten cold feet when it came to Pope.

Not cold enough that she refrained from sending you in there, another voice in your head said. It had a point. And you did not feel threatened by Pope. Uneasy, nervous, confused — yes. But not unsafe. 

So with that in mind, you pocketed the money, shook your hair out, and went back to dancing.

----

Side-note: I'm not sure if I should include the specific songs for the dance parts. Everyone's taste in music is so different after all, so I kinda want to leave it up for interpretation. Let me know what you think. Or just ask me if you want to know :)

Side-note: I am not American, have never been to the US and is bullshitting my way through how a lot of things work. Like taxes or the IRS or California in general. So if I got something wrong, I'm sorry.

side-side-side-note: tag list? I've never done one before, but I guess I could try if that's something people are interested in.

Other than that, if you liked this, please let me know! Reblogs and comments also make me write faster 💕  Thank you!

[johnwickluva]

Heatwave

Smutty John Wick x Reader

Summary: A heatwave hits and your AC breaks but damn does your boyfriend look good sweaty and half naked.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: smut 18+ only and not really a trigger warning but like please be super super fucking careful if you ever choose to have shower sex.

A/N: it’s hot as fuck I’m dying 😩

The heat was too much. You laid on the couch in just a sports bra and boxers, literally feeling yourself sticking to the fabric of the sofa. Music played through a speaker throughout the living room as you felt like you were melting. The AC unit in your home had broken and although you had the money to get it fixed it seemed as though everyone in the city’s AC broke as well.

When you called the repair people they said the earliest they could get to you would be in a couple of days. You hung up the phone feeling defeated. Then you and your boyfriend John went to multiple department stores looking for a fan. You figured that nobody was prepared for this heat wave as every store was sold out. With a defeated feeling you both made your way home.

Now you were laying on the couch dying, while John attempted to call some people. You wondered if you had enough ice in the fridge to make an ice bath in your bathroom when he walked in. Looking up from your spot you saw your boyfriend in just a pair of boxers walking into the living room to join you. He sighed while sitting down on the opposite side from you.

“I have a friend. He’s willing to do me a favor but it won’t be till tomorrow.” John spoke up, rubbing your ankle.

You groaned out but sat up. Taking a closer look at him, he had a slight sheen to him from sweat. He actually looked… really good but you weren’t sure you could actually have sex with him while your internal temperature already felt like one hundred degrees. Still your stare was enough to catch his attention.

John smirked and flexed his arms, knowing how much you liked it.

“Oh fuck you.” You almost whined out. “It’s too hot. I’m sorry I find you attractive.”

Your eyes rolled as he let out a beautiful laugh. Something about this heat though was driving you crazy. Like John looked irresistible to you. Suddenly you got an idea. You got onto your hands and knees and crawled along the couch towards him, like a predator getting ready to pounce on its prey. He didn’t break eye contact as he watched you.

When you got close to John you tilted your head and leaned forward, licking a bead of sweat that was collecting on his neck all the way up to his ear and then his cheek. He shuddered but stayed still. You placed a large smooch on his bearded cheek and nuzzled, feeling the hair beneath your lips. Sighing out you brought your lips to his ear.

“Why don’t you fuck me in the shower, Mr. Wick?” You practically purred out while bringing a hand down to palm his growing erection through the fabric of his boxers. “You always make my pussy feel so good.”

John practically growled and grabbed your wrist. You stopped yourself from laughing. It didn’t take much to get him going, you could’ve simply asked to have sex and he’d be on board, but you loved talking dirty to him and seeing how it drove him crazy.

“Watch what you say sweetheart.” He warned.

“Or what?” You played along.

John’s hand tightened around your wrist and he brought it up to his mouth. He kissed your palm before bringing your pointer finger to his mouth, biting it lightly. You squeezed your thighs together and let out an almost inaudible moan. Without thinking you pushed your finger deeper into his mouth causing him to gag slightly. He glared at you and removed your finger. Then he pulled you on top of him so he was looking up at you.

“John, it's way too hot!” You whined, feeling your hot skin stick to his.

“Payback for being cheeky.” He smiled.

You tried to push yourself off of him but melted into his touch as he began to burrow his face between your breasts, kissing the sweaty skin.

“You want me to make you feel good? I’ll make you feel good.” He murmured.

You fell back onto the couch as John stood up. He turned and offered his hand so you could stand up as well. You could feel the giddy feeling bouncing around your whole body, knowing what was coming. The two of you made your way into the bathroom where you turned the cold water on.

You turned to John and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, your sweaty skin still sticking together. Pulling him down you kissed him. His hands immediately went to your hips as your lips connected. You groaned at his taste and brought one of your hands to caress his face, loving the feeling of his beard beneath your palm.

Pulling back you smiled at him, giving him one more quick peck before taking your undergarments off and stepping into the shower. You couldn’t help but yelp and arch away from the water. It may have been hot out but the complete change in temperature shocked your body. John chuckled, took his boxers off and got in as well.

It took a couple tries but you eventually just went for it and stood directly under the stream of water, letting the cold water cool down your body. After a few minutes you let John cool down as well before standing closer to him. You looked him up and down and gave a whistle to show you liked what you saw. He couldn’t help it and rolled his eyes but still blushed a bit.

You brought your hands up and let your fingers travel all the way down John’s chest, caressing his stomach before grabbing his cock in your hand and jerking him off. He let out a grunt and grabbed the back of your head bringing you in for another kiss. This time it was very heated. Despite the cold water on your back you felt yourself begin to warm up. His tongue swiped at your bottom lip and you invited him in.

Your tongues rolled around one another as they explored. You moaned as you felt John’s own hand reach down and begin rubbing your clit. Both of you couldn’t keep your hands or lips off each other. He shifted the two of you without breaking the kiss so your back was against the shower wall. Your hand automatically went to grab the support bar the two of you had installed to hold yourself up as he grabbed one of your legs and lifted it up, hooking it around his hip.

At this angle it was more difficult to rub John’s cock but you continued anyway. He trailed his fingers from your clit to your opening and slipped a finger into your pussy. You threw your head back, breaking the kiss and cried out. He fingered you a couple times before bringing his fingers back to your clit, rubbing and repeating the process until he was able to easily fit two digits in.

John placed his forehead against yours and you both stared into each other’s eyes while touching one another. He towered over you making it so he was looking down at you while you looked up. You moaned his name as the familiar feeling of an orgasm started to grow within you. This continued on for a few moments before the thigh of the leg you were still standing on began to shake.

Grunts and groans were still leaving John’s lips as he finally removed his fingers from you and brought his arm to grab your ass and then lift you so both of your legs were wrapped around him and he was holding you. Never would you let anyone else do this. The act was so dangerous and usually not even worth the pain it could end in but you trusted him to not slip and drop you.

You bit your lip and brought your hand down to grab John’s cock and direct it inside of you. The second you got the angle right he thrusted forward, pushing deep into you. Your head went back and hit the wall a little harder than you meant to again and his head went right to your shoulder as he began a pace that had you crying out. The cold water wasn’t even registering as cold anymore as it cascaded down and onto both of your bodies.

One of your hands went to grab a fistful of his hair while the other hand went down to rub your own clit as he massaged your ass. You could hear him almost whimpering as he began to trail kisses all over your shoulder and neck, sucking occasionally to leave a deep and dark hickey.

“You feel so good.” John mumbled against your wet skin.

You bucked your hips slightly to meet his every time he thrusted forward. The tightening in your gut was growing stronger and his words turned you on even more.

“I love your big fucking cock, John.” You moaned out. “Especially when you’re so deep inside my pussy.”

Without stopping his hips he pulled back to look at you. The hunger in his eyes almost made you come right then and there.

“You have a mouth on you woman.” He got out through gritted teeth.

“Only for my strong, sexy man.”

John’s head dipped down and his mouth found your breasts as he licked and sucked on your nipples. His noises were starting to become full on moans as his hips started to move faster and harder. Your own hand increased in speed as you played with your clit exactly how you liked. You could tell he was close as his thrusts became more desperate and sloppy. He began to trail his tongue all the way from your nipple to your neck to your cheek where he left open mouthed kisses all over.

The hand you had in his hair came down to hook around John’s neck as you tried to bring his body closer to yours. Your breasts were pressed up against his chest and your bodies moved hastily together. The water continued to run and rain down on the both of you as your toes curled. He could tell you were about to orgasm based on your volume increasing and your pussy pulsing around him.

“You gonna come, baby?” He asked breathlessly.

“Fuck yes! Come in me, come with me!” You sobbed out.

John let out a strangled, long and low groan as he pulled your ass as close as he could to his pelvis, getting as deep as possible before spilling his seed. The sight and feeling helped you achieve yours as well. Your back arched off of the shower wall as you threw your other arm around his shoulder and hugged him close, digging your nails into his back. It was a full body orgasm as you felt the pleasure from your head to your toes.

You whined against John as his hips still bucked occasionally. Leaning up you claimed his lips with another kiss once more. The two of you softly moaning into each other's mouths as your body’s came down from the high of your orgasms. All that could be heard was the shower running and soft noises of pleasure as you locked lips. You pulled back but not without biting his bottom lip.

“You’re fucking fantastic.” You said while looking deep into his eyes. “I love you.”

At this John chuckled.

“I love you too.”

He helped you step down and stand as you were a little wobbly on your legs. Since you were already in the shower you decided to clean up.

The two of you took your time washing each other's hair and bodies while whispering words of love to one another. Even though the water was starting to get too cold you wished you could stay in just a little longer because you wanted to be close to him but you knew the moment you stepped out of the shower it wouldn’t be long for the heat to take effect once more. Finally finishing washing you both stepped out of the shower, dried off and redressed.

The minute you opened the bathroom door you were met by a wall of humid air. You groaned out, displeased and turned to look at John.

“I can’t survive in this heat.” You complained. “I wanna have sex again but in a comfy bed.”

He smiled at you and shook his head while laughing.

“Not too tired?”

You smirked at him.

“Definitely not. That was just a starter but oh well. Too hot for anything else, I guess.” Your tone was hinting at something.

Whatever it was, left John confused for a few moments before he realized what you were saying.

“Want me to book a hotel room?” He asked.

You nodded your head excitedly, swaying your hips as you walked up to him. Your hands came up to rub his biceps and smooth chest while you bit your lip.

“That way we can fuck nasty all day and night and not die of heatstroke. I wanna be able to barely walk when we’re done.” You winked at him.

This time John was the one who smirked. He grabbed your ass and gave you a deep kiss before breaking away and going to find his phone but not before calling out,

“That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble someday!”

You just laughed and simply called back,

“Oh I know. I’m hoping it does.”

[fifthnailinstevesbat]

thinking of a new steddie fic/au hmmm.

It’s just the classic, Steve buys weed from Eddie in season 1 era, he and Tommy meet him at the bench in the woods behind school. Steve and Eddie have some playful banter and clearly get along, but it’s dismissed as just a drug deal and they go on about their lives.

Next time they meet is when a frantic Steve comes and finds Eddie after he’s just fought off the demogorgon for the first time. He’s rattled, and skittish, wearing a nasty black bruise on his eye, and just overall not acting like himself. He snaps at Eddie multiple times to just ‘hurry up’ and ‘get him his stuff’, and sure he’s being an asshole, but more than anything Eddie is just concerned. He has never seen The King Steve Harrington lose his cool like this. So Eddie cautiously gives him the weed, making sure not to give too much, and lets him go about his day, but not before asking if he’s alright. Steve clearly wasn’t expecting this and brushes it off defensively, but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about it for the rest of his week. How the hell did Eddie Munson notice something was wrong, when his own parents didn’t? Nor his “friends”?

They cross paths again a year later, the beginning of season two. Steve is still with Nancy and has freshly dumped his old douchebag crew of superficial friends. He is still sitting quite comfortably on the higher ranks of popularity, but there is no denying his status is not what it used to be. He comes to buy weed from Eddie in the first week back at school, and it’s a casual interaction. He’s still as charmingly stuck up as he ever was, but now without Tommy there to judge his every move, he seems a little more at ease when making casual conversation with Eddie. Eddie doesn’t mention the year before and Steve is so glad for it, secretly very embarrassed that he went to Eddie for some refuge after arguably his most traumatic experience to date. He gets his stuff, giving Eddie a smirk when he notices he’s dropped the price significantly for Steve when it’s just him alone. Eddie gives him a challenging smile back, almost daring him to call it out, but he doesn’t. They both just laugh and part ways.

The next run in is tina’s halloween party. They notice eachother when Steve first arrives, making eye contact and giving a polite nod. Maybe Eddie lifts his drink up to Steve in a silly salute. They don’t speak at all or make any effort to hang around eachother. That is, until Steve storms down the stairs in a rage after he’d gone up there with Nancy Wheeler. But then are those- tears? Eddie was standing on the front porch smoking a cigarette, trying to discreetly hide from one Billy Hargrove to avoid having to sell him anything, but staying visible enough that he won’t lose all chances of making any money tonight. Steve storms right past him and hits his shoulder. Eddie whips around and is about to call him a dick before he sees who it is.

Steve tries to quickly wipe his face, he won’t make eye contact with Eddie, and he’s clearly trying to get out as fast as he can. Eddie doesn’t let him, though, since he’s obviously not thinking very clearly and is most likely about to do something emotional and stupid. He asks if Steve’s alright, and his answers are all short and rushed, so he’s definitely not. They’re not really friends, but Eddie’s not an asshole.

— “Did you drive?” Eddie asks

“Yeah”

“Well, you’re drunk, Steve. You can’t get behind a wheel right now. And if I knowingly let you, then that makes me an accomplice. I’ll take you home.”

Steve tries to protest, attempting to push past him, but Eddie interjects. “Yeah, yeah, alright! Don’t thank me yet, Steve’o. This is not for you, see, I’m not trying to get a criminal record, here. I cant go to prison, Steve. Do you know what they’d do to a pretty guy like me in prison? Nope, let’s go hot stuff.” —

Eddie takes Steve home. They don’t talk much. By the time they reach Steve’s drive way and Eddie has put his van in park, Steve is making no attempt to exit the vehicle just yet. Eddie doesn’t know what to do, he didn’t really plan this far, so he’s just tapping away awkwardly at his steering wheel while Harrington stares down the dashboard so clearly lost in thought Eddie fears his head might explode. Steve tells Eddie what happened, says it’s ‘relationship troubles’, and he’s not quite sure what compelled him into being so honest with Eddie Munson, but he’s blaming the alcohol. Eddie wasn’t expecting that. They chat for a bit, Eddie makes Steve laugh and considers the whole night a success after that. Then they start cracking jokes about their shared hatred for Hargrove, and Steve looks and sounds a bit more ok to go inside. He thanks Eddie, quite sincerely actually, and it throws him a bit. He stutters a ‘yeah, for sure. It’s no problem.’ And Steve goes home.

After that, it’s a little different. Steve, doesn’t actually really have anyone, anymore. When they go back to school he’s now greeting Eddie here and there in the hallways, making conversation when they find themselves alone together, in the lunch line or at the bathroom sink. He doesn’t approach Eddie when there’s too many people around, though. As much as he’s grown, Steve Harrington still carry’s some prejudice in him about how certain things may make him look. But it doesn’t bother Eddie too much. It’s not like they are really friends, they’re just like, strange acquaintances. And Steve would never deny that they get along, that really Eddie’s ‘not so bad’. So that’s a win.

Steve finds Eddie again not long after the party to buy some more weed, a plan that sparked purely out of boredom. Eddie says yes, of course, but tells him if he wants it today he will need to wait till after school and meet Eddie at his place, since he was busy. So Steve takes a trip to the Munson trailer to make his deal. Eddie invites him inside and they sit together on the couch as he gets Steve’s bag ready. They end up making quite pleasant conversation, joking around and ultimately finding they are really enjoying each other’s company. They enjoy it so much so, that Steve ends up smoking there, with Eddie. So now they are kind of like, hanging out? And it’s fun, so they do it again. Still they’re not, friends friends, they just get along. Eddie just sells Steve weed sometimes and they keep it civil.

He doesn’t hear from Steve for a while, and the next time he sees him it’s from a distance, in passing. The man has the most roughed up face Eddie has ever seen, bruised and swollen in multiple areas, stitches and bandages all over. It’s really, concerning? completely metal, but alarming. This is the second time Eddie has seen the guy all beaten up like that. He knew that boys fight, but surely not that bad? As worried as he was, Eddie doesn’t approach him to ask questions, because they don’t know eachother like that. So he goes on about his day, and he doesn’t see Steve again after that for quite some time.

Then it’s summer, Eddie isn’t graduating again, and he’s not really sure what to do with himself over the break. The new mall has just opened up, and there’s a cool music store up on the second floor that he likes to visit sometimes with his band friends. And wouldn’t you know, working at the Scoops Ahoy located directly across from his favourite store, is Steve Harrington. The guy hasn’t come to Eddie for any weed since last year, and then there was that sighting where he looked like he’d just fallen face first into a flying fist or two, so it’s been a minute since Eddie’s seen him. And he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a nice surprise. He only goes into scoops once. He’s curious, okay? Sue him. And, he knows the girl who works with him, Robin. So he plays it off like he had no idea he’d see Steve there. And to his surprise, Steve actually acknowledges him. He doesn’t act like Eddie is a total stranger just because they’re not in school anymore. The interaction is quick, they make very casual conversation, Eddie says hi to Robin, grabs his milkshake and goes home. That’s all. He doesn’t go back, and he doesn’t really plan to. Steve’s nice, and he knows Eddie’s around if he needs to buy from him again, and that’s really as far as their relationship goes. That’s all it ever was. It’s been fun getting to know Steve Harrington a little bit better, even if it was just for a short time. Eddie liked having the chance to see in past the quaffed hair and pressed polo shirts to learn that Steve was really just a person under it all. He never thought he’d say it, but Harrington wasn’t so bad. It was a nice little eye opening experience for Eddie.

Eddie was ready to write off his little blips of interaction with Steve Harrington as a thing of the past, no hard feelings, and move on with his life. That is, until he gets a knock at his front door in the middle of the night afew days after the big mall fire. And it’s Steve on the other side. And he looks awful, his face is the worst Eddie’s ever seen it. And he wasn’t really knocking, more like pounding. He says he needs Eddie’s help.

What the fuck?