#technically this counts since i planned on doing this on paper

[gutsby]

Wants and Needs

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Joel x Reader

Summary: Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Warnings: 18+. Protected piv. Explicit power imbalance in an exchange of sex for money, so dubcon, technically. Soft dom!Joel. Sex toys. Squirting. Oral (f!receiving). Overstimulation. Daddy kink. Age gap. Praise kink.

Note: Bohanan’s is a steakhouse in San Antonio, TX.

Word count: 8.4k

You wanted a car. Joel needed to cum.

It wasn’t the arrangement a girl your age should’ve made, but what could you do? Your dad drank half of your college funds away, and your mom was long gone.

The next best thing was Mr. Miller, your father’s boss. He’d understood better than anyone what money could buy. What it might do. For him, it was pleasure. For you, it was a future—or what little remained after bills and loans and exorbitantly-priced car repairs bled you dry.

You took the job at the firm on a whim. You didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, though your dad and Joel were. You didn’t want to be done with law school, though 3L had already long since ended, and that dreaded so-called ‘minimum competency’ test was drawing close on the horizon. In short, you couldn’t afford to pay for bar prep.

With Joel, you could.

It was true that tax law paid pretty well, but a part-time job would never really be enough when your family was treading water at all times. Your dad liked to gamble and drink, and your brothers got all of their brains from him.

You got the short end of the stick, plus the receiving end of another. Lucky for you, Joel’s felt pretty good going in.

Today you were somewhere south of Austin. Your truck wouldn’t start last week, so you’d agreed to come along on this business trip knowing full well what you planned on asking your boss as soon as you had a moment alone.

“CDP hearing at…9:45.” You checked the itinerary twice.

“Alright.” Joel nodded.

“Lunch with Javier, Ezra, and Dave at twelve.”

“Mhmm.”

“Phone call with Revenue Officer Acacius at 3:30.”

“For the…?”

“Martells.”

“Okay.”

“I finished Lucien Flores’ Form 433-F for your review and left notes—” You stopped to tap your finger on a short white pile of papers between you and Joel on the desk, “—in the margins. Still need bank statements from him.”

“Lovely.”

Joel eyed the stack at first, but his gaze strayed a little.

“You should probably plan to talk strategy with my dad before Mayor Garcia’s audit tomorrow, too. Looks like a couple non-cash contributions are being disputed now.”

For a second, your eyes flitted up to him, too. It was brief.

“Sure. When’s your daddy free?” he said.

You blinked, then scanned the schedule.

“Looks like five…or six, maybe. He’s got a consult with—”

“I wasn’t talking about your father.”

You looked back up. Joel was smirking, of course. His hand had drifted a comfortable, innocent distance past the papers and across the table, to you. The pair of you happened to be in one of the glass-paneled conference rooms nearest the hotel lobby, so he had to be discreet.

He never let his fingers stray too long on yours in public. Presently, his thumb grazed your knuckles extra slow.

Posing a question, maybe.

You didn’t have the time to be tactful now, unfortunately.

“I need $2,700.”

Joel, your boss, your daddy, whatever, had to pause at that. He didn’t move his hand immediately, but he did stare harder. Longer. He searched your face for the joke.

“$2,700?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” you answered out of habit, wincing only a little, “My truck stopped running last week, and it’s just…a lot.”

The cost. For Joel, it wasn’t even a drop in the bucket, but in your world, it was a make-or-break, fuck-your-whole-budget-for-the-next-six-months kind of bad. Suddenly, your cheeks felt warmer than they did before, and you forced yourself to look away. Peering out across the wide and gently rolling terrain of San Antonio and trying to pretend there was something thrilling to see. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated asking this.

“I can make the deposit tonight—” Joel started.

“No,” you interrupted. You wanted to turn but couldn’t. You just shook your head and kept staring out there, “Not now, I mean…I need to earn it over time, I just…”

You stumbled over the words. It was like your lips, your tongue, and your teeth were all suffering from the same sort of embarrassment pervading the brain, and you couldn’t bring your mouth to form the sentences right.

I’m not asking for a handout. I need to earn the money.

However ‘earning’ may have been grossly misconstrued in the context, it was a labor all the same. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate him, either. Joel was nice, albeit old enough to be your father, and it didn’t seem that he was nearly as predatory or perverse as he could’ve been. You’d been working for him for two months now, and the idea had been your own when the cash had gotten tight.

Back in April, you’d explained to him, calmly, that you couldn’t take the bar exam unless you got some extra money quick. That you wouldn’t accept his charity, but you’d pay him back in other ways. Joel had been against it at first—you were the daughter of his best friend, after all—but eventually, his carnal needs won out over his sense, as every other man would’ve done, you guessed.

At first, you’d started slow, but that hadn’t lasted very long. You fucked him regularly now, though never had you asked for an amount of cash this big out of nowhere.

Joel blinked and put a hand on his hip, like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. The silver in his soft, dark locks shone more in this light. He’d lost the smirk.

“You’ve done…plenty.” Now sounding sheepish.

You tried to protest again; Joel stopped you.

“I mean it. Hey, look at me,” he said next.

You did, hesitatingly. You turned from the window, and out of instinct, folded your arms over your chest. Joel paced closer to you and then he was watching. Pausing.

Brushing your arm with his and glancing once over your shoulder to make sure no one else was around to see.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

When he pulled away, your skin was practically ablaze.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Joel,” he corrected, quiet, “And you’ve done enough. Let me cover the car just this once, okay? Sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize you were pivoting again. That your gut was doing somersaults and your heart was ready to climb up and out of your throat. Your neck was burning.

It wasn’t even anger you sensed was simmering under the skin until you turned back to him, and your eyes flashed with ire before the words were even spoken.

“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller. I said I want to pay.”

“It’s Joel. And I said you’ve done enough, so—”

Ire morphed to something more in a blink.

You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Fine,” you huffed, suddenly exasperated, “If you’re so fucking opposed to me paying my way for this one simple thing, I’ll get another guy. Forget I asked.”

It was a low blow, for sure. Joel knew how badly you’d wanted this to stay between just you and him—and he would never dream of seeing you ‘earning your keep’ with anyone else. His expression said as much as soon as he’d heard your words; his whole face hardened at once.

But then you’d turned to leave. You didn’t care what he wanted to tell you, and if you did, you certainly weren’t brave enough to stick around to hear Joel say it then.

So you left. He had a full, busy day ahead of him anyway.

You woke up wet.

In an effort to avoid your boss, you’d run errands all day. Buried your nose in a sea of Civil Procedure notes as soon as you got a second alone, almost vomited seeing the Erie Doctrine, and went back to your hotel room to try and study there. Once you had, you napped instead.

Now your clothes stuck to your skin; the sheets around you were soaked. You peered over the big white duvet holding your body interred and saw smoke overhead.

Or steam.

Yes, definitely steam. It was drifting from the bathroom, where the door was thrown open. You shifted up to sit.

“Tess!” you yelled, “Shut the goddamn door, I’m boiling.”

As a law clerk, you weren’t afforded the luxury of a suite to yourself, so you shared it with the other new grads on work trips like these. Tess Servopoulos loved long, hot showers and never closed the fucking door. You groaned.

And, feeling depleted of all energy from your studies and the stress and the steam searing every inch of your skin, you flopped back in the bed. You kicked the covers off your legs. You’d just lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead, when an awful, fresh realization dawned.

You glanced at the clock—3:37.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed.

You were supposed to meet your dad at two to get some paperwork signed. You needed to have that filed with the court by four. He was probably engaged somewhere else by now, whether it be a client, a conference, or a couple white lines in the bathroom of a partners-only club downtown, and you wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him here. You rubbed your face and groaned again.

You’d set an alarm for 1:30—you knew you had.

Where the hell was your phone? Why was it so warm? What if he’d called? Aw fuck, he’s probably blown that thing up to hell and back by now. Maybe he was drunk. He had to be. Where was Tess? Where were your pants?

You’d made it up to your feet, clumsily, and faced a full-length mirror. Your bottoms were gone. You closed your eyes and screamed inside, remembering why they were.

“Glad you’re getting some use out of this.”

The second you heard it, your lids flew open. You turned.

And, standing in the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light—holding the culprit, your vibrator, like a prize—was Joel. Naked as the day he was born, save for one thin towel around his hips, and grinning. Moisture glistened on his chest and pooled about his feet, and his hair was smooth, tamed, and combed back neatly from his face.

He waved your silicone toy in the air, and immediately, you regretted giving him your room key the other day.

“I thought we agreed you’d wait for me—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice was thick with sleep. Joel’s own was slow, dulcet, and kind as it always was, even when teasing. When you grit your teeth, he just set the toy aside.

“I’m sorry. Bad timing. I saw your—”

“No.” You threw up both hands at once, suddenly out of breath and fucks to give, “You know what? I don’t care. You need to go. I have to be down at the courthouse—”

In twenty minutes. You cut yourself short and hurried off to find shoes. You could wear other pants. Ask another attorney to sign the forms if you couldn’t reach your dad. Forget that his boss and yours had just caught you with the vibrator he’d bought you last month and try not to feel too humiliated knowing he knew what you’d been doing. It didn’t matter—Joel didn’t matter. You slid on a mismatched pair of slacks and set off toward the door.

Then you had to stop. Joel beat you there, quick as ever.

“Listen. Hey.”

“Will you stop?!”

You pushed at his big and wet, stupidly broad chest. You felt the small grey hairs on his pecs tickle your palms, and for a second, you thought you heard a chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me late—”

“Hey, hey,” Joel said again. Of course it sounded fatherly, “I already signed the POA for Morales, hon, you’re good.”

You’re good.

“You what?” You stared at him in disbelief. How did he even know you needed Frankie’s power of attorney signed in the first place? You figured your dad would’ve mentioned it, but still, it wasn’t really Joel’s form to sign.

“The case is mine now,” he clarified, reading that look, “Wasn’t my first pick, but it is what it is. And your dad—”

Your dad was probably lagging wildly behind on his own caseload, so he’d pushed one off on his friend. Again.

“You can’t keep picking up his slack,” you gritted out, “One of these days it’s gonna bite you both in the ass. You know he shouldn’t be forcing these jobs on you.”

“I offered.”

“You caved.”

“He’s my best friend, what do you expect me to do?”

“Not let him use you! He’s making you feel bad for him.”

“And what if I did? What if I did pity the bastard?”

You scoffed. Then winced, inwardly.

I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller.

From the look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be remembering the same. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he trailed off. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and started to move from the door, deflating some.

His other arm extended to you, wordlessly, and already anticipated what was sure to follow. You swatted him off, then walked to the bed. You considered sitting but didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms like you always did and turned away, facing the window with a cool, flat affect.

By now, Joel knew better than to take that for what it seemed. He crossed the room to you, treading softly.

His voice turned gentle again, like an apology: “Honey…”

But your gaze was already fixed outside. You frowned.

“Darlin’,” Joel continued, undeterred, “Come on.”

And you didn’t need to see his face to hear the rest: ‘Look at me, please,’ with eyes all comfort and warmth.

“Don’t you have a phone call with an R.O. or something?” Briefly, you recalled Acacius and a stream of other items from the checklist you’d covered that morning, and you had to stop yourself then from straying too far. You blinked once, just as Joel was approaching from behind.

“I cancelled,” he said.

You sighed, “Mr. Miller…”

You knew he hated doing that.

“Joel,” he pressed. Adding, “Something came up.”

You wouldn’t even ask. You shouldn’t care. You felt him standing there, fanning hot breaths across the nape of your neck, and you really couldn’t have taken that worse. You visibly tensed, hands balling into fists at your sides, and—hell, he wouldn’t quit moving now, would he?—Joel bent down. He hesitated, as if gauging your reaction in time, then descended further. He kissed your shoulder.

You cracked; it never took much from him.

For all your inane, ancillary plays at feigning indifference, one movement of Joel’s mouth and your resolve was lost. You clung to words, weakly, but all the rest fell away.

“We don’t…want your charity. Me or my dad. Alright?”

“I know.”

Joel kissed your skin again, then pulled at the strap of your blouse. It fell limply away, and his lips reattached.

Exactly when he’d walked you back to the bed, you couldn’t be sure. By the third or fourth kiss, your stomach was tight, knees weak, and your eyes drawing closed; it didn’t matter to you or to him what had passed before. Your bodies found the bed and blended together.

Tangling, in a way. Tearing blindly at clothes and not saying too much apart from Joel’s soft, sweet words:

“That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Good girl.”

Good girl when he kissed you. Good girl when he stripped you bare. Good girl when his hands roamed the broad, naked expanse of your body and let your own do the same to him. Good girl when your fingers hooked the outline of the towel and tugged it away, your vision filled with a sight you’d come to like more and more each day.

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmured. He cradled your head while you gripped his base, “‘S’yours, baby. All yours.”

Yours. Mine. You weren’t sure you had the sense or self-possession to even know what that meant, especially here. Joel wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t a lover, at least not in the traditional sense. He wore dark wool suits like your father and worked from dawn until dusk every day, practicing law for longer than you’d been alive. Still, the smile above you was sweet. It coaxed you gently as you slid your hand up and down his length, like he sensed this was more like a lesson for you. Learning experience.

“Remember, spit a little first,” he instructed. Then, to demonstrate this point, he brought his fingers to his mouth and wet them quickly. He slipped his touch down to yours and met your gaze while he joined you there.

He rubbed and slicked himself up and he did it with ease. You followed his lead and watched his face contort—crow’s feet pinching even tighter at the sides of his eyes as pleasure began to pool in his gut. He looked pretty. You’d never thought to tell him this, but Joel really had an unparalleled face. It was an old and beautiful thing. For this reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away, maybe to wet your own fingers. Instead, you slipped your hand between your legs, where his hips had come to rest. You worked a slow, light touch against your folds; you were drenched, and it didn’t take long for your fingers to be, too. You moved them back to Joel’s cock.

“Like this?” you ventured.

The man answered with a grunt, at first. Then a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Joel nodded, quiet but emphatic. Trying not to smile too big as he let your touch take over for his, “Just like that, sweet pea. Get it nice an’ wet for daddy.”

You wanted to whimper at that. Something must’ve flashed in your eyes at the intonation of the last word, and the look must’ve suffused your whole expression, because the next thing you knew, Joel was lowering his body to yours. Petting your hair, letting you rub on his shaft as fast as your soft, lithe hands could manage.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how much daddy missed you?”

You did.

Your brow pinched, and you wanted more of that. More from him: those tender, edifying words of praise being mumbled your way while your touch worked him over. Maybe you could’ve helped it, but then again, in this state, maybe you couldn’t—you whimpered for him.

Wriggling your hips against the bed to get your warmth pressed flush with his own, and squeezing him tighter:

“In me, daddy. Please.”

You angled his cock in your trembling grip to plead as much. You knew he liked being the one to push in the first time, so you didn’t move too far with that push, but you begged him with your gaze. You felt him tense a bit.

And just when you sensed he might let you have your way, he moved off. Down. Sliding his torso away from your own, to go lower on the bed, and smirking again.

“I think she needs my tongue first, doesn’t she?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, you flinched. You crawled away from his hold before it could secure itself firmly on either one of your legs, and you had to snag your bottom lip between your teeth to contain that blossoming need. It almost spilled from your mouth in a moan before Joel’s could reach your lower half. Then you scrambled to sit up

“No,” you choked out.

This wasn’t new. While you shook your head, Joel lifted a brow and stood from the bed. He reached behind him.

The night stand.

You closed your eyes.

“This isn’t…supposed to be for me.” you sighed.

In a second, Joel was back where he started, and you didn’t have to steal a glance through your lids to know what he was holding. Slotting himself gently into place.

“Don’t,” he started, sharp, “—say that. I mean it.”

You knew he meant it, but you also knew better than to accept at face value what he said, moving down on you.

This wasn’t part of the deal. Joel’s money was meant to serve his pleasure, not yours. Letting him take you any other way seemed to blur the lines between transaction and affection, and though you’d done this before, it still didn’t feel right. You couldn’t bear having his focus here.

Evidently, though, he could. He’d snatched your vibrator from the night table and lowered his torso to your legs, lips twitching the tiniest bit. ‘Open up. Let me see her.’

Joel was on his stomach, eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Let me see how much she’s missed me, baby.”

The grey matter in your brain might’ve trickled through your ears���the whole thing went to mush at his words. You pushed at his hands, then the top of his head, but clearly, your will was weak. You wanted this. Needed it.

“That’s a good girl. Let daddy have it,” Joel drawled.

You wanted to cry. Or maybe hide. His index and middle fingers prodded at your folds, pulling them apart, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d stopped breathing. Joel kissed the slope of your mound with a quiet kind of reverence. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin brushed your clit, and your back arched reflexively. Then, remembering why you’d come to this arrangement in the first place, you felt a wave of guilt supplant that pleasure.

You clawed at his head and shook your own, weakly.

“No. W-wanna make you feel good,” you choked out.

Not me.

Not here.

Just let it—

“Fuck,” you keened through your teeth. Joel’s lips made contact with your slick, drooling cunt and, in a second, sucked your nub in between them. He flicked his tongue.

Joel groaned, then pulled away to meet your gaze.

“Feels plenty good f’me,” he assured you in a murmur. Eyes glossy, “She’s so fuckin’ sweet, honey. So pretty.”

Then, as if to punctuate his point, he slid his tongue down the whole wet mess of your slit, and he moaned. He curled the muscle and invaded your sticky, sensitive, precious warm flesh with vigor and force—maybe a little desperation—and you whined at the feeling. Your toes curled tight. It was doubtlessly a sight to see: Joel’s old and weathered head against your young and supple skin, the wiry greys of his chin rubbing your cunt like no man’s his age should’ve been. He took you gently. Forked his fingers over your folds to hold you open for him and then, over and over and over again, just licking stripes. Squelching noises only seemed to goad him on while he buried his nose and savored your taste without reserve. Your stomach clenched with that pleasure, then swelled.

“That’s my girl—so good for me,” Joel said, as though reminding you, gently, it was okay to relish the feeling.

Once more, he suckled your clit in his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a quick back-and-forth motion, and the next sensation hit without a breath of warning.

Your belly twisted again, then flushed with hot pleasure.

“My— fuck,” you cried, shuddering with a climax you didn’t know was coming. You held his head and whined.

Joel’s tongue didn’t stop. Your vision blurred. Whatever reprieve you might’ve hoped to find came in the form of his lips drawing back, momentarily, only to sponge little kisses on your still-pulsing heat. Your body jolted back.

“I c— I’m done. I’m done,” you blurted out.

Joel nodded against you. Humming through his kisses:

“I know. Keep going.”

Keep going.

So simple.

Still, you couldn’t breathe. Your sight was inundated with stars. You felt Joel’s stubble on your slit again, only this time, the pleasure was tripled. Your legs trembled, and your hands made fists in his hair. Joel kept on kissing.

And kissed again, again, and again, until your fingers in his locks pulled taut to the roots and your hips were bucking up in his face: ‘Too much, t—oh fuckfuckfuck.’

Then came a buzz. Skirting your legs in a blink, before diving to meet Joel’s mouth on your clit. You shrieked.

“I know, I know,” Joel joined, as though soothing a wound while he maneuvered the vibrator. Lifting his head and then kissing your thigh, “I know. You’re alright.”

You wanted to sob; you felt ready to burst. You trusted Joel’s judgment but had never been subjected to this sort of pleasure. What if it was more than you could take?

“I’m here.”

Joel’s words were slow to crawl off his tongue, but their intent was clear. You writhed once more, and he was kissing your skin, rubbing your thighs, and taking the toy to your clit with a warm, devoted touch. He wasn’t cruel.

He had a glint in his gaze when you met it, like he knew you wouldn’t accept this feeling alone—but he wanted you to. He wanted the indulgence to be your own and an end in itself. There was care in his touch, tender praise with every caress, and you guessed this was intentional. Joel needed you to know this was more than only his.

You felt more naked than you’d ever been: soaking the sheets with your last release, fresh arousal trickling out, Joel’s spit mixing with your nectar and sweat and pressing you down in the bed. And nudging you, gently.

“‘S’okay, baby. You’re alright. That feels nice, doesn’t i—”

“Kiss me.”

It came out faster than you could even try and stop it. You weren’t sure why you said it. The words were acerbic on your tongue—you hated ever sounding needy—but then your mind and your mouth and your worries were all silenced at once when Joel came clambering up for you.

His lips were wet and grinning as he kissed you. He held the vibrator hostage between your legs while his body pressed tight against yours. His movements slowed.

Then, as if he’d crawled in your head and read your mind:

“It’s okay to need me, baby. It’s okay to want this.”

His hips made that assurance even clearer. Joel reached down and took the vibrator again, increasing the friction between your groin and his while he pressed the buzzing toy to your clit. You whined into his mouth at the feeling.

Your eyes rolled back, and the pleasure soared. This morning, you might’ve bristled at the words he’d just spoken, but here, in this bed, it felt okay. It felt safe.

Joel felt safe, for once, and you weren’t sure how to keep that idea from sticking—how to reconcile the notion of swapping sex for cash with a man for months on end, and then this. Your stomach churned. He held your face and kissed you more, and your clit throbbed and ached. Before you could ponder your thoughts a second longer, a white-hot pleasure washed over, and you came again.

“Good girl,” Joel cooed.

Throbbing even more this time.

“That’s a sweet girl. That’s my baby.”

All but aching with desire. Feeling it double.

“Cum for daddy, that’s it. Keep going.”

Feeling it trickle down your legs.

“She’s feelin’ real good, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You whined. Felt something splinter between your thighs and then more of it, more of you and that slick, oozing pleasure and Joel’s groans, overjoyed—‘Making a fucking mess’a daddy, isn’t she? She feel that good?’—and by ‘that good’ you guessed it was more than normal.

This was more warmth than usual. Somewhere in the midst of your own mind-numbing pleasure, you’d let out a spurt, sticky and wet. It now coated the hairs on Joel’s tummy, and while his skin shone, his eyes were brighter. He flitted a look to you, gaze flaring, and slid down. Low.

Back to where he was before. Moving the buzzing pink bullet aside and letting his mouth assume its place.

Of course, you yelped.

“Joel!”

You winced, both from saying his name and feeling so raw. Joel grinned at the sound and suckled your clit.

It was drenched. You and Joel, too, were doused all over and practically gleaming under the rays of late afternoon sun then pouring through the window. For a second, you cast a look outside like you had before, but it was only to brace your body for the bliss at hand. You stared and felt a crude, carnal shockwave seize you head to toe. It traveled fast and made you release, again, or else just continue the same flow as before—and this time, into Joel’s waiting mouth. He lapped at you feverishly now.

He squeezed your legs and licked you dry. He worked in merciless circles, like his life might have depended on making you stay at this peak. All the while, you were tearing at his hair. Riding his face as your body fell apart.

That was alright. This pleasure was yours for now, but there was still time yet to make it worth his while, you reasoned in a half-intoxicated state. Your legs vibrated as you started to crawl—limp—back up in the bed and, numb with elation and a desperate need to please, you stretched your arm toward the night stand. You huffed.

You reached blindly but got it. The box. Weak fingers found the first plastic strip and tore yourself a square. Then, lifting it to Joel, you ignored the last stabs of pleasure between your legs. This was fun, but still his.

“Go on,” you told him, breathless, “Fuck me.”

Joel quirked a brow. He took the condom, still panting himself. He brought the latex to his tip out of habit, then:

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Your head was swimming. Somewhere entrenched in the furthest recesses of your brain you could feel it, that dizzying, self-centered pleasure. You pushed it back.

You suffocated it, and you spread your legs wide for him. You let him lay you down and tug the rubber over his cock, then nudge at your hips to situate himself in just the right way. How he liked it. He seemed to be content, and your heart swelled. In this airy, buoyant state, you felt more at ease to speak, sure that he’d understand.

“This should cover some of it, right?” you panted out.

Joel slowed.

“What?”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eager to keep going. But you steeled yourself, just barely, then.

“Sex. Now,” you said, “It’ll cover some of my car repairs.”

Instead of nodding like you’d expected, Joel only blinked. Then you opened your mouth to speak again, and his body stopped you cold. He planted a hand beside your head on the pillow and raised his hips; you felt his heat leave with it. You reached for his backside immediately, to try and pull him back into that pre-missionary position he’d held, when Joel brushed you off. His face was hard.

“Money?” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you started, then remembered how you talked outside of the bedroom, when he seemed more serious, “We’ll go again. All week. You can even put it in my—”

Joel balked, like you’d just slapped him across the face.

“No,” he said, sharp.

“No,” he repeated, more to himself this second time. Almost as though he couldn’t believe what you were suggesting—and making him guilty by association.

Joel clenched your pillow like a vice and shook his head.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” he finished, and when your gaze penetrated his, confused, he squeezed harder.

“Thought you wanted it.” Joel added, almost shamefully.

“I do! I do…I just—” you sputtered.

“What? Think you need to offer up a week and a half of fucking to make it worth my time? Is that what this is?”

Well, in a way, maybe.

You weren’t sure what to say. Former dizzying bliss was dwindling fast, and now you were facing him cold. Sober.

Increasingly irritated, again.

“I just need money, Mr. Miller—”

“It’s Joel, hon,” he bit back, for the fourth time that day. His eyes flared with something more, maybe annoyance, but then he was tempering it just as fast. He ran a hand through his damp grey hair and shook his head, pausing, “It’s Joel. I know you need the money, baby, but it’s—”

“It’s what we agreed,” you protested, “What I need—”

“Well it’s not what I want!” Joel barked.

Anger surged again, and this time, evidently, the feeling was harder to keep at bay. He was scarcely able to rein in his features, settling on a grave little scowl instead of a frown, and he sucked in shorter, shallower breaths through his nose. You felt him let your pillow go.

“Forget it—the cash.” Joel grit his teeth even tighter, “Forget these payments and the goddamn allowance I’ve had you on. I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right.”

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Joel’s voice resumed on its own.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need, sweetheart…”

He stopped. Silence followed, then stretched on for one full, terrible minute. In that interim, you could see his chest rise and fall fast. He was trying to slow it down.

“Whatever you need paid off, I’ll do it. Anything. You don’t have to touch me again. It was wrong of me to allow that in the first place,” he rejoined, tone cooling.

Sounding guilty, too.

Above you, Joel didn’t seem keen on holding your gaze, so he fixed his stare someplace on the headboard instead. Then he moved off your body, slowly.

In spite of the distance he attempted to give, he was still crowding your space. Looming large and bare and weary as you’d ever seen him, knees shuffling back awkwardly through a mass of cotton sheets while his eyes shifted low. Away. The rest of him filled your lungs with a heady cologne scent and your stomach with a thousand tiny blades—you were hurt that he wasn’t sticking to his end of the bargain. You were mad that he was trying to claim the moral high ground now, after everything you’d done.

Mostly, though, you were just upset that you felt like you were losing someone close. That Joel Miller was more of a confidant, friend, and father figure than your own dad had ever been, and that got all fucked up over money. Your lips pursed, and something stung behind your eyes when you reached for him again. Your throat stung, too.

“The reason I agreed to do this,” Joel went on, and the ache in your head worsened when he winced from your touch, “was ‘cause I didn’t want you getting ‘help’ from anyone else. I was selfish. And that’s not an excuse…”

He started to move off, hand dropping from yours.

“…but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

At length, Joel found your gaze, and the eyes said it all over again: I’m sorry. You might’ve believed them, too.

But you were you, and you couldn’t help but press:

“Why?”

Your voice was small. Joel was trying to stand from the bed, but you grabbed at his hand again and made him meet your eyes. Confusion was painted across his own.

Kneeling in front of him, curious, you tried to clarify.

“Why’d it have to be you?”

Judging from Joel’s expression as soon as you did, you got the sense that this question made him feel dumb. He frowned, but he held your stare and answered anyway.

“Because I wanted you first,” he replied, “Before all this.”

Your stomach twisted. He did?

You didn’t need to ask twice to know what that meant. What he’d said, in words and with a look, was enough. Still, it was always in you to know more, to be sure, so you crept a little closer. You let your hands roam up and—

“No,” Joel said, as soon as your fingers reached his side.

You’d just wanted to feel him, maybe prod him further on what he’d just said through acts that didn’t require verbal articulation, but he refused. He backed up in bed.

“This isn’t about—” he started, low.

“Sex. I know,” you answered for him. Then your touch grazed his thigh, and you were dying to have more. To be told in a way you both knew and understood. To touch, “You want me to believe you really…liked me before?”

“More than you know.”

There was that blunt, open pragmatism in the Joel you’d always known. Perhaps guided by natural inclinations, or else your hand on his leg, drawing higher. Moving closer.

Showing skepticism through your eyes and the hint of a playful, disbelieving smile starting to curl at your lips.

“When you met me?” you teased.

You’d known of Joel for years, and had met him a couple times as a teenager at various firm holiday functions. You probably hadn’t exchanged more than ten words altogether before starting law school a few years back.

“Hell no,” Joel answered, fast, “When you started work.”

His gaze was timid again. It was fixed on his thigh where you’d started to slide your index up the warm, muscled expanse of his skin, and though you could tell he was more than hesitant, you wanted to know. Wanted to feel.

It wasn’t so easy convincing a man you’d been working for—and fucking, largely without feeling—to pay bills that you wanted him here and now. But you needed to try.

That maybe, somewhere along the way, you’d come to want him, too. That cash wasn’t the only thing at stake.

You crawled between his legs, then straddled his hips.

Your lips smiling still as you did: “How much?”

Joel blinked back. Dazed.

“What do you m—”

“How much did you like me? When did it start?”

Joel sighed when your heat rubbed his. He tried grabbing ahold of your hips, when you glanced down and saw he’d already discarded the last condom. You couldn’t have that if you wanted to continue this talk.

You reached back and grabbed another.

“Darlin’,” Joel said, strained, “We shouldn’t…”

“Says who?”

You’d already worked the rubber halfway down his length when his heavy-lidded gaze locked with yours. You saw lust there, mixed with worry. Curiosity. You kept going.

“Says your dad, if he ever finds out what I’ve done to his little girl,” Joel replied, closing his eyes at the feeling.

You had the latex worked down to the base of him when you smiled. Felt him seize your hips, lids fluttering open to find you in their soft, glossy stare, and you felt better. Like clockwork, you went together and joined, at last. You felt Joel squeeze your backside and groan when you first sank down to take him whole. You shuddered, too.

But you tried to steady your voice as you spoke.

“Semantics, Miller,” you told him, only faltering a little, “Things you are ‘doing’ to his little girl. Not just ‘done.’”

There, you had a point. Surely your father would have had some choice words for his business partner and best friend if he knew how far Joel’s cock was currently stuffed inside your tight, wet cunt. It might even piss him off, if he weren’t too drunk to receive the news himself.

Joel blinked hard, signaling that he knew this too, and presently watched your body swallow all eight inches at once, after you’d raised yourself up to just the tip and sank back. Your ass fell to his groin with an obscene sort of squelch, and your walls involuntarily clenched. You both let out sounds of pleasure, and held on tighter.

Your hands on his chest for stability, while one of his own held your hip and the other fumbled around for your clit, gliding through the sheen of your arousal on his front. You rocked your hips and felt how much it really was—how you’d drenched his whole abdomen with your last release. You smiled at this and stared, pleased with the pretty, sticky display you’d laid bare all over Joel’s belly.

When Joel wasn’t watching you ride, he stared there too.

“Not so ‘little’ anymore,” he mused quietly. Then he looked up to find your eyes, seeing them as glazed as his, “And I ‘like’ you, hon. Present tense. Not just…‘liked.’”

Alright.

“How much?”

You wanted to say it with some confidence. Nonchalance. Then Joel’s cock nicked a particularly sensitive ridge inside your walls, and that thought was gone as quick as it had come. You gripped the flesh of his upper chest and rolled your hips harder. Let out your breaths in little fractured whimpers while you rode him more. Another sweet feeling twisted low in your gut.

With just a glimpse of that, Joel moved his hand from your heat up past your hips and waist, to squeeze one of your breasts. His fingers were wet. You could feel them, equal parts warmth and wanton yearning as the pads pinched your nipple and gave it a firm tug. He grunted.

Clearly, there was more to it than just the touching and feeling for him—Joel’s eyes drank in the sight of your skin as it glistened with the arousal he’d just smeared. He thumbed at the wet, stiff peak and swallowed. And, just as you were about to adjust the rhythm of your hips bouncing on him, his free hand joined the first and pulled you down. You cried feeling his cock wedge deep; your hands fell to either side of his body when he yanked your face down to his. He fucked up into you from underneath

You squealed, soft, “Joel!”

He kissed your open mouth. Made you lay flat overtop him while he fucked your dripping hole. You whimpered.

“Joel—” Again.

“I like you so much, sweetheart,” he said, in answer to your last question, lips close, “Does she like me too?”

As if to save him the trouble of a swift reply in words, your body told him instead. You squeezed around his cock, and with another desperate cry, bit his shoulder. He hammered your poor, aching pussy with a groan of his own, and he held your body down to his. Grinning.

Kissing the side of your head while he pounded away. Stroking your hair, “Is that a ‘yes’? She like her daddy?”

Drool was bound to slip out of your mouth any second. Your lips were locked in a permanent ‘o’ while he drilled from under you on the bed. Still, you managed to nod.

“Uh-huh—oh, fuck, fuck, da-ddy. Yes, daddy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as another blistering wave seared your insides. Joel was relentless with his thrusts now, driving himself in and out without stopping or slowing. He must’ve known you were close. He was too, judging by the sounds of his grunts and hushed tone.

“Let daddy take care of her then, baby. All of her. OK?”

His words trickled through your ear as sweet as honey. His cock was less kind, but that was okay—you liked it.

You loved him here. Taking care of you. Her. Everything.

And, in this half-coherent state of fuckdrunk pleasure, you were tempted to give in to whatever he begged.

It would be so easy. Joel cradled your face in his hand, practically beaming with pride while he fucked you over and over, and your legs were spread, walls were stretched, eyes practically rolling back, and you felt more secure than you’d been in ages. Joel could care for you.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and hummed.

“Daddy’s got you,” he said, voice all warm assurance.

Nudging you closer and closer to your peak—and perhaps some other form of surrender. Release.

Submission?

Joel wouldn’t be so bad for that.

He could fuck you well and leave you content. Make you forget what it meant to be strapped for cash and saddled with guilt and worry over bills every month. Joel could provide, for now. His eyes said as much; his fingers threaded through your hair and rubbed your scalp. He cupped your face, all fifty-six years in his own looking as handsome as they’d ever been. He felt good. He felt safe.

You were hot. Your legs trembled and ached.

“Is that something you’d want?” he pressed.

And, still holding Joel’s gaze with a heavy-lidded, fucked out look of your own, you surprised yourself by nodding, slowly. Your body was spent, but the curve on your lips, then his, was sincere; Joel nodded back as he grinned.

“Yeah? You mean it, sweetheart?”

He flipped you both over and got on top, never breaking apart. You wound your legs around his back and let him cup your cheeks again, and from this angle, you felt it. You wouldn’t try and fight it now; you just kissed him.

Then you came for a third time, walls clenching and squeezing and gushing again, smearing Joel’s front as he fucked you right through it. His groans were a little more subdued than yours, but in their timbre, you could hear his desperation. He emptied himself inside you, in the condom, and kept holding your face all the while.

You felt a low pulse between your legs. Then another. And another. And another. Joel’s hips began to still, his hefty greying belly bumping lightly against your skin while he drained what was left in his balls, and you swore that his bones might’ve creaked from the sheer force of those final thrusts. He seemed exhausted. Somehow, though, the man looked even better in this state—haggard and worn as he was, the face above your own was soft. Smiling, faintly, and kissing you constantly.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it; you were far too tired and fucked out of your mind to protest right now.

Joel trailed a path with his lips from your chin to your ear. He kissed the hinge of your jaw and sank himself deeper.

“Mr.—” But you caught yourself, shortly, “…Joel.”

He lifted his head, not apologetic in the least.

“Maybe just one more—” he started.

“No,” you finished for him, sharp.

Still smiling, but with your eyes on him in a thinly veiled threat. Joel accepted that and kept his dick where it was.

What followed was gradual but natural enough. A little awkward as you broached that uncharted territory of remaining in the other’s presence after the deed was done, but Joel didn’t seem like he wanted to leave the bed, and you had nowhere else to go until dinner with your dad at eight. There was a moment you wanted to separate your body from Joel’s, if only to slip off to the bathroom by yourself, but the man just held you closer.

“You think your old man will mind if I joined tonight?”

Here the fuck we go.

“He’ll kill you.”

You pushed hard against his hold without getting so much as an inch of give. Joel had to fight back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because,” you began in a huff. Wriggling with very little success in his arms, while you were pinned in missionary, “I smell like you. You smell like me. My dad’s a drunk, but he can sniff stuff like that out in a heartbeat. Too risky.”

You punctuated those words with a still more serious look, but before you could nudge at his chest again or say something more, you were forced to swallow a scream. Joel’s grip tightened even more, and he moved to stand up from the bed—with you still in his arms and impaled on his cock. He started to walk to the bathroom.

“Great. Shower’s got plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Joel!”

“Glad I don’t have to keep reminding you of my name.”

His voice was smug. Your gaze was hard. Joel was still hard himself, amazingly, and you almost groaned when you felt the head of his cock bump somewhere soft and sensitive inside. He toted you into the big, bright room.

“If not tonight, how ‘bout tomorrow? Just you and me.”

He would never stop this shit. He reached for the faucet.

“Still too dangerous. You know that,” you chided. Your resolve only wavered a little when you felt the hot water start to pelt at your back. Joel closed the glass door, “Besides…I need to focus on figuring my shit out right now. Work and bills and getting myself a rental car soon.”

Joel paused. He turned, still holding you.

Then, just as swiftly as he’d stepped inside, he carried you right back out of the shower. You whined in protest.

He took you over to the bed and set you down. He left to find his wallet and keys. You might’ve been tempted to voice your displeasure in some other way—namely, by marching back to the bathroom, locking the door, and bathing alone—but before you could speak a word, Joel was back. He looked down at you and held out his fist.

“What’s—”

“Your dad and me’ll be up to our eyeballs in bullshit working the Garcia audit tomorrow—and I know you don’t want him seeing us leave together anywhere—so we can meet at Bohanan’s at six. How does that sound?”

You blinked.

“I don’t…have a car.”

Joel opened his hand. Keys dropped out.

In a single glance, you could see they weren’t his.

Joel drove a garish Super Duty F-450, not an Audi. The cogs were quick to turn in your head, but clearly not fast enough, because Joel was closing your fingers over the keys before you could breathe so much as a syllable to him. When you did, it came out more like a stutter. Palpably mad but far too rattled to get much out:

“Joel, I-I can’t—”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one anyw—”

“You’re insane,” you started to push the keys back, and for some reason, your heart was thudding extra hard as you did. You went on, unblinking, “You don’t…need to.”

“I want to.”

Joel’s hands were warm when he pressed both of his palms to secure yours between them. He could probably feel the way it shook a little, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was too busy trying to find, and hold, your own while you swallowed and stared and racked your numb brain for any words of defiance. At length, nothing came.

All you could do was meet that look. In the soft brown irises above, you could see it all—the need to comfort, and care, and provide where he could, offer better than the hand you’d been dealt and maybe, interspersed with those feelings somewhere, a simpler need in him to give.

For once, you wanted to believe it.

Fun fact: This fic was inspired by true events‼️💯 My life 😫🤪😤😈 Like reader, my truck is also busted as SHIT and needs $2,700 in repairs!!!! Unlike reader, I will not be sucking and fucking Joel Miller to recoup my losses (not asking for donations, just wanted to give y’all a giggle at my misfortune LOL)

[heartsfromia]

knight in shining armor — j. wonwoo

pairing: non-idol! wonwoo x f!reader

word count: 7,350

genre: fluff, angst, mild crack, college setting

warnings: cheating (not wonwoo tho our boy is sweet, it's reader's shitty ex), curse words, implicit violence (black eyes, cuts on lips mentioned)

author's notes: y'all pray that one day i have the energy to proofread my works ;_____; BRO I STG I WORKED ON THIS FOR OVER THREE MONTHS AND IDK HOW IT GOT SOOO LONG T___________T

“Hey, I’m planning on finishing my paper for International Law in Holly’s, come with me?”

With your hands intertwined with your boyfriend, Hanwoo, the two of you walked towards the parking lot by your university, just having finished a class together. You were hoping to spend some time together since Hanwoo had been preoccupied with the major association he’s a member in, as the collegial organization is holding its elections in the next week and he had been approached to help out as a committee member. Since the two of you have the same classes together, and the paper was due next Monday (it being a Thursday now), you thought you could get, at least the introduction down, while having some quality time in the 24 hour café with your boyfriend of six months.

“We’ll be there all night and you can distract me from my paper and I will do the same to you, and then we can down a ton of caffeine before passing out on the bean bags they have,” you tried to convince him, leaning into his side as you two approached his car. “And then we can go home and talk about how we should’ve finished our paper, plan another night in Holly’s and do it all over again!”

“Although that does sound tempting,” Hanwoo began, releasing your hand to reach for the car keys and unlocked the doors. He leaned down to be eye-level with you, as his hand reached for the door handle of the passenger seat, he uttered, “But, I have a meeting later tonight.” Pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, he pulled your door open and stepped aside enter the car. A pout found its way to your lips, pulling your favorite move to get what you want, but he wasn’t budging and only nodded his head for you to climb in.

“What meeting?” You asked once he climbed into the driver’s seat, pulling the car out of the parking lot and on your way to your house to drop you off.

“The election, since Monday evening will be the debate between president and vice president candidates, so we need to discuss the topics of the debate, all the technical stuff tonight,” he explained, “we’re planning on pushing a lot we need done between today and tomorrow, so we can have the weekends free and do finishing touches on Monday.”

“Ahh, being Event Organizer really isn’t easy… so you’ll be busy today, and tomorrow?” He only nodded, briefly sending a small smile her direction. “Alright, then, I’ll just see if Wonwoo is free tonight.”

Hanwoo threw his head back, asking, “Isn’t Wonwoo a Computer Science major?”

“Yeah, but he’s really good at research so I think he can help.” Hanwoo didn’t bother asking more, turning the music up to let it fill the silence as you arrived by the driveway of your house. “Good luck on your paper, yeah? Don’t drink too much coffee.”

“No promises,” you responded before kissing his cheek and climbing out his car. You waved him off, watching as the car disappeared in the distance before turning to head inside and up to your room just left of the entryway. Tossing your bag on your chair, you flopped on to your bed, too mentally exhausted from the three lectures today to even change your clothes, feeling sleep begin to fog your head. You were on the edge of dreamland when you heard a clink, then a few seconds later another one, and then another one, and it seemed to be never ending before you pulled yourself out of your drowsiness and headed to your window—which just so happened to be adjacent to your next door neighbor, Wonwoo’s window.

“You seriously need to reconsider throwing rocks at my window before you shatter it, Wonwoo.” Your neighbor only chuckled, so you took this as an opportunity. “Hey, can you come with to Holly’s? I’m planning to stay overnight there.”

“What for?”

“I’m holding an executive meeting for us to discuss a ten-step plan to overthrow our government,” you grinned, and he pondered, tapping his chin lightly before shaking his head.

“I can’t overthrow the government yet, I have a quiz tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. You could always count Wonwoo to go along with your poor attempts at sarcasm. “I have a paper to work on and I don’t want to be alone.”

“Where’s your boyfriend? What’s his name? Yohan?”

“So close! It’s Hanwoo,” you retorted with a deadpan as you reminded him of your boyfriend’s name. Wonwoo hasn’t been discreet in his distaste towards your boyfriend—it’s been six months since he asked you out, and it’s been six months of Wonwoo never remembering his name. “He has a meeting today since the upcoming election debate for my major’s organization.”

“Is he running or…?” Wonwoo asked, despite his lack of interest with the topic.

“No, he’s the EO, and will be occupied for the next couple of days.”

“Aah, so I’m a back-up to you? Got it.” You knew he was being sarcastic, it was a running joke between the two of you since splitting when choosing college majors—you had done the same when he asked you to accompany him to watch a movie he really wanted to see, only to find out he came to you because friends from his major were busy.

“Do you want to come with me or not?” You asked again, “you don’t need to if you don’t want to.”

“What time?” Wonwoo asked, not hesitating. “Eomma is making dinner tonight, and asked me to ask you to join in case your parents are working late.”

You turn briefly, listening in to your parent’s room across from yours and can hear the muffle conversation behind the walls. “I think they’re home, but knowing my dad, he won’t be cooking so I think all three of us can head over to your place for dinner?”

“Sure, I’ll tell Eomma,” Wonwoo informed, “so after dinner then, we can go? Did you ask your parents for permission to spend the night working on the assignment.”

Dread immediately washed over you, colour draining from your face and to your feet as you remembered you haven’t asked permission from your parents, especially your dad who isn’t fond of you working long hours for an assignment you could’ve finished from when it was assigned. Force habit, dad, it’s not my fault you raised a chronic procrastinator, you couldn’t help but think. An innocent chuckle left your lips as you pulled your signature puppy-dog eyes to Wonwoo, who—without you having to utter a single word—understood what you were doing.

He heaved a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, I’ll ask them.”

“You are the best! Did you know that you’re the best person I’ve ever met? You’re absolutely awesome, smart and so, so, so kind, Wonwoo!” You blew a kiss in his direction, like how you watched Sunjae in Lovely Runner do so. “Love you!”

He waved your exaggerated gestures off, ignoring the heat forming in his cheeks and spreading to his ears, as he turned away, yelling back at you, “Yeah, yeah, just hurry up, I want to get this over with.”

“When do you think International Humanitarian Law is applicable?” You turned to Wonwoo after reading (re: skimming) a journal regarding the topic for your paper. Despite having only been studying the material for about twenty minutes, you could feel yourself losing it by the second. You didn’t hate International Law, but you always thought that the professor assigned too much reading, and is so strict about the entire paper itself—specifically using APA style, it has to only be footnotes (no in-line citations, despite that being the easiest in your opinion and you always preferred Chicago over any other reference style).

Oh, and the International Law professor is biased and lowkey a bitch.

So, being reluctant to work on an assignment given by your major’s most disliked professor wasn’t a priority even with the deadline closing in.

“During world conflicts?” You and Wonwoo stared at each other briefly, before you nodded, “That is true.” Wonwoo stifled a laugh. Seeing you look so drained and empty every single time you worked on an assignment, never failed to make him laugh. He enjoyed accompanying you, and despite the different majors and study programs you both have, he always tried to make sure he is more help than company. Even though you never really wanted to help you work on the assignment, knowing he has his own to deal with as a Computer Science major, but he’s well aware of your habits that even if the due date is Monday and you are working on it right now, you won’t completely finish it until Sunday, if not with Wonwoo’s aid.

“What’s the paper about?”

“The application of International Humanitarian Law in a specific study case,” you responded, tone flat. The more you talked about it, the more your soul was being sucked into the void. “I chose the Femicides in El Salvador.”

“Alright.” Was all Wonwoo said before he opened Google Scholar and began his own little research.

“Wonwoo, you don’t have to—”

“Y/N?” Cut off mid-sentence, you and Wonwoo turned to find Joy approaching your table, her hair tied and a lanyard around her neck, she must’ve just gotten back from campus.

“Joy? Hi, what are you doing here?” You smiled, internally sighing in relief because you had a reason to not look at the journal you were reading of femicide reports in the past decade.

“I just came back from an internal meeting with the EO’s for the upcoming debate,” Joy responded, noticing Wonwoo and waving at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m working on Michelle’s paper,” you answered, exaggerating the slouch in your shoulders and pout in your lips. You then realized, sitting up straight, head cocked to the side with your brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re an EO for the debate?”

Joy pulled a chair to sit across from you, resting her arms on the table and nodded.

“So you were with Hanwoo?”

It was her turn to furrow her brows. “Your boyfriend?” You nodded, and she shook her head. “No I wasn’t.”

“What? But he told me he was having a meeting with the EO’s for the debate, maybe you didn’t see them?”

The crease between your friend’s brow only deepened. “Y/N, the EO’s are only four people, not including the PIC—I’ve also met them all, and Hanwoo isn’t a part of us.”

“That’s weird,” you muttered. Did your boyfriend lie?

“Maybe he got his position switched? Maybe he’s not an EO? You could try asking tomorrow,” Joy tried to reason, and you only nodded. Hanwoo had been telling you that he was an EO for the past couple of weeks, ever since the announcement of election was released for the major association. He explained to you in great detail what the position would entail, and well, frankly speaking, you trusted him. It tugged at your chest at the possibility he might’ve lied to you.

And Wonwoo can see it. The deep glare in your eyes as you stared at the article you were reading, but you weren’t actually reading the reports from representatives of the El Salvadoran government, instead you were reading into the situation with your boyfriend. Gears were turning in your head, making connections, coming up with excuses as to why he had chosen to lie to you about something as trifling as his position in a collegial committee. He could tell that no matter how many paragraphs you read, how many relative research articles you pulled up from the internet, nothing will allow you to progress in your paper until the nagging feeling of your fibbing boyfriend is at ease.

“Y/N, do you want to head back home, call it a night?” Wonwoo asked, before quickly raising his phone, “My brother just sent me a text, that he needs the car early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, yeah sure, let me just pay—”

“You pack up, I’ll pay for our food.”

You knew that he knew. Your lips pressed into a tight smile, “Thanks, Won.” He nodded, returning your smile before heading to the counter.

“Should we continue tomorrow night, then?” Joy asked. You nodded. “Sure,” then added, “depends though.”

On whether or not your boyfriend is lying.

“Wonwoo, do you have notes from Beom’s class? Last weeks’?” Seungcheol sat across from Wonwoo in the cafeteria, picking up a fry from Wonwoo’s plate and tossing it into his mouth. Wonwoo merely stared at his friend, unamused by his lack of manners, causing Seungcheol to chuckle.

“You know I do, Cheol, but why should I give it to you?” Wonwoo asked, his baritone voice holding a twinge of sarcasm, still upset by Seungcheol’s unwarranted act of property theft.

“Who says I want them?” Seungcheol turns away, flustered that Wonwoo caught on too quickly to his motive.

Wonwoo shrugs, and continues eating his lunch. “Alright then.”

“Can you email them to me?” An innocent, close-lipped smile etched across Seungcheol’s face, his dimple deepening as he clasped his hands together, pulling the same trick as Y/N usually does to get what they want.

“Stop that, I already get enough of puppy-eyes from Y/N,” grunted Wonwoo, rolling his eyes. “I’ll send them tonight, just send me a reminder.”

“Great, thanks, man.” Wonwoo expected him to leave, allowing for Wonwoo to spend the rest of his lunch alone before he heads to his next class, but Seungcheol stayed put, eyes on his phone. Not feeling like making any conversation, Wonwoo shrugged it off and continued eating. That is, until Seungcheol spoke up again, asking, “Hey, doesn’t Y/N have a boyfriend?”

Wonwoo couldn’t help the heat that rose at the back of his neck. “Yeah, why?”

“Isn’t it that Hanwoo guy?” Wonwoo nodded, but Seungcheol only looked even more perplexed. “They’re still going out?”

“Yeah…” Wonwoo confirmed, but the question only made his curiosity grow. Why did Seungcheol look so surprised? “Why?”

“It’s just… I mean, if you say they’re still together then it might not be- I must’ve made a mistake,” Seungcheol tried to change the subject but Wonwoo wasn’t going to let him do so.

“Tell me what you’re talking about or you won’t get Beom’s notes,” Wonwoo threatened, earning a look of genuine offense from Seungcheol, whom briefly rose a brow, a bit unconvinced. “I’m serious, Cheol.”

“Ass,” he muttered, before shaking his head, “Nah, it’s just… last night I saw a guy pick up my neighbor from across the courtyard, and I thought he looked a lot like Hanwoo.” Wonwoo’s eyebrow rose in suspicion, Seungcheol spotting it. “But if you say they’re still going out, then it must’ve been someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Any guy would be stupid to cheat on Y/N, especially since she’s your best friend and all.”

That only made him more confused. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s not like you’d let anyone hurt her, Won,” Seungcheol retorted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world (it was), “and Hanwoo would be a huge dumbass if he even thought of cheating on her.”

Even though Seungcheol was right, Wonwoo wasn’t convinced—Hanwoo had a meeting last night when they were at Holly’s but Joy confirmed that he wasn’t even a part of the EO committee.

“Are you sure it wasn’t him?” He tried to make sure.

“I mean, it was dark and I wasn’t wearing my glasses so it was a bit blurry—all-in-all I would say 50%, either he was or he wasn’t,” Seungcheol explained, being no help to Wonwoo’s growing suspicion of your boyfriend.

“I’ve gotta go,” Wonwoo uttered, standing and packing his things, tossing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Where are you go- class is that way!” Wonwoo paid no mind to his friend as he continued walking towards the parking lot. However, he could hear Seungcheol as he was almost out of earshot, “Y/N, your knight in shining armor is on his way.”

The corner of Wonwoo’s lips quirked up. “I’m not sending the notes then!”

“Oh, come on, man!”

He couldn’t wait any longer. Suspicions and of course, anger, only grew the more steps he took towards his car, knowing the destination was you. If what Seungcheol said is true and he did, in fact, see Hanwoo with another girl, then that means he’s openly seeing someone else behind your back.

His hand reached for his phone, sparing quick glances between the screen and where he was walking as his fingers swiped for your contact, immediately dialing. Pressing the phone to his ear, he let his other hand pull out his car keys and unlock the door just as the line started ringing.

You picked up after two rings.

“Wonwoo? What’s with the sudden phone call?”

“Where are you?” He waited in the front seat, keys dangling from the ignition. Your answer would decide whether he starts the car or not.

“In the cafeteria near the engineering majors, why?”

“Are you with Hanwoo?” You were taken aback by his question, not because of what he asked, but by the fact that he got your boyfriend’s name right.

“Yeah, I am… Why?”

His shoulders sunk with your confirmation. “Just… just checking, sorry to bother you guys.” You muttered something that he didn’t catch before he hung up, exhaling a heavy sigh. Maybe it was paranoia. He had known you since you both were in middle school, of course he was protective over you, like every friend out there, he never wants you to get hurt.

Little did he know that as you put down your phone, a grimace had taken over your features as you looked at Joy.

“What did Wonwoo ask?”

You wanted to tell her the truth, but even you couldn’t wrap your head around the obvious that was happening. Wonwoo thinks you’re with Hanwoo, but you’re not and Joy’s tip about your boyfriend never having been involved in the election committee—you knew, and if your best friend had asked and even remembered Hanwoo’s name, then that must mean he knows, too.

“If I was with you,” you answered before her suspicion grew. “He wanted to check if I was up for lunch with him, but I’m with you already.”

“Ah… I think it’s good that he isn’t here,” Joy prefaced, pulling her phone out. “Do you remember I use to be a student supervisor for our major’s freshman camp?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So, I follow most of the kids that were in my group, right? And I was scrolling through my Instagram stories when you were buying lunch, and then—“ Joy scrolled through the following list of her account, stopping her explanation as she found who she was looking for. “—I think it’s better if you see for yourself.”

She slid her phone face-up to you, an Instagram story of a junior you didn’t know of was opened. The picture wasn’t revealing much of anything that seemed of significance to you, just a photo of her holding hands with a guy and it was posted in her Close Friends—most likely an attempt at soft-launching her boyfriend.

For a moment you were confused, then you spotted it—the username. It was Hanwoo's Instagram account. Dread grew at the back of your head as your brain couldn't grasp on to this fact, even exiting out of the story and searching for his username, hoping it was one letter off and your suspicions would be wrong, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case and both the username in the girl’s post and his username were the same.

“I’m sorry, Y/N…” Joy uttered, in hopes to break the silence and tension that was building, but it was to no avail. Your throat tightened, and tears burned in your eyes, but you knew they weren’t from sadness, or heartbreak even, you were furious.

The audacity this piece of shit has to think he can cheat on me? You locked Joy’s phone, sliding it back to her before picking up your things and standing from the table.

“Where are you going?” Her eyes were filled with genuine concern, worried that you were a ticking time bomb, just waiting to blow up at the worse time.

You sent her a reassuring smile, and shrugged. “Where else? To plan my revenge on him, of course.”

Wonwoo thought he was hearing things. As he paused his game, he waited and listened for a moment before shrugging, chalking it off to probably a feature in the game he never noticed.

Clink!

That couldn’t have been a feature in the game, he was breaking wood—a clinking sound against glass doesn’t seem like something you’d hear while hitting a tree repeatedly in Minecraft.

He removed his earphones this time, waiting for the sound again, and when he did, he stood and walked to his window, finding you standing outside his window.

“Finally, oh my God!” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “Do you know how many pebbles I had to look for to throw at your window?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows bunched together as he stared at you dumbfounded. “Why did you need to throw pebbles, we’re ground level. You could’ve just knocked.”

“That wouldn’t be so romantic, now would it?”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he heaved a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to stop sneaking around like this, though, people are going to think you’re a burglar.”

“Whatever, Won,” you waved him off. “I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I—“ You paused. The fact that Hanwoo is actively cheating on you, probably even at this very moment, felt almost surreal to you, but ever since Joy showed you the picture, you’ve (to some extent) came to terms with it—there were signs after all, signs you chose to ignore or were so subtle, they flew over your head. However, coming to the realization that you’ve been cheated on felt easier than to utter it out loud—it felt more like a confirmation, that once the words were spoken out into the universe, it confirmed you were too blind in love to see the fact that he played you like a violin.

And it felt worse to admit to Wonwoo that his suspicions of your boyfr— ex-boyfriend being a douchebag were right.

“I need your help to trash Hanwoo’s car tonight, he’s at a friend’s house and left his car by his apartment.” Might as well hold off telling the truth until after you’ve released your anger.

Wonwoo could see you were holding something back, and by your proposition, making a guess as to why you did so, was easy.

“I’m not going to ask, but I will need you to explain later.” You subconsciously thanked him for not asking for a reason to your borderline act of vandalism. “Come around to the garage, I think I have a baseball bat from when I played little league.”

Ignoring the last bit of Wonwoo’s childhood anecdote, you watched as he left his room before taking the route to circle towards the front of his house where the garage was. You heard a lock turn and a bar slide before door opened, revealing Wonwoo, nodding his head to follow him.

“Do you, like, a Swiss Army knife or something sharp?”

“I think my dad has one his tool box, let me check,” he says, then points to shelf behind the car. “You can check there for the baseball bat.”

“Alright.”

Once the equipments were prepared—consisting of Wonwoo’s baseball ball, his dad’s Swiss Army knife, and your dad’s spray paint from one of his furniture restoration projects—you were all set to get back at Hanwoo. You both tossed them into the back of his car, climbing in and Wonwoo started up for Hanwoo’s apartment.

“And how do you know he left his car?” Wonwoo asked after three minutes of complete silence (AUX cord was broken and nothing that could fit a drive to vandalize your ex’s car was on the radio).

“Because I texted him earlier, asking if he could drive me to the store because there was a book I needed to get, and he explained to me that he was at a friend’s house and left his car,” you explained, your tone flat throughout as you mindlessly played with the zipper of your hoodie.

“And you’re sure he’s with friends?” He asked, his tone cautious, as he watched you freeze briefly.

You weren’t sure. Instead of admitting that, you chuckled, “He wouldn’t be with his girlfriend without a car.”

Despite your efforts at breaking the ice, Wonwoo wasn’t able to laugh at your joke, and only you could muster a dry chuckle before leaning back, turning to face the window.

You seemed to float throughout—as if watching yourself in a third person point of view, almost numb to the fact that you were on your way to ruin your ex’s car. It wasn’t that you were in denial that he is cheating on you, you refused to believe it was happening to you. You always felt that you were doing so much, showing him so much love, prioritizing him when he needed, never doubting that you felt the same way for you.

What did I do wrong? What about me wasn’t enough?

You hated those thoughts that began flooding your head. You hated those doubts. You hated that because of what he did, you’re blaming yourself—making it seem that you were the one that wasn’t doing enough.

“Y/N?” Wonwoo’s baritone voice pulled you out of your self-loathing. “We’re here.”

“Oh, you remembered the way,” you finally took note of him never asking you directions throughout the drive.

“Unfortunately.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his snide comment. Looking out to his side of the window, you see Hanwoo’s white range rover. You knew he cherished it—making sure to get the oil changed routinely, weekly car washes and having it waxed monthly. In retrospect, he probably loved the car more than he did you.

Maybe destroying he loved could make you feel less shitty.

“Let’s go—“ Before you could climb out, Wonwoo grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?”

Again, the truth choked you. As you stared at Wonwoo, the concern laced all over his features, it felt the question should’ve triggered a flood gate to open, but alas, you persist. I need to not use poor humor as a coping mechanism. You cocked your head to the side, the corner of your lips lifted. “Why? I honestly thought you’d be the most excited of us to trash his car, Won?”

Of course, being your best friend since middle school, he saw right through your façade.

His hand moved from your wrist to clasp your hands, wrapping his fingers around yours. “Just promise you’ll talk to me, yeah?”

The bile rose, once again, urging you to cough out the truth. Knowing well enough you wouldn’t be able to utter anything without your words breaking, you nodded and sent a stiff smile.

As you stood near Hanwoo’s car, looking through the window of his vehicle, memories of the two of you seated side-by-side there came flooding in. How when you would go to a drive-thru for late night snack runs, the way you reached over the console with a fry and feeding it to him as his eyes focused on the road. When you’d pull over into a parking lot, your legs stretched over to rest over his lap as the two of you talked about everything and nothing at all, or when he would purposely make wrong turns just so you would spend more time with each other when he was supposed to drop you home.

Moments that you held so close to your heart, now worth nothing in a blink of an eye.

You squeezed your eyes shut, urging the tears to fall back and return to their sockets, inhaling a deep breath and pushing it out almost immediately as you flipped the knife to one of its sharpest options and pressing the point to the driver’s door. There’s no backing out now. You let the knife drag itself across the paint, a ragged line following your hand as you made your lap around his car.

Now, there really wasn’t going back now.

Before you could hold yourself back, your arm extended back and punctured one of the tyres—then one became two, and then three. Air spewing out of three of the tyres filled the tension around you, and you found yourself breathless. Breathless because you were angry. Breathless because you were hurt. The tears had escaped, creating warm trails down your cheeks.

“Give me the bat,” you urged, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks.

“Y/N—“

“Wonwoo,” you pressed, “it’s either you give me the bat, or you go home—I’m going to do this whether you agree with it or not.”

Wonwoo shouldn’t even be against what you’re doing right now. He’s obviously on your side when it comes to this, Hanwoo deserves getting his car destroyed for hurting, manipulating and thinking he could go behind your back this way. However, the more logical and law-abiding side of him is reluctant—especially since you’ve already slashed his tyres and ruined the paintwork, so breaking the windows seemed to cross the line.

“If we get arrested, just tell them I did it, alright?” Wonwoo uttered, handing you the bat and taking the knife with him. You smiled for the first time tonight, a genuine smile that reached your eyes as he said that. He then added, “I’ll get the spray paint—you do your thing.”

And after a bashed in windshield, a very poorly written “FUCKING CHEATER” was spray painted on all sides of the car and on the hood. You and Wonwoo drove away from the scene of the crime, driving to a nearest convenient store where Wonwoo hopped out, buying instant ramen, drinks and snacks, deciding to make a last-minute picnic in his car because in his words: “Vandalism works up an appetite.”

“They didn’t have the carbonara one, so I got you cheese.” Wonwoo returned in less than ten minutes, the noodles already boiled, only needing the seasonings. You smiled at him, mumbling a thanks as you took the cup noodles from him, tearing the seasoning and busying yourself with stirring, and continuously stirring, your eyes dazed off at the curly noodles as they spun in a faint orange mix.

“Y/N, I’m sure your noodles are well stirred,” Wonwoo commented, hoping to divert your attention. The leather beneath him squeaked as he adjusted his position, leaning his back against the door as he folded his knee under him, fully facing you at this point.

He called, “Hey.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, and immediately, Wonwoo straightened up, his jaws clenched and shoulders tensed. Tear stricken cheeks, bloodshot eyes and everso present frown evident in between your eyebrows and downturned lips.

“Y/N…” Wonwoo took the noodles from your hands, placing it on the dashboard and pulling you by the wrists, engulfing you into his arms, then there goes the floodgates—the emotions you locked away throughout the evening, released in that very second your face was against his shoulder.

While you were bawling, grieving the relationship that reigned to be good to be true, Wonwoo was hatching up his own revenge plan on the piece of shit.

The incessant ringing of your phone pulled you out of your slumber, and you knew for a fact it wasn’t your alarm, because one; you snoozed that ten times already, and two; it wasn’t your usual Radar tone.

Sliding the screen with one eye open, you placed it by your ear without seeing who it was.

“Hello—“

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY CAR, Y/N?!”

Well that was one way of waking you up. You sat up, slowly, taking your time with adjusting your position while Hanwoo was screaming on the other line. Once you were sitting up, you glanced at the screen—the name you had changed last night once you got back home displayed as ‘IGNORE’, in hopes that you would do so when he called you. But then again, you thought he’d call you when you were conscious.

“—Y/N FUCKING ANSWER ME!” Rolling your eyes, you heaved a sigh before placing the phone back by your ear.

“And to what do I owe—“

“You were you even fucking listening to me?“ Hanwoo snapped.

“No.” Your answer was simple, honest, and obviously uninterested with whatever he wanted to say. Was the modification that you made to his beloved vehicle not enough of an announcement that you knew what he was up to all this time?

“I was asking what the hell did you to my car?”

“Can’t you tell?” you teased, “I gave it a makeover.”

“You ruined my paint job and popped my tyres, what kind of makeover is this?”

“The kind that fits a cheater like you.” Silence. Complete silence came from the other side and if you listened closely, you could hear the static along with his ragged breathing knowing well enough he was caught. “Cat got your tongue, dude?”

“Y/N…”

“Save the sob story, we’re not dating, I don’t see why you’re fucking calling me other than to cry about your stupid car—“

“How about the fact that your fucker of a dog punched me?” He interjected.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean, Y/N,” he scoffed, “it wasn’t enough to ruin my car, you had to send your dog to ruin my face too.”

It took you a second to realize he was talking about Wonwoo, which means that Wonwoo had punched his face.

Wonwoo punching someone in the face? That wasn’t something you had heard before, nor expected. The image itself was enough to cause you to burst out laughing, your phone falling from your hands, leaving Hanwoo confused and annoyed.

The idea that Wonwoo would go as far as to punch someone was such an unrealistic accusation Hanwoo had made, but nonetheless, had successfully made you laugh after a long night of crying yourself to sleep.

“Are you done?” Hanwoo asked once you placed the phone back to your ear after your laughing fit.

“Wasn’t enough for you to lie about your relationship all this time, now you want to lie and accuse Wonwoo of something he’d never do,” you defended, scoffing at his poor attempt.

“I’m not lying about this, Y/N!”

“So, you admit that you were lying about our relationship?” This time you interjected, wanting to hear him confirm it. It was mostly due to that nagging voice at the back of your head that still doubted what Joy had shown you, that the picture was friendly and not romantic.

It was so pathetic how even after everything, there was a sliver in you that hoped he would deny it.

“Y/N- let me explain—“ In other words: ‘I was, but you haven’t heard my reason’.

“Fuck off, Hanwoo, don’t ever call me again,” you warned, “and if I hear you spread bullshit about Wonwoo like you did just now, it’ll be more than just your car that I ruin. Bye.”

He managed to slip something before you got the chance to hang up. “What about my fucking eye, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you ask Gia to help you with that?” Grateful to have the last word, you hung up immediately, tossing your phone to the side. The phone call wasn’t closure, but it was enough to put those indenial thoughts to rest.

Wonwoo punched him? The thought wouldn’t leave your head as you got ready for the day. Trying to imagine Wonwoo walking up to Hanwoo and giving him a black eye wasn’t something you could see him doing. Besides that, when did Wonwoo get the time to punch Hanwoo if he did? He ended up driving you home around three in the morning, and it was past six now, meaning he had a three hour window.

Unless…

No, that would mean after dropping you off, he had stormed straight to wherever Hanwoo was just to punch him.

You had to make sure, even if it was hard to believe, you had to make sure Wonwoo was okay. As long as you’ve been friends, you’ve never seen him get into any physical altercations with anyone, and if it did happen, it might be possible that Hanwoo wouldn’t have let him walk away unscathed.

Your legs carried you to his house, to his front door and after greeting his parents, to his bedroom door. You knocked, listening in to hear rummaging noises, as if he was panicking.

“Wait, Eomma, I just finished showering—“ He called out from the other side, which you found odd because you knew him, he wouldn’t even be awake at this hour.

“Wonwoo, it’s me.”

The noise on the other side of the door paused for a moment, before Wonwoo called out. “Y/N?”

“Yes, can you open the door?” You asked, waiting for it to swing open but it didn’t.

“No, I’m- uh, I’m watching something, you don’t need to see it,” Wonwoo tried to think of an excuse but cursed at himself because why the hell did that come out instead? You, on the other hand, found his obvious panic hilarious, his excuse eliciting a chuckle.

“I know you met with Hanwoo,” you informed him, making sure to keep your voice down so his parents wouldn’t hear. “So, can you please open the door and let me check the damage?”

You waited a few minutes, hearing him toss a few things away, the noise causing your brows to furrow. The lock turned and the door swung enough for you to squeeze yourself in, knowing well enough that Wonwoo wasn’t about to reveal himself in fear his parents would see (they wouldn’t have, they were on the other side of the house, he was just paranoid). Once you were in, he pushed the door closed, his back against it and you could see what damage Hanwoo had done to your next door neighbour.

It wasn’t bad, admittedly you thought it’d be worse considering his lack of experience.

It was a scratch and bruising surrounding his left cheek, that was most caused by a ring Hanwoo was wearing, but other than that, and a tear in his lip, that was all he took.

“I honestly thought you’d look worse,” you thought out loud, Wonwoo’s brows furrowing at the comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shook your head, lightly laughing. “Nothing, do you have anything I can use to clean that?”

“Uh… I do, actually.” He dips to look on his bedside table. “Stopped by a drugstore after because I saw the blood.”

“And when did you get the time to pull it all off?”

“Well, after I dropped you off, I asked Seungcheol since he knows—“ Wonwoo stopped, realizing that this information wasn’t ever supposed to reach you. “Uhm… How did you know I was hurt?”

“Because a psychopath told me,” you informed, and his eyes darkened for a moment, rolling in annoyance.

“I told him to never bother you again,” he groaned, before his gaze softened as he turned to you. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

“He just called my phone, I’m alright,” you reassured him. Taking a step towards him, your fingers gently touched the wound on his cheek, inspecting it. You could see that he didn’t tend to it once it started bleeding, evidence of dried blood surrounding the wound and there wasn’t any antiseptic used either to ensure an infection didn’t happen.

While you were playing nurse, Wonwoo became very aware of the lack of space between your face and his, and he had to hold his breath. It only worsened when your eyes darted to his, the two of you holding eye contact for what he thought was an eternity.

“Let me clean it up for you, Won,” you uttered, breaking the silence and eventually the tension as you turned to walk into his ensuite bathroom. He followed after trying to calm his heartbeat, finding you on top of his sink, soaking a cotton pad with antiseptic and tearing a bandaid from its package.

“Come here,” you urged. Wonwoo stood between your thighs, not wanting to meet your eyes, but you didn’t mind—almost finding him being flustered cute.

“Ow,” he winced when the antiseptic touched the wound after you had wiped it clean of the dried blood.

“It’s a small sting, stop being a baby,” you teased, earning a glare from him. “How come you only came out with this?”

“Got me at the last minute,” he answered.

“And how was he?” Your question was responded with an eyebrow raise instead, causing you to roll your eyes. “I don’t care about him, Won, I just want to know if it was worth it—if you, at least, are satisfied with this decision.”

The corner of his lips turned up, a smug look etched across his face as he answered, “It was. I hurt him enough to send the message and keep it with him for the next couple of weeks.”

“I never knew you could fight,” you said honestly.

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, Y/N,” he mumbled, but because of your close proximity, you heard it loud and clear. Before you ask further, he spoke up, “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“After this we can have breakfast, I think my mom made doenjang jjigae,” he informed. You smiled, nodding, “Sure.” You finished tending to his wound by plastering on the Kuromi bandaid, teasing him about it, to which he used the ‘there wasn’t anything else’ excuse.

He grabbed your elbow as you hopped off his sink, the action caused you to stumble out of balance instead of helping, made you bump closer to him, his free arm automatically holding your waist.

Cue the eye contact and pink-tinted cheeks, the move could’ve made you laugh as if it was straight out of a cheesy rom-com, but you were too occupied with trying to think that you couldn’t do so. I’m heartbroken, I’m vulnerable and haven’t been feeling loved for the past week, this is just a fluke, you tried to rationalize the thoughts and your racing heart, knowing well what could work to get out of this.

You tapped his chest, gently pushing him. “Go shower, Wonwoo, you reek.”

“Shut up, I do not,” he protested, laughing to cover his shaky voice. He then added, “Thanks, Y/N, although you didn’t have to do all this.”

“And let you get an infection?” You retorted.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, and without thinking he uttered, “A kiss would’ve sufficed.” It was too late for him to take back his words, noting your wide eyes and mouth slightly agape, his cheeks flushed when he realized what he had said. “Y/N, I wasn’t thinking—“

You pressed a kiss against cheek, beneath his bandage, shutting him completely. “Take it as a thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

It took him a second to compose himself, grinning, “I am your knight in shining armor, after all.”

You threw your head back in laughter. “Are you riding a horse, my knight?”

“Yes, a pink horse,” he answered, smiling endearingly down at you.

You frowned at his choice of color, “But you hate pink?”

“And you love pink.”

“Gosh, Wonwoo,” you flushed red, taking a step away from him, finding his comment both cringey and touching at the same time—it was shocking you could feel those two simultaneously. “When did you get so cheesy?”

He merely shrugged, a faint smirk on his lips. “I told you there was a lot you don’t know about me.”

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Four ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, Mark’s just down bad okay – bro’s never gonna be okay again

Word Count: 2,253

Synopsis: By some grace of God, Mark’s found that he’s fallen into a lunch routine with the most beautifully sweet woman he’s ever known – you. When you bump into each other at the grocery store, you take pity on his tragic shopping cart and decide to cook for him. Mark is absolutely floored (and possibly already planning your wedding). He gets ready for the night like it’s the most important event of his life. And for him, it really is. This isn’t just dinner—it’s destiny.

a/n: Rrrr probably gonna do a time skip after this to them being in a relationship – thoughts?

read part three ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

It’d been a few weeks since that first muffin under the tree.

And somehow—miraculously—you were still sitting with him.

Not just once. Not just out of politeness. Every day.

Sometimes William was there, sometimes not (Mark couldn’t decide which was worse), but no matter what, by the time lunch rolled around, you were always in your usual spot beneath that wide old tree, pastel lunchbox in hand, blanket smoothed out like something out of a storybook.

And every time, Mark tried to play it cool. Tried not to act like his entire day revolved around that thirty-minute window. Tried not to count the seconds until you looked up and smiled at him with that sunbeam expression, like he was the one brightening your day.

(And he failed. Every single time.)

He even tried to contribute one day—showing up with a Tupperware container of his own, full of something vaguely resembling “lunch.”

That had been… an experience.

“Oh, you cooked this?” you’d asked, looking at the charred, unevenly-seasoned spaghetti with genuine interest.

Mark had puffed up, weirdly proud despite the fact that it looked like it had come from a gas station vending machine.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean—I tried. Figured I’d return the favor. You’ve been making all this great stuff for weeks…”

You’d taken one bite.

Chewed.

Paused.

Then looked at him with nothing but gentle pity in your eyes.

“Oh, honey,” you said, all sweetness, not a trace of judgment. “Thank you. That’s real thoughtful of you.”

A beat.

“But don’t you ever do that again.”

And Mark just sat there, blinking.

He should’ve been mortified. Was mortified, technically. But also?

God.

You were just… so sweet. Even when you were delivering a culinary execution, you sounded like you were singing him a lullaby. Like you couldn’t stand to hurt his feelings—even if his food had just assaulted your taste buds.

Mark stared at you, heart fluttering with something dangerously close to full-blown infatuation.

She’s so nice, he thought, nearly dazed. She is literally the best.

And then, like it was nothing, you reached into your tote and started assembling an entire plate from a spread that could feed a small family. A mini Tupperware of mac and cheese. A warm biscuit wrapped in wax paper. Two slices of honey ham that smelled like love.

You set the whole thing in front of him, added a folded napkin like the final touch on a gift, and smiled like this was just what people did.

“Here,” you said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “No use lettin’ you starve on account’a your pride.”

Mark looked down at the plate. Then up at you. Then back at the plate.

Yep. That was it. That was the exact moment he fell in love.

—

Mark didn’t expect to see you at the grocery store.

He especially didn’t expect to see you in full southern regalia, standing in front of a pile of bruised tomatoes like you were about to write a formal complaint to the produce manager.

He stopped dead in his tracks, cereal box halfway to his cart, and just stared.

Because there you were—ruffled dress in soft, fluttery layers, tiny pink ribbon in your hair, pastel tote slung over your shoulder like you had to be at a picnic in five minutes. You looked like the opening scene of an old western that took place entirely on a wraparound porch with lemonade in crystal glasses.

And Mark?

Mark’s brain blue screened instantly.

It was like seeing a butterfly at a gas station. You didn’t belong here, under this soul-sucking lighting and mind numbingly dull music. You belonged in a meadow. Or a painting. Or maybe just his life, permanently.

You looked up, eyes lighting up as soon as you saw him.

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite lunch date!” you called, waving him over with that same sunshiney smile that had been haunting his dreams for weeks.

He stumbled forward like he was being summoned.

“I didn’t know you shopped here,” he said, already mentally kicking himself because—of course you shopped here. People ate food. You were a person. He was a moron.

You tilted your head, amused. “Well I gotta eat outside’a school too, darlin’. I’m not a cartoon character.”

Mark laughed too hard. The cereal box actually fell out of his hand. He pretended it didn’t happen.

You turned back to the tomatoes, frowning delicately.

“Everything in here’s so sad,” you sighed, poking one with a careful fingertip. “Not a lick’a freshness to be found. Back home we had roadside stands, you know? Where the vegetables still smelled like dirt and sunshine. These…” You wrinkled your nose. “These look like they’ve been sittin’ in the back of a truck since last week.”

Mark just blinked at you, dazed. Sunshine. Dirt. Truck beds. It was poetry. You were poetry.

Then came the kill shot.

“There was this one farm near my granny’s,” you went on, adjusting your little purse like you weren’t saying the most devastating sentence of Mark’s life. “This farmboy worked there every summer—Lord, he could haul a crate’a cantaloupes like nobody’s business. Always smelled like hay and honeysuckle.”

Mark, who had never smelled like anything other than deodorant and despair, felt his soul ascend.

Farmboy??

Cantaloupes???

HAY AND HONEYSUCKLE???

Mark’s entire life plan reshuffled in real time.

“…I could do that,” he mumbled.

You blinked. “Hm?”

“What? Oh—nothing. Just. Farming’s… neat.”

You gave him a strange little smile. “You alright, sugar? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Nope. Just the produce. Lot of… vibes in this aisle.”

You narrowed your eyes at a zucchini. “They sure ain’t good ones.”

You glanced down into Mark’s cart.

It was… bleak.

Frozen taquitos, an alarming amount of microwaveable mac and cheese, two different brands of soda, and a box of cereal so sugary it could be classified as a biohazard. The only vegetable in sight was a sad little plastic bag of pre-cut carrots, and even they looked ashamed to be there.

Your hand went to your chest like you were catching your breath. “Oh, baby,” you murmured. “No.”

Mark looked down at the cart like he was seeing it for the first time. “What? It’s not that bad…”

You turned to him slowly. “Mark Grayson, I know for a fact your mama didn’t raise you to eat like a raccoon in a vending machine.”

Mark, whose mom had actually tried very hard to teach him to cook, looked appropriately shamed.

You tsked under your breath and gave the mac and cheese box a little pat, like you were comforting it before it got yeeted from the cart.

“This won’t do,” you said, already steering your own cart toward a nearby aisle. “You need somethin’ fresh. Somethin’ made with love. You need…” You turned over your shoulder, all glimmering eyes and righteous purpose. “…me to cook for you?”

Mark forgot how to breathe.

“I—yes? I mean. Sure. If—if that’s a thing. That could happen.”

You just smiled, slow and sweet. “Well good. ‘Cause you’re one sad lasagna away from a medical emergency.”

Mark once again found himself desperately trying to play it cool, and once again failed horribly. If he’d had a ring, he would’ve proposed right there between the canned beans and the chicken stock.

You didn’t even hesitate. You just pushed your cart onward with purpose, ruffles swaying as you marched back toward the good aisles.

“Come on, then,” you called over your shoulder, motioning for him to follow like he was a lost duckling. “If I’m gonna feed you, I gotta make sure you don’t go bringin’ home the wrong flour.”

Mark blinked. “Wait—you’re serious? Like, you’re really gonna cook for me?”

You gave him a look like he’d just asked if rain was wet. “Of course I’m serious. Someone’s gotta save your arteries, sugar.”

He trailed behind you, still not entirely convinced this wasn’t a hallucination. “I mean—just so I’m clear—you mean like, actually cook? For me?”

You rolled your eyes, but it was all fondness. “Yes, Mark. I’m not gonna throw a TV dinner at your head and call it a day.”

Mark’s brain: She’s making me dinner. I’m meeting her family. We’re naming our kids after her great-aunt Magnolia. This is happening.

Meanwhile, you were already tossing things into his cart.

“Self-risin’ flour,” you said, dropping the bag in with a practiced hand. “None’a that all-purpose nonsense, y’hear?”

Mark nodded dumbly. “Yes ma’am.”

“Buttermilk. Real buttermilk—not that watered-down junk. You don’t got a cast iron skillet, do you?”

“Uh—no?”

You clicked your tongue. “We’ll fix that.”

He watched as you built a grocery list out of pure instinct—cornmeal, baking soda, bacon grease (which you somehow had in a tiny mason jar in your own cart???), and a bunch of other ingredients he could barely pronounce but would now kill for.

“And I hope you like greens,” you added, eyeing a bundle of collards like you were evaluating a prize hog. “’Cause I make a mean mess’a 'em.”

Mark had officially stopped blinking. “You’re incredible,” he blurted.

You just laughed, breezy and sweet. “Lord, you city boys really don’t know what to do with a hot meal, do you?”

To you, it was simple. Southern courtesy. Feed the boy, show him a little kindness, make sure he doesn’t keel over before midterms.

To Mark?

This was courtship.

This was destiny.

This was love.

—

Some hours later Mark was lingering awkwardly near the kitchen counter, freshly showered and suspiciously well-groomed.

Debbie didn’t even look up from the cutting board. “So… who is she?”

Mark froze. “What? Who?”

Now she looked up, a single eyebrow raised in that mother knows all way.

“I gave birth to you, Mark. You think I don’t notice when my son suddenly starts brushing his hair before dinner?”

He tugged at his collar. “Okay, first of all—rude. Second of all… I mean, yeah. There’s a girl.”

Debbie leaned on the counter, full of quiet, smug mom joy. “Mhm. And?”

“She—uh. She invited me over. Tonight.”

A pause.

“...For dinner?”

Mark nodded.

And Debbie, knife still in hand, gasped like he just announced his engagement. “Oh my god, she’s cooking for you?”

Mark blinked. “Is that—like, a big deal?”

“Mark!” She set the knife down like she needed both hands to fully express the moment. “Do you know how rare that is? In high school?”

Mark shrugged, clearly trying to play it off. “She’s just… like that. Super sweet. Southern. Real southern. She called my cooking a crime but somehow made it sound like a compliment.”

Debbie tilted her head, heart full. “She sounds lovely.”

“She’s kind of… amazing.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel like I’m meeting her soul every time she opens a Tupperware.”

Debbie smiled. “You better be polite. You offer to do dishes. And you tell her thank you like you mean it.”

Mark nodded solemnly. “I already mean it.” Then, after a beat, he breathes, “…What do I wear?”

Debbie chuckled, soft and knowing. “Something clean. Something nice. You’re not just eating dinner, sweetheart. You’re being fed. That’s love.”

—

Mark stood at the bottom of the porch steps, staring up at the house like it had materialized from a daydream.

It was all soft wood and warm light. A pale blue door. White trim, slightly worn in the corners. There were flower boxes under the windows, each one blooming with cheerful, slightly unruly color like even the plants had a drawl.

The front porch was deep and wide, with a swing swaying lazily in the breeze and a pair of boots tucked beside the welcome mat. Wind chimes clinked gently above the door, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked like it was guarding the edge of the world.

Mark swallowed hard.

Of course this is where you lived. Of course.

It wasn’t just a house. It was a setting. A vibe. He could already picture it: summer afternoons, mason jars full of lemonade, the sound of water trickling from a backyard creek where hypothetical children with wild curls and big imaginations would go looking for frogs.

He checked his shirt—button-down, navy blue, not too fancy but definitely not casual. Slacks. Actual slacks. He hadn’t worn slacks since the last funeral he attended, and somehow this felt just as intense.

And in his hand?

Flowers.

Just a small bouquet from the nicer section of the grocery store. Pale yellow daisies and soft pink something-or-others. He wasn’t a botanist. He just hoped they looked like he tried.

Mark stared at the door.

Then the flowers.

Then back at the door.

“Okay,” he muttered, shifting from foot to foot. “Not a date. Not a date. It’s just… dinner. With a girl. Who invited you to her actual home. And is cooking for you. Who you think about constantly. Who may or may not be your entire future. Not a date.”

He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

Then climbed the steps and knocked.

A second passed. Then two.

And then the door opened, and there you were.

Ribbons in your hair. Apron tied around your waist. That same slow, sweet smile that knocked the wind out of him every single time.

“Well hey, sugar,” you beamed. “Right on time.”

Mark forgot every word he’d ever known.

“…Hi.”

read part five ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

[lightsoutmatthews]

Stick Season - Matthew Knies

summary: you and Matthew bought tickets for a concert together, unfortunately life had other plans between then and the concert, but what happens when you still decide to go together?

pairing: Matthew Knies x female!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: -

authors note:

in honor of the Leafs clinching a playoff spot last night!!!!

-----------------------------

The two pieces of paper that were pinned to your fridge burned in your sight. There was a time where you looked forward to seeing your favorite artist in concert. Especially with your now ex-boyfriend.

You were so excited when he gifted you the tickets on your birthday last year. You didn’t know the two of you wouldn’t make it to your next birthday, or the concert.

It wasn’t a really bad breakup. More like the two of you growing apart. Realizing both of you would need to figure out how to live life on your own.

He was leaving for Arizona while you stayed in Toronto. You wished you could have gone with him, but work kept you. That was the first time you realized that your lives grew in different directions and would not really align anymore even when he returned to Toronto.

He was stressed enough trying to figure out how to manage being a full time NHLer after being thrown into the position on a whim. You were still trying to navigate your new job. Seeing each other less and less before he left.

Not on purpose, life just got in the way and that´s when you knew it could not go on like this.

You broke up when he was back in Canada. It wasn’t a hard conversation, both of you knowing things were coming to an end.

------------------

You hadn’t seen him in months. Not seen him being a stretch given his face was plastered all over the city, the radio and tv talking about the season he was having.

You were happy for him. Game after game he grew as a new player in the big leagues. Eventually he even got promoted to the top line alongside Auston Matthews and Mitch Marner. An unsent congratulatory message for that probably still a draft in your iMessage chat.

That was the first time you really missed him. Celebrating achievements together was one of the things you loved about being with him. No matter how small they were, either of you made it a big deal for the other.

There were a few other times throughout the months since the breakup where you thought about him. When your coworkers invited you to the restaurant you had so many dates at. When you drove past Scotiabank Arena, memories of the times you saw him in the Leafs uniform flicking through your mind.

The concert tickets at your fridge the worst reminder of what you had lost. It was a weird feeling. On the one hand you knew you had made the right decision but at the same time it felt like a piece of you was missing. Maybe you had been wrong? Maybe it was just a product of not seeing him for a while.

-----------------

You debated back and forth what you should do with the tickets. Of course, you still wanted to go, but you didn’t have anyone to go with. You could text Matthew. You knew the concert was during all-star break.

Would it be weird? Probably. But technically it was his ticket. He paid for it after all.

The decision laid heavy in your stomach for a few days. You asked around your friend group for a bit, seeing if anyone had time that day without mentioning what event you were actually talking about.

No one did.

A few days later the unsent congratulatory message was deleted, and a new one put in its place. It went unsent for another day, but you knew that you should send it eventually. For planning purposes alone.

I Hey, this might be surprising or weird, but I still have your Noah Kahan ticket. I would hate for it to go unused.

He didn’t reply for over a day. You were thinking that he was ignoring you, but when a text with his name at the top of the notification came through late on the next day you let out a shaky breath.

Matt Knies: Hey, not weird for me if it’s not weird for you. I forgot about that concert to be completely honest; you can give it to someone else if you want to.

You swallowed hard. You should’ve expected him to not jump at the opportunity immediately. You texted back regardless.

I Already asked basically everyone I know, and no one has time. If you don’t want it, I´ll put it up on resale and send you the money back.

You knew how this sounded. Like texting him was the last resort before putting the ticket up for sale. It kind of was. You weren’t screaming in joy about texting you ex about going to a concert together.

Matt Knies: Okay fine, I don’t want the ticket to go to waste. Let me check my schedule.

A few seconds later another message came through.

Matt Knies: What date was that again?

You chuckled.

--------------------

A week later you were on your way to the venue. Matthew agreed to come in the end, but you didn’t make any plans of meeting up until last night.

He texted, saying he´d pick you up but you argued that you were in the area beforehand anyways (you weren’t). So, you met up in front of the arena.

An awkward hug was shared as you approached him. Mumbled greetings and pleasantries were exchanged. You looked him over.

He gained muscle since you last saw him. The backwards cap on his head hid his hair which was slightly longer than you were used to. But it suited him.

It wasn’t lost on you that he was looking you over too. His gaze lingered on your legs for a little longer than it would be polite. You smirked. The loose leather pants were the right decision after all.

--------------

You entered the venue quietly, neither of you really knowing what to say. The hum and buzz of the rest of the concert crows a welcome distraction from your thoughts.

“Do you want something to drink? My treat.” His words made your head snap around. Starring at him like he said the most outrageous thing in the world.

“Woah, I asked you for a drink, not if you want to rob a bank with me.” A soft chuckle left his mouth at your expression. “I… uh… sure…”

You yelped when he grabbed your arm and dragged you towards one of the many drinks stands around the entrance of the arena. His touch immediately sending shivers down your spine. It was warm, familiar, full of memories that kept crawling back to you.

Minutes later he handed you a cup of Sprite. Your favorite.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to drink so I took the save option.” He smiled and took a sip from his own cup. A familiar prickle started to simmer in your stomach. You tried to blink it away, but it immediately bubbled back up when you looked at him.

His features were foreign but so familiar at the same time. “Do I have something between my teeth?” you snapped back to reality at his sudden question. “What…?” perplexity written all over your face.

“You were staring like I had something between my teeth, I had some spinach for lunch, but I swear I brushed my teeth after so usually there shouldn’t be any left.” You blinked once, twice, three times to process how easy he fell back into your familiar rhythm.

Talking to him used to be easy but it felt wrong to immediately slip back into this familiar rhythm.

Seeing him laugh spreading a warmth trough you that you had been missing without really realizing it.

“So?” You snapped back into reality once again starring at him with a confused look. “Spinach?”

“Uh, no, no spinach,” you mumbled but didn’t go into it any further, luckily, he let it go.

----------------

The two of you found a space in the middle of the floor. It wasn’t too crowded yet, so you opted to lean against the rail at the audio guys area.

You took in the buzzling atmosphere, trying to avoid looking in his direction so he wouldn’t ask about your starring again.

You wanted to look at him. Take in his familiar frame and strong build. Sleeping nestled into his warm hold something you missed to this day.

Making small talk until the show started felt easier the longer you talked. You asked about adjusting to his first full season in the NHL, he asked about your job.

The stories he told were exciting, filled with memories from road trips to striking up friendships with his teammates. He told you a lot about Joseph Woll who apparently became his new best friend given they were both in their first full season.

You patted his arm softly when he said how sad he was when he got injured a few weeks ago and wasn’t joining the team on trips but that there were a few others he got along with great.

You hadn’t met many of his teammates. Auston Matthews once when you were in Arizona two years ago, John Tavares last season when you visited Matthew at his house during the playoffs when he was first called up to play for the Leafs after losing in the Frozen Four.

He was just about to break into another story from the road trip out West when the lights dimmed, and the opener took the stage.

You weren’t familiar with the artist, but you enjoyed their music and made a mental note to look them up on Spotify later.

In the break between their set and Noah you didn’t pick the earlier conversation back up, rather sharing opinions about the opener and the songs they performed.

Matthew and you always had similar music taste but today your opinion was divided. Him not having enjoyed it at all and you advocating for them. The banter and jokingly arguing once again something you were incredibly familiar with and that brought that prickle back in your stomach.

It was easy falling back into familiar patterns. Like the past months hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t broken up on a whim.

You knew it was something that needed to happen at the same time. If you would have kept the relationship up it probably would’ve ended badly. You both needed space to grow individually.

Having been together since junior year at the University of Minnesota there was hardly a time you had spent away from each other. You grew into real adults with the other by your side.

With the rapid change that was approaching in both of your lives you knew either of you needed time to adjust. Alone.

When Noah Kahan took the stage all those thoughts were out of your mind, and you focused on the concert ahead. Until “Stick Season” came on and you were hit with a massive flashback back to the first time you spent parts of your summer with him in Arizona.

--------

It was a very warm summer night in the middle of the dessert. You and Matthew had spent the evening with his family, having a barbecue and a campfire in the Knies family backyard.

The rest of the family already went to sleep but the two of you weren’t feeling tired yet, so you decided to grab one of the picknick blankets in the pool house and laid it under the stars that were shining bright in the dimly lit neighborhood.

The new Noah Kahan single was playing quietly over the speakers on the patio. “I wish we could stay like this forever,” you whispered. Matthew tightened his grip around you, pulling your head onto his chest and placing a soft hiss on top of it. “Me too.” After a few seconds he added: “It´s nice without the stress of hockey additionally to keeping up with classes.”

You laughed out a huff. He had been drafted by the Toronto Maple Leafs last year and it was almost sure he would make the jump into the NHL at one point in his life. Classes wouldn’t matter then, but you didn’t want to tell him that, knowing he wasn’t so sure if Toronto would make the call any time soon.

“Yeah. I´m dreading going back. Theres so much on my palate this semester.” You would graduate next summer which mean additionally to all of the classes you had to take you would have to start thinking about your thesis. More stress than you had handled in your academic career before.

Another soft kiss to the top of your head. “You´ll do great, I know you will.” You snuggled deeper into his hold and let out a hard exhale. “I hope so. I have that job lined-up from my internship, and I would hate to waste it.”

Moving back to Toronto, where you were originally from, was something you looked forward too. The company you did your internship at during spring break being so impressed by your skills that they offered you a position right out of college.

You knew that also meant you would be close to Matthew when he would eventually come to play for the Leafs.

“Everything will turn out okay, I just have a feeling.”

“I love you, Matt.”

He smiled down at you. “I love you too, sweet girl.”

He tips your head up and places the softest kiss to your lips before laying back down again, neither of you saying a word, the Noah Kahan song just quietly playing in the background.

---------

“I miss you.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. Matthew ripped his head around.

You weren’t sure he had heard you over the loud music but based on his reaction he did.

His lips moved but you could not focus on what he was saying, still shocked by your sudden confession.

“What…?” You mumbled, your mouth barely moving. Matthew softly smiled at you before he leaned down and did the least thing you expected him to do.

His lips felt soft against yours, moving against them felt like he was holding on to a lifeline. Warmth but also nerves and uncertainty creeped up in you.

“I said I miss you too.” He whispered against your lips when he took a second to give both of, you’re a breather.

For a minute neither of you said anything, Noah just singing in the background, the screaming crowd around you.

“You were thinking about that summer too, right?”

[justmeinadaze]

Don't Be So Hard (Part 7) (Steddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: I bare you this final chapter <3.

Enjoy!

Warnings: Older Dom (30s) Coach Steve Harrington/Older Dom (30s) Professor Eddie Munson & Young (20s) Fem Plus size Sub Student Y/N, SMUT, dirty talk, very light degrading (slut, dirty girl), P in V, intimacy between the boys <3, mentions of over stimulation, I think that's it. FLUFF, story starts angsty but ends fluffy <3.

ANGST, Chapter starts where the last one left off, Martin's dad drunkenly corner's Y/N and gets spicy. (Unlike what happened with his son, weight isn't mentioned. He's salty about Eddie and Steve), the boys come to the rescue.

Word Count: 6938

Series Masterlist/Donate to Me

“Fucking asshole.”, the dean murmurs under his breath as you all take a seat. “I’m sorry for that, Y/N. No matter what, Jared has no reason to speak to you or anyone like that. I was hoping when his son was expelled, I wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore but—”

His voice trailed off as he finally glanced up and noticed you were crying while Eddie tried to comfort you. 

“Yes…well, Steven, your father had a busy weekend. I guess you three were at his house and he called Mr. Click who in turn sent someone to follow Miss Y/L/N. They got some snapshots of her leaving your home…”

The coach growled as his fists clenched. 

“I shouldn’t have gone over there. I’m so stupid.”

“Are they in trouble?”, you ask in a small voice that has Steve sighing as your professor reached out to pet your head. “Please, they didn’t do anything wrong. It was all me and—”

“Technically they did do something wrong.”, he cut you off, exhaling heavily as he leaned back in his chair. “You know, the quake happened while I was a professor myself. I taught history of all things.”, the dean chuckles. “Before that though, the professors were put on notice about a murderer running around Hawkins and to be on alert…Just in case Edward Munson showed up on campus.”

The metalhead’s eyes fell and you felt Steve’s arm reach across your back to rub his shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you but I knew a Wayne Munson. He was a freshman when I was a senior in high school…Forgive me for showing my age… Wayne had this hard exterior but I remember he was always a good kid. Some of the teachers would treat him like shit because of your grandfather and father. Little Allen Munson seemed to be following in his father footsteps even though your uncle did what he could detour that. 

That was the first thought I had when news came out about you, Eddie. I truly believed you were innocent…and I still do. That’s why I hired you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Bill, I’ve known since about that time to and he hasn’t changed.”, Dean Gilman sighs in annoyance. “Still a little boy who needs all the attention he can get. You were headed down that path for a while, son.”

“Yeah…I decided I didn’t want to be an asshole.”

“Hm. Good choice.” He pauses and you feel his eyes scan you over before he continues. “Were you both planning on going with her to New York?”

“Yes.”, they both responded in unison before the coach followed with, “We were going to give you our resignation letters on the last day of the semester.”

“Found a job yet?”

They shake their heads. 

“There’s a football team at one of the universities looking for a coach…” Steve’s head shot up as the dean wrote something down and handed him the paper. “It’s not at NYU but I assumed you wouldn’t want to coach at the school she’s at. I already called and he’s anxious to meet you.”

“I-I-I…thank you, sir.”

“Mr. Munson, I’m afraid I don’t know of any colleges hiring professors but I can keep looking and I recommend you look to. I’d be more than happy to write a recommendation.”

“Wait…are—are we in trouble?”, you ask, completely thrown off guard by his kindness.

“Honestly, Y/N, I don’t see the point. I mean, is it consensual? They aren’t hurting you or forcing you into this right?”

“No, sir. I love them.”

“Good…good. If you weren’t leaving, I would HAVE to do something but…fuck them. You three have been through enough and you’re almost out of here. That doesn’t mean I want to see open PDA on campus or anything—”

“Oh, no, sir. We would never…”

“Ok good. Now get out of my office.”, he chides lightly before being thrown off guard when you run around the desk to give him a hug. 

“Thank you, sir.” Eddie and Steve beam your way, holding the door open for you as you happily bounce out into the lobby. “Oh my God. Is this really happening? Is everything really ok?”

“Yeah, baby, it is and even better…”, your professor pauses as he yanks on his partners hand to bring his lips to his own. “…I can do that. I can’t wait to do it with you, sweetheart.”

***

Steve grins as he watched his partner carefully packing his books nestled in his office shelf into the box at his feet. 

“Baby, they aren’t glass. They won’t break.”

“Says you, Mr. Harrington, but a lot of these are first or collector’s editions so you’re lucky I’m even putting them in a box and not like a protective dome that costs more than the book itself.”

Biting his bottom lip, the coach leans forward to grab Eddie’s waist and pull him onto his lap. 

“I love you, freak.”

“I love you to, asshole.”, the professor laughs, kissing his lips. “Come on, you’re supposed to be helping me.” When the man only hugs him tighter, the metalhead wraps his arm around the back of his neck and brings his head to his chest. “We still have to be careful, sweetheart. We aren’t out of here just yet.”

“I know but…”, Steve sighs as he presses his face into his boyfriend’s soft, cigarette smelling shirt. “10 years, Eddie. I spent 10 years hiding how much I care about you…Now that people know…now that my FATHER knows…it’s hard to reign it in.”

The long-haired man smiles softly as he tilts down to kiss his fluffy head of hair. 

“Have you heard from him?”

“No and I most likely won’t. It’s good for him because I want to fucking kill him for talking to Jared.”

“You know where my dad is?!”

At the sound of Martin’s exasperated shout both men hastily rose to their feet with Steve pushing Eddie behind him. 

“What are you doing here, Mr. Click? You’re not allowed on campus.”

“You mentioned my dad’s name. Do you know where he went?”

“What are you talking about—”

“Fuck! I came here to warn you because Y/N wasn’t in her dorm—”

“You’re not allowed anywhere near her.”, the professor growled, moving to position himself at his partner’s side. 

“I fucking know that but my dad’s been out of control since the dean kicked him out of his office and he found out you three aren’t in trouble. He tried to talk to her mom but she just slammed the door in his face…” 

Both men exchanged a worried look; you hadn’t told them that. 

“He’s been drinking non-stop and even missed work today—”

“What’s your point, Martin?!”, Steve shouted, his fear beginning to take over. 

“Fuck! I’m trying to tell you…I think he’s going to do something stupid! I told him to let it go especially since I heard you guys were leaving but he kept mumbling about how it’s not fair and Y/N should be reprimanded even if he has to do it himself.”

The boy barely got his last sentence out as they collected their jackets and pushed him aside to hurry towards the parking lot. 

“Where is she?”, Steve asked firmly.

“Diner with Theo.”, Eddie answered, climbing into the passenger side of the BMW before his boyfriend revved the engine and sped out away from the school. 

***

How were you back here?

How were back outside this stupid diner with a Click cornering you?

Thankfully you weren’t alone but you were also aware that with Martin’s father you were in a bit more danger than with the boy himself. 

“Go away, Mr. Click. You’re drunk and you’re not thinking straight…”, Theo pleaded with an authoritative edge as he kept you safely behind him. 

“No, I’m thinking clearer than I ever have. Jason Carver had the right idea 10 years ago. You have to fight back to get what you want especially in Hawkins. Unfortunately, he died and his killer is walking free. It’s not right…just like it’s not right that my son is expelled!”

“Me being with Eddie has nothing to do with what your son did.”

Jared’s eyes widen as he staggers forwards while Theo guides you backward away from him. 

“Of course, it does, honey. It’s all connected in a town this small and it always starts with a flaw…flaws like the Munson’s. Allen stole from everyone, conned everyone here scaring people into locking their doors and windows till he ended up in jail. Everything was fine till kids started getting murdered…till HE murdered them… He gets off and is set free…Pulls in a high member of societies son, one of his students…gets my son expelled…”

“What about Will Byers? What about the Hawkins Lab? What about the earthquake?!”, you shout, trying to step towards him but your protector won’t allow it. “You’re right, Jared. This town has flaws but it’s not people like Eddie. You can change the narrative to fit all you want but the flaw is people like you and Steve’s father. People who chased him down and tried to hurt him. People who can’t accept anyone that’s different!”

Martin’s father shook his head as he chuckled. 

“He’s got you brainwashed, little girl. Now, you are going to tell Hopper and the dean that you lied—”

“No.”

Jared took confident steps towards you, grabbing Theo and hitting him hard as the boy shouts for you to run. 

You don’t get very far as arms circle around you and lift you off the ground before you feel yourself suddenly falling sideways. 

You hear a grunt of pain before someone gets up to sprint away but a fast breeze whooshes past you as sneakers loudly hit the pavement. 

“Hey, look at me. Are you ok?”, Steve inquired as his palm ran down your hair and his eyes scanned your face. Your panicked irises flick towards Theo who begrudgingly took Martin’s extended hand to help him to his feet. “Y/N! Are you ok??”

“Yeah…yeah I’m…Where’s…?”

You both turned at the sounds coming from down the alley way and watch as Eddie delivers repeated blows to the man’s face. You quickly stand and wobble that way, catching your professor’s wrist as he raised his arm to hit him again. 

“Stop…Stop, Eddie, please…don’t…don’t let them win. We’re finally going to get out of here…and be happy…please.”

The metalhead grit his teeth as his shoulder’s deflated and you helped him up off the person beneath him just as Chief Hopper’s cruiser rounded the corner into the diner parking lot. 

***

Your mom exhales as she strides into the living room and tosses all the first aid supplies onto the coffee table. 

“Benefit of being married to a first responder. He always insisted we had stuff like this on standby. ‘You never know.’”, she mimed in a deep voice that had you smiling. 

Theo was the first to lean forward, grabbing the icepack and placing it on his cheek. 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Theo, I’ve met you numerous times. You don’t have to be so formal.”, she sarcastically scolded as her eyes met yours before taking in both men on her couch. “Jesus Christ.”

Throwing her body down beside Steve, she grabbed the antiseptic and he winced as she began cleaning the cut on his face. 

“You have a lot of little scars, Mr. Harrington. How many times has someone hit you in the face?” His amber irises instantly snap her way. “Told you…married to a first responder…you pick up some things.”

“More than a few times…”

“Not by your asshole father right? Because I can talk to him if you—”

“No, no.”, he breathily laughs. “No. He would have had to have been there to interact with me at all, let alone…”

While they talked, you had begun to clean Eddie’s fingers and carefully wrap gauze around his knuckles. 

“You both saved my daughter again. Well three…I didn’t forget about you, Theodore.”, she praises and he scrunches his nose with a smile her way. “Thank you.”

Silently Eddie stood up and climbed the stairs turning into the first room he found with you following close behind. Steve closed the door behind you before flicking on a switch that illuminated the string of lights along the walls. 

“Is this your room?”

As soon as you nod, the coach starts exploring beaming at your posters of 90s celebrities along your wall and cassettes piled high with bands his partner had introduced him to. The desk by your window had a couple of scripts he assumed was from your high school days and notes on paper that had him craning his neck to read. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“What is that?”, he asks with a small smile as you yank the paper away. 

Rolling your eyes, you smack it into his chest before kneeling to grab something and taking a seat beside Eddie on your bed. 

“Colleges? But I thought…”

“They’re colleges I thought Eddie would like to work at.”, you mumble with a shrug, your words causing him to finally meet your gaze. “I wanted to help. I found a few that have a really good English program that you’d love and they aren’t too far from Steve or myself.”

The corner of his lips twitch slightly as if he’s about to smile so you take the opportunity to open the album you were holding in your hands and positioning it between you both. 

The metalhead’s chocolate irises take in the different photographs of you in high school with Steve at his side. The coach grinned when he saw you on the track outside the gym and pointed at an image of you with castmates dressed for the play you had just finished. 

Flipping to the next page, both men held their breath as your prom photo appeared with you in a gorgeous dress hugging your dates side. 

“Jesus Christ…you’re so beautiful.”, Steve murmurs.

“Thank you.”

A tear falls down Eddie’s cheek that he quickly wipes away but you see it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to kiss where it had been. 

“I almost killed him, Y/N.”, he whispers. “If you hadn’t been there to remind me that we’re almost out… it took all my energy… if he had hurt you…Hmm.” His lips form into a thin line as he hums, stopping himself from finishing his thought. 

“You protected me, Eddie. You and Steve.”

“But I almost became what they believe I am—”

“But you didn’t. Jared Click is the monster, Edward Munson, not you. I…” You pause to swallow the lump in your throat and he notices, craning his neck to face you. “I was scared of him…I’ve never once been afraid of you. You would never do what he just did.”

“Never, baby. Fuck, I can’t wait for us to get out of here.”

As he starts to sob, you pull him down onto your bed and hug his head to your chest while Steve curls up behind him, pressing his back to his chest. 

####################

One Year Later

“Alright, guys, good job!”, Steve claps, cheering on his team before checking his watch. “Ok, great practice. I want you guys to shower and head home. Enjoy Friday night and tomorrow we head for the semifinals.”

His team whoops excitedly and the man smiles as he starts to jog towards the university campus to get to his office. 

“Good work, Harrington.”, his assistant coach beamed as he tried to keep up. “Want to get a drink tonight to celebrate?”

“I wish I could, Mac, but I have a to go pick up Eddie for our date night tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Dinner and a movie?”

The man grins, swinging open his office door and taking the suit he brought with him off the hanger on his coat rack. 

“We’re actually seeing a play at NYU.”

“Yeah? That campus has some amazing productions and those actors are amazing. I’m never surprised when I hear some award winner got their degree there.” 

Steve’s smile widens as his eyes take in the photo on his desk of you, him, and Eddie making faces at the camera while you hold up the key to your new apartment in the city. 

“They’re doing something called Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf which I had never heard of till our…our girlfriend showed us the movie they made.” The coach blushes at his wording, loving the still foreign feeling of saying that word so freely. “She’s playing one of the leads.”

“Oh…Oh yeah? That’s phenomenal.”, the assistant coach stutters through, not wanting his technical boss and friend to feel uncomfortable. He knew Steve came from a small town and wanted him to know he was safe even though a relationship like his was a bit unorthodox. 

“Well, have fun and we’ll see you tomorrow!”

***

Eddie beams when Steve’s BMW skids into the faculty parking area as he shoves the papers he had been grading into the bag at his side.

“Baby, calm down. We still have an hour.”, the metalhead teases as his boyfriend greets him with a soft kiss before opening his passenger door for him. 

“I know but…”, he pauses as he jogs back around and climbs in. “With traffic and everything, I don’t want us to be late. Y/N’s been working extremely hard on this and—”

The professor’s lips on his cut him off and Steve’s shoulders visibly deflated as Eddie caressed his cheeks with his thumbs. 

“You’re doing that thing again.”, the long-haired man lightly scolds. “We’re fiiiiiiine, sweetheart.”

“I know. She’s just been working so hard on this and I know she’s nervous because this agent guy is going to be there. I want her to know we support her especially after everything she’s done for us.”

The metalhead nods, kissing him again as he intertwines his fingers with his own while the coach begins his short drive to your university.

“How was class today?”

“Oh my God, Steve, you have no idea how wonderful it is to be around students who are actually fucking interested in what I’m teaching and not my fucking background.”, he sighs happily. “Some of the kids noticed my D & D books in my office and asked me to host or sponsor or whatever a club for the school.”

“What? Honey, that’s fantastic! You have people you can be nerdy with.”

“Mhmm.”, Eddie chuckles, glancing out the window as the buildings slowly pass by. “I’m glad we came with her, Steve. I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy… If we had let her go… God, I don’t even want to think about that.”

“Then don’t.”, the man murmurs softly as he raises his partner’s hand to his lips so he could kiss the back. “I’m glad we came with her to. I love being able to tell people you both are mine.”

Eddie leans his head on Steve’s shoulder and in return the coach kisses the top of his curls. 

“Yeah, me to.”

***

“Knock ‘em dead tonight, Janet. Can’t wait to see it for myself when I come visit you guys. Don’t be nervous! You’re an amazing actress. 

Your Rocky, 

Theo.

P.S. Ciara says break a leg!”

You smile at the letter attached to the flowers that were sent to your little dressing area after your play had concluded from your friend and his girlfriend back in Hawkins. 

You were thankful when he told you about her, not wanting to leave him in that small town by himself. 

“Hey, Y/N, you were excellent as always.”, your theater teacher praised as she came up behind you to give you a hug. “You should go see your boys. They won’t stop bragging about you to people they hear talking about your performance.”

You giggle as you grab your (Eddie’s) jacket and sling your duffle bag with your clothes from that day over your shoulder. As you sneak out the side exit, you’re immediately met with the sound of the metalhead’s voice. 

“Yeah, she was running her lines over and over for the past few months. I have no idea how she memorizes all that but, God, she’s brilliant.”

“And beautiful to. Y/N just shines out on that stage.”, Steve adds with a tooth filled smile. 

“Absolutely. I apologize but how do you know her again?”, the man they were speaking to asks and you smile as you scurry up to their little circle.

“They’re my boyfriends. This is Eddie Munson who teaches a literature class over at the community college down the street and Steve Harrington is the head football coach at the college near Columbia.” Both men nod and extend their hands as you introduce them. “And I’m, um, I’m Y/N Y/L/N. It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Wilson. Guys, this is the…agent…I was telling you about.”

“Oh, please, I know exactly who you are and you can call me Arthur especially after the performance you just put on.”

“Thank you.”, you continue to grin as your nervous eyes flick their way. 

“We’re sorry for talking your ear off. We just…we’re very proud of her.”, Steve praises, pressing his fingers into his eyes however when Eddie quickly follows up with, “So, you’re going to sign her to your agency, right?”

The man in front of you laughs as the coach smacks his arm and reaches into his pocket to pull out a card. 

“Come to my office Monday morning and we’ll sort out some logistics. I don’t want to get your hopes up but I may actually have a roll you’d be perfect for. After I sign you to my agency that is.”

“Oh my god…Mr. Wilson…I mean Arthur…I…Thank you! Thank you so much!”, you exclaim as you take the card and jump into his arms. 

“Whoa! Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your weekend. You deserve it.”

The moment he walks away, you turn to meet their ecstatic faces as Eddie wraps his limbs around your waist and hugs you tightly. 

“Sweetheart, that’s fucking amazing. We’re so proud of you.”

“Very proud.”, Steve grins, pulling you into his embrace as soon as his partner lets you go. “You did so well up there tonight, honey.”

“I heard you both clapping for me.”

“Yeah because you were fucking awesome.”, the metalhead swoons, taking your hand in his. “Come on, baby. We’ve got a whole celebratory thing planned.”

#################

While you were staring out into the New York skyline from your spot at the table on the balcony of the top floor restaurant they had brought you to, Eddie and Steve were staring at you. 

The wind blew your hair in just the right way and even with the metalhead’s jacket keeping you warm, it didn’t hide the gorgeous spaghetti strap, olive green dress that accentuated all your gorgeous curves. 

“It’s so beautiful tonight.”, you happily sigh, turning to grab your champagne glass and realizing what they were focusing on. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”, Eddie compliments. “We were watching you up there on that stage and I thought… ‘Damn. That beautiful, talented, sexy, adorable woman…is ours.’”

Heat rises to your cheeks and both men chuckle lightly. 

“That right there has been my favorite part about being able to take you out on dates.”, Steve teases, pointing your way. “Seeing you get all shy and nervous like that.”

“Oh really, Harrington? Because you didn’t get all blushy on our first date or any dates after?”, the metalhead jokes, coming to your defense. 

“What was your first date?”

“Eddie was still kind of healing from being in the hospital and going through all the chaos with the legal system so I wanted to take him somewhere calming.”

“He took me to the observatory just outside of town.”

“Not because I was embarrassed or anything.”, the coach adds quickly. “It’s just cause Hawkins doesn’t have much to do and I didn’t want to do the normal ‘dinner and movie’”.

“We laid under the projection and just talked.”

“Did he make a move that night?”

“It’s Steve Harrington, baby, of course he made a move.”, Eddie laughed making his boyfriend roll his eyes. 

“Look, we almost died!”, the man defends before shrugging his shoulders and grabbing his glass. “I didn’t want to waste any more time not being with you.”

The metalhead smiles as he takes his partners hand and yanks him closer to softly kiss his lips. 

“Oh. I got you guys something. Well…it’s for all of us but…” Your words stumble out as you reach for your bag and dig inside, pausing to face them before hugging it to your chest. “So…I, um, ever since you guys told me about…you know…Vecna and everything…I’ve always thought about how much you two have been there for me…like truly been there…even before I met you.”

Their irises soften as they listen to you continue and the metalhead reaches out under the table to place his hand on your knee hoping to calm your nerves as you try to get your words out. 

“You two spent 10 years standing watch over an entire town to keep those assholes safe, you protected me from Martin and his father, and even here in New York I know you’re always watching out for me. I, um, I know you two knew each other before you met me and were together for much longer, but, um…”

“Honey, what are you trying to say?”, Steve asks, his own nerves starting to bubble in his stomach. 

“You know even though we were together before we met you, it doesn’t change how much we love you, right?”

“I know, Eddie, baby. I know. I just…” Reaching inside your purse, you produce a little rectangular box and place it on the table in front of them. “I know that if you two could have gotten married long ago you would have. Now if three people could get married, you’d do that to…I just…we’ve been here for a year and together for almost two and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

At your last sentence, the coach leaned across the table to take the box in his hand and slowly open it to show his partner the three black rings with gold lining the inside. A little smirk flickers on the long-haired man’s face as he pulls the one that’s nestled in the middle out of its place. 

“Y/N Y/L/N, are you asking us to marry you?” You cover your face in embarrassment as they try to contain their laughter at your cuteness. “No, no, baby. Come on. Continue.”

“I’m trying to say…! That if I could marry you…I would…and I wanted to show you guys that while saying thank you…for keeping me safe for all those years.”

Eddie grins as he nods, suddenly sliding down on one knee and taking your hand in his. 

“I’d die for you, princess, if it meant protecting you.”, he murmured, pushing the ring on to your finger and kissing the back of your hand before removing one of his to replace it with the one you got him. When he tries to guide his skeleton ring on your thumb, it easily slides off being too big for your hand.

Steve pats his shoulder, replacing his partners spot on his knee in front of you, and invades your space to unclasp the necklace around you, tenderly kissing your cheek as he does so. You and Eddie watch as he slides his boyfriend’s ring onto the chain before removing his college class ring to add to it.

Once the metalhead has it firmly attached to you once more, your palm touches the warm jewelry pressing it to your chest.

“You don’t know how much this means to us.”, he whispers, pushing his new ring onto his finger and taking your free hand in his. “You always talk about us saving you but, baby, you saved us. Thank you.”

You tilt towards him to kiss his lips and he lifts you out of your chair to hug you tightly. 

“I’d marry you both in a heartbeat.”

As soon as he sets you down, Eddie takes you into his arms and threads his fingers through your hair. 

“I’d marry you both to.”, he confesses, kissing the top of your head. “Then we could fly somewhere awesome for a honeymoon.”

Both men smile when you laugh. 

“Who says we need to fly anywhere for a honeymoon?”

***

Steve’s breaths heat your lips as he pants heavily above you pushed up on his palms as he steadily but firmly thrusts his hips, his eyes never straying from yours as he continues to build you towards another orgasm. 

“That’s it, baby, fuck. You look so sexy like this.”, Eddie whispered in your ear from his place on the living room floor beside you, his arm laying loosely across your sweaty chest as his thumb caressed your temple. “You said this was our honeymoon so you have to give us another one, sweetheart.”

Your eyes close as your head turns allowing you to be nose to nose with him and he hungerly kisses your lips. 

“If you cum again, we’ll let you take a break and you can watch Mr. Harrington fuck me.” At his murmured words, you loudly moaned as Steve’s head hung and he picked up his rhythm, slamming his cock roughly into your cunt. “Yeah? You’d like that? Fuck such a dirty girl. Still that little slut we met, right?”

“Ohma…God…”

“Still our slut.” Your eyebrows furrowed as Eddie’s fingers curled in your hair, holding your forehead to his as he watched you come undone. Your body shook as you whimpered, your pussy quivering around the man inside you who continued to fuck you through it. “Good girl. Very good. You’re alright, baby. Take a little break. Do you need water?”

“No…no, Sir. I’m…M’ok.”

Steve practically growled as he pulled out of you to climb on top of his partner, grabbing his hips and lifting him up onto his knees. Rolling onto your side, you smile with half lidded eyes as you watch the metalhead groan loudly as the coach shoves his tongue into his entrance. Eddie’s forehead presses to the floor as one of his arms reach between his legs to lazily stroke himself. 

“Fuuuuuck, I love your mouth, pretty boy.”

It surprised even you how fast Steve hovers over him, his chest pressed to his back as he grabs his hair and yanks it back. 

“Who am I?”, he grunts, the long-haired boy smiling defiantly as his boyfriend grinds his dick along his behind. “Who am I in here?”

“Mr. Harrington…fuck, baby…”

With his free hand, Steve grasped his cock and they both mewled as he carefully guided himself into the man beneath him. 

“That’s right.”, he breathed, his palm wrapping around his throat as he placed a kiss on his shoulder. “That’s fucking right. Open your eyes, little boy and k-keep them on her.”

When he does what he’s told, your lips meet his as the coach pushes himself up fully onto his knees and sets a rough pace while pounding his cock deep into the man he loves. 

“Shit…you’re just as much of a slut as she is…aren’t you?” When all Eddie does is nod, Steve spanks him hard. “Answer me.”

“I’m just as much—mmm—of a slut as she is.”

“As who?”

“Our girl.”

At his words, Steve grunted with approval as he chased his high desperate for a release after feeling you cum around him. Your hand slid under your former professor and wrapped around his length to stroke him. 

His eyes that had been glued to you, abruptly darkened.

“After he fills me up, Y/N, I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll be sore tomorrow. Everyone at his game w-will be looking at you and they’ll know…They’ll know you’re taken care of.” 

While Eddie spoke Steve’s pace had quickened to the point that the sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the apartment. A strangled moan left his lips as he fell flat against his partner pushing him fully against the ground and rolled his hips as he came; his fingers intertwining with Eddie’s as he panted into his tussled head of hair. 

You delicately patted his sweaty shoulder and without you saying a word, he fell to the side of the metalhead who didn’t waste a moment, scaling your body and lifting your legs around his waist before guiding himself into your sore and swollen heat. 

True to his word, he set an aggressive rhythm causing both of you to emit repeated ahs while his lips attached to your neck. You clung to his back as he sucked a mark into your skin, soothing it with his tongue while your pussy clenched tightly around him. 

“Please…please, Mr. Munson…I wanna…”

“Tell me.”

“I want to…feel you…cum.”

“I’ll—fuck—I’ll cum when you do.” You shake your head and he grumbles roughly, gripping your throat as his angry eyes meet yours. “I wasn’t asking, Y/N. I’ll give you my cum when your pussy is fucking begging me for it.”

Your legs started to fall as your back arched but his other palm hastily grabbed one of your thighs to keep at least one in place as your body began to tremble. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, g-give it to me.”

Collapsing on top of you, Eddie fully incased you in his warmth as your nails ran up his back to cling to his shoulders. Your orgasm washed over you like a freight train while you continuously garbled his name into the nook of his neck. As your core continued to quiver around him, you felt his momentum stutter before his release painted your walls. 

“Ow, ow…”, you whimper as he tries to delicately pull out of you. 

“I know, I know, baby. There we go…Good girl. Come on, let’s go take a bath.”

“I got her, honey. You go on ahead; the water’s already running.”, Steve coos in a soft voice as he helps the man he loves to his feet.

“Hey, maybe I need to be coddled to, mister.”

You smile as the coach smirks, lifting you effortlessly into his arms and following his boyfriend into the bathroom. After you kiss his cheek, he places you on the edge of the tub and lifts Eddie bridal style eliciting a small, surprised squeak from the professor.

“Well, don’t I feel special.”

“Mhmm. Do you need anything, my love? Water or some ice before we clean you both?”

Eddie theatrically sighs, throwing his head back as he whines, “Noooo, sire. I think I shall be ok but the princess and I will require a kiss or two.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve kisses his lips and lowers him carefully down in the warm, steamy water in front of where you had placed yourself before moving over to kiss you as well. Reaching behind him on the banister, the metalhead grabbed his pack of cigarettes and flashed them towards you, silently asking you if it was alright which you nod. 

“Fuck, man. It’s going to be snowing within a month or so I bet.”, Eddie relays after opening the nearby window and lighting the stick between his fingers. 

Hearing you hiss, his head immediately turns your way to see you grabbing the other man’s wrist as he cleaned between your legs. 

“Sorry. Hurts.”

Steve nods, kissing your temple as he murmurs into your ear, continuing to clean you as you hold his forearm to ground you. 

After blowing smoke out the window, the metalhead lightly grips your chin and tilts forward to softly kiss your lips. 

“I remember that first night, you winced like that and grabbed my wrist. You looked so small… I knew then I wanted to take care of you.”

“Oh? Is that why you two talked about being afraid to be with me?”, you tease causing both men to exchange a look. “I was drifting in and out so I only heard parts of it. Something about cake and me not wanting to be seen with ‘old men’.”

Eddie narrows his eyes your way but Steve’s palm tenderly reaching to clean him blindsides him slightly as he turns to face him and is met with his lips. 

“Some of the wording is mushed together but…”, he chuckles, their foreheads leaning against each other. “Eddie was afraid of the career aspect as well as our stupid little town. I thought maybe you’d wake up and realize you wanted more than a small-town life hidden away with bitter coach and professor.”

“I don’t get a negative adjective to?”, the metalhead jokes. “Former fugitive, pariah, trailer trash demon worshipper?”

“Stop.”, she growled a bit more forcefully than he meant to. “I never saw you that way.”

“And I never saw you as bitter.”

“Me neither. I never saw you both as ‘old men’ either. I just saw you as…mine.”, you shrug as your tone drops a bit. “That’s why what you said to me hurt so much but I never wanted to make things complicated.”

“Can’t really do that in our relationship can we, baby?”, Steve coos softly, standing to his feet so he can carefully lift you out of the tub and dry you off. “Alright, wait here while I go get the other baby.”

You giggle as you watch him from your bed swivel around to hurry towards Eddie who had already begun getting out of the water before the coach quickly wraps a towel around him and picks him up in his strong arms. 

“We saw you that way to.”, the metalhead adds as he pulls you to his side. “Ours.”

“I know. I heard you one day after rehearsal talking about how you wanted to spank me because of Theo even though YOU pushed me away—”

“Jesus, just a little eavesdropper, huh, Munson. Sounds like there’s a few punishments that need to be doled out.”

You smirk as he tugs one of his track shirts over your head and slides Eddie’s boxers up your legs. 

“Did you just interrupt me?”

Steve beams wide showing off all his teeth as he places his arms around your hips. 

“What are you going to do about it?” You bite your bottom lip before tilting to kiss his. “Did you need ice or anything?”

“Not right now, Mr. Harrington, thank you.”

Turning to focus on Eddie, he can’t help but roll his eyes as his partner bats his lashes his way. 

“Do you need ice or some water, honey?”

“No, Mr. Harrington, I’m all set.”, he teases in a high pitch voice, lightly mocking you while Steve pulls another pair of boxers up his legs. 

Just as he did with you, the coach circled his arms around the long-haired boy’s hips but leaned towards his tummy to place a soft kiss along his scars that has his features faltering slightly. 

“Thank you for always being there, Eddie. I love that now I can show you both off and I don’t have to hide how much I love you.”

Smiling, the man circles his limbs around his neck and kisses his cheek. 

“I love you to…but God why are you so obsessed with me.” After pushing his partner away, the metalhead focuses on you while Steve goes on the hunt for some shorts. “I love you to, baby. I agree with him. I’m glad we can show you off and take you on dates like tonight. Tomorrow you’re going to sit right next to me and I’m going to hold your hand all night. Or get handsy if you wear one of those sexy skirts. I’m only human.”

You laugh at his joke as you fall back against the pillows and pull him on top of you. Your fingers trace his cheek to his lips and he softly grins before laying down to rest his head below your chin. 

Steve comes out of the bathroom, pausing when he notices you both laying this way with your hand tenderly petting his partner’s curls. After turning off the lights, he climbs in beside you and brings the covers up over you three. 

“I’ve always loved how soft you are with him. Not that I’m not but…”, he whispers, kissing your shoulder as he pulls you both closer to his chest. “Thank you, Y/N, for being you.”

You smile at his groggy tone as your eyes watch him fall asleep. Eddie had already beat him to it, his steady breathing signally to you he was out. Since moving out of Hawkins, they both seemed at peace, not just out in the world but as they slept. 

Those first couple of months they did struggle; Eddie waking up screaming about someone taking you and Steve bolting upright to glare out the window to make sure “the sky isn’t red”. Slowly, the tossing and turning stopped followed by the nightmares. The first night they both slept peacefully, they woke up with bright eyes and a jovial energy, throwing some clothes on you so you three could get out to explore the city. 

They ate more, smiled more, and even opened up more than they thought possible. You were so thankful that you could experience this with them and see them grow after being stifled by a town that didn’t appreciate them. 

After a year so much had changed for the better and you couldn’t imagine what your future held. All you knew was as long as you with them, you were safe and happy.  

###############

@joannamuns9n @dckweed @corkadymu @lilaclazer @aol19 @myherometalhead  @debkk16 @micheledawn1975 @too-efn-old-to-be-here @eddiexmunsonlover @strangerthingsfangirling

@1deverland @checosbluespring @twirls827

[slytherin-pen]

Office Hours

pairing: Violet x Xaden

word count: 1.2k

tags: professor/student relationship hinted at, sexual tension, university au

summary: Violet Sorrengail has been taking Professor Riorson's creative writing class since the beginning of the semester. Xaden knows he shouldn't be looking at her this way. Legal or not, she's still his student. But when she storms into his classroom during office hours to badger him about her grade, his control starts slipping. He has always loved their verbal spars.

a/n: written for day 1 of Riorgail Week for @empyreanevents

Xaden Riorson is known for two things on campus: his brutal honesty and the way every student leaves his creative writing seminar with their ego in pieces.

Violet Sorrengail is known for two things too: being terrifyingly brilliant and never backing down from a fight.

They’ve been circling each other for weeks now. Him pushing her in lectures with sharp critiques, her pushing back with the kind of stubborn defiance that’s both infuriating and intoxicating. She gets under his skin. He lights a fire in her that can’t be put out.

The classroom door opens with a creak, then slams behind Violet Sorrengail as she walks in. Most students and professors have gone home by now. The sun is setting, turning the sky into an array of blues and pinks. But Xaden’s office hours go until eight p.m, allowing students with later classes or jobs time to meet with him if needed, so technically, Violet wasn’t doing anything wrong. No one would think twice about her walking into his classroom at approximately seven thirty, but if they knew about the rush of excitement that shot through him at the sight of her in her pleated skirt and cashmere cardigan there would certainly be questions.

At first glance, one might think Violet Sorrengail was a pleasure to have in class. Sweet and innocent in her soft, school girl clothes. And while she was a pleasure—to look at, listen to, even rile up—she was far from sweet and innocent. She was the kind of woman that could grip a man by the balls with her words alone. The kind of woman that was perfect for Xaden.

“Professor Riorson,” Violet greets with feigned sweetness and a mocking smile as she approaches his desk.

“Ms. Sorrengail,” Xaden replies without looking up from the manuscript he’s editing. “Is the door closed because you’re planning to yell at me?”

“No,” she says, stepping forward. “I’m planning to have a civil, adult conversation.”

“Shame.” He finally glances up, dark eyes meeting hers. “I was looking forward to the verbal spar.”

Violet plants herself in the chair across from him. “You gave me a B+ on my short story.”

“I did,” he replies with a curt nod.

She huffs and crosses her legs. “And why is that?”

He sets his pen down, folding his hands. “Because it was a B+ story.”

“Unbelievable,” she mutters, pulling the paper from her folder. “You said—and I quote—‘imaginative structure, but too self-indulgent to land emotionally.’”

“Correct.”

“You’re grading based on vibes now?” Violet asks with narrowed eyes.

Xaden sighs. Zinhal help him. “Ms. Sorrengail—”

“Because that’s what it sounds like,” she continues, unrelenting, her voice growing sharper. “You didn’t mark any technical errors. You didn’t suggest improvements. You just called it self-indulgent and slapped on a B+.”

“It was overwritten.”

“You didn’t say anything about a maximum word count.”

“That’s not what I mean. It read like you were trying to prove how clever you are, rather than telling a story.”

“That’s because I am clever,” she says, eyes gleaming. “And the story’s about grief. You don’t think grief is indulgent?”

“Not like that.”

Violet leans back, arms crossing over her chest. Xaden tries not to stare at the way her breasts rise above her v-neck sweater. “Wow. So now you’re the expert on grief too?”

Xaden stares at her for a long moment, tongue in cheek as he considers his next words. “You think I’m being unfair,” he says, voice lower now.

“I think you’re punishing me for having a voice.”

His jaw clenches.

They sit in silence. The air between them is charged, and Violet squirms in her seat. She’s not proud of how much she cares about what Professor Riorson thinks of her. How had this been any other professor, she would have just rolled her eyes, called a few expletives under her breath, and moved on. But there was something different about Professor Riorson. Despite their arguments, both during and after class, she felt like he understood her on a deeper level. She also wasn’t oblivious to all the times she felt his gaze linger a little too long, and Malek would sooner take her in his icy grasp before she ever admitted to dressing nicer for him.

“You want honesty?” he asks finally.

She dips her chin. “I always do.”

“You’re one of the best writers I’ve ever had in this program. But you rely on intellect like it’s armor. You refuse to be vulnerable.”

Violet blinks. That stings more than she expects. “You want me to bleed on the page or something? Leave little tear drops over my words?”

“Yes,” he says, voice rough. “Writing should cost something. Yours doesn’t. Not yet.”

She swallows. “And you’d know that because you’re what—a tortured genius?”

Xaden stands slowly, walking around the desk to lean against the edge, now only a few feet from her. “No. But I’ve read enough to know when someone’s holding back.”

She tilts her chin up defiantly. “Maybe I don’t want to give you all of me.”

His lips twitch. “Maybe I’m not asking for all of you.”

The words sit heavy between them. Too intimate. Too pointed.

Violet’s breath catches. “This is inappropriate.”

“You closed the door,” he murmurs.

“Because I was angry.”

“Still are.”

“A little.”

“You should be,” he says. “I’m not easy on you.”

“You’re not easy on anyone.”

“That’s true.” His voice drops. “But I’m especially hard on you.”

Their eyes lock. Onyx meeting hazel.

“Why?” she asks, voice barely audible.

Xaden’s hand moves before he thinks better of it, fingers brushing the edge of the paper she still holds between them. “Because when you’re not hiding, your writing destroys me.”

Violet feels her pulse spike. “That sounds dangerously close to praise.”

He smiles, slow and devastating. “Don’t get used to it.”

She stands abruptly, and he moves with her. They’re too close now. Barely a breath apart. She looks up at him, eyes wide and hesitant, but there's a certain heat swirling in them now.

“You can’t flirt with me,” she says, though it doesn’t sound like a protest.

“I’m not flirting.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Testing boundaries,” he says, voice low.

She tilts her head. “You’re gonna lose your job.”

He shrugs. “Not unless I touch you.”

“Are you thinking about touching me?”

“I think about a lot of things.”

The air is static. Her skin practically buzzing with the electricity between them. But then Violet steps back. Just enough to breathe again. To think.

“This isn’t why I came,” she says.

“No,” Xaden agrees. “You came to argue your grade.”

“Which I’m still doing.”

“I’ll tell you what,” he says, folding his arms. “Rewrite the ending. No intellectual flourish. Just honesty. Resubmit by Friday. If it’s better, I’ll change the grade.”

She narrows her eyes. “So I have to make you feel something?”

“Yes.”

She smirks. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“It is.”

She walks to the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “And if I win?”

“Then you get your A.”

“And if I really win?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

Xaden meets her gaze. “Then we have another conversation. About boundaries. And consequences.”

Violet’s smile is dangerous. “Looking forward to it.”

The door closes behind her.

Xaden sits down slowly, runs a hand over his face. He is, against his better judgment, very much looking forward to it too.

[gremlin-girly]

Smoke & Fire

Whisk & Whimsy Chapter 3

Dividers by: @/bernardsbendystraws | Banner by me, made in canva, images from canva and Pinterest (credit to the original creators)

Biker Bucky x f!Cafe Owner! Reader

Tags/warnings: descriptions of violence and injury, petnames (doll, sweetheart, cupcake)

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine. Some tags have been left out due to spoilers. Please read at your own risk.

Chapter summary: Your plot to stop the ride doesn't go as planned - and you begrudgingly hop onto Bucky's bike. However, the day is marred by an event that shakes up you and the gang.

Word count: ???

Series Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist | Navigation

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

In the week leading up to your little stunt, you had continued packing lunches for the White Wolves. They now had a rota. So, instead of standing menacingly outside, they'd actually come in and chat with you.

And they always left a tip.

You hadn't realised until the end of the first week, that you'd actually made enough in tips to almost offset the cost of making their lunches. You had wondered if they'd just been tossing money at you, which you weren't about to complain about, not realising how much they were actually giving you. However, one Thursday afternoon when it was just Steve quickly stopping by for a pastry (the pastry fiend!) he'd confirmed your suspicions by handing you the exact amount of change.

Bucky never made an appearance in the week leading up to your act of vandalism and you hated the fact that it irked you so much. You couldn't quite tell what his plan was but you knew it was supposed to irritate you and it was working. None of the bikers mentioned Bucky or payment around you, nor did they reveal any secret ploys in hushed tones.

It was strangely always nice to see them everyday, despite them being a constant reminder of a looming threat, and it was no longer affecting your business. Although, slow days were a bit of a problem.

The following morning after your act of vandalism, you're an anxious mess. You imagine Bucky slamming open the doors to the café, face like a storm, yelling that he knew it was somehow you that gave him a flat tyre.

What happened instead was Sam appeared around noon, carrying a large bike bag that you now knew was used to collect take-away lunches.

"Afternoon." He grinned, looking around the café. "Busy day?"

You smile sarcastically at him, making a wide gesture at the empty cafe. "Extremely. Think you may be waiting a while due to the lunch rush."

Sam snorts and sets the bag on the counter next to you, handing you a piece of paper with the gang's orders. You take the paper and study it for a few seconds, making mental notes of the orders before setting it down with a smile at Sam. Maybe because you'd known him and Steve the longest - on a total technicality - but you felt more at ease around them. Unlike Bucky who made you feel like you were jumping through hoops for some mind-game you were desperate to win.

Speaking of mind games. "How's things at the club?"

You pull out the pastries and desserts first since they don't need to be heated, and neatly place them in to-go boxes. Your eyes flicker to Sam, trying to assess if your simple question has caused any miniscule change in his body language.

But if it had, he was excellent at hiding it.

"Same old, same old." Sam sighs, placing his chin on his palm, watching you put the dessert tongs down. "Bucky had a flat tyre today so he's been shitty."

"Oh?" You turn away to the counter behind you to disguise a smirk. Victory!

"Yeah. He gave Alexei an earful for losing one of the wrenches. He was going to come by himself and-" Sam abruptly stops himself, feigning a cough.

You continue to butter bread slices but your eyes narrow. What had been about to say?

"You okay? Need any water?"

"No, I'm fine." He beams at you when you glance backwards at him. "Anyway, Bucky's been a bit sour. But I heard you might be coming out for a ride? That true?"

Now it's your turn to clear your throat. "Yeah. I said I'd give it a whirl."

"Uh huh." Sam says, and you can hear a smugness in his voice like he knows exactly why you're going on the ride. You don't like that. You don't need another person to play mind games with.

"When would the next ride be? If Bucky hasn't got a bike then-"

"Oh, the bike's fixed." Sam interupts, tapping his fingers on the countertop. "Bucky can change a tyre in less than fifteen minutes."

Shit. Must be those annoying big biceps he has. You shake your head and mutter, "Of course he can."

Sam snickers. "Yeah. But it delayed him today. I should really let him make the formal invite."

Sam eyes you as you place five of ten neatly wrapped and filled sandwiches on the counter in front of him.

"You know, you could surprise him by coming to the club." Sam suggests casually, placing the sandwiches into the bike bag. "He'd like that."

You frown but quickly replace it with a smile. It's wasn't a bad idea, but you didn't want to seem like you were a kiss-ass either. The ride was getting you out of a month's payment - whatever price that may be - but going out of your way to visit Bucky may be a shoe-in to get in his good graces. Regardless, Sam was only trying to be helpful.

You hum, unsure, grabbing the other sandwiches and wrapping them. You didn't have any friends to discuss this with and Sam seemed decent enough.

"I'm gonna be honest," you begin warily. "I don’t want it to seem like I'm rolling over that easily."

Sam barks a laugh that startles you and shakes his head, sighing loudly as he stands straighter, looking at you with an expression of utter disbelief. You frown at him, confused.

"God, the two of you..." he mutters under his breath, shaking his head again. He throws up his hands in a hapless shrug. "It won't. I promise."

You're none too convinced. Especially by his strange reaction but you sigh and give a small nod. "Fine. I'm trusting you on this."

"If it doesn't work I'll pay half of what you'll owe the next month." Sam says, holding out a hand for you to shake. "Gentleman's agreement."

You look at his hand then back to his eyes; beautiful brown iris' that glimmer with knowing. Another deal. Perhaps too good to be true.

But you have nothing to lose.

You take his hand and shake it firmly. "Deal. Now, those coffees...."

The deal you make with Sam earns you a point but going to visit Bucky nullifies it. And the whole thing with the tyre... That knocks off a point of your tally, leaving you in the lead by one point instead of two.

You - One

White Wolves - Nil.

The next day happened to be another slow day and just happened to be rotation for the pastries and desserts. It was sunny outside and, unable to delay the inevitable any longer, you closed up early and packed up the food that was supposed to be replaced or eaten before heading upstairs to your apartment to shower and change.

Clambering into some white wash jeans and a basic tee that didn't stink of coffee, you gave yourself a quick spritz with your favourite perfume that left you wondering why you were wasting good product on such a lowlife to begin with.

Extortion. Threats. Probably murder. Maybe vandalism. Definitely antisocial behaviour.

You curse softly and your eyes wander to your make up bag before you snap your head away. Nope. No way. You wanted to look presentable, not desperate. You grab your handbag and keys, heading back down the stairs, picking up the giant box of sweet treats from the counter before maneuvering out the door.

The club was only a thirty minute walk from the café and you got to bask in the warmth of the sunny afternoon weather of Briarridge as you traipsed the patterned concrete sidewalk under the sway of the trees. Hopefully, Bucky would be as appreciative of your initiative as Sam had said he would be and you wouldn't make a complete fool of yourself.

No one was outside this time although the bikes were still there. You stood awkwardly outside the door for a moment, unsure whether to knock, and by the time you'd decided a red-headed young woman - that wasn't Natasha - opened the door.

"Hi," you said, trying not to sound startled. "I'm-"

"I know. I'm Wanda, Piertro's sister." She said, grinning. "Sam said you might come today."

Your jaw twitches. All mind games. "Ah. Well. I suppose my surprise is ruined?"

Wanda snorts. "Bucky still doesn't know. Come in."

She steps aside, holding the door for you to squeeze through. As you step over the threshold, there's a few cheers and then grumbles as money is exchanged between a few of the bikers.

The words escape your mouth before you can stop them. "Were you betting on whether or not I'd show up?"

Some of the bikers, like Steve, Joaquin and Alexei, look sheepish. Others, like Sam, Natasha and Piertro, look entirely smug. You realise you may have sounded to harsh in your shock and, adjusting the box in your arms, haughtily stick your nose in the air.

"And I came with pastries."

Steve is the first one his feet. "You did?"

"Depends - did you bet for or against me coming today?" You narrow your eyes playfully, angling the box towards the door, and Steve's face heats as he pleads with you.

"Aw come on, that's not fair." He huffs, and Sam pats his shoulder with a laugh.

"Bucky's upstairs." Sam tells you as you hand Wanda the box with instructions to not give Steve too many pastries.

"Thanks, Sam." You smile at him before glaring playfully at Steve. "Traitor."

You head to the door near the back of the bar, saying hello's as you passed the bikers that were sat around. You open it up and head up a narrow staircase and stop just outside another door at the top when you hear the sound of raised voices.

Bucky’s gruff voice is clear as day - you could pick it out of a crowd if you had to - but you can't quite make out the younger voice. You rack your brain trying to think of everyone you saw downstairs but you realise you either need to double back or knock before you hear something you shouldn't.

"I said no, John." Bucky's voice sighs. "It's not a good idea."

"It is. You're just too stubborn to see it."

Knuckles raised ready to knock, you're surprised when the door swings open and Walker is stood glaring straight at you. He curses, clearly surprised to see you stood there too.

"Bucky your doll is here to see you." He snarls, inching past and stomping down the stairs.

You watch him leave and throw a raised eyebrow at Bucky, who's now stood in the doorway.

"Trouble in paradise?" You half sneer.

"Could say that." Bucky smirks down at you. "Although, this is a nice surprise. What do I owe the pleasure?"

Reaching into your bag you pull out a rather squished paper bag that contains the pastries that Bucky liked so much; the pain au chocolat.

"I rescued these from Steve." You say handing the bag out to him. "Sam told me I might get in your good books if I came by."

"Sam?" Bucky raises his eyebrows and takes the bag, peeking inside. "There's two in here."

"I assumed you had a coffee machine." You say, leaning against the wall. It's cool against your skin. God, why do you get so nervous and sweaty around him? He's not that scary. "I wanted to ask about going out on the ride with you guys... If you have time?"

You offer him a sweet smile and hope he's not too suspicious of your change in demeanour. Bucky's blue eyes are wide and sparkling and you're so taken aback by the beautiful grin he gives you, you almost miss what he says.

"Sorry - what?"

"I've always got time for you, doll." Bucky retreats back inside. "I'll put a fresh pot on."

Being inside Bucky's office was strange.

It was spacious, or supposedly so, without the clutter. The wallpaper was peeling and the floor creaked with every step, and whatever dark stains were hidden in the carpet were covered by a mass of papers.

There was a single cot in the corner - he didn't sleep here, surely? - and a wide desk in the centre of the room cluttered with books, folders and more papers. You thought that being a biker leader meant being free of paperwork, but apparently not. The bed had thin blankets and looked extremely uncomfortable and you didn't think you'd want to be sleeping on that anytime soon. Even though you shouldn't have been thinking that in the first place.

The desk had an awkward looking chair in front of it, and your suspicion was confirmed when you sat in it, wriggling to get yourself semi-comfortable. Probably another tactic he uses to intimidate and manipulate people. However, you did note that it was strange. If the White Wolves were getting money from other businesses in town, and potentially via other illegal activities, where was the money going? Clearly not into buying a comfortable bed or new chairs and if you thought about it, the bar was a bit run down too. Strange.

Behind the desk there's a tattered, well-loved leather office chair and a mini fridge with the coffee pot sat on top of it. Bucky pulls out two mugs from a drawer and asks how you like your coffee, making it for you without complaint.

"It's not gonna be like your fancy coffee, doll." He says, handing it to you before sitting in the leather chair with his own mug. "But it's all I've got unfortunately."

"That's alright. It's good." You smile around the rim of your mug as you take a sip. It's not awful by any means but maybe a switch to a better brand would need to be considered.

Bucky watches you before sipping his coffee. "Sorry about the mess. If I'd known you were coming I would've cleaned up."

Taking a look around the room, looking up at the warm, bare light bulbs above you, you shrug. "It wouldn't be a surprise visit then."

Bucky huffs a laugh and smiles at you, pulling a squished pastry from the bag you'd brought, eyeing it curiously before taking a large bite. His eyes flutter for a moment and you can feel your heart swell with pride and satisfaction; you're winning him over! If you do get into his good books you might just get away unscathed from the White Wolves.

"So," Bucky says pointedly after swallowing another gulp of coffee. "The ride."

"The ride." You nod. You're sure there's an innuendo in there and you try not to think about it in case your cheeks heat up too much.

The leather chair creaks under the strain of Bucky's weight as he leans back, humming thoughtfully. "It depends on the weather. Today is perfect for a ride but everyone has tasks to do."

You nibble at your own pastry as Bucky sighs.

"Sunday is supposed to be nice." You suggest, although you want to kick yourself. Why would you suggest it to him? You're meant to be getting out of going.

Bucky's blue eyes sparkle at your suggestion, or maybe it was a trick of the light, but he adds, "And you do a half shift at the café."

You blink in surprise and it must read all over your face because Bucky laughs. "You have your opening hours on your website... and Steve told me."

Dammit Steve.

"Well, Sunday seems like the best bet." You try not to sound disappointed. "Speaking of bets, did you know they were betting on whether or not I'd come today?"

"Really now?" Bucky smirks at you, his ringed finger tapping against the porcelain of his mug. "Do you know who won?"

"Snitches get stitches." You say cutely, drinking more of your coffee as Bucky chuckles. It's more like a low rumble, and you have to suppress a shiver of excitement that surprises you. "But I do know Steve lost."

Bucky snorts into mug, splattering coffee droplets onto his face and shirt. You watched a particularly quick droplet disappear under his shirt before averting your gaze and trying not to laugh. It was oddly human for a big scary gang leader to giggle coffee over himself - and admittedly endearing. Especially when the tips of Bucky’s ears tinged red as he wiped his face with the sleeve of his leather jacket.

"'Course that punk lost." Bucky puffs, looking away from you. "He makes the worst decisions."

"Unlike you?" You don't mean for the quip to leave your mouth and try to bestill your beating heart, thinking you may have crossed a line. But Bucky only looks at you and shakes his head with a smirk.

"Now, I wouldn't go that far. I make plenty of bad decisions."

Your unvoiced question hangs in the air as you both take a swig of coffee at the same time. The air between you both is... awkward. You're both slightly flustered and you can't decipher why.

"So... Sunday?" You ask, placing your empty coffee mug on Bucky's desk with a small smile.

"Sunday." He nods, getting up to lead you out. "We'll pick you up."

When Sunday rolls around, you're tapping your foot against the sidewalk nervously. The day was bright and warm, another pleasant indicator of spring, but you had gravely underestimated what you would be doing.

You could drive a motorcycle, you weren't even sure if you could get on, but you had no helmet and no gear. Worst of all, you had realised the day before that you would be clutching to Bucky for the entire duration of the ride; pressed against him and unable to stop him from speeding off.

The rumble of of motorbikes made your stomach drop. Bucky leads the pack; ruby red bike gleaming in the sunshine with Steve and Sam following behind him, then Alexei and Natasha, the Clint and a few others. Notably, the younger bikers, Hoskins, Walker, Joaquin and Piertro, weren't around. Bucky pulled up first, turning the ignition key and slouching back into the leather seat of the bike and smiling over at you pleasantly. Once Bucky's engine switched off, it was a well-timed beat as everyone else turned their respective bikes off.

Bucky, and everyone else including Natasha, had their leather jackets with the White Wolf insignia on. Some, like Bucky, wore leather bike gloves to stop callouses forming and few, like Alexei, wore a helmet.

"Doll," Bucky greeted with a nod.

You stood awkwardly, feeling 10 pairs of eyes on you as you emerged from the shade of Whisk & Whimsy. You were in jeans and a long sleeved tee, unsure what to wear for a ride out with probably the scariest people in town. You only hoped you didn't get hurt or worse.

What if this was a trap?

"Hey, guys." You smile and hope it doesn't show your fear. You step towards Bucky, whose gloved hands rest on his thick, jeaned thighs.

"I suppose I'm with you?" You say playing with your keys.

"If you want to be." Bucky says cautiously before holding a hand palm up. "Phone and keys. I'll put them in my pocket so they don't fall out."

"Oh. Yeah, thanks."

The feeling of being watched persists and you can see Alexei give Natasha a playful shove that looked more like a gesture of I-told-you-so but you couldn't think of why that would be the case.

"How do I...?" You can feel your cheeks grow pink as you look over the bike. It's up to your hip. Swinging your leg over would be awkward and embarrassing because you would definitely get stuck. Bucky seems to think the same because he laughs.

"I'll give you a hand, shortcake." He teases before twisting his torso awkwardly and planting his feet either side of the bike. He points to where you can stand on his calf as a step, holding your hand to keep you balanced as you slot perfectly behind him. Your legs dangle and Bucky instructs you to keep them tucked unless you want a nasty burn from the exhaust.

Once you're seated, lightly gripping the shoulders of Bucky’s jacket, Bucky tells you to wrap your arms around his waist.

"I was afraid you'd say that..." you mutter under your breatg and you're sure you can feel Bucky stifle a laugh as your arms tightly pretzel around his middle. Secured against Bucky’s back, and looking like a displeased Koala bear, Bucky’s engine roars to life again.

Then the cacophony of engine purrs echo in the street as the White Wolves ride down the streets and out of Briarridge. You almost miss seeing the welcome sign as you press your face against Bucky’s back.

His jacket smells like leather, cigarettes and an amber musk you can't quite place. It's reassuring, at least, when he picks up speed along the open road. You peek an eye open.

Your heart thuds with adrenaline and you watch as the road beneath you blurs. You don't know if you want to smile or puke. As if it couldn't get any worse, Alexei startles you with a booming howl, which the other White Wolves echo. Bucky included.

"Aren't you gonna howl with us doll?" Bucky chuckles over the noise. You grip him tighter.

"I'm too busy trying not to die!"

"You're fine." Bucky scoffs, but slows his speed anyway. You hope Bucky can't feel your smile through his leather jacket or how your heart had swooped.

After thirty minutes, you were brave enough to raise your head. Two minutes after that with your hair whipped into a frenzy, you were smiling and laughing. You even joined in the cheesy howl the second time round.

It felt like minutes had passed when the bikers pulled off road an hour and a half later. The area they'd parked in had some grubby looking toilets and lots of picnic benches. Bucky helped you off the bike and chuckled when your legs wobbled slightly.

"Okay there, Bambi?" He asked, taking off one of his gloves with his teeth.

"Yeah." You breathed, wiping sweaty palms into your jeans.

"Don't worry, everyone gets Jelly Legs when they first ride." Steve chuckles approaching with two open beers and a water. He hands the beer to Bucky and offers you the water. "Sorry, didn't know what you liked. But after all that howling, I guessed you'd need water anyway."

Bucky snorts as he takes a swig and you narrow your eyes playfully at Steve as your cheeks grow hot. "Ha ha. I was getting into the spirit of things."

"I'll say," Natasha chirps, appearing with Sam and Alexei. Embarassment washing over you. Maybe you'd gotten a bit excited but it was the first time since moving to Briarridge that you'd really been able to let go.

"Wild and free or whatever." You shrug, taking a much-needed swig of water. Your comment earns you a couple of laughs and the gang breaks apart, beginning the gatherings of a fire and setting up drinks from a cooler bag attached to Alexei's bike. The preparation that had gone into this outing was incredible. However, you still couldn't understand where the younger members were.

Sam catches your confused look and explains. "The younger ones are manning the fort. We take turns. Just so happened to be their turn."

"Lena and Wanda are happy to have the peace and quiet." Natasha chimes in before smirking and dropping her voice to a whisper as she sits next to you. "The only reason I'm here is because Bucky thought you'd be more comfortable with a womanly presence in this sausage party."

You almost choke on your water and sputter an laugh as she swigs water from her own bottle. Shortly after the drinks are flowing, the gang and you are sharing stories around a small fire started by Clint, laughing and teasing. You feel like you've accidentally become a member of a family; unsure how or when that managed to happen, considering it was your stubborn pride that put you on Bucky's radar in the first place.

You hate to admit it but you're giving the White Wolves a point for a fun day out.

You - one

White Wolves - one

The sun is setting on the horizon by the time the bikers start packing up to head home, painting the sky hues of tangerine orange, cotton candy pink and violet purple.

You look back towards Briarridge, a measly obscure black spot just beyond the horizon now, watching smoke billow in dark plumes against the sky. Bucky steps beside you quietly, following your gaze.

"That doesn't happen often." He comments.

"What? Fires?"

Bucky shrugs, his hulking shoulders crinkling the leather of his jacket. "Yeah. Usually it's a freak accident or someone left their stove on."

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him but Bucky doesn't seem to notice. Heaving a deep sigh, you stretch your arms up above your head, letting your spine creak and crack the stiffness from the adrenaline rush away.

"Come on, cupcake." Bucky jerks his head towards his bike. "Let's get you home."

"I had fun today." You admit quietly, dropping your arms and beginning to walk back to Bucky's bike. Bucky falls into step behind you and you think he didn't hear you at first and thank the stars. However, after a few moments he responds.

"I'm glad." He says in a soft tone. "I had fun too. Maybe we could do this again som-"

"BUCKY!"

You were inches away from Bucky's bike when Natasha screams his name. You both turn to find Natasha and Sam barrelling towards you. Sam has his phone pressed to his ear and Natasha is waving her arms frantically.

"It's the club!" Natasha huffs as she skids to a halt before you and Bucky, doubled over to catch her breath, pointing to the horizon. "Lena called - it's - it's the club."

"Oh God." You breathe, turning to look back at the smoke wide eyed. You think of the younger members who'd stayed behind and panic rises from your gut. You can only hope they'd all gotten out safely, but you also worry that Bucky may blame or suspect you. It was awfully convenient that when most of the gang was out on a ride that their beloved club burned to the ground.

Sam is still on the phone as he jogs up beside Natasha, his usually smiling face stoic.

"It's Joaquin and Hoskins." Sam reports gravely. "They've been stabbed."

Chapter 3 - END

A/N: it's giving idiots in love rather than enemies to lovers now haha.A big thank you to @buck-star for letting me rant about these this series 🥺💕

Also thanks everyone for the lovin' and your patience 🫶 last two weeks have gotten busy (and I can tell because of migraines haha) so here's to Spring!

Taglist:

Tag yourself here

@mrs-elsie-barnes @vunblr @mercurial-chuckles @looking1016 @awkwardgiraffe726 @irishhappiness @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @dugiioh @cieraboobear @railmesebstan @pandaxnienke @kei943 @norseloki26

[rootedinrevisions]

What You Do to Me

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know it's not technically the 15th yet. But I just finished writing this one and I'm really excited for you guys to read it. I also know I have a lot going on tomorrow so not sure when I'll have time to post it, so posting it a little early!

PROMPT: "Feel what you're doing to me? That's all because of you!"

KINK: Lingerie

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT (P in V)

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

TAG LIST: @missmarveledsblog I @shanimallina87 I @fore45fore

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The late morning sun poured through the windows, casting a warm glow across the living room you and Bradley shared. You sat cross-legged on the floor, fingers carefully smoothing out the last corner of the wrapping paper around his coming home present—a gift you’d been planning for months.

The photo album sat snugly under the glossy paper, bound by a neat ribbon you tied with extra care. Inside were the boudoir photos you had taken just weeks after he’d left for deployment. It was something special, something intimate, to remind him how much you’d missed him. Each photo was a memory in itself—a way for you to stay close even when he was oceans away.

You pressed down the final piece of tape, running your hand over the gift with a satisfied sigh. The small album, resting in its elegant wrapping on the kitchen table, felt like a secret shared between just the two of you, a piece of you waiting for him to come home.

The clock ticked closer to the afternoon, and excitement bubbled in your chest. It had been six months, half a year since you'd last seen Bradley in person, and today was the day he was coming back. You grabbed your keys, heart racing in anticipation, ready to meet him at the base. You gave the present one last glance before heading out, the thought of his reaction swirling in your mind as you made your way out the door to bring him home.

* * * *

The air buzzed with excitement as you stood among the crowd at the base, your heart pounding in your chest. You watched as one by one, men and women began walking off the plane, their faces weary but lit with the relief of being home. Your eyes scanned each face, searching desperately for the one you’d been waiting for. The anticipation twisted inside you—until finally, there he was.

Bradley stepped off the plane, looking up just in time for your eyes to meet. That familiar smile spread across his face, and in that instant, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you. He dropped his duffel bag to the ground and took a few determined steps toward you. Without thinking, you broke into a run, closing the distance between you in seconds.

You launched yourself into his arms, wrapping yours tightly around his neck as he held you close, his arms enveloping you in that perfect, safe embrace. The world seemed to melt away as you both stood there, holding onto each other for what felt like minutes, neither of you wanting to let go. His warmth, his familiar scent—it was everything you’d missed.

Bradley pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, a soft smile playing on his lips before he leaned in and pressed them to yours. The kiss was slow, lingering, and filled with all the love and longing that had built up over the last six months. 

After several kisses and a few more tight hugs, he whispered, "I’m ready to go home."

But before you could move, he draped an arm protectively over your shoulders, keeping you close as the two of you made your way to his Bronco—the vehicle you had driven there, waiting to take him back to where he belonged.

* * * *

You and Bradley walked through the front door, the familiar comfort of home welcoming both of you as you closed it behind you. Bradley paused, noticing the carefully wrapped present sitting on the kitchen table. He glanced at you with raised eyebrows, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice laced with interest as he gestured toward the gift.

You smiled, leaning against the counter. "It’s a little coming-home present for you."

His curiosity deepened, and he gave you a playful look. "Can I open it now?"

You nodded, watching him as he moved over to the table, his large hands quickly but carefully tearing away the wrapping paper. When the paper fell away, he stood holding a sleek photo album, his eyes flicking back to you with even more curiosity.

"A photo album?" he asked, his lips tugging into a smirk.

"Just open it," you teased, crossing your arms and biting your lip in anticipation.

Bradley’s gaze shifted back to the album as he slowly opened it, revealing the first photo—a soft, almost innocent image of you wrapped in one of his Hawaiian shirts, buttoned up but still leaving a hint of bare skin peeking out. You watched as his expression softened, his fingers gently turning the page. As he flipped through each photo, his smirk grew.

His tongue ran along his bottom lip when he reached the next series of images—the ones where you had started to unbutton the shirt. You felt a warm flush rise in your cheeks as his eyes darkened with appreciation. By the time he reached the photos where the shirt was completely gone, revealing the pale blue lace teddy you had worn just for him, his breath caught.

The intersecting straps, the delicate lace, and the strategically placed cutouts accentuated your figure in all the right ways. Bradley took his time, flipping through those photos a little more slowly, savoring each one, his gaze lingering on the sight of you in his favorite color.

When he reached the final set of photos, where the teddy had come off and you were laid out on the bed with nothing but a sheet draped across your bare skin, his eyes widened slightly. He glanced up at you, his expression a mix of admiration and something more heated. You felt his eyes tracing every inch of you as if he could still see the images in his mind.

"Damn," Bradley breathed out, his voice low and husky as he looked back at the album, and then back at you. "You did all this…for me?"

You smiled softly, feeling your heart race at the way he was looking at you now. "Every bit of it."

Bradley set the album down and turned toward you, his strong hands finding your waist as he pulled you against him. His gaze was filled with adoration as he whispered, “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

His lips captured yours in a heated kiss, the intensity building quickly as his tongue slipped past your lips, deepening the connection. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you impossibly closer. 

But before the moment could escalate further, you stepped back. Bradley looked at you, confused, his brow furrowed slightly.

That’s when you tugged at the hem of your shirt, untucking it from your denim shorts. His confusion quickly faded, replaced by realization—and a growing anticipation. His eyes darkened with desire when he noticed the shirt you were wearing wasn’t yours. It was one of his Hawaiian shirts, the same one you had worn during the photoshoot. You began to slowly unbutton it, just like you had in the pictures, teasing him with every undone button.

Bradley’s gaze never left you, his breathing growing heavier as you undid the last button, revealing the lingerie beneath—pale blue, lace, with the same intersecting straps and cutouts from the photos. He whispered something, maybe a quiet curse or a breathless declaration of how much he loved you, his voice thick with need. Whatever it was, you couldn’t quite make it out.

You gave him a playful, teasing look before turning and heading toward the bedroom.

You’d barely made it into the room before Bradley was on you, his hands quickly unbuttoning and sliding your shorts off, leaving you in just the delicate lace. 

He pulled you back against him, your back to his chest, one hand trailing down from your chest to your stomach while the other gripped your hip, pressing you into him. You could feel the hardness there, his need evident against you.

A soft moan escaped your lips as Bradley leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Feel what you’re doing to me? That’s all because of you.” His voice was low, filled with raw desire, and the sound sent shivers down your spine.

Bradley’s words lingered in the air, sending warmth through your body as his hand moved from your stomach to your thigh, fingers brushing lightly along the edge of the lace. He gently traced the outline of your lingerie, teasing the sensitive skin beneath it. His breath was hot against your neck, and your body instinctively arched into him, craving more of his touch.

His fingers trailed back up, slipping under the lace at your hips as he whispered, “You have no idea what seeing you like this does to me.”

His voice was deeper now, laced with desire and intensity. He let his hands roam over your body, tracing the delicate fabric that covered you, while pressing your hips harder against his. You could feel how much he wanted you.

You let out a soft gasp when his fingers finally found the spot between your legs, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over the thin fabric of your lingerie. Bradley’s lips were on your neck now, kissing and nibbling along your skin, sending waves of pleasure through you.

You tried to push back against him, wanting to feel more of him, but he was in complete control, keeping the pace slow and torturous.

“Not yet,” he murmured against your skin, his hand moving even slower as he teased you, the tension building with each passing second.

A needy whimper escaped your lips, and Bradley chuckled, his low, raspy laugh only making you want him more.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he whispered, his fingers never leaving their spot between your thighs, driving you to the edge.

Your breath came out in short, desperate bursts. “I need you,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely a whisper as you leaned your head back against his shoulder, giving him even more access to your neck.

Bradley didn’t need any more convincing. In one swift motion, he spun you around to face him, his hands gripping your waist as he pressed his forehead to yours. His eyes, dark and full of desire, searched yours for a brief moment before his lips crashed into yours again. His kiss was rougher this time, full of hunger and urgency as he began guiding you toward the bed.

Before you knew it, you were on your back, and Bradley hovered over you, his gaze tracing every inch of your body, still adorned in the lace that had driven him wild. He paused for a moment, admiring you, his lips curving into a small, mischievous smile. 

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion and desire.

He leaned down, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, working his way up until his lips were at your chest. His hands slid under you, quickly unclasping the straps of the lingerie and tossing it aside. 

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispered against your skin, his breath hot as his mouth moved to your breasts, teasing you further.

Your back arched at the feeling of his tongue tracing circles, his hands firmly holding you in place. Every touch sent jolts of pleasure through you, and you could feel the tension building again, stronger and more intense with every kiss, every brush of his fingers.

“Bradley,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair as you urged him on.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Bradley's hands began to roam lower, and as he positioned himself above you, you felt the heat between your bodies build to a breaking point. There was nothing gentle now, just raw need and passion as he finally gave in to the tension that had been building between you since the moment he walked through the door.

He positioned himself between your legs, giving himself a few pumps before he started pushing himself into you. You immediately felt the stretch that had come after six months without any intimacy. He took it slow, pressing kisses to your shoulder as he tried to be gentle. 

He gave you a few moments to adjust once he was all the way in, both of your breaths coming in heavy. His hips pressed against yours, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, but it wasn’t just the physical sensation—it was the connection, the months of longing, and the love that had built up in his absence. The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of you wrapped up in each other, as if time itself had paused to let you have this moment in full.

With each motion, Bradley’s lips found your skin, trailing heated kisses along your neck, your shoulder, wherever he could reach. 

“God, I missed you,” he whispered between breaths, his voice rough with emotion. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath warm and ragged as he whispered more, the words tumbling out between the motions of his body. “Missed you so much… every night I thought about you, baby… how perfect you are… how much I love you.”

The way he said it, his voice thick with yearning, sent shivers down your spine. You felt his hands—firm, but tender—roaming your sides, his fingers digging in slightly as if he needed to confirm you were really there with him. His touch set your skin alight, the months of separation making each caress, each brush of his lips, even more intense. Your body responded to him instinctively, arching into his every movement, meeting his hips with equal fervor.

“Missed this,” he groaned, his forehead still pressed to yours as his pace quickened, his hips driving into you with a little more urgency now. “Missed us… missed the way you feel, the way you move with me…” His voice was hoarse, broken by the weight of his desire and the emotion that flowed between you both. His words only heightened the pleasure building inside you, the sensations intensifying with every thrust, every whispered confession.

Your nails grazed down his back, your fingers grasping at him, needing him closer, deeper, as if you couldn’t get enough of him. He grunted softly at the feeling, his muscles tightening under your touch, but it only spurred him on, his hips pushing harder, his body pressing against yours as though he was determined to make up for every missed moment.

The heat between you grew unbearable, your body tightening around him as he moved inside of you, the pressure building and building, your breaths becoming more ragged. His voice was still there, whispering against your lips, “I love you… I love you so much,” the sound of it driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Finally, it was too much. The pleasure hit you all at once, washing over you in waves so strong you couldn’t hold back. Your body trembled beneath him, your voice calling out his name, raw and full of the longing you had held inside for so long. Your fingers gripped his shoulders, clinging to him as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Bradley followed you into that release moments later, his body tensing above yours, a deep, guttural groan escaping his lips as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. His hips stilled, but his arms wrapped around you even tighter, as though he never wanted to let you go again. His breathing was heavy and uneven against your skin, his chest rising and falling with the aftershocks of his climax.

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together in the aftermath, both of your hearts still racing, your bodies still buzzing from the pleasure. Slowly, Bradley pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours, full of love and devotion. His thumb gently traced your cheek as he smiled down at you, the kind of smile that made your heart swell with happiness.

"There anything else in your closet that’s new that I should know about?" He whispered, his voice teasing but warm, as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips, a kiss that was far gentler than the urgency of before, but just as full of love.

As your breathing began to slow, the world came back into focus, but it didn’t matter. At that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, everything else could wait. He was finally home, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

[desyeuxoflilith]

[Reboot!Winx & Trix are in Wizgiz’s class, some of them listening to his Metamorphosymbiosis explanations while the others have their heads in the clouds. It is 8:05 a.m. It’s only been five minutes since class started.]

Icy: grabs an ice blue sheet of paper & her best navy blue pen.

Icy: scribbles six words in her sharpest, neatest and prettiest penmanship to date.

Icy: folds the paper into a firefly and blows on it to make it fly off towards Bloom.

[The firefly lands on Bloom’s desk.]

Bloom: turns around to glance at Icy.

Icy: tilts her head with a shrug and a smirk.

Bloom, blushing slightly at the gesture: gulps and opens unfolds the firefly. A snort escapes her as she reads the message.

~Get out of my school, loser~

Bloom: turns to Icy after making sure Wizgiz isn’t looking at either of them.

Icy: raises an eyebrow.

Bloom, in an amused whisper: you know that Alfea is technically a school for fairies, right? So, if anything, you get out of my school.

Icy, narrowing her eyes: you think you’re oh so clever, don’t you?

Bloom, with a sunny smile: just pointing out the obvious in case you forgot.

Icy:

Bloom:

Icy, in a glower: you. Me. The corridor. After this bore of a class is over.

Icy: scoffs and turns to her sisters, who are playing Hangman on the margin of Darcy’s notebook.

Bloom, her little strand of hair at the top of her head swaying like a will-o-wisp and curling into a heart: I- uh- yippee- I mean- I’ll be there- of course I’ll be there, duh, what I mean is-

Wizgiz: Miss Bloom! Be a dear and remind me of what I just said about transforming into animals during the full moons?

Bloom, jumping in her seat: oh- um- well- that one should... not... do it?

Wizgiz: good try, my dear fairy, but no. Next time, try to pay more attention to what I say, hmm?

Bloom: of course, professor. Sorry, professor.

[But Bloom cannot bring herself to pay attention to Wizgiz’s class. Not after hearing Icy laugh at her slip-up, the sound soft yet cutting like fresh ice on a window during winter. Especially not when her eyes keep drifting over to the clock to count the minutes till the class finally comes to an end, her heart beating up a storm in her chest.]

What Icy was planning on doing:

What Bloom thought was gonna happen:

[Credits to @coksi-likes-shrimps for the image, the wonderful and hilarious comics she makes, and everything she brings to the Blicy fandom.]

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You: I for Incubus

Summary: You suppose the deal technically went correctly, but when the incubus said he required your life force, you thought he meant... well your life.

Notes: ~2.9k words. I don't know what I wanted to do with this fic, all I know was that Dream would rock an autonomous tail.

Warnings/Tags: MDNI - 18+, Incubus!Dream x Reader, dubious consent ngl, demons do not care for condoms or sex safety, Dream has a tail and it does things, does this count as ritual sex, size difference, belly bulge, womb tattoo hehe, his wiener is weeeeeird, his tongue is weeeeeeird

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

H for Heat ⇆ J for Joyride

“Hoc carmine, dae…daemo—erm, daemonium somno accerso qui vocatis respondeat meis. Quis mihi det quod quaero. Quis mercedem suam accipiet pro suo servitio?” You read out, stuttering on a few pronunciations.

The circle of candles flickers creating shadows over your kneeling, naked form. You frown at the old parchment still, looking between it and the chalk-drawn symbol in the middle of your basement floor. You are sure the symbol was drawn correctly and the candles were placed just like the diagram. So then… Why isn’t anything happening?

Maybe you read it wrong. You squint at the parchment again and begin to chant once more. “Hoc carmine—”

The candles went out and you suck your lips in to suppress the scream that tried to burst out. Your sick mother’s room was just above the basement that you find yourself in and you didn’t want to cause a scene. 

“What do you want?” A voice calls out, slow and seductive in the shadows. 

You blink a few times, trying to will your eyes to get used to the sudden darkness in the room. The creature didn’t speak again, waiting impatiently for your request. It has been years since the last time he was summoned, and he was positively starving for some human flesh. 

“My mother, she’s sick,” you explain, your own voice echoing back to you in the tense atmosphere. 

“How drab, how boring,” it tsks with a click of his tongue. “You wish for me to make her well and ‘you’ll do anything, I promise’,” the creature says mockingly. 

You don’t respond for a moment, the demon you summoned summarizing the speech you had spent the last week practicing to a mere few words. “Yeah… that’s pretty much it.”

“Very well, what do you have to give in return for my service?” It asks you, still veiled in the darkness. “But know this, I am quite indifferent to your human, materialistic objects. Money will have no benefit to you tonight, little one.”

“Well, what do you want then?” You ask in a shaky breath. You can’t see him, but you can feel his eyes raking over your naked form. 

“Your life force seems good enough for me,” it hums in thought. “Young… vital… yes…”

Your life force for your mother’s health? That was an easy decision, but when faced with the uncertainty of death do you hesitate. You still had so much of your life ahead of you. Friends to meet, foods to try, hell you haven’t even found a romantic partner yet. But, your life isn’t the one that’s dying right now. 

“Okay,” you breathe out shakily. 

“Then the deal is set.”

The candles flicker back one by one until the shadow reveals itself to you within the circle. His legs are crossed, his arms resting on his knees. He is every bit as the paper described him: hair as dark as midnight, skin pale as death, sullen black eyes with the stars within them.

The parchment fails to mention, however, the thin tail that was swaying back and forth within the barriers of the summoning circle. Or the horns that protruded out of his head. The demon smiles at you, a haunting image full of sharp teeth and a darting, long tongue that licked his lips. 

“Release me from my confines and we can set the plan in motion,” he whispers in a low growl to you, moving to stand on his haunches. His figure seems to grow with the one subtle movement, towering over you as you swallow.

“I release you,” you command with a tremble in your voice. 

Nothing physical changes around you but the shift is noticeable anyway. The candles blow outward from him as if trying to escape their own wicks. The smell he emits permeates your nose, something like soot and flames and a tinge of death.

You blink and he lunges at you, pining you to the ground and an unexpected scream leaves your lips. It didn’t hurt, not much, except for the wooden floor digging into your shoulder blades, but you still screamed. 

“If you want it to be easy, do not scream. Your fear makes you all the more tempting,” he purrs into your neck and you turn your head away. 

Your body trembles under his gaze, eyes roaming around the basement space of your childhood home. They lock onto a random water stain as you try to distract yourself from your imminent death. The stain looks like Elton John, you thought to yourself before squeezing your eyes shut. 

You feel his breath over your skin and you’re begging he’ll do it mercifully, straight for the neck and then you wouldn’t feel the pain of your body being eaten by all of those sharp teeth. But it doesn’t come.

Your eyes snap open as you feel the undeniable slimy and wet sensation of his forked tongue on your neck. It stops just over your jugular, feeling the erratic pulse through the vein. Thick, fast, so full of life and he groans at the rhythmic thump against his tongue. 

His tail moves along your leg, feeling the soft skin beneath its silky scales. The ticklish sensation makes you squirm in its grasp, kicking your legs fruitlessly against it as it crawls higher on your thigh. The point of it settles between the sensitive heat before your legs and you let out a broken gasp.

Oh, my god. He’s not going to kill you. He’s going to fuck you senseless!

“I thought you were going to kill me,” you pant as his tongue licks the hollow divot above your collarbone. 

He hums as he tastes the adrenaline in your sweat. “One does not kill off the lamb for meat when it can still provide wool.” He pauses for a moment, pulling away from your neck to look at you. “You thought I was going to kill you?”

You look back at him, your eyes meeting the endless void that is his. “Well, yeah. You said ‘life force.’ That seems pretty… death-y to me.”

“Why are humans so dreary?” He asks himself before he remembers that he is here to feast on your body and returns his lips to your body. 

You don’t bother with a response, not when your back was arching at the way his lips trailed down the valley between your breasts. His lips hover over your left breast, feeling the blistering speed at which your heart pounded in your chest. 

The ever so subtle thrum of life makes his eyes flutter in satisfaction, the feeling of life something he has missed the feeling of. Your body was so warm against his cold one, he just couldn’t help sealing his lips across the nipple. 

“Holy…fuck,” you curse out at the sensitive sensation.

The fork in his tongue lavishes around the peak, it meets the sensitive bud and then spreads out again as his mouth continues to suckle on your breast. The moans he manages to elicit from you are quiet and restrained and he needs more from you. 

“This deal is two sided,” he begins, whispering in a gruff voice as he moves over to your other breast. “If you want your mother to become well again, I need you to start making more noise.” 

The tail that was obediently nestled between your legs begins to move higher, the blunt point of it finding your enlarged clit easily. You couldn’t help the moan that escapes your lip when it slides across the sensitive nerve, using your own arousal to its benefit. 

“Yes, just like that,” the demon praises as he hears your broken gasps and moans. His own groan vibrates against the smooth skin of your breast as he indulges himself against the thrum of your heartbeat again. 

Your hips buck involuntarily against his tail, the sensation something you craved. Then you would squirm away with a whimper on your tongue as the sensation grows too much, too quick. The longer the tail swirled around your weeping cunt, the harsher you began to clench around nothing. It gives a rewarding slap down on your clit, eliciting another wonderous moan from your throat. 

The demon has returned to your neck, rekindling his fascination with your neck and the vein it housed. He bites into the skin, watching with sick satisfaction as the blood trails down the muscles of your neck. Pleasure succumbs to pain and pain to pleasure once again as he soothes over the bites with his tongue. The saliva is cool against the wounds, stopping the bleeding all the same. His lips ghost across your neck, satiating his own greed and biting down again just to taste the iron. 

“Red looks good on you,” he hums, his arms entrapping themselves around you as your back arches off the ground again. 

With ease, he rests you on his squatting lap and the obvious hard arousal he sports lays heavy against your stomach. The demon looks around the basement before he eyes landed on an abandoned work bench. In two strides he makes it there and unceremoniously drops you onto the table. The tools clatter as you're dropped down and even with your body on an elevated platform, he still towers over you. 

You looked absolutely ravishing in his gaze. Wide eyed with lust blown pupils, the ragged breathing from your dried lips, and the dried blood that ribbons down your neck like a gift just for him to open. His hands go to your hips again, lifting them to meet his. 

In the dim light, you notice his cock, or should you even call it that if it was as ribbed and as thick as it was? He paints himself with your wetness, using your own arousal to coat himself as he pushes the blunt of his head against your entrance. His tail finds itself wrapped around your thigh again, tightening on itself like a python upon its prey. Your thigh pudges against the bondage and it's the only grounding thing against your overheating body. 

He gives an experimental push forward, groaning at the way your arousal squelches around him.

"Breathe," he tells you.

You let go of the breath you were holding, taking in a shaky breath and allowing your body to grow limp in his hold. At the next exhale, he smiles, a disturbingly haunting and arousing image, and he gives into you the first two inches. 

Your breath stills in your lungs again, head snapping to the wooden table beneath you and you can see the stars dancing across your eyelids. The stretch was foreign, intrusive almost, as he takes you slowly. You need to breathe. Fuck, how do you breathe? Your body racks as it takes in a shaky breath and he stills within you. 

“Scream my name,” he commands in a growl above you. 

“Daemonium somno,” you simply moan. Your eyes meet him again in a desperate attempt at connection. 

“No,” he scowls, pushing a little further into your cunt. “That is my title. Say my name, little one.”

“I—I don’t know it!” You pant out, stuttering your answer. The further he pushed, the more of your ability to think seems to vanish into thin air. You’re sure you saw the name in passing somewhere, in the old leather bound book from which you ripped the ritual parchment from.

The incubus holds your hips down to sustain your squirming. He lets out a satisfied groan as he sees himself full in you, the defining shape of his cock bulging from your stomach. You were so warm, it enveloped him like the life you represented. He takes his hips back, eyes never leaving his own cock impression as it descends. When he pushes back in and your body trembles beneath him, his fingers trace the outline of his cock. 

“Repeat after me, little one,” the demon commands. “Mor-phe-us.”

“Mor…” you gasp as his hand trails under your breasts again. “Mor-phe…” the words get caught in your throat. 

“Yes, just like that. One more try, one more,” he coos above you, rutting his hip against your cunt again. 

“Morpheus!” You cry out, head thrown back as he pulls out and pushes in again, slowly and inch by thick inch. 

“Again,” he instructs. His cock warms itself in you, the coldness slowly ebbing away as it nests in there. Each pulse from your cunt conforms itself towards the shape that is so uniquely him. 

“Morpheus!” You scream again, your nails finding purchase against his arms and he hisses in pleasure as you draw black blood from his skin. 

Your back is arched like a taut bow, your thighs trembling as he lifts a leg above his hip, only to drive himself deeper into you. Only to satiate his own ego as he sees your belly bulge with himself. Your moans are nothing but a discordant symphony in his ears; so chaotic yet pleasing as he inserts himself over and over again. 

Morpheus’ tail unravels itself, wanting a taste of something other than the skin around your thigh. There is a wrapping imprint on your skin, something that will take months to heal and remind you of the incubus Morpheus for days to come. It teases the sensitive peak of your breasts, ghosting over your breasts, wrapping itself around the mound and squeezing tightly to massage them. 

“Oh god!” You jolt at the sensation. 

“There are no gods here.” Morpheus condemns your outburst with a particularly hard thrust, bruising your cervix and you cry out for him again. 

Morpheus continues you fuck you, his hands bringing your hips to meet his thrusts, spurred on by the sound of your babbling nonsense. Occasionally his name would fall from his lips amongst the pleas of ‘too much,’ or ‘so good,’ that he doesn’t really know or care if you want to stop. 

Each drag of Morpheus’ cock has you reeling in pleasure and the promise of the most earth shattering orgasm is just on the horizon of your grasp. You’re simply begging now—please, please, please, please!—the words barely heard above the erotic sound of slick squelching and the creek of the tool bench beneath you. 

His tail slithers away, and Morpheus smirks as you whimper at the lost sensation. Your whimper turns into another moan as it finds itself against your clit again, rubbing it in fast circles in sync with Morpheus’ thrusts. 

“Oh, fuck. I’m going to… going to…” you try to warn but it just comes out as a stuttering mess, again. 

“Come for me. Give me your vitality.” Morpheus’ voice penetrates the sex-numbing haze that your mind was in. 

Your walls clench around him like a vice, your orgasm taking over your entire body as it shakes each one of your muscles. Your mouth is gaping open as it tries to take in as much air as possible, your chest heaving with breath. The moment shakes you through your core, igniting your nerves with life at the sudden release. 

Morpheus spills himself into you and you groan at the sensation of his cold seed taking residence inside of your cunt. His hips stutter, indulgently giving away to a few more pumps just to feel your walls spasm around him as his cock pumps within you. 

“That was…” you swallow, resting your head on the table again and closing your eyes. You take a deep breath, feeling your heart start to slow down as Morpheus softens and pulls out of your now weeping cunt. A few large drops of your mixed orgasmic releases fall to the basement floor and you grimace at the thought of cleaning it.  “Do you do other deals? Like… what if I want a million dollars right now or something?”

“One deal per summon as per the old laws I’m afraid, little one,” Morpheus chuckles, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “But…”

A warm sensation spreads across your lower stomach and you prop yourself up on shaking arms to look. Morpheus’ nail draws an intricate rune on your lower stomach, just over where your womb is. The nail cuts at your skin, and you see the blood dewing on your skin but no pain follows. It glows for a moment before dying down into simple black ink. 

“If you wish to make another deal, this binds you to me. It will only be me that will come to answer your prayers,” he promises but it almost sounds like a threat with the way his tongue licks across his lips. “Your vitality is addictive on my body, little one.”

“And what about my side of the deal? My mother?” You ask.

As if on cue, you hear your mother calling your name in the kitchen above. She wasn’t even able to get out of bed a few moments ago, but the way the pots and pans were banging against each other was telling enough that Morpheus held up to his end of the bargain. 

“Thank you,” you sigh out with relief. 

“I will see you soon, little one.” One blink and he was gone already. 

The summoning circle has been erased from the floor and the candles look like they were never burned. But the tattoo over your womb remained, so did the bruises of his bites and tail that wrapped around you. They were the only signs that anything happened at all. 

“Are you going to come up here and help me or do I have to do everything by myself?” Your mother shouts at you. 

“Coming!” You reply back after another deep breath. 

Now, where did you put your clothes?

Having fun times in the basement sounds like tetanus waiting to happen.

So that's your lesson, get your tetanus shot before you go summoning demons. Be safe out there.

♡ Yours, Layla

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

H for Heat ⇆ J for Joyride

[wolfstardaughter-jj]

DENSE

Summary: Yule Ball is right around the corner and you still haven't found a date. Or at least decided on asking someone as a date. But your heart is set on a certain redhead who just isn't taking a hint and is as dense as a rock.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Song: Must be Love by Laufey

Warning: fluff, anxiety rant (reader stressed with school)

Word count: 4.8k+

A/n: honestly I started this around February this year and forgot about it... yeah that bad. I wanted to get it out of my system since it's been there for a while. This was actually meant to be part of my serendipity book but i still havent written the other chapters but I really like this chapter. Either way I hope you lovelies will enjoy it, Happy holidays<3333

~~~~~~~

Everyone was ecstatic from the announcement of the Yule ball. It was the first ever dance they were to have at the school and everyone was already starting off their plans on what to wear and who to go with. With the Triwizard tournament at hand, you were glad there was something to take your mind off the stress.

Training and helping Harry through all of the practices were starting to wear you out.

At the moment, all of you were in the Great hall simply studying. You were nearly done with your assessment when from the corner of your eye, you spot Fred throwing a piece of paper towards his younger brother.

Ron raised his head up in annoyance, wondering why his brother would want to disturb him. He opened the ball of crumpled paper and read the words "you better get a move on or else there won't be any girl to ask to be your date." Or something like that, he only skimmed through it.

Ron gave Fred an annoyed stare, "Who are you going to the Yule ball with then?"

Fred crossed his arms and sent Ron a smirk, "Well, I still have to ask them. I’m thinking on doing it really soon,"

Your ears prick up at his words. He's planning on asking someone else to the ball? Of course he'd be going with someone but you had always hoped it would be you.

Your heart sank at the mere thought he was going to ask someone else to the Yule ball.

Ron looked surprised, he thought that Fred had already asked you but he was wrong. He looked towards you, seeing you leaned over your assessment, looking like you didn't care to pay mind to what he and Fred were talking about. But in truth, you did care, you cared a whole lot.

"How about you Y/n? Who are you going with? Lots of guys have been asking you lately, it shouldn't be too hard to choose one." Ron asked, not knowing that this was sparking a little jealousy in Fred.

You looked up from your paper and looked at Ron. You saw the worried glances Harry and Hermione were sending your way.

"I won't tell you cause it's a surprise." You whispered back with a wink before looking back down on your activity.

Fred tensed up at your words, it sounds like you already accepted to be someone’s date. He didn't want to pry on who it was in case he might get his heart even more broken, but of course, curiosity got the best of him.

"Really? Why am I only hearing of this now?" Fred asked.

"Well technically they haven't asked me yet so I'm going to ask them instead." You replied courtly.

Fred seemed perplexed. They haven't asked her to the ball yet? What an idiot. Oh god wait, is she planning on asking that Beauxbatons girl? No she wouldn't, she would have told me.

"...so who's the lucky girl- or guy?" Fred stumbled on his words as he leaned in. He really wanted to know who it was, even if it was at the expense of his own feelings.

You look at him with a grin, trying to mask the slight nervous breakdown you were having within. It was ironic that he was asking about this especially since it was him you were talking about.

"I'm not telling you who it is, Freddie. Like I said, it's a surprise." You state as you finish up your assessment.

"Oh come on, you don't need to tell me their name. Maybe give me some clues? Like which school they're going to-"

You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing how stubborn he was going to be about this. "Well that would just narrow down your possible choices."

He started shaking your arm like a child asking their parents for a sweet in a sweet shop. "Come on, just tell me."

You shook your head and laughed at his dramatics. "Fred, you should finish up your activity."

"Hey, don't change the subject." Fred pointed out.

"You're not gonna do it till I tell you, huh?" You said with an unimpressed stare.

"Nope. Now can you at least tell me one thing?" He urged on.

You let out a sigh as you went deep in thought. Do you really want to help him in finding out who it is or leave him to his madness. You decided on the first choice. It wasn't like he was gonna figure out it's him.

"They're studying here at hogwarts."

"...Yeah, that totally narrows down the choices." Fred sighed. "Which house are they in?"

You chuckled, "like I'd tell you that. That would make it too obvious."

Hermione laughed from the other side. "Y/n, even if you say what house they're in, I don't think they'll be able to figure out who it is."

You thought about it for a second and realized she had a point. "Huh, you're right." You agreed with a chuckle.

"What's that supposed to mea- you know what, I don't wanna know. What I do wanna know is, who this person is." Fred was adamant at finding out who the mystery person was, and it was starting to make you nervous that he might actually figure it out.

He sat up once he found an alternative solution to his predicament. "Oh, I know, I'll name a bunch of people, and you tell me if they're the person. Okay?"

"What if I lied and said no even if they were the person I was going to ask to the ball?" You smirked, which was only returned with an unimpressed glare.

Fred was about to say something but decided against it. "I'll just do it anyways… is it Diggery."

You shook your head a no.

"Draco?"

You cringed at the thought, no offense to Draco. Besides you knew he had his eyes in a certain Gryffindor. "Godric no, he's already planning on going with someone else."

Both Harry"s and Fred's eyes seemed to widened at the statement, Harry seemed even more surprised.

They both yelled out in unison, "He is?!”

Snape went in to scold the two for their outburst. Removing 5 house points from each of them. Causing the surrounding students to send their glares towards the two.

“Yes he is! Now hush the both of you!” You scolded as you continued with your work.

“Right, I shouldn't get distracted… How about that Freya girl?" He spoke her name in doubt, scared that he might be right.

You chuckled at the mention of her name, "No, she's going with her girlfriend."

Fred's heart settled at the realization, abit shocked by the new information but he was delighted to have that thought settled in his mind. That means you weren't going to act on your childhood crush. But then the thought entered his mind that it meant you were planning on going with someone else, someone he wasn't aware of.

"How about… Neville?"

"Already going with someone."

"Dean?"

"He plans on asking someone else."

"Zabini?"

"Nice guy but no."

"Nott?"

"He's going stagg."

"I don't know why I'm even asking this but, how about Lee?"

You immediately shook your head a no.

Lee perked up from his seat at the mention of his name. "Huh? I heard my name, what's going on."

George leaned over and told Lee about the situation.

"Ohhh, I see." Lee chuckled, "this is going to be fun." He whispered back.

"Godric...well uh, is it Louis?" Fred guessed. At this point he didn't know who else could be the possible match.

"No. He is a good option but no." You simpered on, wondering where this conversation was going to take you.

"I give up on doing this, just answer my questions." Fred continued. "Do you talk to them everyday?"

The question seemed vague enough for him to not know who so it didn't hurt to answer him. “Yes,”

Fred went deep in thought, why did he even choose this question? "Who would you be talking to that I wouldn't know about...

You all chuckled to hear his words, he may seemed to be really observant when it came to you but completely oblivious at the same time.

"Oh wow Fred, you take note of who y/n talks to everyday?" George teased, though Fred didn't really see it that way.

"So what? I'm with her almost all the time, I would know who she'd be talking to." Fred explained.

"You aren't with her all the time. What about during class hours?" Hermione stated.

Fred looked dumbfounded, he didn't think of that.

Harry leaned over to you, making sure no one else heard him other than you, "I wonder how long it's going to take for him to realize it's him."

"Give it 2-3 business days." You replied with a chuckle.

Fred turned back to you with another question in mind. "What does their name start with?"

You shook your head with a chuckle. "I'm not going to answer that."

"Ugh, fine. Are they taller than you?"

You laughed at his question, "Yes." By a lot.

"That question doesn't even help. Lots of people are taller than Y/n." Harry commented earning a smack on the head from you. You caught Fred laugh at his joke which you used to your advantage.

You gasped and feigned an insulted look, "Okay, ouch. I was just thinking about telling you who it was but I changed my mind." You scooted away, with a false pout.

Fred laughed, trying to pull you back to him by pulling you by the waist. "I'm only joking, love."

You replied with an eye roll, trying to conceal the grin that slowly crept onto your lips.

You began packing your things before facing Fred again, "Seeing as you're not doing the activity, I'm going to go and spend the rest of the period outside."

“Oh come on, tell me who it is.” Fred stated with a pout as he theld onto your hand to keep you from leaving.

“Like I said before, no.” You replied with a teasing grin before grabbing the rest of your things.

You stood up from your seat and handed in your paper to Snape. He seemed to have been listening in on your conversation. He seemed to find your conversation quite amusing.

"If that Weasley boy doesn't ask you soon, I think it's better you accept Diggery's offer." He suggested in his usual monotone voice but there was this spark of interest in his eyes on the topic which surprised you.

“Professor Snape!” You laughed, surprised by this side of your professor.

“I'm just saying,” He simply shrugged before walking off with your work.

~~~~~~

The following day was hectic, more so than usual.

Most of the classes were finishing up their lessons so that during the holiday break you'd all be free from the burdens of school work. But it didnt help when they just piled more school work over the other to cram everything in one go.

Things seemed worse for you since you had decided to take up more classes this year. Not just that, but you somehow tangled yourself into becoming a some sort of charm fixer for the younger years whenever they'd mess up a spell.

And because Harry got himself stuck with being a triwizard champion for Hogwarts. You had to help him with spells and charms just so he could survive the challenges. You wouldn't be able to to live with yourself if anything were to happen to him under your watch.

As the holiday's were approaching, the only decent things about your schedule was the dance classes in between subjects. You had already learned how to waltz when you were a girl. Your parents weren't ones to host glamorous balls but your grandparents were. You had fond memories of your dance classes during your summers spent abroad. Twirling endlessly in studios till your head wouldn't stop spinning.

McGonagall appeared at the front of the hall and cleared her throat to call the attention of the crowd. "find your partners everyone, we will begin shortly."

Everyone began scattering across the room searching for their partners. You had the tendency to switch partners every now and then since the boys kept asking if you could show them the steps to the dance. You didn't mind, even if it meant getting your toes stepped on every now and again.

As you looked across the room, you wondered who you would be dancing with this time. Your own question was answered when your hand was suddenly grabbed and you were twirled around to be flush against someone's chest.

"Freddie!" You laughed, the wind was nearly knocked out of you from the sudden turn.

"You don't mind having this dance with me, do you love?" He asked with a tilt of his head.

You shook your head with a grin, "No, I don't mind at all."

Your hands were intertwined as your other hand rested on his shoulder and his hand grasped your waist. There was no tense atmosphere compared to the other boys who always seem to stray away from their confident selves when around you. But not Fred, no. He was always his true self around you.

The music began playing and echoed through the hall. Light footsteps pattered across the floor as people tried to find their footing. Some seemed to struggle more than others but that wasn't the case for you and Fred.

The two of you danced across the floor in sync. The two of you paid little mind to everything around you as you both were lost in your own world. Like your heart harmonised with the beat of his heart and that was the only rhythm you guys needed to dance.

"You've improved since the last time we've danced." You teased as you continued your steps.

Fred rolled his eyes at the memory of his poor attempt at trying to dance the waltz with you during one of your grandparents balls. He didn't exactly want to be there in the first place let alone dance a waltz he's never learned. But he didn't want to leave you there alone either. You wanted to dance, so he danced with you.

"Careful, I might step on one of your toes again." He taunted as he went along with your teasing.

You shook your head with a laugh. You had hoped that he would be your date for the ball. When he accompanied you to your grandparents' ball, it was like something out of a fairy tale. Though he stepped on your toes once or twice, it was all worth it. Especially when around the end, the two of you were left alone out in the gardens to stargaze the rest of the night.

Maybe, just maybe he would ask you to the ball.

Fred knew from your silence, you were stuck in thought. "You're still not going to tell me who it is?"

Your eyes snapped back to him, "Who?"

"The one you're taking to the ball." He replied almost in a whisper. At this point he wondered if he should still be asking about who it is. Is he really going to subject himself to this hurt?

Your eyes softened at his question. "Freddie..." you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that the guy you most desperately want to go to the ball with was him. But you were too scared to do so. Godric forbid you had any bravery left in you to tell him your true feelings.

You could casually ask him to the ball. Make nothing of it. To go as friends. But something in your gut told you that if you went together, things would be different. Things were different.

You weren't just little kids anymore. You were both at that stage in your life where love and relationships were the main focus of everyone's lives. If you screw up things with Fred, you'd probably spiral into a mess.

"You don't have to tell me. Just make sure to save me a dance, alright?" You could feel the defeat sink into his voice. But before you could do anything about it you were pulled away by another person to continue the waltz.

You caught a glimpse of Fred and you could feel your heart start breaking. You wanted to tell Fred but was it really worth the cost?

~~~~~~

It had been two days since Fred had questioned you about the mystery guy and you thought he just dropped the topic and forgot, but you were wrong.

Truth was, it was all he could think about. He didn't even try to ask you to go with him to the ball that day because he was scared he was going to get shot down.

And if you were being honest, he was all you could think about too. Not just on the fact that he was so adamant at knowing who the mystery person was, but also because he too had someone on his mind on who to ask for the ball.

If there was already someone he planned on asking, why even bother asking him to be your date to the ball? You felt hopeless and most of all, stupid for ever thinking you had a chance at asking Fred to the ball.

These thoughts consumed you to the point you didn't even want to try to sleep anymore. You just laid there on your bed, staring at the ceiling. Eventually you got hungry and tired of your own thoughts.

You got up from your bed and slowly crept away from the girl's dormitory, being careful not to wake anyone up, especially Stark. Godric knows how grumpy that cat gets when he gets woken up. You didn't currently have the map with you since it was with Harry but you didn't mind. You've basically engraved the school's layout in your mind.

You eventually reached the portrait and got out. It wasn't totally pitch black but it would help to have a little light help guide your way.

As you walked through the empty hallways, you couldn't help but think about all the things that were troubling you these last few days. I guess lots of things have been bothering you lately. You didn't exactly know where to start.

The thought that Harry was constantly being placed out into the line of danger and you not being able to help him is killing you. You have always been there to protect him and help him out but with the stupid Triwizard tournament rules getting in your way, you can't do anything about it.

Your stroll eventually led up to the kitchens, quickly grabbing a few snacks and bidding daisy and the other elves goodbye before going around the castle again. You missed these peaceful silences.

In all honesty you were suffocating from all of the school work and activities brought by the Triwizard tournament. You may not have been part of them but your professors seemed to have the impression that you were capable of handling lots of extra school tasks.

Like helping lead the class in dance classes in preparation for the Yule ball since you had experience in ball dancing. Assisting in charms classes in the lower years in your free time. Being a sort of ambassador for the foreign students seeing as you can speak French and russian. As if already having to deal with your normal studies and Quidditch wasn't enough.

You liked that they thought of you as a responsible student but you were juggling so many things that you rarely had the time for anything fun anymore. While your friends were off pranking, you were stuck helping second years undo charms that went wrong. While Kayla, Pansy and Mione were doing their usual "book club" sessions, you were busy helping Harry figure out how to do certain spells.

Your mind was so wrapped up in all your worrying that you didn't even realize that your footsteps led you to Monty. You grinned at the sight of the tree.

"Hello old friend." You greeted as you sat at the root of the tree.

You snacked on your food as you contemplated in silence. Though the tight feeling was still present in your chest, it felt comforting to be in a place that made you feel safe.

You leaned your head back on the tree and looked up at the star covered sky. You missed star-gazing. With all of the chaos, you haven't been able to star-gaze in a while.

Like a gush of fresh air passing you, you knew a presence was nearby. One that you were all too well familiar with.

You turned your head to look at him with a light grin. There he stood in his plaid pajamas and initial sweater.

"How come you always manage to find me?" You asked, tilting your head with a chuckle.

"I should be the one asking why you're always wandering off, in the middle of the night no less." Fred replied as he sat down next to you.

You both sat there quietly; looking up at the stars, mostly lost in thought. That was until Fred decided to break the silence.

"Why are you up so late? I know you don't usually sleep early but even 3 am is a stretch for you.” Fred stated as he pointed at his watch. ”What's on your mind, Carrington?"

A concerned look fell on your face, you didn't realize that much time passed already. You let out a sigh, you knew you were going to end up exhausted the next day.

"Honestly?" You inquired.

Fred nodded at you with sincerity, he had all his attention focused on you.

You sighed and suddenly the words just poured out of you, "it's just… so much is happening and I don't know how to deal with it all. I have to assist the younger years in charms, quidditch training, normal classes, foreign students and- il se passe trop de choses et j'ai l'impression que je vais pleurer et crier mais-" (too much is happening and i feel like I'm going to cry and scream but-). You paused, forgetting that Fred didn't know a lick of French.

"Fuck sorry, I didn't mean to do that." You apologized as you sunk your face into your hands.

"No, no, it's okay. Just keep going. I'll listen, even though I don't understand a single word of french. I'll be here to listen." He replied as he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer to him.

You nodded as you continued on in your rant, the words were all coming out like a broken dam. "It's just that so much is going on and pour l'amour de la merde, you'd think they'd give a 4th year a break. I feel like I'm on the verge of breaking down every minute but I won't let myself go because there's still so much meant to be done."

You haven't really told anyone about how stressed you've been feeling lately and it felt so great to actually tell someone. Fred nodded along as he listened to you. There was this look on his face, as though he hung on every word you said, regardless if it was in a foreign language.

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry you've been doing all that work. They should be paying you at this point. Is there anything I can do to lessen the load?" Fred asked as he brushed and stroked your hair.

You sighed and closed your eyes, "unfortunately, no."

He tilted his head, as if not believing what you said. “Are you absolutely sure? Cause you know me, I can give Minnie and Alby a piece of my mind.”

“Thanks for the offer but I'm sure I can handle it." You leaned your head on his shoulder in defeat.

"I know you can, but it doesn't mean you have to." He replied, rubbing his hand over your arm.

All these years, he's been by your side through it all. Through all the Voldemort nonsense, through the injuries, through the nightmares, everything.

"Freddie." You whispered.

"Yeah, love?" He replied.

"Thank you."

He faced you with this puzzled look, "For what?"

You gave him a simple shrug, thinking the answer was already obvious. "For just being there for me."

Fred's features softener and pulled you in closer to his side. "Anything for you, darling. You know that."

“I do…I hope you know the same applies to you.” You replied as you looked up at him.

“I do.” He nodded as he looked up at the stars. They were incredibly bright tonight, he wondered if you always wandered out here just to look at the stars to clear your head. That would explain why he would always find you here.

“When was the last time we went stargazing together?”

You grinned at the memory, “last summer when we went camping on the reserve.”

“We should do it again.” He replied, his eyes still glued to the stars.

You look at him with a cheek aching smile, “yeah, we should.” He may have meant the stars in the sky, but to you, it meant the freckles that were scattered across his cheeks like constellations. Those were the stars you were willing to spend endless nights studying.

“Can we just look at the stars while they're still out?” He laced his fingers between yours, gently rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Okay.” You replied, snuggling yourself closer to Fred to get comfy as you looked up at the sky.

And that's what you both did till dawn came. The sky twisting in colors of peach and purple as the sun slowly rose over the grounds of Hogwarts. It was a quiet morning, and for once your mind was quiet too.

Maybe it had something to do with the boy whose shoulder you were resting your head on or the peaceful ambience the morning brought you. You didn't really care, you were happy and that was it.

You couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of confidence flow through you. It could have been your mind lacking sleep but everything that was holding you back from telling Fred about your feelings just flew out the window.

You wanted to tell him, and you wanted to tell him now.

You sat up and turned to Fred in a rushed motion. Your movements startled the boy but he was left waiting for whatever you were about to do.

“What's wrong, love?” He asked you, surprisingly not as sleepy as you expected him to be.

“Remember what I said about that person I was going to ask to the Yule ball?” You hesitated with your words. You weren't even sure if you were thinking straight. You prayed that whatever words formed in your head would be the right words to say to Fred.

Fred tensed at your words. He nodded slightly, hoping that the next words that would leave your mouth wouldn't hurt too much.

“Well…” You felt your throat go dry but you were already in too deep, you had to commit. “To tell you the truth, they're really really really dense. And honestly I don't even know why they would even want to go with me if the opportunity presented itself but-.”

Fred's forehead creased at your words, who wouldn't want to go with you to the ball? That would be like turning down the chance to enter heaven. “Why'd you think that, love? Anyone lucky enough to even be in your sights should be thanking God or whatever force for putting you on this earth.”

You felt your cheeks go bright red and your heart beat ten times faster. You weren't even sure if you could have controlled it with Fred's words just pouring out of his mouth like they just came to him naturally. He didn't even stop there. Once he started he couldn't stop.

“I mean look at you, I don't think I can think of anyone else in the whole entire world that could even come close to how perfect you are. I mean sure, you're basically a night owl with how little you sleep because you'd rather read than have a decent amount of sleep,”

You laughed at his little comment, shoving him slightly in the shoulder, but that didn't stop him from continuing his rant.

“You literally land in the hospital wing every week or so because you'd rather put yourself in harm's way than others. And you don’t even like sharing your cookies but you still do. You even ask your grandmother to send more cookies just so you can share more of them. All these things I just listed down are just more reasons why you’re perfect- and why I love you.” He let those words slip past his lips so quickly he barely even registered them. By the time he realized what he said he knew he couldn't take them back, nor did he want to.

“And yes, I love you… and not just in a friend way but the “I love you so much that if you're not around I can't breathe and the mere thought that you probably like someone else is killing me”... way.”

You were left speechless. You felt like a complete idiot at that moment. You both were fools from the start. How couldn't you have seen the signs?

He was the only one there for you when no one else was. That time you landed in the hospital wing after a full moon incident from helping your uncle moony, he was the one who stayed by your side all those nights.

When you got a cold after a snowball fight with the Weasley’s over the holidays, Fred visited you nearly everyday at the Manor to check on you before he too caught a cold. Then it was your turn to take care of him.

When you got detention from getting caught for a prank you pulled, Fred got himself detention so you wouldn't be alone.

Fred felt his chest tighten at the silence, you haven't said a thing in the last few seconds and it was terrifying. “I know you probably don't feel the same-”

Finally, you snapped out of your self inflicted scolding and reached over with one hand to keep you up and the other on Fred cheek. “My god you are dense.” with that, your lips crashed into his and suddenly everything fell into place.

All the years of pining. All the endless hours of you avoiding and hiding your feelings when all along, the both of you were just too scared of saying how you felt.

His hand slipped over to your cheek while his other hand gripped your waist. He couldn't even process his thoughts about what was happening. Was this actually real? Was this a dream? Was he even awake?

His thoughts were silenced when you pulled away just slightly to let out a small whisper, something that was meant for him and him alone, “I love you too.”

A grin grew on Fred's lips, going up ear to ear. It felt like hearing your favorite song for the first time. You loved him. He couldn't believe it. Fred pulled you in for another kiss but it was difficult from how he just couldn't stop smiling.

“Really?” He asked, his voice heavy with bliss and giddiness. It was like the whole world just lit up for him. He really couldn't believe it.

You let out a light laugh at the sight, “Yes, really.” Before placing a peck on his lips.

“Are you absolutely sure?” He asked again, this time with a smirk and his usual tone of arrogance. Sure he still couldn't fully wrap his head around the thought that you, the girl of his dreams, actually loved him back. But that still didn't stop him from teasing the living daylights out of you.

You pondered on the question further, knowing how Fred loved to play this game. Your silence only furthered the fun when Fred began to grow impatient. “On second thought…”

Fred let out a chuckle before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up to his lap, “Nice try love. You've already said the words. You can't take them back.”

You rolled your eyes jokingly before facing him with a cheek aching grin, “oh no, what shall I ever do?” You replied with feigned fear before letting out another laugh.

Fred leaned over to your cheek, his nose barely grazing over the surface of your cheek. “How about I take you to the ball as…your boyfriend?”

You pulled away with a grin, "Are you sure?”

Fred looked off into the distance and tapped his finger over his chin, “Hmmm, you know on second thought-”

You let out a laugh before resting your hands at the back of his neck, “Nuh uh, you already said the words, Freddie. You can't take them back.” You repeated his words back to him with a smirk.

He pulled you in for another kiss to wipe away that smirk. But he then pulled away, just slightly, “You have my heart, love. I don't think I'll be able to take that back either.”

Feeling the blush rush up to your cheeks, you could only hide your flustered state in the crook of his neck. Now it was his turn to smirk.

“Don't get shy on me now, love.” Fred spoke as he hugged you tight. He thought that this was just too good to be true. He thought that maybe if he didn't hold on tight enough, all of this would cease to exist and reveal itself to be a dream.

You lifted your head out of the crook of his neck, only to feel the heat rush back to your cheeks. Seeing as the sun was rising up already, the blush was much more evident on your cheeks.

Fred looked at you with a soft smile, it was finally sinking in. He was finally yours, and you were finally his. And though the two of you may be dense, Godric knows Fred is never going to let you forget he loves you.

"I love you so much."

[chaosduckies]

Day 4: Broken

A little bit of hurt and comfort. I love when the tiny is the one helping their emotional giant <3

Word Count: 2.9k

CW: Self harm, little bit of a mental break down

The house was quiet today. Earlier this morning Kieran had to go somewhere in that uniform again. He looked reluctant and tired as always but still walked out. He didn’t leave food out this time which made me worried that I had done something wrong but there wasn’t anything I could think of. The other day he didn’t want me to go back home after that strange man came and sprayed something that made everything smell bad for a few hours. 

Sure he scared me half to death that morning and ever since then it’s been hard to be around him without being scared at every movement and trying to ignore the subtle change in his mood every time. Of course I felt bad but it’s not like I could help it. It was unheard of for borrowers to be around humans! I didn’t know how to act around one of them! 

He did finish the over-coat he had made for me though. It was amazingly comfortable and was so pretty. I knew how to sew, but not as good as this. It was thin too and easy to move around in which just made everything so much better. I couldn’t thank him enough for the change of wardrobe and then he insisted that he was going to make a few more for me despite how many times I told him that I was perfectly fine with what I had now. Sure my clothes were old but they were still usable. I didn’t want to take advantage of what I had now. 

For the first time in forever, I wasn’t hungry. Not that I could exactly get any food if I tried. My hook was almost worn out. The paperclip looked like it would bust at any moment and I wasn’t about to get stranded on a counter and have to ask Kieran for help. I liked being independent. Again, I couldn’t be more grateful that he let me do what I wanted even though I was a thief technically. 

I had no idea what to do today if I were being honest. On days like this I’d usually just watch TV with the human if they put something on or just observe them out of curiosity. Scary, yes, but entertaining. If I were being honest it was extremely boring without Kieran here. I liked sneaking up on him sometimes. He didn’t react, but I liked being able to show myself without any fear. Wait till my parents heard about me being friends with a human. Is that what we would call each other? I had no idea. 

The past two weeks have been amazing. Thought I would die, didn’t die, starting hanging around a human who was probably the scariest and most intimidating human I’d ever meet, I’ve never felt this full in my entire life thanks to said human, and to top it all off I don’t think I’ve even struggled with anything since we met. I must be the luckiest borrower ever. 

I ran through the walls that were now chemical-free from whatever that other guy had sprayed and headed over to Kieran’s room. He never made it clear if I was allowed in here without him in it, but I wasn’t planning on stealing anything. Important at least. Hopefully not important to Kieran. I was just worried that he’d notice it was missing and get angry. Usually one paperclip would last me a while, but with how much climbing and “borrowing” I’ve been doing it wasn’t surprising that it would become brittle so quickly. Curse my greediness of the amazing human foods. 

I sighed and moved the old outlet over out of the way to safely walk into his room. It was just as messy and colorful as usual. There were fabrics all over the place. There were shirts that looked like they still needed to be sewn together. I’ve told Kieran that his work was amazing, but he found it embarrassing. How could such an amazing talent be embarrassing? He was good at this hobby of his. Better than me and sewing was one of the first things I was taught when I was younger. 

There was a pile of papers on the ground messily laid about. I wondered what it had said, but it was his own private business. I didn’t want to intrude more than I already have. 

I sucked in a deep breath and continued exploring around. There wasn’t anything under his bed. With how messy he was he seemed to always clean up after himself when he was done with something. Apparently except when it came to his unfinished works. Though, I don’t remember his room ever being this messy. Something was wrong. I still couldn't help but feel like I was part of the problem. Or maybe the whole problem. 

I stared up at the desk, the back of my neck hurting from staring up for so long before staring at the worn-down hook in my hands. I didn’t find any paper clips on the ground. The only other place I could think of was on his desk or nightstand. My only fear was that my hook would break while I was only halfway up and then I’d inevitably fall to my death. Kieran wasn’t here to catch me this time. We really needed to stop meeting when I fell. 

With a sigh, I threw my hook up, tugging on it to make sure it was safely latched onto the side of his desk. I was a little nervous about this, but it was late. If I fell and at least Kieran would at least see my dead body and know what happened. My own stupidity. I shuddered at the thought of dying from this. Tears formed in my eyes as I started to make my long climb up. I could only hope and pray that nothing bad would happen. 

About halfway up there was a loud slam that came from the front of the house that shook the walls around me. Kieran was home way too early. The sun was just barely about to start setting. He didn’t come home until the house was all dark. I should know because before we met that was the only time I could get some food and other things.

My heart beat hard against my chest in the not-so-quiet house and hurried to climb up. Not too fast of course I didn’t want to get tangled again, and even though I hadn’t seen Kieran yet I just had a feeling that he was in a bad mood. What would he do if he found me in his room alone? Would he be angry that I was trying to steal from him? Well I didn’t want to sit around and find out. It was scary just thinking about what he’d do. My plan was to get onto his desk and hopefully hide behind something so he wouldn’t see me. 

Before we started hanging out I had always thought he had bad anger issues, but after he didn’t seem to get angry a whole lot. Some days when he left the house and came back he’d come back a little tired and I didn’t want to bother him. Today must’ve been a lot harder on him. What was I thinking coming in here? He’d get mad and then I’d have to think about leaving again! That is if I could escape whatever punishment he had in mind for me whenever he catches me. 

My mind went back to the time when he grabbed me. I had just barely woken up and before I could even register what he had said he trapped me in his fist and started talking to another person. Of course I’d try to get out! I had no idea what he was doing! Kieran didn’t hurt me but it was still terrifying. Now I couldn’t stop thinking of what he could do if I were caught. Or what he was capable of doing to me. 

I heard another loud slam coming from the kitchen. I winced to myself and continued climbing up the desk. I knew that there was something to hide behind up there. It was such a mess and he was in a bad mood. I doubted that he would clean up until tomorrow morning. Meaning I had a good window to get back home if I could make it back to the outlet under his nightstand. 

When I reached the top of the desk I made sure to grab my hook before running behind a pile of fabrics and hiding in them. I listened carefully, hearing his heavy footsteps from down the hall. It sounded like he was muttering under his breath too. My heart raced when I heard the door open with a loud creak. 

I heard something be thrown before the door slammed shut. I covered my ears with my hands and peeked my head out. Kieran pressed his back up against the door and looked up. His uniform looked wet and dirty like something was spilled on it, he didn’t look tired either. Not happy. If anything it looked like he was about to cry. 

My eyes widened when he buried his head in his hands and sucked in a shuddering breath. What was wrong? Why was he so upset? Did something happen? I shook my head. I shouldn’t be in his business. Even if I was a little worried. Who knew a borrower could actually be worried about a human for once? But, I admit, as scary as he was, he was nice to be around. It was nice company. And whatever was wrong must’ve been bad to make him react that way. 

This might’ve been a bad decision, but it just seemed like the right move. I sighed and gripped my hook tightly as I walked out of my hiding spot and stared at the almost broken paperclip in my hands. I could make the trip down. But I had no idea how I’d get around afterward. I’ll worry about that after I deal with whatever consequences come after this. 

I walked silently towards the edge of the desk and carefully placed my hook on the edge. It wouldn’t bust. I’d be okay. And Kieran was right there he could get me if I were in trouble, right? I fidgeted with my hands, watching as Kieran wrapped his arms around his legs and kept his head down. I bit the side of my cheek before finally starting to climb down. Kieran hadn't seemed to notice me yet which was a good thing. 

About halfway down I felt the string start to move. Like it was coming apart. I winced and hurried down at a safe speed so I wouldn’t get tangled up again. I thought I could make it all the way down before the hook would unlatch or break, but I was wrong. Gravity did its work, and I was falling. I screamed before I started to fall on the floor and land on my back, the wind knocked out of me before trying to get up. 

“Oh my gosh-” Kieran freaked out and quickly crawled over to me. My vision was blurry but I could still breathe. My entire body hurt. My back ached, but at least I didn’t hit my head too hard. There was a ringing sound in my ear but I could still hear. My leg didn’t feel too good but nothing was broken. This really was a stupid idea of mine. Probably should’ve tied my rope to another paper clip while I was up there. If there were any. I was too scared to actually look before hiding. 

I pulled myself up, wincing at the aching in my bones as I started up at the towering figure. My eyes widened. His face was a little red, dried tears were still on his cheek, and I couldn’t stop staring at the painful cuts on his wrists and forearm. His sleeve was rolled up, and I wished that he rolled it back down. Or not have done what he did in the first place. I nearly gagged at the sight. Well, that explained why he always wore a jacket or sweater. But still, it was obvious he was hurting more than I was right now. 

“A-are you okay? He whispered, hands twitching like he wanted to try and grab me. I cringed away, realizing that I needed to stop. He wasn’t going to hurt me. I’ve never seen him more scared and upset before. Which isn’t really saying anything because he’s only been here for three weeks, but it was still out of character for him. 

“Yeah,” I stared up at him, “Are you?” His eyes went wide at the question before tears formed in his eyes. He tried to wipe them away, cursing at himself for continuing to cry. He leaned back, sighing and burying his face into his hands again. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He wiped his tears away and sniffled before leaning over me to grab my broken hook and drop it next to me. I stared at it but shrugged it off and stood up on shaky legs. He wasn’t angry at me. He was just upset. No reason to be scared. 

“Well, I don’t think you are,” I explained and started to climb the sleeve of his arm. He gasped and stayed completely still. It was hard to climb with how much my body hurt. I could already feel the bruises start to form, and I was not excited about how sore I would be tomorrow. 

“Devon-” He whispered, one of his hands reaching for me. I stopped dead in my tracks, hanging on tightly where I was, almost up to his shoulder. He bit his lip and retracted his hand when I reacted. His body seemed so tense as he continued to wipe away his tears. I finally reached his shoulder and this time I grabbed tightly to his shirt so I wouldn't fall again.

“What’s up?” I asked with a small smile. Kieran couldn’t see me from here, but I could at least sound like I wanted to help and didn’t just feel pity. I didn’t like seeing other people sad. Even if it was a human.

Kieran sighed through his nose and chuckled, “People suck.” He slowly moved backward and tried to look at me but gave up before pressing his back against the wall and staring back up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah, they do.” I agreed with him. With how much I’ve studied humans, they do some nasty things to their friends and family. The only other borrowers I’ve met were my parents. Though I’m sure that we weren’t much different than the people we stole from. 

“I feel so broken. I hate my job and people are so mean and judgemental. I just… wish I could drown them out but even if I plug in my headphones or try to get away from them it just seems like they want to suck the life out of me. People are just so… irritating. ” He threw his hands in the air. There weren’t any more tears but I could tell that he was still upset about whatever had happened to make him act like this. I bit the inside of my mouth and moved closer and hugged as much as I could of his neck. It was embarrassing if I were being honest, but no one else would know. I could hear his heartbeat slightly beating faster. 

“Thanks little guy.” He chuckled softly through the quiet tears.. I tensed when he slowly brought his hand closer and pressed the knuckle of one of his fingers up against me gently. I smiled when he hugged me back, “Well, whatever happened, I think you’re pretty cool.” I laughed. 

He laughed along, “Thanks. I think you’re nice too. For what it’s worth.” He sniffled and moved his hand away from me. I let go too, smiling. I can’t believe that this actually worked. He seemed like he calmed down. Maybe he just needed someone? No one can be intimidating and mean at the same time apparently. 

“Um, sorry to ask, but what were you doing in my room?” My heart skipped a beat for a second as he stared at the broken paperclip. Weirdly enough, I could make out a small smile. Well he figured out why I was here. There was no reason to lie at this point. It was still so scary that he noticed and could piece together everything with just a few pieces of evidence. I guess his finding out about me was inevitable.

“Um, paperclip.” I nervously squeaked before fixing my position so I wouldn’t fall. Kieran gasped again and groaned, “I didn’t leave out any food for you, did I?” I laughed. 

“It’s fine! I’m not hungry,” I lied, “But would you mind if I… borrowed a paperclip?” 

There was a pause between the two of us. For a second I thought he was about to say no, but I was spooked when he laughed a little too loud for my ears. 

“Yeah of course. I owe you anyway.” He looked down. 

“Thanks… for helping me out.” He nervously messed with the ring on his lip. I smiled, “Anytime.”

——————

A little rushed but that’s okay! Apparently writing a prompt a day is possible for me which is-wow- amazing I love writing these two so much <3

Taglist: @da3dm @dav8530

(If you would like to be added or removed please let me know!)

prompt list: gt july 2025

[qin-qin16]

We need more Classic in this household and I'll help you with that.

How about this, just Sans being himself, punny and funny skeleton in reader's house but then they suddenly ask him to let them see his soul and touch it.

Getting his permission and they do just that, bcuz they are just being curious about how soul works while making sure not to make Sans uncomfortable.

Just fluff and mild suggestive to satisfied reader's curiosity. I'm counting on you with your beautiful writing 🤭

cw.: Classic Sans x Reader, Alphys is mentioned, fluff, bam! Kabedon scene, they're both a blushing mess... 

note: I'm trying out a new type of writing, let's see how it goes. I'll make a part two of this! So let's say this is a prequel :D

In the past days, a recurring question haunted your thoughts from time to time: what would Sans's soul be like? Sure, in a way, you knew exactly what a monster's soul looked like; there were no mysteries! An upside-down heart with a pattern color.

Even though it was fascinating to imagine that monster souls might, though rarely, have a color other than white, it still remained an impossible theory — at least, that’s what Dr. Alphys told you when you pondered the differences between human and monster souls out loud.

You can still hear her stuttering in an endless loop, a never-ending monologue filled with technical terms and theories that she contradicted during the conversation (which you participated in only as a listener later). Unfortunately, you could barely remember half of the information she threw at you — if your memory serves you right, Alphys deliberately mixed the topic with some shoujo anime she was watching at the time. If that served as some kind of analogy, you don’t remember.

In any case, one of the few pieces of information Dr. Alphys shared that really stuck with you was that viewing someone else's soul is an extremely intimate act — on a level of interpersonal relationships that spans years or even decades, according to research conducted in the Underground.

Since then, you found yourself constantly watching Sans, following him around the rooms until he went to work or locked himself in his office — always using the same excuse of working from home, but you were beginning to suspect that he simply didn’t want to handle the paperwork outside the house. 

He seemed to take pleasure in vanishing every time you gathered the courage to ask the long-awaited question—only to open your eyes and realize you were speaking to yourself. But this time, Sans wasn’t going to escape.

You had devised the perfect plan, and the moment to put it into action had arrived.

"Well, my break’s over; looks like I’ll have to work to the bone now. Heh." Sans remarked nonchalantly, shrugging as he made his way to his infamous hideout, the office (which had originally been a recreational area until Sans had slyly taken it over with his stacks of paper and dirty socks).

Time to put the first part of your plan into action.

Before Sans could even touch the doorknob, you rushed toward him — almost losing your balance as you had to sidestep his favorite pet rock.

Bam! The door slams shut with the palm of your hand, startling both you and the skeleton, who was still facing away with one hand on the doorknob. Without hesitation, you press your other hand against the door as well, pinning both of them against the wooden surface and effectively trapping Sans.

“Nah-uh!” you counter, watching him turn around with one bony eyebrow raised, looking more intrigued than surprised by your stance. “I know your meeting schedule for today, and you don’t have any meetings right now!” Your triumphant smile doesn’t escape Sans’s notice.

He chuckles before turning fully toward you, leaning his weight against the door. “Heh, looks like someone’s been watching too many anime.” He gives you a lazy wink, glancing at your arms pressing against the wall, one on each side of his head.

Even though he was the one cornered against the door, it was you who felt your own face burning, probably flushed after receiving such a rare wink from your boyfriend. Despite your composure slipping slightly, your hands stayed firmly pressed against the wall as your eyes roamed over Sans’s face — from his relaxed smile to the bright dots in his eyes.

“N-N-No, it’s not that, it’s just that—um…” You hadn’t expected to be this nervous when you came up with the plan, especially under Sans’s attentive gaze. “I-I…” You stammer once more before letting your eyes drop to the floor, focusing intently on it.

“C-Can I… see your soul? Please?” You never thought your voice could come out so softly, almost like a whisper meant to go unheard, timid and gentle.

You didn’t want to repeat the question, but after receiving no response—not even a half-hearted laugh — for a while, you glanced back up at his face, hoping to see his bony eyebrows furrowed in confusion or a hint of hesitation in his signature smile.

But all you see is a skull bathed in blue, with Sans’s eye sockets looking more widened than usual (was that even possible in a skeletal structure like his? Apparently, yes). As if mirroring him, your own eyes widen in surprise at seeing such an unusual expression on his typically relaxed face.

“What?” Unlike you, Sans spoke in a loud whisper. It seemed your question had completely unsettled him..

You inch closer to him, careful with your approach — as if you didn’t want to startle him further with your “unusual” actions. One of your hands glides down the door until it gently presses against Sans’s ketchup-stained shirt. Without realizing it, your face is now only inches from his, nearly brushing against him in a touchless caress.

“I want to see your soul…” you repeat, a bit louder this time, but still gentle and tinged with shyness. “I can show you mine first, if you’d like…” you add, gazing intently at the fuzzy lights within his eye sockets.

For a moment, you close your eyes, trying to muster the courage you had before. When you open them again, Sans is no longer in front of you — vanished like every other time you tried to ask that same question to him.  All that’s left is the office door and the rapid thumping of your own heart.

Inevitably, you let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of defeat on your shoulders. You gently bump your head against the door, knowing that sooner or later, Sans would have to face you, and if he were a good boyfriend, he would answer your question with some decency.

This turned out worse than I thought, you think aloud as you step away from the door and return to the old sofa in your home — your solace after the failure of your meticulously planned (or at least, in your mind, meticulously planned) scheme.

[venus-vault]

Enlightenment

Mr. Reed × Fem!Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Pt. 1 - (y/n)'s 6am Theology course turns out to be more interesting than anticipated.

⚠️TW: Age Gap, Professor × Student, University Setting, Teacher Crush, Yearning and Longing, General Butterflies.

It is 5:32am and as I climb the steps of the Two Hundred Building, I cannot help but silently curse at myself for voluntarily taking a class that starts this early in the morning. I'm technically early for the first day of 'Theology 207: Cross-Cultural Functions of Belief' which is good. Around 10 minutes of rest can be gained here and I set my messenger bag down, sitting cross-legged beside it and letting my eyes close, my mind clear.

My meditative state is almost immediately broken though, by a cluster of keys jangling down the hallway, paired with a set of weighted footsteps. This must be the professor. He's more casually dressed than others in jeans, sneakers, a simple button-down and checkered cardigan combo. His hair is silver, well kept, blue eyes crinkled at the ends behind wireframed glasses. He smiles, extending a hand down to help me to my feet. "Hello, early-bird. Hope I haven't kept you waiting long." I watch him sort through the gargantuan assortment of keys and unlock the lecture hall, inviting me in.

"Not at all. I'm (y/n), by the way." He sets his bag on the desk at the front of the room, opening it up to look for something. "It's nice to meet you (y/n), I'm Professor Reed." He glances me over his shoulder, eyes lingering along my frame for a moment before refocusing on the task at hand. He pulls out a stack of light green papers -syllibi- and divides the stack in two.

"Since you've bothered to be here so early, would you mind helping me get set up?"

"I'd be glad to."

"Brilliant, one of these on each desk then. You'll start at the highest row, I'll take the lowest, meet in the middle." He hands me a stack of syllibi and I bound the steps of the lecture hall, beginning at the far end of the top row.

Before long, each desk is covered by a little green page and Mr. Reed shakes my hand when we meet again in the middle of the room. "Now then, it'd be selfish of me not to reward your efforts, am I correct to assume you haven't eaten yet today?" His eyes narrow.

"You are." I breathe out a laugh.

"Typical. Come here," he nods toward the desk at the front of the room and I follow him there, where he pulls a small waxed paper bag from his satchel.

"Are you opposed to fruit in pastry?"

"Never, bring it on." I beam.

He chuckles warmly at my enthusiasm and pulls what appears to be an old fashioned donut from the bag. Its perfectly crisp edges and even coat of glaze make my mouth water and he splits it, handing me half. "Blueberry. From the café down the road."

"Thank you, professor."

"Thank You, (y/n). Saving me from myself. It is entirely possible this is the fourth one of these I've had this week."

"Oh?"

"I've stopped counting. Completely addicted. Before long I'll be rolling into the room. You'll see."

I giggle, he smirks, we chat, we eat. Maybe an early class won't be the worst thing in the world. I feel like I could listen to professor Reed talk for hours. Which is probably a good thing, this being a lecture-based course.

"Do you hold office hours?" I blurt, nervous.

He raises a brow at me, mid-bite and swallows.

"Of course, but you don't seem the type that'll need to utilize them, and, at the risk of self-deprication, this is a pretty easy course. Half the class could fall asleep mid-lecture and still pass."

I won't need any help with this course, but I want to know him better. He seems like such an interesting, warm person, and I'm not exactly a social butterfly outside the classroom...

"Maybe so, I'd really like to pick your brain about all this stuff, though. You seem really cool, Professor Reed."

He smiles to himself, looking away just breifly.

"How about this? If you plan to come in this early every week, I'll do the same, and you can pick my brain to pieces right before class."

"I'd like that. As long as you plan to keep sharing your breakfast with me, that is."

"I don't see why not, and another perk of your timeliness : you've got your pick of seats. Better grab one before the 5 minute rush, hm?"

Scanning over the lecture hall, I grab my bag and decide on a desk that's front and center. Professor Reed seems somewhat surprised by my choice, striding over to tap at the edge of the desk.

"You realize this means you're getting called out immediately if I see a phone during class or a wayward glance during testing, yes?"

"I think you'll find I'm very well behaved during course hours, some have even gone so far as to say I am 'a pleasure to have in class'." I air quote, smirking up at him.

"I'll be sure to remember that," he smiles "Something tells me you're not like the other Philosophy majors here, (y/n)." He saunters back to the desk, perching himself back on its edge.

"No?"

"No. I'm finding you quite... pleasant, and unpretentious. Likable, even."

"Oh? Thank you. I like you too, Professor."

"You'll change your tune when it comes time for me to start handing back your assignments though, I'm sure."

"Harsh grading system?"

"Not so much harsh as critical. You wouldn't believe the amount of papers I'm handed that have no real thesis, no point, no opinion, no meat."

"Really?"

He nods, eyes rolling.

"Mm. Seems to be the curse of this major. Hoardes of budding philosophers afraid to express an opinion or explore a fresh perspective. Who'd have thought?" He chuckles to himself and I can't help but simper in response.

We're interrupted by a small group of students chattering as they wander in, he greets them, I watch them pass by, opting for seats in the back row of the lecture hall.

It's this moment in which I realize I've done it again. I've managed to alienate myself from my peers immediately by way of being early, caring about the curriculum, speaking to the teacher, and the most egregious offense of all: sitting at the front. But that's okay. Because Reed finds me likable. And he's already agreed to speak to me on a regular basis so that sort of makes us friends... kind of. I hope.

More students come in, he greets them, this pattern repeating til the lecture hall has filled out and Mr. Reed closes its door.

"Right. Let's crack on, mm?" He claps his hands together loudly, several half-asleep heads snapping up from their syllibi at the sound. "What are we doing? Where do we come from? Why are we here? What happens to our souls when we die? I can answer these questions for you. I can give you a comfort no religion in the world could possibly give... but I'd like you to ask and answer yourselves, because at the end of the day, we are left in our own husks, pondering our own existence, caring fuck-all for anyone else's wellbeing." The room is silent and he continues: "Harsh, yes? Not very PC I'm afraid," a close-lipped smile as his bright eyes examine the faces of all present, resting on mine for a few seconds, "But true all the same. Over this course, you will investigate and interrogate theologies. Some you are already familar with, some you have only a vague understanding of at present. You'll break them down into their basic elements. You will then dissect those elements, and bring to me their beating hearts, their purpose. Why are Men at the helm of each of the 3 most practiced faiths in the world? Why are their needs placed first in the rhetoric? Is it because they needed an excuse to rationalize the subjugation of the women around them? Is it because of a historical, then implied biological, need on the part of Man to have control over someone they perceive as weaker than they are? Dark stuff. I want you to take it to such a level, though. I want each of your personal microanalyses of the 3 Abrahamic doctrines. This will take the form of a paper, let's say... 7 pages per religion, should be enough? I'll keep it easy for you. This will be due in 3 weeks, on the 23rd. In the interim, we will discuss less widely practised doctrines A.K.A the reason most of you joined this course to begin with. Now,"

I thought he was cool before, but as he fills the hours pacing the room on informational tangents, I come to realize two truths: he's completely in his element, and I happen to find the fluidity and fluency of his teaching style incredibly attractive. I find him incredibly attractive.

He emphasizes and gesticulates and monologues and it seems like no one else is as interested as I am in the material or the man teaching it.

Professor Reed is passionate and charismatic and by the end of his lecture, I'm left with 13 pages of notes on Bhuddism and a wildly unrealistic crush. He has to be at least 30 years my senior. He's my professor, for fuck sake. Could I be anymore cliché? Maybe it's just that he's the only cool, or even interesting professor I've had. Maybe it's that he's really nice. Or, maybe he's just... hot. Especially for a man his age, whatever age that is. Sixty? Fifty-five? Does it make it any better if he's slightly closer to my age? There's no way he would ever be into me, though, so there's nothing worth making a fuss over. I will not allow myself to be swooned by his effortless magnetism, the way he seems to glide rather than walk, the warmth of his smile, depth of his eyes- Oh. This is going to be an issue for me.

Especially because I've agreed to meet him before class. Weekly. Why did I do that? Shit. It's just once a week though. And there will be free food...

I'm jolted from my thoughts by the shuffle of bags zipping and desks scraping against the floor. I follow suit, tucking the notebook into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

I'm nearly out the door when

"First in, last out, eh?" He's sat on the desk again, one leg crossed over the other.

"Uh, yeah, I kinda zoned out towards the end of class there, sorry."

"Don't be, you were engaged for the most part, I saw your pen move, all's well. But I would like to know your thoughts on the lecture, seeing as you may have been the only person paying any real attention."

I have a million thoughts on the lecture, a million more on him, and I nip at my lower lip, attempting to sort through it all. It was revelatory without being leading. It was genius but accessible enough to learn from. For the first time in ages, I don't feel like I'll have to go above and beyond to earn my grade because a professor is finally speaking my language. He teaches in my learning style. And he looks damn good doing it.

"Well?" His eyes search mine.

"I have uh, a lot of thoughts on the lecture. I'll have to sort them out and give you a full report before class next week."

"Fair enough," he smirks "Can I expect you'll be here around the same time?"

"Yes, sir." I smile.

The days between feel like watching paint dry, and by Thursday night he's all I can think about.

The way he spoke, his kindness, the way the entirety of his lecture felt like he was speaking directly to me. What if he was? He wasn't. What if he's thinking of me the same way I am of him? He isn't. It'd be completely inappropriate. He's probably married. Has to be, with a smile like that?

But if not... I let my imagination wander to places it shouldn't, places I'll never be able to access in reality. A rich dinner with him by candlelight, a lavish library where he reads to me and strokes my hair, a sun-soaked bedroom, his arms wrapped around my waist, lips on my neck, glasses on the nighstand, while- No.

I'm sat in my dorm with four completed assignments for my other courses, halfway through my paper for Reed's class, fantasizing about him and waxing poetic to myself about the ethical dilemma of a completely theoretical affair between us? This is so stupid. I save and close the document I'm typing in -it's not due for another couple weeks anyways and I could write it in my sleep- and open my email, refreshing for any reminders or campus event emails, anything to get my mind off of him and-

One new email.

a.reed@colorado.edu:

(y/n),

I am afraid I'll need your thoughts on the lecture as soon as humanly possible, for my own sanity if nothing else.

Furthermore, I have no idea what pastry to bring you. Do you enjoy a scone? Muffins? Are you a coffee or tea person? Allergies?

Please answer these questions at your earliest convenience.

-Reed

I re-read the email a few more times to make sure I'm not mistaken. He wants to know what I'd like for breakfast... because we've agreed to meet up for breakfast. But why does he care what I thought of the lecture? Is he looking for my approval? Maybe I was picking up on something. It's possible for him to have more than just an academic interest in me... I am a grown woman. I may not be completely delusional, and hit reply to begin tapping out a response.

Mr. Reed,

I thought the lecture was incredible. I left class excited and curious. Seems we'll have a lot to talk about tomorrow.

As for my café preferences: all pastry is good pastry, all tea is good tea, (Especially earl grey! with honey!! And a splash of cream!!) I'm not picky. No allergies.

Additionally:

Do you personally endorse any of Bhuddism's Four Noble Truths? They initially read as pessimism to me. Would love to hear your perspective.

Best,

(y/n l/n)

Sucking in a breath, I breifly skim through my reply to make sure it's completely clear of fawning, Freudian slips or obsessive questions. It is, amazingly, and before I can psych myself out, I hit Send.

He reached out to me... which implies that he might be thinking about me. And if he's thinking about me, I must have made a good first impression. But he might just be like this with all his students, and- I am way overthinking this.

After a shower and some cup noodles, I'm about half an hour into a video essay when a little (1) appears on the email tab I've left open.

a.reed@colorado.edu:

(y/n),

I believe in the Second and Third of the Noble Truths; suffering springs from attachment to fleeting things, and that suffering can end. But to live is not to suffer, in my opinion. We're capable of much more.

Café preferences noted. London Fog and a mystery treat.

Glad to have your feedback, looking forward to sating all curiosities in person.

-Reed

I find myself grinning at his response, mind racing. Surely not all curiosities, but I'll take what I can get. For now.

Sleep comes fast, Friday morning comes faster. I'm up before my alarm to freshen up, and decide that today, just for Reed, I'll actually try to look nice. A thin coat of lip gloss and a few swipes of mascara later, I pull on jeans, boots, a thin cashmere sweater and denim jacket, and I'm out the door.

5:08. It should take me about 15 minutes to get to the Two Hundred Building from my dorm, slightly less if I jog some of the way, and before long I'm bounding up the steps, legs aching. It is simply too early for excersise, and I'm nearly out of breath by the time I make it to the doorway of the lecture hall. Still locked. I beat him here.

But not by much. Keys jangle, I turn, he saunters down the hallway, chic in a pair of aviator sunglasses and a less vibrant variation on the outfit he wore last week. He carries a lidded paper cup and waxed paper bag in one hand, his keychain in the other.

"Hello. Even earlier than last time. Consider me impressed."

"Well, if you give a mouse a cookie..."

"And if I give her a large London Fog and a blueberry scone instead?"

"Even better. Thank you, professor."

I take the items from his hand, grinning to myself as he swaps his sunglasses for the regular ones in his pocket and opens up the lecture hall.

"And thank you again, (y/n), for managing to not stand me up on a Friday at five in the morning."

"What can I say? I'm a total sucker for classical conditioning."

"Aren't we all?" He winks.

Farther east, the sun has just begun to rise, and the hall, though hollow, feels like a more intimate space under morning's blue light.

I watch Professor Reed set his things down on the desk up front, and mirroring him across the room at my own, I hazard a sip of the tea he brought me. It's divine, almost floral. "Professor?"

"(y/n)? How is it?"

"Delicious, is there lavender in this?"

"There is, they use an infused honey. Thoughts, comments, concerns?"

"I think this tea is incredible and I'm concerned I'll never know where the café is." I joke.

"Oh its just down the way, little French spot, you've seriously not been? Le Petit something-something?"

It doesn't ring a bell and I shake my head

"No? Really? I'll take you sometime."

My face is hot and there's a beat of silence between us.

"I mean, we can meet there. For a study hour. If, y'know, you'd like to-"

"I, yes- I would love to, study there sometime, I mean, with you- to... research." I beam, praying a smile will somehow translate that atrocious word vomit for me.

"Great. I'll email you later on and we'll sort that out. But for now, (y/n), I'd like to bring up two topics." He holds up a finger.

"One. I would like a small delivery fee. The crispest corner of the scone pleeease." I pull it from its little waxed bag and for a scone, this thing is huge.

"How about half?"

"If you insist," he smirks. I break the scone, handing him half, which he brings back to his desk, a barely perceptible trail of crumbs following.

"And...the other topic?"

"Ah, yes," he perches his glasses atop his head, continuing "Your email got me thinking. I should explain my stance on the Noble Truths I do agree with."

"I'd hoped you might."

"Suffering springs from an attachment to fleeting concepts. But if life is finite, and all things are fleeting, we would all constantly be suffering all the time with no end in sight because to be human is to connect. If we live in fear of fleeting connections to others and the world around us, we inevitably attempt to shelter ourselves from the pain of loss. This, of course, is a loss in itself. The third noble truth, that suffering can end, I find to be an objective truth. But in the majority of scenarios, the subject of suffering must put its ending into motion."

"Well-said. But you don't believe the Eightfold Path is that solution."

"I don't believe any singular faith holds the solution to anyone's personal suffering. If it did- never mind. What I'm saying is, we are responsible for our own wellbeing and cannot live in fear of connection with others. It's inhuman. Your generation may disagree, being nearly antisocial, but we are social animals by nature. We need to know eachother."

"I do agree with you, actually. Problem solving is a valuable skill and so is the ability to at least try to socialize with a variety of people, generational instability be damned."

"See, I knew I liked you, (y/n). You've got a very good, very reasonable head on your shoulders. Makes me look forward to reading your paper later in the month. I don't generally like to assume, but you strike me as someone who writes well." He smirks.

"Oh, I don't know about that," my cheeks burn, I pray he doesn't notice, but what was once a smirk widens to a grin as he walks over to my desk, crouching before it to catch my downturned gaze.

"Well, I know about that. I know quite a lot about that, actually. Quiet people, their brillance." He speaks softly, as though a louder tone would break something in this moment, would break something in me, and he continues: "The deepest streams are silent."

[featherdusterbelphie]

Please take me out, darling

C/W: love confessions with a side of guns and threats. dubious consent/content ahead!

A/n: based on an intrusive thought that occurred while interning for my SHS school. also also happy valentines :>>

Word count: 1.37k words total.

It was another day interning at the school you were enrolled in. You were in the campus' only faculty room, trying to finish the recent task that your supervisor left you to do. You glance at the text on the bottom part of the monitor, it reads 10:45 AM. It's still a long way to go before the lunch break, so there's no need to rush especially since no one here cares enough either way. Though sometimes you wonder how your internship would've been like if you'd taken a different path….

A knock on the door brings you out of your thoughts, and one of your classmates peeks his head in. You peek around your chair to see Belphegor.

Your classmate's eyes wandered around the room, before landing on you, who was waiting on him awkwardly. You don't speak much with him, he seems very reclusive and picky with the people he hangs out with. You were still technically a newcomer at this point, three months in since you were forced to attend face-to-face classes in this school despite not paying for that originally.

You also have trouble trying to understand what his expressions mean, they all look the same to you despite what his twin says. He's called "Belphie" by his twin and his friends, but you don't dare attempt to be so forward and assume he's chill with you as he is with everyone else. You imagine he'd murder you if you tried. You swivel the chair around and ask, "Hi…." You try, clearing your throat at how weak your voice sounded. "Belphegor, how can I help you?"

He takes a minute to just stare at you. Again, you can't tell what he's thinking but from the look in his eyes, judging you like he always does when you're near him. "Is your supervisor here?"

You glance at the empty desk to the right and shake your head, while Belphegor stares at you the entire time. "I need you to follow me," he motions for you to come closer, and you stand (thinking it must be important) as he opens the door wider for you to exit the room. He ignores you when you try to ask, heading up to the third floor with you in tow. He leads you to one of the quieter hallways, a glance up notes the lack of a surveillance camera. He leads you further down, closer to the stairs that go up to the right wing of the fourth floor which looks like it hasn't seen the light of day in years. His finger points at the ground beneath the first step. "Stand there."

Confused, you follow his request and stand on the stairs, looking down at him from your elevated position. He was quiet again, staring at you, and you stare back at him, expectant. What the hell is he planning?

"Sit down."

You slowly lower yourself down on the step above where your feet are and await Belphegor's next command. You look up at him and took the chance to try to guess what goes on in his sleepy eyes as he shrugged his bag off and rummaged through it. This is the first time that he has sought you out himself, most often it was you who tried to communicate with him or his twin helped relay the message for you, so it was indeed a curious situation.

Pulling you out of your musings was a crisp white envelope with a high quality wax seal. What…?

"Open it."

You glance up at him, brows slightly furrowed as you try to piece together what it was. Was he asking you for funds because he was assigned to be the school's treasurer and you weren't aware? Was this an elaborate prank? Or is this something important? You decide to open it up anyway, to sate your curiosity.

Inside is a piece of folded paper. It was one of those expensive, colorful paper that had beautiful floral embellishments on the surface, and a scent to match each color. A quick whiff of some flower you're not familiar with snakes its way into your senses as you unfolded the lavender colored paper. Inside, you catch a simple message written in neat, impressively aligned handwriting;

"I like you."

You blink, staring at the words incredulously. He…what? He likes you? What- how- when?? You guys haven't exactly been on the best of terms at all and you were barely acquaintances, only ever being in the same room because of class or because his brother invited you over. How did he?? You've barely spoken to each other! This was a mistake right?

A glance up has you glancing down again, sheepish as you catch Belphegor's intense eyes staring down at you, as if he's scrutinizing every expression on your face. You gulp, suddenly nervous. Oh god… look, there's a reason why you're fumbling with this. It's not because he's ugly or anything, or that he's not your type. Honestly, you don't know what your type is as you've never really thought much about these things before, let alone actually get a love letter in your entire life.

You just don't know what to do.

How do you handle something that you've only ever watched happen around you?

Belphegor is cute, certainly, in a very gloomy and sleep-deprived way. He looks like someone who prefers to stay in bed surrounded by the world's softest pillows and blankets, instead of socializing with everyone else, which you respect. Every time you bump into him you wonder how much effort he puts on himself to look good yet also extremely haggard at the same time. He's napping or yawning most of the time, curled up in one of the lobby couches or slouched on a bench.

Then again, you're a very oblivious creature when it comes to these things. Had he been deliberately giving you hints of his feelings and your dumbass didn't catch up? Were the times he was staring into your soul as if he hated you was actually the opposite?

You're certainly not against the idea of whatever this confession will lead you to, but you weren't exactly prepared for it….

"So…" You slowly lower the letter, thumbs nervously rubbing against it's smooth surface, feeling the indents of the paper's design on your fingertips. "Uhm…"

"Did you not read it?"

"I did- uhm, it's just…."

"Just what?"

You try to open your mouth, but you quickly close it up when no response comes to your mind. Well, other than hopelessly making flustered noises from your throat as you try to find a way to get out of this corner (but that's embarrassing so you won't be doing that!).

It seems Belphegor gets impatient when he shuffles on his feet. "I like you. Can we date?"

"Oh, uhm- well, you see-"

It was quick, you're barely given any time to react when you feel something cold and hard press into your neck. Your breaths are shaky, bordering on hyperventilating, fingers clutching tightly unto the now forgotten letter as you stare up at your classmate in shock.

"Can we date or not?"

"A-ah…. Wait…."

There was a click.

"I like you. Can we date?"

You shakily nod, acquiescing to his demands. The gun doesn't lower or move away, but instead terrifyingly presses into your neck even more, and you bite your lip to swallow down a whimper. Fuck fuck fuck what the fuck?!

"Good."

He finally takes the gun away from your neck and shoves it back inside his bag after a click, then he grabs your hand and starts dragging you down the stairs back to the faculty room. "Get your stuff, let's get out of here."

You only dazedly follow after him, still reeling from the shock of it all, numbly picking up your things and grabbing your bag, murmuring a small excuse of "family emergency" to your supervisor before once again being dragged out of the building by your new boyfriend. As you cross the street, hand in hand, you wonder what choices led you to this point. You barely remember that you have to text your mom to let her know what's happening as you're pulled into a black car.

(AO3 version :)

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

3 Pink Roses Mean, "I Love You"

- Nanami Kento (ch9)

synopsis: a confession from Nanami sweeps out. Nobara, being the best assistant ever, helps you pursue a new project, and Nanami comes home late one night to reassure you. A romantic date is planned where feelings blossom. Gojo is also a nosy blob.

series masterlist

For as long as he could remember, Nanami Kento had always kept his emotions under check. Never in his life had he had to control his words, except in the case of Gojo where he really, and his therapist agrees, really exhausts his limits.

The businessman keeps his emotions as generalized as he can, relying on facts rather than emotion, it's what you have to do when you're in the corporate world. The world will believe facts over sentiments any day, it's what you can prove on paper what matters. So it became a habit for him. Ever since his university years, his job managed to solidify those beliefs. Mindlessly stimulate his brain with numbers and graphs until he's just too tired to feel at the end of the day.

Too tired to function.

Two days after your progressive 'movie' night with Nanami, he wakes up earlier than usual, assuring to call out from work for a few hours. He could never not take the day off, wouldn't allow himself.

“So, Nanami, I heard you went on vacation. How did that go?” The woman in front of him smiles, resting her bullet point pen against the spine of her notebook. She doesn't write at this moment, and she knows Nanami is observing if whether or not she'll write this conversation down.

"It went well," he replies, noticing her strands of hair are a darker shade than Gojo's. "I... I went to Boston, with my partner."

“A partner?” Her eyebrows raise in surprise, “You never mentioned you were seeing someone. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” 

“How long have you been together? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Two months.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. They met in June and July was already here, so that did count as two months.

If you were stretching the truth. 

“What did the two of you do in Boston? My husband and I haven’t been to a red socks game in forever and the lobster at Neptune Oyster is to die for.” 

“We visited the Aquarium,” Nanami focuses on the patchwork of her coat, “and we took a boat tour as well.” 

“Sounds like the two of you are compatible.”

“What makes you say that, Doctor?”

“You strike me as a relaxed fellow, Nanami. I’m sure your partner is the same? Unless she’s more enthusiastic, of course.” she holds a knowing smile, “because I could see that working out.”

“She’s…" Nanami searches for the words, "smart, well intentioned, independent, compassionate...”

“Sounds like a determined woman if you ask me.” the professional points out with a short chuckle. “It also sounds like she’s someone special because I’ve never heard you talk so highly about anyone. Not like your co-worker,” she notices Nanami roll his eyes, making her bite back a smile.

“Has this partner positively affected your day-to-day life?” 

“She makes me look forward to coming back home,” he replies. 

“Oh, so the two of you live together?”

Nanami freezes, fuck. 

“We... uh… we made the decision to move in before Boston…”

“So is that like a honeymoon thing?” she asks, genuinely curious, “Because I know younger people like to skip the-”

“-It was just for fun,” he quickly clarifies, “the trip.” and the word fun rolls off his tongue with such foreignness that even he can feel a shift in the room.

A moment passes by before the woman smiles at him.

“Well, that’s good to hear.” she says before adjusting a photo of her with a young man, Nanami presumes, no older than 21 wearing a cap and gown. 

“That’s my son,” she grins, following Nanami's eyes, unashamed to show off her son, “Michael, 21. Graduated in Economics from NYU. I believe you were a student there as well?”

“Only for Law.”

“Oh, so you’re a Lawyer?”

“No." He shakes his head, "I dropped after my 2nd year.”

“Change of career?”

“More like change of life,” he answers dryly, “My… my father was a Lawyer, and he owned a law firm of his own…”

“Then... what happened?"

"I… I’m not a good person," Nanami's voice feels caught through his windpipes. It is only then when Nanami decides to take the covers off. He thinks that if he were ever to unveil such personal detail of his life, then everyone around him would flee, and see him as the bastard he deserves to be called.

"I’m not a good person because... I ruined someone’s life."

“This is a lovely painting," Nobara sighs in content, "tell me, where in the world did your boyfriend buy this for you?”

As you and your interior designer admired your painting from the living room, you couldn’t help but stiffen as she was not aware of any arrangements you had with Nanami, like the fact the two of you slept in separate bedrooms. Nobara had suggested you hang the painting in your ‘shared’ bedroom', but the idea was immediately thrown out the window along with placing the painting in the hallway. 

“It was at an auction in Boston,” the palm of your hand rests on the back of your neck, “I actually didn’t know it was an auction until Nanami and I reached the end of the art gallery.”

“Wow, so you’re telling me he had to bargain for this baby?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say-”

“-Did he compete with anyone? What was the starting bid?” You could see the apparent interest in her voice that made your cheeks warm. Nobara’s passion for art and design peeked through the cracks of her voice, dying for an answer. 

“It was a starting bid of $12,500 and there was just one bidder apart from him.”

“How much did he pay for it?” she asked. 

“$25,000 dollars.” 

The realization of your confession didn’t sink until after Nobara’s widened eyes. You lucky girl! No wonder why you were so quiet and against putting this baby in your bedroom! You want your guests to see this work! 

Nobara’s hands were freshly moisturized that you could see the glistening lotion through the sun’s rays hitting her skin. The large windows to your shared apartment were expansive, granting you and anyone who stepped foot into your home an impressive view of San Francisco. Large buildings, primarily from tech-related businesses to the view of the Golden Gate Bridge itself. If you tilted your head a little more to the right, you could see the full bridge, but you stood place as you heard Nobara’s words of excitement for you. 

“I can’t believe this marks the end of our project, I was really hoping to do more, but-”

“-wait,” you stop her, “maybe there is. I’ve been wanting to do something, but I’d like your word on it. C-can I take you upstairs? To the rooftop, that is?”

That day, you learned that it was possible to impress Nobara Kugisaki with your words, allowing her into your home was already a delight for her, so you would only hope she would accept your idea as you took her to the rooftop of the building.

“It’s a bit dusty up here,” you admit, “who knows when the last time anyone came up here was, but can we fix this? Maybe add a small furniture piece or even fairy lights?”

“We can do that,” Nobara softly kicked the leg of one of the abandoned plastic chairs with the point of her boot. She turned to you. 

“By when do you want this complete?”

“Before the 4th of July.”

“That’s possible...” she contemplates, “...but I do want one thing.” 

Your eyes widen at her first ever request, “what is it?”

"Take a picture with Nanami outside," she smiles. "I'll check when the best hour for firework sightings is, but I'm pretty sure this rooftop has one of the best views in San Franciso." She suggests, possibly reading your mind, "Plan a picnic with him out here, get all romantic, and enjoy yourself. That's all I want to see- a happy couple in love."

Her words make you blush, filling your heart with hope, and maybe something more. This idea could work. You could do something special for Nanami, make his day worth something, and fulfill your obvious role as his fake girlfriend. But were you taking your role too seriously? You could care less, focusing instead on the details for Saturday. Hopeful for a successful... date?

"A little birdie told me someone's turning a year older todayy," Gojo's words echoed as Nanami worked in his desk, arriving to his desk, Satoru plops down a party hat, a few decorative birthday accessories that were probably way too much, and a birthday candle- the kind that exaggeratingly lights up like a firework.

A few days after Nanami's appointment, he had been extra cordial around you. And as expected, he was not home during the hours you were up, either leaving too early or arriving too late. He was thankful for your understanding, and the lunch break messages would now appear every 2-3 days. Nanami figured you were either giving him the space he needed, or you were too busy to message. Either way, he was grateful no one had made a big deal about this as much.

"So tell me," Gojo leans forward and rests his elbows on top of Nanami's paperwork, "What will Nanami Kento do tonight? Does he have a date? Is he seeing his girlfriend?"

Knowing he was striking a chord, Nanami grunts, giving him a displeased look until he freezes, noting the small loaf of banana bread he would frequent from his favorite bakery. His shoulders visibly relaxed. "How did you know."

"It's easy to figure out your birthday, also Facebook has these crazy reminders- you should try them out. The other day I forgot it was my Grandma's birthday and that website came in clut-"

"-I didn't need to know all of that information," Nanami says, then sighs, "but... thank you."

Astonished by his oddly accepting demeanor, Satoru's eyes widen. "Wait- don't tell me- did something happen with your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfr-"

"-Side chick,"

"She's not a side chick."

"Okay... uh... friends with benefits?"

"I'm offended you think I might even consider that,"

"Okay, sheesh." Satoru huffs a piece of stray hair from his forehead, "Lady friend," he hears no complaint from Nanami and Satoru takes this as a silent victory. "I assume you guys are going out?"

"In this weekend?" Nanami questions, "it's a holiday, traffic is horrible, and I'd rather stay in."

"God," Satoru makes a noise of disgust, "I forgot how boring you can be. Let's hope Mrs. Lady-Friend makes something out of this," he says as he now stands, leaning against the desk. A long moment passes as he now eyes the banana loaf.

"Now give me a smile because I've got to take a photo with my best co-worker buddy,"

It isn't until past 11 when Nanami comes home exhausted that he notices you're still miraculously up. With a bun of messy hair, the laptop charger sitting under on the table gives him the impression that you've been here for some time. “You came.”

“I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“You didn’t.” you exhale, “I figured you’d show up.”

Nanami suddenly feels her stare at him harder, “Whose birthday was it?”

“Huh?" he asks before looking down at his chest, crap. He forgot to take off the decorations Satoru made him wear. Both a party hat and birthday shoulder sling decorate his upper body.

"A-a coworker of mine wanted to celebrate my birthday.” he awkwardly stands.

“It... it’s your birthday?” 

“It’s fine,” he regrets saying it was his birthday now, “I-I even forgot it was my own.”

“But I didn’t know,” she mutters to herself in self-disappointment. “I… I should have asked…”

“It’s fine, we never really got to that part in our relationship.”

“But I should have known,” she defends with a slight frown, “It’s… it’s my job to make this relationship feel easy-” He suddenly cuts you off.

“-This is not a job that should feel like it’s a burden. It’s not your fault. Blame me too, I don’t know your birthday either.”

“But you’re always so busy…”

Not for you, he wants to say. Instead, he takes a step forward, placing his hands at the sides of her arms in reassurance. This is what couples do, right?

“Don’t give yourself a headache over this.” He tells you, your breathing deepens when his hands massage her arms. Nanami notices you're uncertain by the way she turns to her feet.

“Look at me,” he softly says.

“None of this was under your control.”

Taking you by surprise, he presses your body against his, arms wrapping themselves around your waist, and your face buries itself on his chest. 

“I know," you breathe, " ’m sorry.” 

“Why on earth are you apologizing for?”

"I don't know... I feel like I failed you.''

"There's no way you failed me, sweet girl." he says, softly placing a gentle hand on the back of your head as you lean against him, eyes closed and mind too full to notice what was going on right now. "I should've discussed holidays and birthdays with you, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to become so taxing for you." glancing down towards you he speaks once more. "How about we do something this weekend, hm? go out?"

"Mhm," you hum, feeling him pull you closer, not saying anything yet as you had plans and surprises in store for him. ''You came late today."

"I did,"

“Will you be working tomorrow?” a gleam of hope surpasses your eyes, “it’ll be the 4th.”

Nanami shrugs, “I fail to see how that’s a holiday worth celebrating given this country’s historical and current standing.” he pauses, face softening, “but I’ll make an exception. Did you have something planned already?”

“Sorta,” you bite the inside your cheek, “but it doesn’t have to 4th of July focused, we can just celebrate your birthday.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “so what did you have in mind?”

“Can’t tell you,” you smile, “it’s a surprise.”

He chuckles, "Of course. Well... I'll be off tomorrow at 4, will that work for you?"

"It sounds perfect."

"Very well," you can't really see if the corner of his lip tugs upwards in the dim light, but you imagine it does by the sound of his voice. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yes," you breathe, breathless almost. "Don't work too hard, okay?"

As he makes his way towards his room, he thinks, for you? this is nothing.

a/n: I am terrible with taglists. I promise I will redo them. let me know in the comments if you'd like to be tagged/removed.

tag list: @mishroses @musegonemad @sweetteez @kachowness @summerli-u @r0ses4ndlilies @justoutheretrynaread @citrusteaa @fic-for-readers

previous // next