#but he pulls it off well with is own style too ^^

[goquokka00]

Little Kitten

Summary: With a busy schedule and a comeback just around the corner, Minho had been getting more and more stressed by the minute. Thankfully, he had you. And you were more than happy to give him just what he needed.

Pairing: Minho X Reader (F!)

Genre: Smut (18+)

Warnings: use of lingerie, reader dresses like a cat, praise kink, dirty talk, Dom! Minho, oral sex (M! recieving), throat fucking, penetrative doggy style sex (wrap it before you tap it please!), Minho cums down reader's mouth, sweetie Minho afterwards, 100% 18+ (seriously like if you're a minor don't read pls and thank you <3)

Word Count: 2.3K

It had been a long, long week. Minho had gone through photoshoots, recording sessions, dance practice, vocal studies, promotions, interviews, signings...all he wanted was to just lay down and sleep some. But even that was too much to ask. Each time he had a second to breathe, he had to give it up to do something else for his job. And it was seriously getting on his nerves.

You could easily tell. He'd grunt and grumble instead of talking with you. He didn't kiss you as much, instead opting for the bed. If you didn't know any better, he loved the bed more than he loved you, his own girlfriend.

No offense taken.

You understood that Minho had a lot on his mind. But you also understood that Minho needed a distraction. Something to take his mind off of everything that was stressing him out. And thankfully, as his girlfriend and someone who knew him well, you had just the plan. All you had to do was set it into motion.

And so, while laying in bed one night after Minho had passed out (a now common occurrence), you sent a few texts to Bangchan to find out when Minho's next day off would occur. And after getting the date, you headed over to amazon to get some items that would be necessary for said plan. The most important was cat ears and a cat tail anal plug.

The lingerie came next; you decided on a black lace two piece. You also bought a collar with a small silver bell, some fluffy black handcuffs, and a little leash to go along with your outfit.

You still remember when it arrived, and Minho was there to receive the package. You rushed home, ripping it out of his grasp in a panic, not wanting to spoil the surprise. It was a close call, and a lot of lying and persuading, but...you eventually dodged that bullet.

And finally, after waiting for what felt like an eternity, the day arrived. It was a slow morning, Minho sleeping in until late morning before coming to eat the late breakfast you had made him. And after visiting and such for a bit, Minho went off to spend some time with Jisung, since you swore the two were secretly married.

Not that you minded, of course.

He kissed you goodbye, saying that he'd be back at 7 with dinner so the two of you could have some quality time together. And the second that door closed, you hopped onto a call with Hyunjin and Changbin, setting your phone up so they could see you and the outfit you were going to surprise Minho with later.

Why did you show them? Because they were dating. And only you and Stray Kids knew.

"Okay, okay. So, we're gonna start with these." With that, you held up the cat ears, sliding it onto your head before showing the two.

"Oh, he's gonna die." Changbin instantly commented, Hyunjin laughing at his response. "What? He is! He loves cats, he loves Y/n...I think he might actually implode!"

"Well, duh. But I don't think he'd implode." Hyunjin said, smiling as he looked closer at you. "He's definitely gonna fuck you, though."

"Good, that's what I want." You said with a laugh. And then, you pulled out the lingerie. "I also got this and a tail to go with."

"Oh my god..." Hyunjin said, looking at the set you had bought.

"Well, if he wasn't gonna implode, he's definitely gonna implode now." Changbin spoke.

"Yeah, no, I agree." Hyunjin nodded, making you laugh.

"I thought you said he wouldn't implode before!" You commented.

"That was before I knew about the lingerie, Y/n!"

"Well, I also got a cat tail butt plug too, so--"

"YOU GOT A WHAT?!" Hyunjin and Changbin both interrupted you, their jaws to the floor as you laughed and showed them the tail and the plug.

Well, if his other members thought that he was gonna be happy, then you guessed he'd be happy.

After that call, you finally started to get ready. You slid on the lingerie, lubed up the butt plug and slid it in, got the cat ears on and styled your hair and makeup, and put the final touches on your look. And once you finished up, you heard the door open.

He was here.

You quickly got onto the bed, sitting with your knees spread and hands between your legs, sitting up with a good posture as you waited patiently. And then, Minho called out.

"Y/n, I'm back!" And as he walked closer, you could hear him set the bags of food down. Oh, you were going to enjoy this.

"I'm just in the bedroom, Min!" You knew that he'd come to you. He always came to you when you weren't in the same room. And sure enough, the door opened. And in walked Minho, his eyes instantly locking onto you. Instantly, he froze, taking you in.

You were perfect. The lingerie perfectly showed off your curves, highlighting your breasts and hips beautifully. And that tail and those ears...it was absolutely stunning.

"Fuck..." Minho couldn't help but mutter it as he walked closer to you, taking you in and placing his hand onto your cheek, watching as you nuzzled into his hand. "What's all this?"

"Do you like it, baby?" You smiled up at him, an innocent look on your face. God, Minho couldn't wait to ruin you. "I figured you'd like a small surprise after working so hard..."

"Oh, I love this small surprise..." Minho smiled, looking at you before placing his hands on your shoulders, watching as you continued to look up at him. "You gonna be a good girl for me tonight?"

And you nodded. "Mhm...gonna be good."

Minho liked that answer. He hummed, smirking as he lifted your chin, seeing you close your eyes and smile softly. Yeah...he was gonna enjoy this. "Good..."

And from there, he took his hands off of you, going to undo his belt. You watched, only to hear him click his tongue.

"Ah ah, eyes up here, kitten." Minho then used one of his hands to guide your gaze back up to his eyes, his other hand pulling his belt off before slipping his button off of his pants. "Already so eager...I love that, but you gotta be patient..."

You just hummed, keeping your eyes on his, ignoring the sound of Minho's zipper slide. And then, his hand left your chin so he could pull his pants and boxers down. And your eyes stayed on him.

"Good girl..." Minho smirked as he praised you, his cock now out and ready to go. "Such a good girl for wanting to help me relax...even dressed all pretty for me. You wouldn't do that for anyone else, would you?"

"Mm-mm..." You hummed, shaking your head. That only got Minho's smile wider.

"That's right..." From there, Minho stroked his cock, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before forcing your head to gently (but firmly) look at him. "You're gonna continue to be good and suck my cock, isn't that right?" And as you nodded, Minho hummed, smiling. "Yeah, you are..."

And with that, he stood back up, letting you finally look down at his dick. And it didn't take you long to go and kiss and lick along his length, sliding his tip into your mouth before swirling your tongue around him. All the while, Minho groaned, sliding his shirt off before gathering your hair and holding it up for you, guiding you down his dick.

"That's a good girl...bet that cock tastes good, huh? You're drooling all over that dick, kitten..." All the while, you moaned, continuing to suck him off. Eventually, he pushed you down, his dick pressing against your throat, causing you to gag and be let up. "Good girl...breathe...that's it."

You just hummed, seeing the drool dripping off of his cock. But before you could take a bit longer to catch your breath, Minho was putting his cock against your lips once more, prodding into your warm mouth.

"Open..." And you did. You opened your mouth, letting Minho put his length back inside, guiding you once more. "That's it...god, can I fuck your mouth? You'll make me feel so good, beautiful...blink three times if you'll let me."

And blink three times you did.

It was less than a second when Minho smirked, gripping your head before forcing you down his cock, using your mouth as a fleshlight. Saliva was dripping from your chin and stringing onto Minho's cock, tears flooding down your eyes as Minho abused your mouth. But god, it was so good...you were living in that moment.

It wasn't long before Minho pulled out of your mouth, making you gasp for air and cough, leaning down to try and take a second. And all the while, Minho watched, petting your hair.

"Easy... breathe..." Minho eventually guided you to look back up at him, his eyes now soft as they met yours. "You okay? Wanna stop for a minute?"

You shook your head, swallowing before looking up at him. "No, I'm okay..."

Oh, Minho couldn't be prouder. He placed a kiss to your forehead once more, smiling down at you as he spoke. "Alright...on the bed, all fours. We'll give that pretty mouth a bit of a break, yeah?"

You didn't have to be told twice. You instantly moved back onto the bed, turning before propping your ass up, keeping your torso close to the bed. Your back arched beautifully, just as it always did for Minho. And you could hear him groan as he saw your cunt's outline in your panties.

"Fuck, look at you..." Minho stepped closer, his hands sliding into your panties before sliding them down, his thumb pressing against your clit. That made you moan, pushing your pussy into his touch, silently begging for more. "So wet already...sucking my dick got you so excited, didn't it kitten?"

You responded by nodding, keeping your eyes back on him. Anything that Minho did got you turned on. There wasn't any getting around it. And Minho knew it, too.

"Damn straight...don't worry, I'll be sure to treat this pussy well, beautiful..." And with that, Minho lined up, prodding against your entrance before sliding the tip in. And instantly, the both of you moaned, your thighs trembling as Minho continued to sink into you. "God, I missed this cunt so much...it's just as tight as it always is..."

It was so good, that Minho couldn't keep still. He instantly began to thrust, keeping a nice tempo while hitting all of those good spots inside of you, giving him every noise he wanted from you. He knew your body well...he knew exactly what to do to get you to whine, to moan, to whimper.

"That's a good girl...keep making all of those delicious sounds while I give you my dick...such a good girl for me, aren't you...?" Minho growled, his hand going to your neck to keep your torso to the bed. You simply moaned, the pathetic sound ringing out as Minho started to thrust harder. Faster.

"M-Min....fuck, so good...your dick is so good, Min!" You could barely contain your moans, not that Minho cared. He simply let out a low groan himself, a smirk leaving him as he snaked his hand under your waist, his thumb finding your clit before pressing. He knew he wouldn't have to rub it...his thrusts were moving your body enough that it was causing friction, which made you cry out.

"You gonna cum for me, kitten? Milk my cock with that pussy?"

"M-Mhm--"

"Ah ah, words."

"Ye-Yes!"

"Yeah?" Minho just continued, hitting your spots inside of you harder. Pressing and prodding, making your body tremble. "Go ahead, gorgeous...cum."

And that's exactly what you did. You cried out, your body officially squirming as your pussy clenched. You gripped the sheets, feeling Minho slow down enough to ease you down from your high before pulling out and flipping you over to climb up your body. And as you calmed down, you were met with his dick in your face. The same dick that you didn't hesitate to suck on once more, looking up at Minho with desperate eyes.

"That's it, good girl...fuck, cleaning me off after making you cum so good...!" Minho groaned loudly, holding your head up as you let him fuck your throat once more. Thankfully, Minho had already been close from fucking you, and so it didn't take long for him to reach his climax. "Fuck fuck fuck...cumming!"

And like that, you whimpered as you felt his cum go down your throat, swallowing what you could. Your hands went to Minho's thighs, grasping onto him to keep him close before feeling him calm down. And once he was done, you fell back, panting softly.

Minho watched, smiling softly as he went to lean down and kiss your forehead, straightening your cat ears and wiping your lips before kissing them, happy with your performance.

"That's my good girl...let's get you cleaned up now, yeah?" As Minho helped you sit up, you nodded, smiling weakly to him. "Alright...I'll go and get you some water. And after that, I'll get you a bath and we can just sit and soak, alright pretty?"

You nodded again, feeling nothing but love and satisfaction. There was no doubt about it...you definitely got Minho to relieve that stress he had.

And you couldn't be happier to see him so happy.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d @skzlover24

[cynosdaydream]

LOSER'S GAMBIT! - PART 3 (FINAL)

Learning to live is learning to let go.

Now playing: あのね - あれくん and Yuika

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Word count: 3.7k

Author's note: WOWIE i can't believe I have written a full blown series. thank you for all the support that has been given to me while writing this, and I hope you enjoy the final part of loser's gambit!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 (you are here)

Desc: NOT proofread, sylus x f!nonmc!reader, mentions of zayne, zayne lowk regrets, emotional vulnerability, just soft stuff, tiniest smidge of hurt/comfort

You felt the cool air of the night hit your skin as you took off your helmet. Well, not your helmet, you thought, handing it back to the silver-haired man in front of you. "Here's your helmet." You said, patting it a few times to dust whatever dirt it might have accumulated on the ride home off. "Thank you, my dear. See, the ride home wasn't so dangerous, was it?" Sylus purrs. You roll your eyes, remembering how he might or might not have almost hit a pedestrian on the way to your house.

"Is it the new 'in' thing to call almost crashing into a civilian 'not so dangerous'?" You question, tilting your head to the side as you gingerly step off his motorcycle, careful not to strain any of your injuries. Sylus rolls his eyes, claiming, "He was wearing a completely black outfit in the dead of night. He should consider himself lucky I was only going 30 kilometers per hour for you."

The both of you converse and laugh on the way up to your apartment, and you must have laughed a little too hard, because you tripped over your own feet while chuckling at Sylus' lame attempt at a joke. You close your eyes, arms stretching out on instinct to brace your fall. And then you realised that you had also sustained wounds on your arms, and that this minor fall was going to make them hurt like a bitch. Sighing, you accepted your fate as the ground got closer and closer.

A hand catches you by the collar, and another grounds itself on your side, pulling you up gently. Sylus helps you back on your feet, shaking his head while his eyes scan your form for any more injuries sustained. However, instead of thanking him, his featherlight touch and concerned gestures make you remember his earlier 'confession', and you were now starkly aware that his hands were rolling up your sleeves to check if any wounds reopened.

Helpless, you opened your mouth to try and say something, anything -- but words of thanks felt like they were lodged in your throat as you watched Sylus frown at the sight of your bandaged arms. Finally, when he deemed you unhurt, he let go of your arms, and his eyes trailed up to meet yours. "I cannot stress this enough, dearest, but you need to be more careful." He pinches the bridge of his nose with a hand on his hip, and his frown slowly transformed into a mischievous grin. "Should I carry you the rest of the way up?"

The combination of the pet name and the suggestion of being carried princess style was flustering you to the maximum. But... if he was really going to be your boyfriend (was he already? technically not, right? since he said to wait patiently for a real confession. but he kind of confessed already! this is way too confusing...), you were willing to be a bit bolder. Ah, you missed someone caring about you like this. "I'm not that helpless." You state confidently, even though that was exactly how you were feeling, but for a completely different reason. "Maybe you should hold my hand, though. So, if I fall, I'm taking you down with me."

Afraid of possible rejection, you waste no time in swiftly slotting your hand in his, curling your fingers into the gaps between his. When you're turned away from embarrassment, Sylus smiles softly at you, inwardly relieved that you're comfortable enough with him to engage in these kinds of gestures. "Very bold of you to assume your weight would pull me down. It takes a lot more to bring me to my knees, you know." Sylus' silken voice cuts the air, and it only makes your face grow warmer at his suggestive tone. "You are genuinely so irritating. If we were in the 1940s, I would be throwing tomatoes at you right now." You huff, tugging him into the elevator with you.

You somehow make it to your living room without bursting into flames with how hot your face was, and you hastily dropped your whole weight down onto the couch. Your friend-boyfriend-whatever followed suit, but not before asking you whether you needed anything. "Water? A blanket? Snacks?" Sylus asked slowly, the slightest bit of concern in his voice. "Calm down, silly. You've only been to my house once and stayed in my living room the whole time. I doubt you'd know where I keep my blankets." You sigh, turning your head to look at him. "Just come closer." Maybe it was the fatigue from the whole wanderer-hospital ordeal, but you felt whatever hesitation or embarrassment melt away like ice thawing in the sun.

Sylus quirks his eyebrow at you, but doesn't say anything. He shifts closer to you, and carefully rests an arm on your shoulders, extremely careful not to touch your injured abdomen with his movements. After a few beats of shuffling around trying to get comfortable, he finally speaks. "Now, what does my darling wish to do?"

"Your darling wishes to watch a movie." You inform him casually, adding an afterthought, "And maybe a snack or two." The low rumble of your stomach reminded you that you hadn't had a proper meal since the wanderer attack. You get up from your seat to get a snack a little too quickly, accidentally straining the large wound on your abdomen. Wincing, your body is quickly forced back down onto the couch. Sylus' hands are there to ground you for the second time tonight, but this time he doesn't make any comment or playful jab about your mannerisms, and instead gets up to find the snacks himself.

You yelp in protest, telling him that you didn't want him to go through all the trouble of finding where the snacks were and picking out the ones you specifically wanted. Sylus merely tells you to stay put, saying, "I've navigated underground bases so complex it would make even the most skilled architect's head spin. I'm sure I'll be able to open a few cupboards and slide open a few drawers. Just give me a brief description of the tidbits you want and I'll find them for you."

After a few minutes of nodding and shaking your head, the both of you were settled down in the dim lighting of your living room, eyes fixated on the glowing screen in front of you. You don't know how Sylus managed to find out where you kept your blankets, but you didn't question it as the comforting warmth of the cotton made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

The flickering of the television before you and the warmth enveloping you eventually lulled you into a deep slumber, and you felt a ghost of a kiss upon your forehead before your eyelids fluttered shut.

"Sweet dreams, kitten."

Today was just one of those days where everything was just the slightest bit worse. The weather outside your window was bleak and dreary, with grey clouds masking the sun's brightness, but not heavy enough to bring rain. Your take-out lunch order had gotten delayed by an hour, leaving you grumpy and hungry in your home. To make matters worse, since you had only recently recovered from your injuries, you were only given stay-at-home work to do, or simple recon missions. And today was one of those days where you were stuck at home, mindlessly typing some passionless response to a corporate email.

Finally, to really top it all off, you had noticed a small box in the corner of your room that you must have forgotten to unpack when you moved in, only to find that it was filled with small trinkets that your previous boyfriend, Zayne, had gotten you when you were dating. I guess I wasn't ready to fully let him go when I moved in. At first, you didn't think much of it, preparing to throw it all out, but as you sorted through the mess of items and letters, a small part of your heart still ached. The keychains and charms were reminders of how Zayne had remembered small details about you, noting down your likes and dislikes. Every letter seemed so intricate, affirmations of affection written in his cursive doctor handwriting.

However, as you finished reading each note and finished running your fingers over each trinket and set them aside in neat stacks, you realised that your heart didn't throb painfully because you missed Zayne as a lover. Your heart throbbed because you missed being loved. You missed having someone to annoy without any repercussion, and longed to be held in another's arms as you drift off to sleep. You sigh, putting the lid back on the box and standing up with the intention of discarding the whole box.

I want to be seen, to love and be loved so deeply it rattles my soul.

Unbeknownst to you, your silver-haired companion had entered your apartment silently, and was standing at your room door, leaning against the frame. "Everything alright, darling? You seem a little distressed."

The sudden intrusion makes you jump in surprise, almost dropping the box that you were holding. "Sylus! When did you get here?" You nervously say, fingers tapping against the box. "Not too long ago, but don't try to dodge my question." His brows are furrowed, but his eyes were soft, almost hesitant. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Even though you felt like talking about your ex-boyfriend to your crush was breaking some moral code within you, you couldn't hide anything from Sylus. You knew he wouldn't push for information if you really didn't want to tell him, but you figured you trusted him enough to tell him anyways.

"I... don't really know, to be honest." You let out a mirthless laugh. You take off the lid of the box again, allowing him to see the contents inside. "I found this today. I don't know why I'm upset, really. It's all in the past." You begin, sitting down on the floor and tucking your legs neatly beneath you. "I just... I don't know. Sorry." It was hard to articulate exactly how you were feeling; it wasn't yearning, it wasn't longing, it was more of a gentle ache.

Sylus remains silent, only making noise when he shuffles to join you on the floor, legs straight in front of him. You sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder as you try to mould your feelings into sentences with actual structure.

"I miss having...someone, you know? Like, my own person. Someone to be there with me. It was nice with Zayne at first, but the situation just got from bad to worse." You fidget with the box. The words hang heavy in the air. "Even though the upsides of leaving outweighed the downsides, there were still downsides to leaving. I think I just want someone to love me, not just like me."

"It makes me wonder sometimes, was I not good enough? Was I not skilled enough a hunter, not caring enough a girlfriend? Did I not visit him enough at the hospital, or did I not pay enough attention to our relationship?"

The words linger in the air, and for a second, you're scared that you may have overshared. "Sorry, you don't have to say anything-"

Sylus cuts you off by plucking the box right out of your hands and walks out of the room to place it somewhere else in the house. You hear the soft thud of the cardboard hitting the floor, and firm footsteps before Sylus walks back into your room and lifts you up onto your bed. You were confused, but patted the empty space next to you to signal him to sit down anyway. He sits, and turns his head towards you while he clasps your hands in his.

Garnet red eyes bore into yours, gaze grounded and unwavering. "No more of that. No more of this self-depreciating nonsense. You're not 'not enough' and have never been 'not enough'. That doctor was just too blind to see how well you treated him; how much you were willing to put up with for him."

"You're much too brave and beautiful for him. I've seen you fight wanderers straight out of hell and bounce back up to your feet right after. I know you. You're strong, and even if you mourn the relationship now, I know you'll come back ten times better and healthier."

You stare at Sylus, not believing the words that just came out of his mouth. "Sylus..." you trail off, not sure how to thank him for his reassurance. You felt so seen -- not just noticed, not just glanced atm but seen. He hadn't been put off by your sour mood, and hadn't looked away uncomfortably as you poured your heart out to him. Instead, he took the time to understand what you were feeling and put himself in your shoes, and ultimately come up with a response that was both comforting and reassuring.

"Thank you. So much." You say, tears forming in your eyes. "I really needed this."

"Anytime. Shall you ever need me again, just contact me. I'll be there in a heartbeat."

He intertwines your fingers, gesturing for you to lay into a more comfortable position.

After a few minutes, you are safely tucked under the covers, your head laying comfortably on Sylus' chest. His hands rest on your head, making gentle motions on your neck to lull you to sleep. The dim sky and soothing atmosphere seem to make sleep call your name enticingly, and you find your eyelids quickly fluttering shut.

A few months later, you find yourself scrambling in your room, trying on various outfits while trying not to trip over the clothes scattered across the floor. Earlier that morning, Sylus had shot you a text, asking if you were free to meet up at a certain restaurant for dinner. You had excitedly said yes, not wanting to pass up on an opportunity to spend time with your soon to be boyfriend the man that you liked.

However, as you checked the address that he had sent you (you insisted on travelling there yourself, much to his dismay), you realised that the restaurant that Sylus had invited you to for a meal was conveniently the one that you had gotten stood up by Zayne at.

But you didn't feel an uncomfortable twist in your chest or a churning in your stomach at the mention of it. Sure, you had a bad experience with your ex-boyfriend there, but that restaurant also sold all of your favourite foods, and it was where you had first met Sylus.

It was time to let go of all the past memories with Zayne, and make new ones with Sylus.

"Would this one or this one go better with my outfit?" You ask, holding two different earrings up to the camera. You were on a call with Tara and Simone, and they were once again helping you to decide on what to wear for a date. They unanimously decide on the one on the right, and you hook them onto your ears immediately.

"That silver bracelet would look amazing with that top!" Tara exclaims enthusiastically.

"Really? I think the jade one suits her better." Simone interjects.

"Yeah, it suits her better, but the silver one matches better with the outfit!"

"How does that make sense? If it suits her, it'll suit the outfit because the outfit suits her."

"You're the one not making sense, Simone!"

"Guys, it's not illegal to wear both of them, you know?"

After what felt like hours, you were finally done picking out what to wear and what to bring. "Thanks again, guys!" You say cheerfully, waving as you hit the red 'disconnect' button. You stare at yourself in the mirror, scrutinizing every detail - and you came to the conclusion that you looked good. Satisfied, you picked your keys off your table and walked out the door.

You let out a nervous breath before you step into the restaurant. It was just how you remembered it - but this time, it was completely empty, and you spot a single table with candles and a vase of flowers placed in the middle of it. While you walked over, a hand on your shoulder made you jump. You turn, coming face to face with none other than Sylus.

"My, aren't you early?" He said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he pulled out the chair for you. "You're stunning."

You laugh, flattered. "You're not too bad yourself, y'know? I didn't even know you could dress fancier than you already do on a daily basis." You admit, brushing your hands against his button-down shirt.

"And you booked out the whole place for the both of us? That's so sweet."

"Hmph, you don't deserve anything less."

The both of you exchange some banter and conversations as you wait for the food to arrive. You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your lips for far too long to be considered platonic.

When the courses eventually arrive, you're swept off your feet by how amazing it tastes. "By astra, I swear the food usually doesn't taste this good." You mutter in awe, mouth full. Sylus merely chuckles. "I'm glad the food is to your liking, __. I had it specially enhanced and modified to suit your tastes better." Your eyes widened, suddenly aware of how much effort he had put into this date dinner. "I can't thank you enough, Sylus. This is amazing, you really didn't have to." Feeling bashful, you offer him a bite of your food off your fork. He takes it wordlessly, eyes never leaving yours.

"Like I mentioned earlier, you don't deserve anything less than this. I require only the best for my beautiful woman." Sylus coos, adjusting your earring that had somehow gone lopsided while you were eating. You felt your face grow hot at his words and playfully flicked his forehead. "You tease."

What neither of you noticed was a particular pair of people standing outside the window of the restaurant you were in.

"Zayne, I want to eat here!" MC said cheerfully, tugging Zayne along by his hand. He glanced at the place MC was looking at, and his nose scrunched in discomfort as he remembered what he did, or what he didn't do, the last time this restaurant was involved.

Ever since you and him broke up, he holed himself up in his office, only coming out for important meetings or surgeries. Sometimes, even MC couldn't get him out of that cold, sterile room. The feeling of regret and sorrow seemed to creep up on him in the late hours of the night, eating away at his conscience. Of course, it was right of you to leave him - he knew he had been neglecting you, but it didn't make you leaving hurt any less. These feelings only became worse when he saw you being carried into the hospital by your 'boyfriend', unconscious and bloody.

Why didn't I try to make more of an effort?

"It doesn't seem to be open, MC. I don't see any people inside." Zayne remarks, peering through the windows. Despite this, MC insists on just looking at the menu outside the door, and he follows her without complaint. As she looks at the menu, pointing to various different things she wanted to try the next time they had an opportunity to eat here, Zayne noticed two figures inside the restaurant, illuminated by the soft candlelight.

Your back was facing him, but he could recognize Sylus' face as clear as day. Silver hair, striking red eyes - he was hard to miss, and even harder to forget. Zayne's eyes widened in realisation and a feeling of unease settled in his stomach as he watched the scene that was unfolding in front of him. He tries to pull MC away from the menu, but the image was already burned into his mind.

Inside, you were finished with your meal, and now just chatting away with Sylus about life and whatnot. He was being extra flirtatious, dumping smooth compliments on you and being more touchy than usual. You tease him about it with a knowing smirk on your face, "Feeling extra affectionate tonight, aren't we?"

"This is how I always am, darling. You're imagining things." Sylus quips back, albeit a little nervously.

So it didn't really come as a surprise to you as the light suddenly dimmed, and Sylus pulled out a bouquet of flowers that he had been concealing the whole night while kneeling in front of you.

His voice shakes the slightest bit as he starts his confession, clearing his throat a few times before the words start flowing smoothly.

"My dearest __, I'm sure I fell in love with you the day that I laid eyes on you in this very place. At first, your beauty had enraptured me. But along the way, I fell for every other part of you as well. Your bravery, your kindness, your ability to be vulnerable without shame - all these things make my heart beat harder for you, and I wouldn't have it any other way. So now I ask you: will you accept me as your lover?" He finishes with a flourish, holding the bouquet out to you.

Your eyes start welling up with tears as you listen to his confession. Sylus made you feel safe, comfortable and all of those strange, fuzzy feelings. From when you met him until now, he had gone above and beyond for you, always making sure that you could rest easy and feel relaxed in his presence. With a full heart and shaky hands, you answer.

"Is that even a question? Yes, of course, a thousand times over!" You exclaim, clutching the bouquet of flowers and throwing yourself into his arms.

Sylus barely had time to stand up to his full height before you came crashing into his chest, but he held you tightly in his arms anyway. "I couldn't be happier than right now, darling." He whispers against you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Me too." You admit, smiling into his shirt.

The universe works in strange ways. They say that when one door closes, another one opens. Even though the door that closed shut painfully, slamming itself against your fingers as you tried to stop it from closing, the door that had opened in its place led to somewhere beautiful, flourishing and evergreen. And you couldn't wish for anything else.

-END-

taglist:

@mentaltrouble2201, @beaconsxd, @leftpoetrymoon, @noxellaa, @boopershnooper @aboobie , @blorbohunter , @notisekais , @justpassingdontworry @satansdaughter123

[c0wboylikeharry]

THE PACT (h.s fanfic)

(masterlist) || (taglist)

chpt 5

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: Y/N and Harry have always had a complicated relationship. They're friends, then they're not. They like each other, then they despise each other. But something deep inside can't let them stray too far apart, even as everything changes around them. Through the trials and tests of life, the heartbreaks and joys, can Harry and Y/N find their own way?Or will they stick to the drunken marriage pact they made in time of desperation?

word count: 4.3k

warnings: mentions of sexual guilt, mentions of sexual actions, slight sexual actions

a/n: wrote the second half of this while mildly tipsy, so enjoy!!

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

5 | SUMMER

“Get in the water!” Harry screams at you from down below, just his head peeping out from the murky surface. Your legs tremble as you stand on the ledge, staring down at your fate. Nerves clawing away at you like a cat’s nails against your favorite couch. It’s not even that high, you have to tell yourself.

“I’m scared!” you scream back, trying to shake off your fear like their pesky gnats. Nothing will help, though. Your only option is to take the—literal—plunge.

You can hear Harry’s sigh from all the way up here. “Come on, baby. It’s not that bad!”

“Wayde’s gonna push you in if you don’t jump!” Leah joins in on your humiliation, looking peaceful as ever floating down the lake in her inner tube.

At first, you take her warning as a joke. Something to instill more fear into you and force you to jump. But it’s not a joke at all. You watch as Wayde scales the rocks leading up to you like a professional, getting closer and closer with every grunt he makes.

“No, no! Wayde! Please!” you beg, backing away from the ledge, which just leads you to another ledge. You’re cornered.

“I’m coming for ya!” Wayde taunts, out of breath from his climbing, but intimidating nonetheless. With one last pull of his weight, he’s reached the top. And he’s coming straight for you.

Their plan worked. You find yourself leaping without a second thought. The idea of jumping instead of getting pushed seemed just a smidge more bearable. Falling through the air, you bask in the temporary feeling of flying before smacking down onto the surface with a harsh slap. Guess you could’ve prepared your fall a bit better. You can hear the choruses of “Ooooh” and “That’s gonna hurt”, even from under the water.

When your head resurfaces, the pain sinks in. Feeling as though you’ll wake up with welts all over your body. The cold water does help.

“Jesus, babe, are you okay?” Harry’s next to you in no time, floating beside your aching frame.

If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d appreciate the sight a little bit more. Well, who are you kidding, even if you were on your deathbed, you’d still be able to appreciate his beauty.

Wet hair pushed back and out of his face, his skin kissed by the rays of sun, the muscular edges of his shoulders bobbing out of the water; it’s the picture of pure heaven and sin. If you were dying—which, you kind of feel like you are—this is definitely the last thing you’d want to see.

“I’m fine… Didn’t mean to do that.” The embarrassment of your bellyflop happening in front of all of your friends creeps up on you. Like a ghost you didn’t know you had. Cheeks red, and not from the sun, as you try to brush it off your shoulders. Half of them aren’t even paying attention to you anymore.

“I’d hope you didn’t mean to do that,” he laughs lightly, reaching forward to snatch your waist and pull you closer. You suppress the wince that threatens to ruin the moment.

As time has gone on, and you and Harry have gotten closer and more comfortable in your relationship, things have died and things have grown. For one, you’re not constantly dangling off of him like you were a month ago. He now has actual room to breathe without you crowding up his space. Not that you think he minded. Which lead us to point number two; what has grown.

His touching.

Yes, he’s always been a very affectionate person—as long as it’s not in the sights of your father—but recently, it’s become a lot.

Gentle kisses turning into having your back pinned against the hood of your truck. A hug turning into wandering hands. Cuddling turning into him wanting more.

Something you’re still not ready for.

You know that sentiment alone has been bugging Harry for a while, but he doesn’t bring it up. At least he’s gentlemanly enough to bite his tongue. Though, his actions speak volumes for him instead. While he doesn’t act out or anything of the sorts, his needy hands tell you everything you need to know about where he stands on the whole sex thing. He still smiles and moves on when you turn down the notion, but it’s straining.

But you love him.

You came to that conclusion two weeks ago when he snuck through your window late at night to see you. Looking back now, he was probably thinking he could get lucky under the moonlight, but you only saw it as a scene straight from a rom-com. Spending the whole night together in each other’s arms and planning how his escape for the following morning was the final decider.

You love him. To the point of you wanting to give him whatever he wants. Even if it scares the absolute shit out of you. You don’t want to disappoint him anymore.

“Why are you so quiet? Are you mad at me? You’re only ever quiet when you’re mad,” Harry breaks you out of your head, tugging you closer against him.

“What? No, no, I’m not mad… I was just thinking.”

“About what?” he pushes, and those three words sit idly on your tongue.

“About us—you.” About how much I love you and want to give you myself just to make you happy.

“If you’re thinking about us, why do you sound so sad?” Jesus, you forget how he can read you like a picture book.

“I’m not sad. This waters just so cold, I think I’m going into shock.” And your defense mechanism of making a joke of everything comes into play.

“Do you want to get out of the water?” he asks the question, but you can tell his opinion on the matter. With the way his eyes don’t meet yours, or the way his hands grip you just a little bit tighter.

Do you want to get out of the water? You like being close with him, having this intimacy of being held so dearly. But something about it is making your head spin. Doubts, insecurities, and feelings that shouldn’t be spoken aloud right now are bursting to be free. You don’t want to ruin the moment. It’s supposed to a fun day at the lake with your friends. Leaving the water—leaving him—would add sparks to the flames threatening to grow. But staying will only make you more restless. What do you do?

“I- I’ll stay,” you decide, which he’s clearly happy about. That once indifferent look on his face is replaced by a smile. One that makes you want to tell him that you love him. One that has your arms wrapping around his shoulders, giving him free rein to press himself right up against you.

Feeling his hot breath against your neck, his lips hover above your ear. “You look really sexy in your bathing suit, by the way.”

Oh, God. The butterflies. They consume your whole being. It’s almost painful. Constricting hearts and conflicting feelings. You decide it’s not butterflies you’re feeling anymore, but hornets. Pesky creatures that sting and buzz and beg you to set them free. To speak your mind.

But you can’t, at least not here. Not right now.

“Are you two just gonna make out, or are we gonna play chicken fight?” Ryan breaks you out of our bubble, and you’re silently thankful.

Harry laughs against your skin, pressing a lingering kiss to the sensitive flesh below your ear. Pulling back, his arm stays locked around your waist as you stay afloat, turning his attention to the rest of your awaiting friend group. Everyone’s already paired off, ready for the fights. Only you and Harry are the outliers.

“Who’s going first?” Harry calls out, squeezing your flesh before disengaging and swimming over to the group. You have no choice but to swim after him.

“I say Y/N and Harry versus Frankie and Ryan,” Ronan suggests, holding Quinn’s hand as she floats in her tube beside him.

“I don’t want to go first,” you complain, not really feeling up to this game anyway.

“Don’t be a sourpuss, Y/N!” Leah whines, like she even cares. She’s too busy getting her tan on.

“Yeah! Don’t act like you don’t like having your legs wrapped around Harry’s neck!” Wayde adds, going a step too far.

Your stomach sinks to the bottom of the lake, mouth dry and heart skipping. Only the girls here know about your intimate relationship with Harry, so they know Wayde’s words are false. But the guys think it’s hilarious, cackling like your embarrassment is humorous. Eyes flitting to your left, a moment of insecurity to see if Harry’s laughing too, your heart is kept in tact. He isn’t laughing. No, if anything, he looks pissed.

You don’t let yourself think about if he could be pissed because he told them a rendition of that lie in secret, trying to seem cool.

“Wayde, shut the fuck up! Not cool!” he defends your honor. Could be for show, your traitorous little brain thinks. No! Stop it! He’s just being a good boyfriend.

“Yeah, Wayde, seriously?!” Leah pipes in, having dragged her sunglasses down her nose to glare at her boyfriend. “You know Y/N isn’t doing that.”

Great, well, now it’s confirmed that Leah’s been talking with Wayde about your sex-capades— or lack thereof. Do all of your guy friends know too? Does Harry talk to them? Complain? Oh, God. You might be sick.

“I think I’m just gonna… I need some water.” You slowly swim away from the group, wishing your tired legs could bring you to the shore faster. It seems so much farther away when embarrassment and shame is eating away at you.

“No! Y/N! I was just kidding!” Wayde calls out after you, a forced pleading tone of voice.

But that’s what it is to all of them. A joke. Laughing at your expense and your choice to take it slow with Harry.

Your swimming speeds up, just like the beat of your heart. You’re eager to touch solid ground, to wrap yourself up in a towel and dig your grave. To never speak to anyone ever again about what happens behind closed doors in your relationship. You are such an idiot.

A splash, a cry, and a whine. “Seriously, Harry?!” Wayde’s voice.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Later that evening, you’ve succumbed to the temptation to hide from the world for the rest of your life. With your head under your covers, the day eats away at you like starving leeches. You wish you were tired. Wish you could just fall asleep and allow your subconscious to take over so you can escape your brain for a moment. But reality keeps you awake. Brutally so.

When you finally made your way out of the water, you were holding back tears. The whole day weighing down on your shoulders. It wasn’t just about Wayde’s tasteless joke anymore.

It didn’t take long for Harry to join you on the shore, sprinkling your towel with droplets of water as he stood above you like a shadow. He tried to explain, tried to plead his case and apologize on Wayde’s behalf, but you weren’t hearing it. You know now that you were acting a bit childish, but it was the last thing on your mind in the moment. And when he gave up his fight and offered to just drive you home, you jumped at the chance.

Leaving all of your friends back at the lake, the drive was silent. You didn’t want to speak because you might say the wrong thing, and Harry didn’t want to speak because he didn’t want to poke the bear. You wished he would’ve, though. Maybe it would’ve let some of the tension in your shoulders dissolve.

He dropped you back off at your house, didn’t bother coming inside. Saying he would go pack up his things from the lake and then come back. It’s been 4 hours. That stings. You’re not sure if everyone is still basking in the setting sun, laughing and talking. Maybe they’re freely making you the butt of the joke now that you aren’t there to be a witness? But that’s a bit over dramatic. You know deep in your heart that Wayde didn’t mean his words with a malice intent. You know your friends are too good to you to be talking smack behind your back. Your insecurity levels are just off the charts right now.

And it’s not helping that your boyfriend said he’d come back and hasn’t yet.

When did things get so iffy? A month ago you swore you were the happiest you’ve ever been. Now everything feels like walking on a thin wire between two boulders. Dangerous, treacherous, and unstable. Maybe you’re just projecting, though. Maybe it’s all in your head? The fears and uncertainty could be completely one sided.

But something deep in your gut tells you otherwise.

The wind whistling through your window, the one you left ajar to cool you down from your earlier rage, now bugs you. How can the wind be more joyful than you right now? Whistling a tune as if everything is fine and dandy? Jesus, now you’re mad at mother nature.

Shit, can she hear you? The whistling stops. But another sound takes its place. Your window pane squeaking as if it’s being pulled shut. On instinct, you drag your head from under your covers.

And there he is.

Harry quietly locks your window, keeping his movements slow and calculated because he must think you’re asleep in this heap on your bed. And once again, you’re conflicted. You’re happy he’s here, that he came back like he said he would, but you’re peeved that it’s 4 hours too late. You may not be tired enough to sleep, but you sure are too tired for a conversation that needs to happen.

“Harry? What are you doing here?” you finally speak up, informing him of your consciousness. You watch him jolt in surprise.

“Jesus, I thought you were asleep.” He holds his hand over his heart to calm its rapid beating. “I told you I was coming back.”

“Yeah, four hours ago…” you grumble, a petty remark but you can’t help yourself. The childish part of you is coming back.

“Don’t give me that, Y/N,” he sighs.

“Why not? It’s just a fact.”

“Because,” he groans, but he doesn’t continue to plead his case. “Please, I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Why’d you come then?” Your defense is high, blockading any chance at him getting through to you right now.

“Because, baby,” the pet name threatens to break down your walls, “I know you’re upset about what happened earlier. I wanted to check up on you.”

In the darkness, you watch as he kicks off his shoes and peels his sweatshirt off his body, tossing it onto your vanity chair. The glimpse of tanned skin that exposed itself when his arms were raised has the hornets simmering. And then he’s coming toward you, sauntering toward your bed with purpose. You can do nothing but scoot over and make room for him, despite your lingering hurt.

“Will you talk to me, please?” he lays down beside you, his face so close you can taste his desperate tone. It’s too much. Your throat feels like it’s being constricted with all the things you want to say rising to the surface of your tongue.

Rolling onto your back, unable to hold his gaze any longer, you cover your face with your hands. “I’m just…embarrassed, Harry.”

“Why?” he practically whispers.

“Why?!” you parrot, definitely not a whisper. “Oh, I don’t know, because all of our friends think I’m just spreading my legs for you willy nilly!”

“Baby, it was just a joke—“

“Don’t defend him, asshole!” your hands leave your face in a flash to send a warning glare over to him. “What have you been telling him, huh? Have you been lying to seem cool? Telling stories that aren’t true to get some brownie points with your ‘bro’s’?”

“What, Y/N, no—no! I haven’t said shit…” You have a feeling he wanted to add ‘because shit hasn’t happened’ to the end of that sentence. “Wayde was just being a dick. You know how he is. Crude jokes and comments are kind of his thing.”

“Ugh!” And your face is back in your hands.

You know Harry has a point about Wayde and his dramatics, always the instigator, but you still feel…hollow. Like even if they don’t know, they still know, you know? Jesus, this is making your head hurt.

“I just feel stupid…” you finally say, your voice frailer than it was a minute ago.

When you feel Harry’s hands peeling yours from your face, you don’t protest. You let him expose you, show the truth in your eyes and let him read them. “Why do you feel stupid, baby?”

“Because… I feel like I’m behind. Like because I’m holding us back, I’ve let us become the butt of their jokes.”

“They don’t know anything about anything, Y/N. I swear, I would never tell anyone about what we do or don’t—“

“But I told Leah…and Frankie and Quinn,” you sigh, guilt consuming you. “They could’ve told the guys and now they’re all making fun of us.”

“Do you really think they’d go talking? It’s not like they’re such achievers either.”

“What do you mean by that?” It immediately piques your interest, and you finally settle your eyes back on his. There’s mischief residing in them.

“Okay, I promise that I don’t talk, but the rest of them… I can’t say the same.” The smallest of smirks takes up space in the corner of his mouth.

You find yourself sitting up on your elbows, dying for the gossip. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Harry laughs at your 180-mood switch and props his head up on his hand to look back at you better. “Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, but… Apparently, Quinn won’t even let Ronan go…under her garments…”

“That bitch!” you gasp. “She was going on and on last week about having an orgasm!”

“Maybe, but if that’s true, it happened over the underwear.”

“Wow,” you breathe your astonishment.

“And Ryan says Frankie keeps all the lights off. Literally pitch black so he can’t see a thing,” he goes on. You feel a bit dirty hearing all this gossip about your friends from your boyfriend who got it from their boyfriends, but in some sick way, it is making you feel a bit better. “And Leah won’t touch Wayde. Apparently penises scare her.”

You laugh loudly at that, and it’s actually something you already knew. Leah jumped right over hand stuff and just told him to take her.

You really do feel like shit for doing exactly what you were so hurt over earlier, even more so since your claims were false and these are all true. But you can’t help the way it calms something in you. You’re not behind. Sure, you haven’t taken it all the way, but everyone else has their own hard limits too.

“And guess what, baby?” His voice is deeper as he rolls his weight on top of you. It makes your breath stutter. Hovering over your form, his arms hold himself up and cage you in all at once. “You let me touch you…underneath,” God, he makes it sound so dirty. Which, you guess it definitely is. Oh, God. The hornets are back. “And you leave the light on…” You do. You leave the lights on. You like being able to see him. “And you aren’t scared of my—“

Your hands slap over his mouth before he can finish his sentence, your cheeks flaming. “I get it. I get it.”

He licks your palm and forces it to drop. “See? We’re not behind, baby… We’re right on track.”

You can’t help yourself, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his. Immediately, he’s groaning into your mouth and deepening the entanglement. He swallows up the small noises that escape you. The ones that give away the fact that your resolve is slowly faltering. And when his weight fully presses against yours, forcing you to feel everything, he gulps down your gasp.

Hands are everywhere. Yours in his hair and smoothing over his clothed shoulder. His are on your waist, pushing the hem of your sleep t-shirt up. Splaying against your bare skin, his hot hands still make you shiver. He holds you with a purpose, gripping at your flesh. Smoothing up and up and up until they’re covering your chest—your bare chest because you’re in your pajamas, aka no bra time. This discovery does nothing to help his excitement, sending his moan straight down your throat as his tongue explores your mouth.

“Fuck, baby… You’re so hot,” he mumbles against your lips, and all you can do is whine in response.

Squeezing, kneading and rolling; his hands are skilled for someone with little experience. But it’s not hard to learn when you, with just as little experience, are vocal about what feels good. Showcasing this when his hips roll against yours and you can’t muffle your moan. So he does it again, and again, and again until the fear settles in you. Fear of doing something you can’t take back.

Fuck, you still aren’t ready.

“Harry,” you whine.

“Shit,” he hisses, rocking his hips faster.

“Harry— Harry, wait!”

“What?! Jesus, what?!” he snaps, and you’re not talking about his hips, those have come to an abrupt halt. “Shit, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to snap at you—shit!”

“I-It’s okay…” But, is it? “I’m sorry. I’m just not ready.”

“I know,” He groans, burying his face in your neck while trying to catch his breath and calm himself down. “Don’t apologize.”

You fear for a moment that you’ve fucked everything—well, except for him. And that’s the problem. But then you feel his lips against your neck and he pulls back. The look on his face is nothing but remorse.

“I really am sorry, Y/N. I was just so…caught up in the moment. It won’t happen again, I swear. I’ll wait until you’re ready,” he amends himself, even if a piece of your heart is still dangling detached from the rest of it.

“I really, really want to, Harry. I’m just…scared.”

“I know, baby, I know… But you should know, as soon as you’re ready, I’m really fucking ready, babe.”

All you can do is nod your head in acknowledgment, because you already knew this information. His body betrays him a lot. Even now, you can still feel him calming down against you. A sick sense of pride nestles its way into you, knowing you have this boy in such bad form over you. But then you remember that you’re also the reason he has to hide that part of himself, and the reality is a bucket of cold water being dumped on you.

“I’m sorry for letting you down…again,” your voice is meek, a shell of how you usually interact with him.

“I already told you to stop apologizing. I don’t want them. There’s no reason for them, okay?” His lips descend onto yours for a quick kiss. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You dare to let a small smile break out on your lips. Luckily, it's reciprocated.

He flops down next to you on your bed, his arms still holding you with a strong hold, pulling you with him. Staring face to face in the darkness of the night, you study his face. Like, really study it. Looking for any and all traces of disappointment or even hatred. But you come up short. You always do. You’ll never understand how you ended up with someone who’s just so irrevocably…kind. Sure, he has his moments and can be a total jerk, but deep down—down to the core of his heart—he’s a sweet boy. A heart of gold that he’s so willingly let you hold. A boy who, no matter what happens, will always have his own special place in your heart.

A boy you love with every part of you.

You can’t hold it in any longer. You can hold back a lot of parts of yourself tonight, but not your heart. Not anymore.

“Harry?” you break the silent streak, staring back at his peacefully shut eyelids.

“Hmm?” he hums, cracking one eye open.

“I love you.”

His eyes snap open, boring into yours with a vulnerability you’ve never seen from him. Soft, starry, and deep. It’s a little scary, watching in real time as he registers what you’ve just admitted. You’re not breathing. Holding your breath as the silence stretches itself thin between you. If he doesn’t respond soon, you’ll pass out. Hell, you might pass out even if he does.

“Y/N…” he breathes your name, and your chest constricts. This sounds like the beginning of a rejection. He’s about to let you down softly. Let you know that the sentiment is sweet, but he doesn’t feel the same. Maybe it’s because of the sex? Damnit. “I love you, too.”

Oh, holy shit. The relief would swoop you off your feet if you were standing. The soft, tender way in which the words left his lips leaves you breathless. Or maybe that’s from holding your breath for so long? No, no, it’s definitely from the look in his eyes. The words paint themselves on the forefront of your brain, imbedding themselves for good.

“You do?”

“Fuck, Y/N, I do. I really, really love you.”

This has to be a dream. You died when you bellyflopped into the lake earlier, and this is heaven. It has to be.

“I really, really love you, too, Harry…”

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taglist: @tpwkmr @alex-voiddome @butdaddyiloveh1m @fratboyzayn @mads3502

[nightsandflamess]

Ta-da! It’s here!!

now, I just want to let y’all know that life got in the way of this one, so I apologize for the quality of this work. I hope to improve from this in the future!

anyway, enjoy! and happy azris week!

Pairing: Azris

Summary: Nothing calls closer like the undesirable pull of flame and shadow. One wrong move, one past mistake resurfaced, and they all fall.

Word Count: 872(sad ik)

Part 1 of 2

Read the story below the cut/borderline thingy!

Flames danced from candles sitting on the desk, their dark equal mimicking their movement with sharp precision, apart from their slightly blurred edges. Bone-white paperwork sat on said desk, and an immaculate, large four poster bed took up one part of the already large chambers, a sitting room and bookshelves taking up about the rest.

It almost looked as if someone was staying over. In reality, Eris didn’t know what he was waiting for, standing at the entrance to his own room. He sighed, taking a step forward. He shouldn’t be acting like he was an intruder.

Maybe…just maybe; he was wishing for one.

The male moved across the room with barely restrained precision, his strides eating up the space between the entrance and the bathroom. He shrugged off his jacket and set it aside in the space-in-between, leaning his forearms against the counter.

What Eris saw wasn’t the male he knew.

His hair, usually a bright copper red, was muted, almost a drab in the sense of his court’s style. Pale skin was, well, paler than usual, looking more gray and ashen, and his freckles looked even more closer to a parasite mottling his face rather than the average family trait. 

And his eyes…

There wasn’t emotion. There wasn’t even the frigid cold he exposed others to. They were just two amber orbs. No fire, no fleck of gold.

Eris assumed this was what it was like to have hollow eyes.

He took a long sigh, lifting his head to take a closer look before re-enforcing his glamour. He almost felt pleased when he saw the arrogant male he presented to the rest of the world. Better, he almost didn’t notice some of the darkness sliding away.

Key word: Almost.

Eris shifted his position only to lean one elbow against the counter, a sly half-smile forming on his face as he drawled, “I wouldn't bother hiding. After all, we both know what happened the last time you did that.”

The darkness—shadows—gathered around in a corner, and the male almost swore he could hear a growl under breath. He wouldn’t let anything slide. Not now.

“Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.” Eris let out a mock sigh, shaking his head. He gestured outside the bathroom, right where the bed was. “After all, I remember quite clearly that you pressed me down there and said-”

Quicker than Eris expected, the figure lunged from the shadows and wrestled him down on the counter, his back aching from the unnatural stretch. Callused hands slid up his frame, resting on his neck, a threat and warning in one as hazel bored coldly into amber. Those eyes spoke multitudes, yet one statement shone clearly in those captivating—captivating?—irises: Don’t. You. Dare.

Despite being in the more compromising position, Eris could observe the authority shifting in his direction, and knew the male above him could feel it too. Without thinking, he patted Azriel’s face on the side in a show of pity. “Poor, poor bat. Wouldn’t your precious family love to know how you had me like this not once, but multiple times. It’s quite a shame we keep things from light, don’t you agree?”

The shadowsinger merely twitched his wings in annoyance, an errant shadow peeking over his shoulder like a stray dog. 

Eris almost chuckled aloud. At least they knew their role. 

“See? Even the midget does,” Eris said, amused while jerking his head towards the shadow. He almost swore it nodded on its own accord.

Azriel scrutinized the redhead below him, a dangerous glint hidden deep inside those darkened irises. However, to said redhead’s dismay, the shadowsinger ensued to speak in glares; Shut up.

Eris, in response, resorted to sneers and what he hoped–no, knew –were well placed words. “Speak up, bat. Or has that bitch who calls herself the ‘speaker of truths’ was finally able to sew your mouth shut beyond repair?”

The hands around his neck pressed down significantly harder, not enough to block the air from entering his lungs, but down to the point where the warning was clearer than the lies spun between them, that he could feel those scars rubbing his neck. 

Eris, stupidly, didn’t realize until then that Azriel wasn’t wearing those midnight gloves he usually kept adorned and—stubbornly—refused to take off around him. The male kept himself from believing that it was a simple accident. Even though all they’ve done these past few years was take from each other and never return, it was only sane that he knew a bit more about the mystery who calls himself Azriel. He hoped it was sane.

However, he—with pride—was able to get the said mystery to talk. At least once; “You don’t speak about her like that. You won’t.”

Eris chuckled, but it sounded more like a wheeze with his slightly cut-off windpipe. “You can’t even say her name. How cute.” He leaned back almost impossibly further. “But I was waiting for the point where you wanted to shut me up.”

Azriel’s lip curled back in a snarl, but it didn’t stop the redhead from pulling him in and kissing him. 

And the male in the darkness returned it.

Thank you for reading and have a happy rest of your azris week!! <3

Tag List: @g00seg1rl, @ejkreader, @talibunny30, @irithiadourden, @julesvanslutta, @aleksandra25cracow, @skies-for-eyes-trees-for-knees

Let me know if you want off or on!!

For Day 7 of @azrisweek: Free day!

[belbobiggins]

OH MY GOD YES. i haven't had a chance to yap about this yet so I'M TAKING THE FIRST OPPORTUNITY I CAN GET

I have beef with anyone who shows Sans fiercely taking initiative in regards to Papyrus' safety/health, because that's just. Not how he rolls.

Sans purposefully makes himself a background character. Almost every interaction with him is something from the sidelines, like walking up to his hotdog stand to buy illegal food and looking through the telescope in Waterfall. Those things are minor interactions that you can simply choose not to do. Much like this, Sans taking care of Papyrus happens from the sidelines. He asks the player to humor Papyrus because "he's been feeling down lately" and to keep an eye out for talking flowers because (like you previously said) he's worried about him. But Sans isn't going to interrogate Papyrus or push his feelings onto him like that because Papyrus has his own life and beliefs and its not his place to intrude like that. However, it IS his place as older brother to make sure that Papyrus is at least content.

This is also prevalent in the debate about how Sans reacts when Papyrus is killed. The two sides taken are generally either that Sans broke down sobbing anime boy style, or that he just didn't give a fuck. NEITHER OF THESE ARE TRUE. Sans DOES give a fuck. In fact, he DESPISES the player for killing his brother, considering Papyrus wasn't an actual threat. He talks about how if you have power over other people, then you should be responsible for your actions towards them and the outcome of those actions. So why did you kill Papyrus? All of the neutral ending calls (if you kill Papyrus) involve Sans telling you that you aren't welcome in the Underground or that you're essentially a despicable person. It doesn't matter if you spared everyone else and only killed Papyrus. You killed his brother, and for no reason too. However, he's not going to pull the "you shouldn't have messed with me" card and begin violently sobbing. He made a promise to Toriel that he wouldn't hurt you—even if you did just murder his brother—and promises are very important to him. He only actually attacks the player during the no-mercy route because you've literally killed everybody. There's nothing left for him to care about, defend, or return to. If you kill Asgore, the monster race is essentially done for. So he finally gets off his ass and decides to try and stop you. But that's just the thing—that's why his fight is so difficult. He's fighting you because if he loses, humanity is doomed, and that desire is fueled by his hate for you because you killed his brother. He can't lose. He's fighting you so hard because maybe you'll run out of determination and give up and leave, and he's the only one left who can make you do that. That's not even mentioning how when he's dying the only thing he's thinking about is Papyrus.

Sans isn't going to outwardly lash out at you, but that doesn't mean that he'll like you. Oh, you think Papyrus is uncool? Well, sucks to be you. Papyrus is awesome and if you disagree well then that's probably because you're not. Sorry bud.

I think Sans is a very good portrayal of what an older brother is. He teases and messes with Papyrus, calling him a babybones on multiple occasions, but if YOU genuinely upset Papyrus then Sans immediately tries to cheer him up. Then Sans passive-aggresively calls you out on your bullshit in private.

The date scene at MTT-resort is what really got me thinking about Sans' character though. That man was planning on killing you the SECOND you stepped out of the doors in Snowdin, and he doesn't hide that fact from you, either. Why? Probably because living in the Underground is miserable and he's ready to get himself and Papyrus the fuck out of there. Like Undyne, he knows that only one more soul is needed to break the barrier, and he's determined to make that happen. It's a spark of hope. So he'll make sure that soul is obtained as soon as it's available.

But then Toriel asks him to watch over the player and to protect them, and he'll be damned if he kills you after that request. This stranger put her trust in him and he promised not waste that... but also, he still wants you dead. Kind of. So instead of protecting you from other monsters, he protects you from himself by choosing not to end your existence right then and there. Because the simple act of not doing what he wants to do is protecting you like Toriel had asked. And also, hey... It's an excuse to do nothing. He loves doing nothing because there's no point anyways. Maybe you'll even turn out to be a good person.

@belbobiggins I WANNA ACKNOWLEDGE THIS CAUSE- EXACTLY

I remember asking my sister why exactly sans cared to ask you about how you felt about his brother, cause like why would he care if someone didn’t like him? Then she knocked some sense into me because WHY WOULDN’T HE CARE HEHFHEHEHE

I like to think the question was also more of a “how awesome do you think he is” kind of thing, the answer is assumed to be positive he’s just asking to make conversation. Then if you come out swinging he’s like :) okay.

But what I wanna yap about the MOST is THE FLOWEY THING CAUSE OMG

Some like to interpret Sans asking about the “talking flower” is some sort of trick, and he actually DOES know about Flowey, and while all interpretations of that scene are equally valid, that is NOT how I interpret it/like to view it.

Sans may try to know everything about everything just so he can get the upper hand, but he still has- yknow, morals. He’s not gonna invade on his brother’s personal life just because he’s suspicious about this “talking flower” Papyrus refers to assumedly every now that then.

I really like the Forgettable AU in this way, how Sans, while he is definitely suspicious of whatever Papyrus may be talking about, he’s still confident in his brothers abilities to handle himself and wont be like “stand behind me….heh…i got this….” cause that would be dumb

He asks you to just “keep an eye out” since, while not having any good reason to directly interfere, he’s still concerned! AND RIGHTFULLY SO- CAUSE WHAT DO YOU MEAN “PREDICTIONS”????😭

I just love how these guys are characterized and how their care for each other is so grounded??? ITS SO GOOD??? I WANT TO LOVINGLY TUCK THEM INTO BED EVERY SINGLE NIGHT WITH A GOODNIGHT KISS???????

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

Things that actually happen in hunchback of notre dame, in no particular order

The book mostly is told from the POV of Pierre, a self-insert who is failed author and, I cannot stress this enough, utterly pathetic 

Quasimodo damaged his hearing as a teenager from years of bell ringing and now uses sign language whenever he can

There is a scene where Quasimodo and a fellow deaf guy have to have a conversation without using sign language because they’re in a courtroom and the jury doesn’t know sign. It goes about as well as you’d expect 

Frollo has a little brother, Jehan, who he raised after their parents died. Jehan is now a frat bro in college whose hobbies consist of getting drunk and being mean to Quasimodo. In his first scene Jehan complains about college DEI because an Italian guy got a scholarship he wanted. 

Esmeralda is accused of witchcraft because she taught her pet goat Djali how to do math

Djali may or may not be sapient. He can and does imitate human mannerisms to make fun of people on purpose. He does this while on trial. 

Yes. They tried the goat for witchcraft, too. 

Pierre writes a whole play riding on the pun of dolphin/Dauphin. Nobody likes it. 

Frollo is an alchemist and has a secret mad science lab where he writes on the walls

Jehan literally pulls a “buy my silence” and frollo gives him money to make him shut up

There’s a trio of catty girls who bully Esmeralda like it’s Mean Girls

Quasimodo and Frollo literally have Cryptid Status— Parisians circulate rumors that Quasimodo is either a familiar, a homunculus, or the result of demonic mpreg, and that Frollo is a wizard with wizard powers and/or a ghost

There is a little old woman who lives in a hole and shouts slurs at people. She has a tragic backstory. 

There is a homicidal con man/king of thieves named Clopin Troillefou (surname translation: The Fool of Fear) who deserves tumblr sexymanhood.

Pierre learns how to carry chairs with his teeth 

There’s an entire chapter dedicated to the layout of the streets of Paris in painstaking detail

There’s another chapter that is a rant about interior design 

Esmeralda and Pierre get platonically married due to Clopin’s murderous shenanigans. Pierre tries to make a move in her but ends up being more emotionally attached to Djali the goat than to her. I think that should be grounds for divorce

There is a scene where Pierre has to choose between helping Esmeralda escape or helping Djali. He picks Djali. 

Frollo hides from his own brother by laying face down in mud and playing dead. Somehow this works 

There is a Plot Significant Tiny Shoe. A Tiny Shoe Chekhov’s Gun. And Victor Hugo will not stop telling you just how Tiny this shoe is. 

There’s a soap opera style plot twist that involves a false accusation of cannibalism and the woman in the hole who shouts slurs

Quasimodo makes up a stupid little song that doesn’t even rhyme to confess his love to Esmeralda, who remains oblivious

He then attempts to demonstrate his affection via convoluted metaphors that involve props. She doesn’t get it. Boy please say what you mean

Frollo pulls the classic discord groomer tactic of threatening self-harm if Esmeralda doesn’t give in. 

Jehan rolls up to a party/rescue mission scheming session in Clopin’s secret hideout in full plate armor (how did he get that???), drunk off his ass, and acts like he owns the place. Everyone finds this so ridiculous that they just let him

Hugo goes on and on about how innocent and naive Esmeralda is but then casually reveals that Esmeralda carries a dagger on her person at all times to fend off assault. When Frollo attacks her and Quasi intervenes, she takes Quasi’s knife and almost kills Frollo (fair!) but he flees. She contains multitudes?

Frollo has a psychotic breakdown in the middle of a field surrounded by chickens and hallucinates skeletons everywhere 

For the first half of the book Esmeralda is like 70% sure Frollo is a ghost, not helped by his aforementioned Cryptid Status

Jehan eats a moldy piece of cheese off the ground 

Frollo tries to send Pierre on a suicide mission in drag. Pierre objects to the suicide part but not the drag part  

Clopin’s preferred weapon is a scythe, he’s very good at using it, and he sings when he fights. Again: sexyman potential. 

Victor Hugo has a foot fetish. I initially dismissed it as Frollo having a foot fetish until Victor Hugo included a foot fetish torture scene without any Frollo in it. So I can only conclude that the foot fetish is authorial in nature. Unfortunately the foot scenes are important to the plot. 

Frollo is canonically 36, he just aged like shit and is bald. The narrator will not stop telling you just how bald he is.

Despite being in full plate armor, Jehan gets splatted like a bug

Almost every named character dies. Djali the goat lives. 

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

ໃ𑄺. GOOEY C☆CK 𝒻𝓉．𝓋ℯ𝓃ℴ𝓂 𝒸𝒶𝓁ℯ𝒷.

✧ tws : nsfw/smut, fem!reader, multiple of rounds, tentacles, implied dubcon, creampie, spanking, nipple play, monster fūcking, petnames (pipsqueak, baby, etc.), caleb calls himself gege once, spanking, cōckwarming, doggy style and body worship.

✧ synopsis : You always knew something was off about Caleb his eyes bright in the dark, his touch too hot to be normal. After a mission goes wrong and you’re stuck alone with him, the truth comes out. He’s not just Caleb.Something inside him is possessive and starving. You try to escape, but his tentacles wrap around your waist, holding you tight as he finally shows you what he really is. “Don’t be scared,” he says. “He just wants what I want…”

The air inside the ruin was too still. Too quiet. You should’ve known something was wrong the second the scanner shorted out, static hissing into your earpiece before dying completely. You and Caleb were separated from the others, but he didn’t seem worried—just stared ahead, purple eyes glinting in the dark, too calm for comfort.

“Caleb…?” you whispered, clutching your comm. “This place gives me the creeps…”

He didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his head, lips twitching in a way that wasn’t entirely his.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re scared,” he murmured, voice lower, deeper than usual. Then he looked back at you, eyes narrowing, and for a split second, something moved under his skin. Black tendrils rippled up his neck before disappearing.

Your heart jumped. “C-Caleb—what the hell was that?!”

“...Told you not to follow me this deep,” he muttered. “Should’ve known you’d stick to me like a needy little pipsqueak.”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re hiding something. I’m not stupid.”

“No,” he chuckled darkly, stepping toward you. “But you are reckless.” Another step. “And now that you’re here, well…” His voice dropped an octave. “We don’t see a reason to let you go.”

Something lashed out—fast. Slick, inky black. A tentacle coiled around your wrist before you could scream.

“Caleb!” you gasped, stumbling back. “Let me go—what the fuck is that?!”

But Caleb was changing. His pupils stretched into slits, claws forming where fingers had been. More tentacles slid free from his back, writhing like they had a mind of their own. And still—still—he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the universe.

“Shh,” he said softly, reaching out. His clawed fingers tucked your hair behind your ear. “It’s still me, pipsqueak. Still your gege. But… I’m not alone anymore. And he’s just as obsessed with you as I am.”

A low, alien growl rippled from his chest—and then the other voice came.

“So soft… so tiny… we could break you…”

Your legs buckled.

Caleb caught you effortlessly. Smiling. Gentle. Possessive.

“Don’t worry,” he purred. “We won’t hurt you, baby. Not unless you beg us to.”

The tentacles didn’t pull hard. Just enough to guide you. To show you he could. Caleb’s breath warmed your ear as one slick appendage coiled around your waist, sliding beneath your jacket, tracing your bare skin with a teasing, wet touch.

“Such a pretty little pipsqueak,” he whispered, voice trembling between his own and the growl of something deeper—darker. “You don’t even know what you do to me…”

His clawed hands cupped your face gently. Reverently. The monster inside might’ve had a mouth, but Caleb had a heart, and both were laser-focused on you.

You should’ve been afraid.

Instead… you throbbed.

“C-Caleb,” you breathed, thighs clenching. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Didn’t want to scare you,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Didn’t think you could handle how badly I wanted to breed you.”

The words hit like a thunderclap. You whimpered, body trembling as another tentacle slid between your legs—pressing against your clothed heat, circling it slowly.

“So warm…” the parasite hissed. “Let us in.”

You didn’t even fight it.

Your clothes were shredded by claws and tendrils in seconds, left in tatters on the cold stone floor as Caleb laid you down gently, hungrily, like you were a gift he’d been starving for.

His mouth found your breasts first—hot and eager, tongue flicking across your nipples as his hand spanked your ass, hard enough to make you moan.

“Caleb!” you gasped, back arching. “F-fuck—!”

“That’s it,” he growled, licking a swollen bud before sucking it between his lips. “Say it again. Let me hear how needy my little pipsqueak is.”

“Caleb, please,” you whimpered. “Need you inside—need it so bad—”

You didn’t have to beg long. One thick tentacle curled around your ankle, spreading your legs wide as Caleb knelt between them. His cock—larger now, veined and flushed—throbbed, slick with dark fluid and twitching at the sight of your soaked cunt.

“You’re already dripping,” he rasped. “You want it raw, baby? Want me to stuff you full until it leaks out?”

“Y-Yes—yes, please—”

He didn’t just slide in—he invaded you. One long, slow thrust that left you breathless, stretched, filled to the brim as your eyes rolled back and your hips lifted to meet him.

“Fucking tight,” Caleb hissed, gripping your waist as his hips slammed into you, again and again. “This pussy was made for me.”

“Us,” the parasite snarled. “Breed her. Fill her. Use her.”

His thrusts grew savage—deep, precise, obsessed. Your slick echoed off the ruin’s walls, your cries sharp and sweet as your gege took you like an animal.

Spanking your ass with each slap of his hips.

Mouth on your nipples.

Tentacles everywhere—teasing, wrapping, stroking.

You came fast—shaking, screaming, clenching around his cock as he growled in your ear, praising you through clenched teeth.

“Good girl… fuck… such a perfect little pipsqueak. Let it milk me, baby, that’s it—”

He didn’t pull out. Didn’t even try.

Caleb came with a low roar, cock buried deep, thick cum flooding your womb as your legs trembled. One tentacle held you open, letting it drip out slowly, making you squirm as he leaned down to lick your lips.

“I’m not done,” he growled, eyes glowing. “I told you. We want more.”

Round two came before you could speak—Caleb flipping you onto your hands and knees, spanking you again, harder this time.

“You love doggy, don’t you?” he growled. “Letting gege fuck you like the little slut you are…”

You screamed when he pushed back in—so much deeper this way, stretching you wider, one hand fisted in your hair while the other worshipped your body, tracing your curves, massaging your sore, red ass.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered. “Used. Open. Mine.”

“All ours.”

Tentacles wrapped around your tits, squeezing, twisting your nipples while Caleb pounded into you from behind—slamming his hips against your ass until you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but cum again.

He didn’t stop.

Three times. Four. He kept going until your pussy was sloppy, filled with so much cum you could feel it dripping down your thighs. Until your legs gave out and you collapsed, shaking, drooling, dumb from pleasure.

And even then… he stayed inside.

Wrapped around you. Holding you. Kissing your shoulders while his cock stayed hard, still twitching.

“You’re gonna cockwarm gege now, pipsqueak,” he whispered sweetly. “Let me feel how warm you are while I take care of you. You were so good…”

You nodded weakly, face buried in your arms, body broken but blissed out.

“Y-your turn next time…” you slurred.

He chuckled darkly, hugging you tighter as another tentacle stroked your cheek lovingly.

“Oh, baby…”

“There is no next time. We’re just getting started.”

Your legs were shaking. Muscles limp. Your cunt still full and stuffed with your gege’s thick cock, twitching deep inside you like it had no intention of leaving.

But even as you whimpered, half-conscious from the last orgasm, Caleb’s hands never stopped moving.

They worshipped. Explored. One palm sliding down your belly, spreading the warmth of your overstretched womb, the other dragging along your thigh, where his cum had trickled down and painted your skin with messy, sticky lines.

“So full…” the parasite hissed approvingly. “Keep her like this. Breed her again. Let her feel us always.”

“Mm, you hear that, pipsqueak?” Caleb murmured, mouth brushing your ear as his hips rolled slowly. “You’re gonna be so stuffed you won’t know where I end and he begins.”

You whimpered, twitching as he slid out just an inch—then slammed back in.

“N-Ngh!—Caleb!”

“Oh, you’re still sensitive, huh?” he cooed mockingly, voice thick with hunger. “That’s too bad. I wanna see you cry this time.”

His hips started moving again—slow and deep, pressing right into the swollen spot that made your vision spark. Tentacles snaked around your thighs to spread you wider, one wrapping lazily around your throat, not choking—just reminding you who owned you now.

“You’re taking it so well,” he growled. “So dumb and full of cock. Just how I like you.”

Your mouth was hanging open, drool on your chin, breasts bouncing as his cock pounded into your soaked hole again—again—again—and his tentacles twisted your nipples, tugging, pulling, flicking them until you were crying from the stimulation.

“C-can’t—Caleb, I can’t—!”

“Yes you can,” he snarled. “You’re my good little cocksleeve, remember? You said so yourself.”

“She belongs to us now.”

“Breed her again. Break her. Mark her inside.”

He spanked you hard—twice—three times, watching your ass jiggle from the force before grabbing both cheeks and spreading them to watch his cock disappear inside you, glistening with your slick and cum.

You came again. Didn’t even realize you had until your body locked up and your vision went white, cunt spasming around him so tight he moaned through his teeth.

“F-fuck—fuck, baby, gonna cum again—”

He slammed in deep—one final thrust—and flooded you all over again. You felt it hot and thick, spurting into your womb as your whole body trembled, clenching down, milking every drop.

But he didn’t pull out.

Didn’t even slow down.

“Caleb—please—too much—” you sobbed, legs kicking weakly as he kept thrusting, slow and heavy.

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing your back. “You said you wanted it all, didn’t you?”

His tentacles wrapped around your waist and pulled you back into a new position—straddling his lap now, his cock still inside, his arms wrapped around you from behind while his mouth suckled on your bruised, sensitive nipples.

“Now you’re gonna ride me,” he growled. “Be a good girl. Bounce on gege’s cock like it’s the only thing keeping your brain from melting.”

Your body obeyed before your brain could even catch up—hips rolling, ass bouncing, cunt squelching with every desperate grind down onto him. You didn’t even care if it hurt anymore. You just needed to feel full.

Needed him.

Needed them.

“Good girl… just like that…”

“You were made for us.”

You were cumming again. Didn’t even say anything—just sobbed and clung to his arms, drool slipping down your chin as your pussy clamped down again.

And then he stopped moving.

Just held you there. Cockwarming you like a living plug, stroking your hair while your body twitched helplessly in his lap.

“You’re gonna fall asleep with my cock inside you tonight,” Caleb whispered against your neck. “And when you wake up…”

He bit down lightly on your skin—then licked the mark.

“…we’re gonna do it all over again.”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[sweetstrawberryys]

"Booby Trap"

Summary: You got into an argument. Youre trying to make a point. He's not listening. Then you lifted your shirt.

Rating: Mild nudity, suggestive humor, Tf141 being helpless

Masterlist

---

KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK:

Kyle’s pacing.

Hand gestures. Raised eyebrows. Voice getting all high-pitched in the way it does when he thinks he’s making a solid point.

“You always do this, babe! You say ‘I’ll clean it up in a minute’ and then it’s a week later and the broom is still in the fookin’ shower! I nearly slipped and died tryin’ to have a rinse!”

You try to explain. “Okay but that wasn’t—”

“No, no. Don’t ‘babe’ me. This is a pattern. A toxic pattern. If we were on a talk show, I’d be the man cryin’ on the couch, sayin’ I deserve better!”

You sigh.

Then you lift your shirt.

Two seconds of silence. Maybe three.

Then—

“…I forgive you.”

You blink. “What?”

Kyle’s eyes are fixed. He’s doing that thing where he’s not blinking, not breathing, not processing.

“I don’t remember what I was mad about. That information is gone now. Like a hard drive after Ghost hits it with a crowbar.”

You start laughing. “I don’t think that’s how—”

“Shh.” He waves a hand. Still staring. “We don’t need logic here. We need peace. Love. And boobs.”

You smirk. “You’re so easy.”

“Yeah?” he says with a grin, already pulling you into his arms. “Well maybe if you weaponized your chaos a little less effectively, I’d win more arguments.”

You kiss his cheek and pull your shirt back down.

Kyle whines.

“But I was enjoyin’ the view! That was the best part of my day!”

---

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY:

Simon’s arms are crossed, foot tapping. He looks like a pissed-off gargoyle in tactical gear.

“You left without tellin’ anyone,” he says, voice low and flat. “That’s twice now. We had no eyes, no backup, and you came back with a limp.”

“It was a short recon. I was fine—”

He steps in closer. Not yelling. That’s not his style. But you can feel the tension in him, all knotted in his shoulders and jaw.

“Doesn’t matter if you were fine. You could’ve not been. And I—” He stops himself. Breathes through his nose.

And you know that look. That haunted edge he tries to cover with gruff discipline.

So… you do what any emotionally intelligent, loving, supportive partner would do in this moment.

You flash him.

His breath catches audibly. Like someone punched him.

His mask twitches.

And then—he full-body jerks back a step like he’s seen a flashbang.

“My God, love—!”

You smile sweetly. “Still mad?”

He presses both hands to the top of his head like he’s trying to physically keep his brain inside his skull. “That is so unfair. That’s criminal behavior.”

“You gonna arrest me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he grumbles, ears flaming red above the mask. “Bloody hell. You can’t just—present yourself like that while I’m mid-sentence.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to discipline you and now I can’t remember what words are.” He turns away like he needs to recalibrate. “Fuckin’ tits out like it’s Mardi Gras…”

You come up behind him, arms around his middle. “I’m sorry, Ghostie.”

His voice drops into a mumble, soft, stunned. “…Still can’t believe you’d show me, of all people…”

You press a kiss to the back of his shoulder.

“You’ve seen all of me before.”

“Yeah, but I never recover.”

---

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE:

Price has his “Captain Voice” on.

Which means he’s calm. Stern. Too composed for his own good.

You’re sitting on the edge of the armory bench like a scolded schoolkid, and he’s pacing in front of you with his sleeves rolled and disappointment radiating like a heatwave.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” he says, pausing to look at you. “Took an unvetted route through a hostile zone, and worse—told Soap it was fine.”

“He said he wanted excitement,” you mutter.

“He’s not a golden retriever, sweetheart, he’s a trained soldier—he’ll chase a shiny thing if you wave it the right way.”

You smirk. “That’s on him.”

He stops pacing. Leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “I don’t like being ignored. I don’t like being lied to. And I especially don’t like being flirted with to avoid accountability.”

“…Is that a challenge?”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t.”

You lift your shirt.

He doesn’t move.

But something in his eyes flickers. Like the last grip on his self-control just wobbled.

A slow breath escapes him. His jaw tightens. “Darlin’…”

“Yes, Captain?”

“We were having a conversation.”

“Mmhm.”

His gaze is very deliberately locked on your face. Not once does he let it drop, though you can feel the effort behind it. He’s mentally filing away every inch for later—probably in 4K.

“You think flashing me’s gonna get you out of trouble?”

You hum. “Is it working?”

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek.

There’s a pause.

Then:

“You are in trouble. Deep trouble. And now I’ve got somethin’ else to punish you for.”

He pushes off the wall and walks right past you, but not before murmuring, “Put that away before I forget what century we’re in.”

You hear him mutter down the hallway:

“…fuckin’ menace…”

---

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH:

You’re not even arguing about something serious.

Just who left the fridge open and let Ghost’s protein shakes turn into swamp water.

But Johnny’s committed to the bit. He’s pacing the kitchen, shirt half-buttoned, waving around a spoon like it’s a gavel.

“You think this is a game, bonnie? Do you know what Ghost is like when his protein goes off? Do you?! The man’s already emotionally fragile! You’re gonna send him over the fuckin’ edge! Next thing we know, he’s knittin’ socks in the murder room and mutterin’ about betrayal!”

“Johnny, relax,” you laugh, arms folded. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m bein’ reasonable! Look at the data!” He gestures to the fridge. “Smells like a corpse and regret!”

You wait for him to turn around.

And then—flash.

He turns back mid-rant, spoon raised—

—and drops it instantly.

Eyes go wide. Neck jerks back. He actually stumbles.

“Wha— You can’t just—I was making a POINT!”

“You’re not mad anymore, are you?”

“No, I am—I’m—fuck—” He runs both hands down his face, like he’s buffering. “That’s dirty pool. That’s against the Geneva Booby Convention or whatever!”

You grin. “Would you rather I took more off?”

He pauses. Thinks.

Then, with zero hesitation, he yanks down his pants.

“Right. If this is how we fight now, I’m bringin’ my best weapons.”

You shriek, laughing. “Johnny!”

He poses proudly, pants puddled around his ankles. “I’d argue more if we’re just gettin’ naked every time! This is the best relationship dynamic ever.”

Bonus:

From the doorway, Price’s voice cuts in, deadpan.

“MacTavish, for the love of God, put your pants back on.”

Ghost mutters behind him. “Every bloody time.”

Kyle pops his head around the corner. “Hey, are we flashing again? I didn’t realize we were flashing again—wait up!”

[himasgod]

idk if its okay

but can I request for the tapis rouge boyos (vil, azul, jamil, ace) with a reader who gets hit on by a well known celebrity who has a reputation for being a playboy.

thank youuu

ACE, JAMIL, AZUL AND VIL X READER

Where a famous playboy actor wants to flirt with you in Tapis Rouge

How would guys react if, at the Vil's Red Carpet Cadets event, a famous actor with dark intentions approached you to hit on you?

I put Zane as the default name, if there is a Zane reading this, don't be offended😭 You don't need to have played the event to read the one-shot, I hope you enjoy it <3

Maquillaville was packed with rich, famous people who—according to Ace—were annoyingly full of themselves. He wasn't really used to this kind of fancy event, but he played it off well with his cocky grin and bold style. In his own way, he looked great.

You were chatting with a few guests when someone Ace couldn't ignore walked in.

Model, actor, and even film director. He had that fake-perfect smile and a dating history that probably broke some kind of record. Tall, tanned, and smooth-talking, he zoned in on you like a predator the second he saw you.

"Sorry to interrupt," "Zane" said with a charming smirk, "but your smile is brighter than the lights in this place. How about I buy you a drink… or better yet, take you out to dinner tomorrow?"

Ace stopped chewing his fancy canapé. He turned his head slowly, like he'd just heard the funniest joke ever.

"A drink? Seriously? Bro, do you think you're in some rom-com?"

Zane blinked at him, confused. “And you are…?”

Ace slid in next to you, his hand on your hip, flashing his most smug smile, though his eyes were sharp.

"The boyfriend. The only one who can make them smile like that without copy-pasting lines from Google."

Zane chuckled. "Well, lucky you, man. No harm in a compliment—"

“Sure, sure,” Ace said, crossing his arms.

"But there's a difference between a compliment and drooling all over my partner. If you want attention that bad, try flirting with a mirror. Bet it'll respond better."

Zane rolled his eyes and walked off in annoyance.

Once he was out of sight, you turned to Ace, one eyebrow raised.

“Jealous?”

“Jealous?!” Ace spun toward you, visibly offended.

"That wasn't jealousy! That was common sense! The guy was talking like you were a character in some cheesy pickup scene! And you laughed at one of his jokes! Like—seriously!?"

You laughed.

“Oh, Ace…”

He clicked his tongue, but his grin gave him away. He leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Look, I don't care if you're the center of attention. Honestly, I love it. Let the whole world stare… just so they know exactly who you're with—"

His voice dropped to a murmur against your ear.

“—and who they’ll never be.”

Then he pulled back, smirking wider.

“And if that C-list actor tries flirting again, I swear I'm going to stuff his ego in a box and send it back with a bow.”

Jamil was at your side, impeccable. Although he tried to appear calm, he kept scanning every corner of the room… especially whoever looked at you for too long.

And then he saw it.

Internationally acclaimed actor and singer, known as much for his musical hits as for his romantic history. He was the kind of person who turned every interview into an opportunity to flirt and every gala into a hunt.

He approached you with that well-rehearsed smile of his, champagne glass in hand, his eyes shining with that invasive interest.

"I didn't know stars walked this red carpet," he said, scanning you from head to toe. "Do you have a date for after the event?"

Before you could answer, you felt Jamil's firm presence at your side. His smile was barely perceptible, and his dark eyes, fixed on him.

"I don't think you heard correctly," he said calmly. "They're with me."

Zane laughed sarcastically, never taking his eyes off you.

"Oh, I thought you were a stylish bodyguard. I didn't know you were the… boyfriend?"

Jamil took a step forward, placing himself completely between you and him, like a protective shadow.

"I'll tell you this only once. I don't know what kind of games you usually play with your 'conquests,' but if you want to keep your reputation from falling further, I suggest you back off now."

He raised an eyebrow, still defiant.

"And if I don't?"

Jamil smiled with disturbing slowness.

"Then I'll make you understand. And believe me, I know exactly how to do it without ruining your image… although I wouldn't mind that in the least."

There was a moment of tension. He, perhaps for the first time in a long time, felt insecure around someone. And he left.

You looked at Jamil, somewhat impressed.

"Are you always so calm when you're jealous?"

"Jealous?" Jamil sighed, taking your hand.

"I'm not jealous. I'm irritated. Because that guy dared to look at you like a trophy."

He turned to you, his expression softer.

"And you're not a trophy. You're someone I chose, and who chose me. I don't need to shout it… but I won't let anyone dare touch what I respect."

Every flashbulb seemed to follow you as you walked beside Vil, so perfect it outshone even the biggest stars. The whole world felt like a runway, and you, at his side, were part of the spectacle.

You were used to receiving stares, but this time you felt a particularly insistent one.

"Do you know him?"

Vil whispered near your ear, without taking his eyes off a certain famous actor who was approaching.

It was an international star known for his leading man roles… and for his many love scandals. Vil pursed his lips with the elegance of someone who knew perfectly well who this man was and how little he liked him.

"Only by sight…" you replied, a little uncomfortable as you noticed the actor coming straight toward you.

"Then don't stare at him so much." Vil murmured with a charming smile, but his eyes were sharp.

The actor arrived and, as if he had no idea who Vil was (which was impossible), offered you his hand.

"I didn't expect to see someone so charming tonight. Have we met? Because if not, I'd love to change that."

Vil took a subtle step, standing half in front of you. His face, still sporting a polite smile, was tense like a perfectly placed mask.

"Funny, I thought charm wasn't enough when it came to respect," he said, in that tone of his as polished as liquid poison.

"My partner doesn't usually fall for such cheap tricks, Mr. Zane."

The actor laughed, as if he didn't take the hint.

"A couple? What a shame… Although that's never been an obstacle in romantic movies," he joked, winking at you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Vil was quicker. He took your hand and entwined it with his, raising his chin

"This isn't a movie. And if you think you can turn my relationship into just another chapter in your "red carpet romances," you're sorely mistaken."

The actor seemed amused by the reaction, but seeing Vil's sharp gaze with pride, jealousy, and elegance, he simply raised his hands.

"Well, well. I didn't know you were so committed, Schoenheit. Lucky for you. And for you too."

He winked at you with a mischievous smile before walking away.

The air seemed to have cooled a couple of degrees.

Vil turned to you, still frowning slightly.

"I warn you, that man is like cheap perfume: strong at first, but in the end, only an unpleasant aftertaste."

"Are you jealous?" You asked with a soft smile.

Vil stared at you, then sighed, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in your attire.

"No. I'm forewarned. Because I value you. And I won't let someone like him touch you with even the hint of an intention."

He leaned in elegantly, his lips brushing the line of your jaw, just enough for you to feel it only for yourself.

"You're too precious to be trifled with. And if anyone tries… they'll have to face me."

The hair, his thin glasses, and that brown suit with subtle pinstripes gave him an air of sophistication that contrasted with his inner nerves whenever someone approached you.

You'd been walking through with him, just chatting, when a tall man with an easy smile and a foreign accent approached you.

"Are you the person everyone is whispering is stealing the event tonight? My name is Zane Duclair but you can call me Zane. Although I'd prefer it if you called me later."

He winked at you.

Azul blinked. He smiled, but his fingers trembled slightly as he gripped your hand.

"Zane Duclair… the actor with three public breakups and five harassment lawsuits… charming track record," he murmured.

Zane gave a carefree laugh, as if everything was slipping away.

"Oh, all in the past. Tonight I'm only interested in this beautiful person," he said, taking your hand without permission. "Would you do me the pleasure of dinner after the gala?"

Before you could respond, Azul placed a hand on your shoulder. His smile was still there, but his eyes were pure ice.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your attempt at 'conquest,' Zane, but my companion already has plans with me tonight. And they're non-negotiable."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"And who are you? Their manager?"

Azul let out a short, almost mocking laugh.

"No, I'm a bit more complicated than that. I'm the person who knows their every taste, every gesture, every look. And also the person who can't stand it when someone with a questionable reputation tries to fish in waters that don't belong to him."

Zane looked offended, but Azul stepped forward, still keeping his voice polite.

"And if you insist, I can present you with a complete list of legal clauses regarding harassment and non-consensual advances. I'm sure your lawyers will be able to read between the lines."

Zane left, visibly irritated, and Azul took your arm to lead you away, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," you said. "I didn't expect someone like him to approach me like that."

Azul shook his head.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault there are men who confuse charisma with entitlement. But if he approaches you again… I won't need contracts."

He glanced at you, lowering his voice.

"You are valuable. I will not allow anyone to see you as something they can buy or conquer. Because you are already… firmly committed to me."

[joelsgoldrush]

“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days. 

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate. 

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?” 

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity. 

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.” 

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?” 

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky. 

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest. 

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold. 

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer. 

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more. 

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads. 

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs.  “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[laufeysvalentine]

cat's out the bag

spencer reid x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ spencer reid x secret relationship!reader — in which members of the bau go out for dinner and see spencer with... a girl?

early seasons spencer, twilight & ariana grande references for some reason (i don't even listen to her), reader sits on spencer's lap, disgustingly cute but mostly disgusting

word count ༄ 2k

nora’s notes ༄ my first spencer reid fic + a new writing style. this may be a complete disaster 💖

Spencer’s in the middle of finishing up a reread of a Sherlock Holmes installment and packing up from work when the clomping of two pairs of shoes ruins his peace. 

“Morning, genius,” one of the voices says, bubbling with sweetness in just a way he knows exactly who it is without having to look at the two shadows that enter his vision, blocking the light. 

“It’s almost evening. In fact, it’s been six hours, thirty-four minutes, and eighteen seconds since morning,” he mutters, flicking the page over. “Now, move. I can’t see.” 

“No, you’ve been in a funk all week and we’re going to get you out of it,” Garcia sing-songs, taking his book hostage. She looks the opposite of how he has the past week–put together, with a perfect outfit, as always. “I don’t care why you’ve been a grump, only that you come out with us tonight, yeah? You don’t have to drink, just hang out.” 

He looks up, reluctance prodding his expression. Garcia and Derek are side-to-side, arms crossed, looking down at him. Yeah, nope. “I’m busy tonight.” 

“With?” Derek raises an eyebrow. “You got a date, pretty boy?” 

“I’m meeting with a friend who’s been out-of-town.” He responds, reaching out for his book. “Okay, Dad?” 

“Seriously, Reid?” JJ chimes in from behind the other two. “Come out with us.” 

“I’m busy. I would say I was sorry, but I’m not. 1 in 8 people apologize at least twenty times a day. 43% of people regularly apologize during a situation in which they are not at fault–” Spencer begins as he turns away from them to collect his things. 

“Yeah, that’s enough. Getting Hotch to come was hard enough, I’ll call it quits while I still can. See you tomorrow, Reid.” JJ turns on her heel and walks back towards her own desk.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow too.” He nods and passes them on his way out. “Bye.” 

Garcia looks at Derek, her eyebrows cocked. “Well, then.” 

“Guess it’ll just be you and me, baby girl,” he teases, heading to walk back to his desk. 

“Just the way I like it.” Her heels nip the back of his shoes as she chases after him. “Even though JJ and Hotch will be there too.” 

“They can watch.” 

— 

“When’s Hotch getting here?” JJ drums her fingers on the side of her glass, tilting her head up. The restaurant they’re in is loud and crowded, the three of them squished into a booth clearly meant for two, all having glasses of what the waitress described as “fun, flirty drinks” cradled in their hands. Garcia’s stirring some kind of electric pink concoction with an equally pink umbrella when a throat clears. 

“I’m here,” their boss says, sliding into the booth next to them. His eyebrows furrow–well, maybe that’s just his resting face, they can’t really tell–as he glances at the drink in Derek’s hands. “What exactly is it that you’re drinking?” 

He shrugs, taking a sip. “I think it’s called the Orange Surprise. Not that there’s anything surprising about it–or this place, at all, really. I mean, look around. And this just tastes like–” 

“Wait,” Garcia interrupts, eyes on something behind him. She whips off her glasses, rubbing them furiously on her shirt before her jaw drops and she begins to stand in her seat. “Is it just me or is that Reid over there with a girl? A gorgeous girl at that?” 

As soon as she finishes her sentence, three more heads whip around to her line of vision, shock pulling at their faces. Even Hotch looks mildly surprised. 

From their vantage point in the restaurant, they can see Spencer’s side profile as he stares at a girl across the table from him–you, looking magnificent, even in the dingy, uneven bar lighting. Your elbows are on the table, face cradled by your hands as you stare up at him. The love shining out of your face--lips parted with intrigue as you listen, eyes soft, cheeks relaxed--is sickeningly lovely. And even at first glance, a table full of profilers can tell just how much you care about him–enough to reach across the table and smooth down an untidy lapel, enough to listen raptly as the words begin spilling out of him in a ramble, to smile at him with a kind of learned tenderness you only get from knowing someone with incredible intimacy and just time. 

“Oh. My. God.” She tries to scooch past Derek, who catches her by the hips. 

“Wait, baby girl. I wanna see how this plays out before we interrupt. What if that’s a cousin? I don't know, a friend?” He says, stalling her. She reluctantly sits back in her seat, neck craned. 

“They’re touching,” JJ reports, a gasp falling from her lips. “Reid hates touch.” 

“We can see, JJ,” Derek quips, though his jaw is just as dropped. 

As soon as the boy started rambling, everyone at the table expected you to get up and walk away, or look as bored as they felt listening to him. But you stayed. Your eyes are on his, nodding every so often. They watch as one of your hands wanders to Spencer’s arm, rubbing a circle on the fabric of his button-down. He looks so relaxed in your presence, unlike they’ve ever seen him before. What the hell is happening?

“Please let me go over,” Penelope begs. “I need to know. I need to meet her!” 

“I second it,” JJ echoes. “They’re worse than the two of you, and I didn’t think that was possible with Genius over there.” 

“No, we still don’t know if they’re long-term or first date or what. What if we barge in and they’re just friends?” Derek almost sounds convincing. Almost.

“That is not friendly behavior,” Hotch chimes in. Their attention lasers in on the table in front of them, shock freezing their limbs. You’re pouting, saying something to Spencer–he’s melting in your hands, nodding so much it looks like his head could just screw off any moment now, and you stand. Are you going to leave? Break up? What’s happening? 

You wander to his side of the table, and, in the most disgusting display of PDA ever, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands knitting themselves together behind his neck. And Spencer is sickeningly okay with it, hands traveling to your hips, massaging your pelvic bones as you say something to him. A blush pinches his cheeks–no, it’s like a virus, spreading all over his face as he buries himself into your neck. 

Garcia thinks she heard Derek gag. A giggle escapes you, loud enough to hear from their booth. From across the restaurant.  

“Okay, we’re going over,” he announces, standing from the table. “Even just to break this up. I’m nauseous.” 

“Copy that,” JJ contorts her face, following the group towards them. 

Garcia’s practically skipping ahead, expression both accusatory and giddy as she reaches your table. Her hands slam onto the wood, eyes wide as Spencer rears back, immediately on alert. “Alright, Reid, explain yourself now.” 

“Less dramatic, princess,” Derek whispers to her, nudging her shoulder. 

You cock your head at the quartet. They can all tell you’re mentally scanning them, just as much as they’re doing to you. It takes you a couple moments–and Spencer’s groan as he returns to his previous position nestled on your shoulder–before it clicks who they are. 

You jump up, abandoning Spencer with an embellished gasp. “You must be the BAU!” 

“Minus a few members, yes.” Hotch nods at you, looking the exact picture of what your boyfriend had described. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t be able to peer past the perfectly neutral, bordering on pleasant mask he’s pasted on his face. But that twitch of his lips gives it all away: he knew nothing about you, and mentally his jaw is on the floor. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“You too…Aaron Hotchner?” You guess, biting your lip. You’re so purely adorable that half of the team is already in love with you. 

He nods, and you smile at all of them. The happiness you’re wearing is so genuine that JJ whispers to Derek, “I think I just got blinded.”

“And you’re Penelope Garcia?” You turn towards her, eyebrows raised. She reaches her hand to shake yours, but you bypass it entirely and go in to wrap your arms firmly around her. She hugs you back, eyes blown up at shock.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping her from me this whole time!” She accuses Spencer as you pull back, greeting the other members as well. You hear the surprise in JJ’s laugh as you do the same for her, hug firm and leaking with kindness. 

“I haven’t,” he responds matter-of-factly. He’s resisting the urge to pull you back into him, annoyed at all of his colleagues for stealing your time together. Instead, he shifts to the edge of the seat, legs opening wide in a manspread that would be absolutely disgusting on anyone else. But it fits him. Alarmingly well. “I talk about Y/N all the time.” 

“Y/N’s your girlfriend?” Garcia’s tone borders on a shriek, but in a restaurant as loud as this one, no one notices. “I thought she was your cousin!” 

“Ew, what?” you crinkle your nose just as Spencer echoes your words–“That’s disgusting. But scarily more common than you’d think.” 

“I-I mean, you do talk about her a lot. You’ve just never mentioned her in relation to you before.” She sputters out. Everyone can see the cogs turning in her brain, trying to piece the puzzle together. “I love you already.” 

“He said he wouldn’t talk about us at work,” you agree, letting his arm pull you between his legs, one hand falling to your thigh. “Do you guys want to sit down? Now that the cat’s out of the bag, we should catch up.” 

“Um, yes, absolutely!” Garcia throws her hands into the air, scooching the two of you over so she can fit into the booth. “Now, tell me absolutely everything.” 

You shrug, snug on your boyfriend’s lap while also leaning in to look at her. Both of you sparkle in a way he absolutely adores. “I saw him, I liked him, I wanted him, and I got him.” 

“In the wise words of Ariana Grande,” she nods, words wise and expression stoic.

“Are you an Arianator?” You gasp, hand collapsing onto her hand in excitement. She takes that cue to launch into something Spencer does not at all understand. The other members of the BAU shuffle into the other side of the booth, Derek closest to Spencer and JJ at the end. He almost lets out a laugh seeing Hotch sitting so uncomfortably between them, shoulders drawn up tight as to conserve room, face equally as scrunched.

He opens his mouth to comment, but your fingers interrupt, drumming on his shoulder in excitement. You recap your conversation in a voice no one else can quite hear but him. He nods as you ramble, the opposite of what you were doing for him a few minutes ago. In some ways, you're just like him, but you're also complete opposites in so many others. While he usually hates physical touch, you lean into it, fingers tracing patterns onto his broad back while the sun peeks out of the sky, showering him in a glow that makes him downright angelic. Your other hand creeps to his as you watch him brush his teeth–you love seeing his toothbrush next to yours, there’s something so incredibly romantic about it that you can't describe, something that intertwines the two of you. He’s yours, you’re his. 

He presses his lips to your hair, then behind your hair, inhaling you. You’re perfect for him. So, so perfect. 

“Wow, pretty boy.” Derek shakes his head. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything. I didn’t think you’d be so into PDA.” 

“She was away for a whole week. What do you expect me to do?” He huffs, arm wrapping around your waist. Yes, he still hates handshakes, but for you–well, he is absolutely pathetic. And after having you leave for work? Not seeing you for seven whole days? He would get down on his knees and beg you to hold his hand. To pay him an ounce of attention. God, he is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you. 

“Greet her like a normal person. Or stay in your apartment,” Morgan advises, only half-joking. 

But Spencer’s no longer paying a shred of attention to anything his co-worker is saying. He’s too absorbed in you, laugh unabashed and tinkling as you discuss something animatedly with JJ and Garcia. You fit so well in his little family, he thinks. You might as well just stay with him forever. 

masterlist

tags @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac - didn't tag anyone from my other list because it's a diff fandom!

[venusbyline]

Sleep ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 26, oct.

(late post) Prequel to Nine Moons

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x twin sister!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: creampie

— summary: Jacaerys was determined to make you his wife, forcing his mother to marry him to you, even against her will. Or against your will too.

— word count: 1.3k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 26th day, female!reader, dark!Jacaerys, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, creampie, Targcest (twin brother/twin sister), dubcon somnophilia, rape/non-con, vaginal sex, breast worship, butt worship, breeding kink, degradation, praise kink, corruption kink, loss of virginity, blood licking, squirting, cum eating, cum swallowing, dacryphilia, crying, watersports, doggy style position, minor Jacaerys Velaryon/Baela Targaryen, Referenced Targaryen/Velaryon Incest (cousins), implied/referenced cheating, underage sex, ambiguous/open ending, non-consensual drug use (herbal tea), drugged sex, forced orgasm, forced pregnancy, marriage of convenience mentioned, butt slapping, biting, hair-pulling, manipulation, sexism, possessive behavior, implied breastfeeding kink, implied lactation kink, implied pregnancy kink, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, dark content, sadism, dom!Jacaerys, sub!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @dearjardim

— crossposting: AO3

— high valyrian words used: Idaña (twin), Hāedar (younger sister), Lēkia (older brother), Muña (mother).

Jacaerys was fed up with his mother's stubborn and boring behavior. Rhaenyra's refusal to break off his betrothal with Baela and refusing to let him marry you, his twin sister, was only making the fucking war even more stressful. As if the death of his little brother Lucerys was not enough, Jace still had to deal with Baela's constant interference against his angry thoughts and the fact that she did not understand why he hated these stupid Dragonseeds so much. It was easy for someone who was children of a Targaryen King Consort and a Velaryon princess to say he was being too arrogant or spoiled.

Either way, Jacaerys did not want a damn betrothed who was barely fit to support him during the outbursts. Even though she was extremely delightful and an excellent warrior, Jacaerys needed more. He needed a caring wife. And he knew you could play the role very well.

His anger towards Rhaenyra and Daemon was growing, to the point where he sometimes wished that his mother would actually recover her rightfully Iron Throne, but only because then he could rule the Seven Kingdoms soon.

He asked and even begged his mother to change the betrothal, explaining that the bond between the two of you had grown since Luke's murder and he needed you. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra remained a woman of her word, refusing to change the agreement.

Perhaps it was really a spoiled and cruel attitude on Jace's part, but he was determined to make you his wife, forcing his mother to marry him to you, even against her will. Or against your will too.

"Idaña, please..." Your whimper sounded too loud for both of your own good and Jacaerys whispered for you to moan lower, his large hand went straight to your mouth, sticking his index, middle and ring finger there to muffle the sounds that followed as he continued to slowly move his hips back and forth.

Each time he took himself out and put it back in, Jacaerys enjoyed the sight of his cock wet with your juices and also the blood of your innocence, as well as the sight of your voluptuous ass shaking when he fucked you a little rougher than before. He was trying his best to be careful with you, taking advantage of your drowsy dubious consent. Of course he did not want to hurt or scare his little twin sister in any way. He just wanted to left you filled with his seed, making your future heir growing in that soft womb.

"Shhh, Hāedar... You do not want to wake up our mommy, do you?" Jace murmured, pressing his bare sweaty chest against your white satin nightgown-covered back. He really wanted to rip that stupid fabric off and fuck his sister until you barely remember your own name. Until you beg for his cock. Until you were practically brainless. "Mother does not want me to marry you. But you want to marry me, do not you want to, my dear?"

Jace's question made you moan incoherent words around his hand, impossible for him to understand anything, so he took his three fingers out of your lips, wet with your spit and stuck them in your head, pulling your dark wavy hair just like his, despite the difference from length. You were like a reflection of him. The hair, the eyes, the nose... You were like a pure and innocent version of Jacaerys, the version he could never be. You were a true pure soul. You were everything he should have been and he was everything you could become.

He fucked you deeper, slapping your buttocks hard and making you scream softly, while he took the opportunity to pull your hair back, leaving your neck exposed to nibble and kiss. "Answer me, little sister. Do you want to marry me? Do you want to carry the future King or Queen of the Iron Throne inside your belly? Do you want me to turn you into a Muña?"

Perhaps it was your still slightly asleep state, perhaps it was how his cock was fucking you too fast and brutally for your virgin cunt to handle, or perhaps it was the special herbs that Jacaerys had put in your drink during dinner... But you just could not say no to him. You did not even want to say no. All that was going through yourself mind was that Jacaerys needed to keep doing what he was doing, even if it hurt so bad.

"Do you want me to breed you, sister? Beautiful little dark-haired babies sucking milk from your breasts while I sit on the Throne?" His question did not get a verbal response, however, Jace understand it as agreement due to the way your walls tightened around his member. "That is, that is my fucking good little girl... So innocent and obedient." Jace growled between moans, taking his hand out of your head and moving it to the softness of your clothed breast, squeezing roughly over the fabric. "You are taking me so well, Idaña. You are going to look so beautiful pregnant with our children. I am going to fuck my seed into you every year, I will never get tired of that warm and tight little cunt..."

You cried out and felt a sequence of slaps on your ass again, noises so loud that the entire castle was probably already hearing you two. "Lēkia... S-stop... I need to pee!" You suddenly screamed groggily when you felt your lower belly start to ache. You hoped Jacaerys would stop what he was doing and release you, but all he did was chuckle mockingly and grip your hips tighter. "PLEASE, JACE! Brother, please... I really need to pee right now!"

Even though you could not see Jacaerys' face because he was fucking you from behind, but you felt his breath in your ear, his teeth nibbling on your earlobe before he purred. "Then do it." He teased hornily. "I am your twin and some minutes older than you. Also, I am the one who will be the future King, so I am ordering you to do it."

Your eyes widened, coming out a little of your sudden trance and drowsy state when Jace continued holding your hip with one arm, but brought the other to your belly, pressing hard on the place where your bladder was. Tears began to fall desperately from your face and you struggled under your twin brother body, the hot liquid wetting the sheets and both of your legs and the Jace's too. "Well... I thought princesses and big girls did not piss on themselves. Now I guess I was wrong, you are a cute bedwetter, my dear. That was so horny."

The mockery turn everything more shameful and you sobbed, just crying when your cunt began to spasm intensely until you came, a clearer liquid splashing out before you fell face down on the pillow completely, your consciousness fading for a while after the orgasm and something else.

You did not know how long you were unconscious. Probably just for five or ten minutes. When your eyes opened with difficulty, you were still breathing heavily, your face pressed into your soft pillow, hearing Jacaerys growl and feeling him pull his cock out of you after his release, spreading your buttocks to enjoy the view of your bruised ass and reddish and sore cunt, full of cum and drops of your blood and wet with your own pee and your sudden squirt.

"Both of us will hope my seed catches as soon as possible. Right, Hāedar?"

You sniffled and nodded, not protesting when Jace pushed his finger into your sensitive hole and brought it to your lips, forcing you to lick up the disgusting mixture as he smirked, stroking your dark hair too. "My dear little sister. My true future betrothed and wife. You will be such a good mother." He placed a kiss on your shoulder, caressing your sore ass and laying down next to you, ignoring your confused and sleepy cries. "Seven Hells, do not be pathetically dramatic. Just go back to sleep, dear sister. Go back to sleep and then we can rule Westeros together very soon, I promise this to you. Nothing will separate us, not even Mother, Daemon or Baela. Not even you."

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[astonmartinii]

how'd he pull that off then? | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem alternative! reader

google: how to charm max verstappen's crazy bff while being a loveable loser?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

maxverstappen1

liked by liamlawson30, landonorris and 1,340,209 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: if only you could see just how rare she had her steak, damn vampire

view all comments

user1: category is random pairings

user2: i need the detailed play by play of how these two ended up friends

user3: i just know it’s gonna be something stupid

yourusername: being twitter mutuals is NOT stupid

user4: what did yall have in common though

yourusername: just because i’m a bit alternative i can’t be on f1twt, baby how do you explain valentino rossi?

user5: so who is taking one for the team and wifing her so we can get alt f1 for races other than zandvoort

landonorris: MEEEEEEE

landonorris: who said that?

landonorris: that’s crazy my cat took my phone and posted that comment

maxverstappen1: cats don’t have thumbs

landonorris: mine is super smart

maxverstappen1: you don’t have a cat

landonorris: one of yours broke in?

yourusername: you can say you like me lando i’m not gonna bite

oscarpiastri: don’t threaten him with a good time

user6: i’m sorry private school ass somerset quater zip fuckboy is gonna pull thee Y/N Y/LN

user7: i’ll believe it when i see it

yourusername: max i swear to god you gotta post the pic with the eyeliner

yourusername: we need the cool girls to like you

yourusername: there’s no cool girl representation in formula one anymore - come back kimi raikkonen the kids miss you (oscar you are cool though)

landonorris: actually there’s a new rule that if you compliment one of the papaya boys you have to compliment the other…. please

yourusername: you look like you’d fit in my pocket

yourusername: keep your car away from max this season and there’s more where that came from

landonorris: thank you!

alexalbon: good lord

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 198,450 others

yourusername: first ever nepotism friend

view all comments

user8: lando norris gonna make an all black quadrant collection as an excuse to get y/n in his clothes

landonorris: the problem is i want her out of my clothes, well out of all clothes really

user9: perv

landonorris: nuh uh

user10: no like literally ur so creepy

landonorris: @user10 i literally saw you in my comments saying that you’d bounce on it crazy style until i’ve literally reshaped your large intestine

user10: will you?

yourusername: he won’t

user11: are they flirting by proxy?

user12: shut up i wanna see how far they can take it

user13: @maxverstappen1 in your professional opinion, does lando have a chance

maxverstappen1: everyone has a chance with y/n, she has horrible standards. why do you think she’s friends with me?

yourusername: max?

maxverstappen1: oh yeah :( i’m sorry for talking down on myself. i am worthy and i deserve love

yourusername: good!

user14: poor girl is gentle parenting everyone in her life LMAO

francocolapinto: woweee

landonorris: am i a joke to you?

francocolapinto: not a joke, but not competition

yourusername: oh those are fighting words

francocolapinto: i gotta believe my hype

yourusername: delusion is not pretty

yourusername: @landonorris you’re pretty

landonorris: hehehehehehe

user15: my spidey senses are tingling… she is being way too nice to him

user16: i know she looks scary but by all accounts she very nice

user17: i’m not convinced there’s nothing there

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 1,678,378 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: i am sick and tired of you people not believing that y/n would be with me

view all comments

user18: sorry buddy but look at her

user19: she looks like she makes him cry often

user20: he seems like he’s into that

landonorris: kinkshaming me, on my own post?

user21: bro just told on himself

yourusername: so what happened to the dramatic post-win parc ferme kiss?

landonorris: THEY WERE DOUBTING ME

yourusername: but i never doubted you

yourusername: so who cares?

landonorris: …. me

yourusername: well you’re my pretty boy and no one else’s so fuck them

landonorris: yes ma’am

maxverstappen1: keep that to yourselves please

yourusername: sorry maxy

maxverstappen1: he’s lucky i even let him ask you out

landonorris: she is her own person?

maxverstappen1: it wasn't in her best interests but i was feeling nice

maxverstappen1: DON’T make me regret it

oscarpiastri: oh thank god

oscarpiastri: i thought he was writing sonnets about you while single and was seriously close to getting him institutionalised

yourusername: eh i like em a lil whacky

oscarpiastri: a LITTLE?

landonorris: i don’t like your tone

oscarpiastri: spare me i’ve listened to you talk about that girl at LENGTH

user22: free my guy oscar

user23: free all of mclaren by the sounds of it

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 237,589 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: he’d make the perfect art donaldson, but no challengers because i don’t share

view all comments

user24: PLEASE GIVE ME ONE CHANCE

user25: boys hate lando because he’s got a fast car, men hate lando because he won the lottery with his girlfriend

user26: bad bitches do both

landonorris: who is art?

yourusername: we literally watched the film last night?

landonorris: oh? tennis?

landonorris: idk i kinda lost interest when the boys stopped kissing?

yourusername: what the fuck is in the paddock water? yall are all a lil fruity

landonorris: i thought you liked that about me?

yourusername: oh i love that about you

yourusername: but this is the second time i have had an f1 driver say they lost interest in challengers when it stopped being overtly gay ?

user27: y/n just out here snitching on the grid

user28: f1 challengers when?

user29: grill the grid but galex recreate the art/patrick scene?

alexalbon: first of all, flattered. second of all, why is and not lestappen?

georgerussell63: why on earth are you entertaining this?

alexalbon: don’t be boring george

user29: lestappen don’t need to be told to make out duh

charles_leclerc: excuse me?

maxverstappen1: i wanna ask questions but i fear it might provoke them more

landonorris: this is meant to be a post about how my girlfriend loves me, why are we talking about you people

alexalbon: you finally got the girl to like you and now you feel untouchable… watch your back

yourusername: ONLY ONE PERSON GETS TO WATCH THAT BACK SIR AND THAT’S ME

landonorris: exactly!

user30: you know what? i think i prefer the insanity on twitter to whatever this is

user31: ao3 is more realistic than whatever is going on here

oscarpiastri

liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 893,209 others

tagged: landonorris & yourusername

oscarpiastri: very happy for you guys, never stay in the room next me to ever again.

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user32: I’LL STAY

user33: bro they gotta neuter everyone under every post of y/n yall are rabid

user34: i know i can treat her better than him

user35: he cannot handle all that

oscarpiastri: unfortunately, the noises would suggest he can

landonorris: omg you’re such a looker? listener?

landonorris: @yourusername what is the word?

yourusername: voyeuristic?

landonorris: yeah @oscarpiastri you’re that

oscarpiastri: not by choice last night, and i did not get off to it i just deafened myself via asmr to try and fall asleep during the … ruckus

user36: petition to remove lando from that relationship and replace him with ME

user37: put me in coach

maxverstappen1: welcome to my world, osc. you get used to it (i’ll send you my headphone recommendations)

yourusername: it is not that bad

maxverstappen1: it took me six months to find the headphones that would drown you out

oscarpiastri: hold up

oscarpiastri: SIX MONTHS

yourusername: we’ve been together for nearly a year genius

oscarpiastri: WHAT

landonorris: like we said … we wanted a parc ferme kiss reveal but SOMEONE kept missing the few races i managed to win

yourusername: i was at zandvoort, but unfortunately my loyalties on that day were with max

landonorris: i don’t understand why i was made to apologise to YOU about simply lovely

yourusername: you enjoyed it though?

maxverstappen1: do not include me in this

yourusername: i was defending your honour?

maxverstappen1: and stripping lando of his

landonorris: maybe?!

user38: i know way too much about these people

user39: crazy… they should keep going though

landonorris: for a man also in love, you’re sounding bitter osc

oscarpiastri: i am in love, but i am also traumatised

yourusername: drama queen

yourusername: love you too lando

landonorris: <33333

fin.

note: thought i'd bang one out before i tackle a certain final part of a certain series *cough cough* guilty as sin? heheheehe ... enjoy this while you wait! also lando is a villain in other side of the moon, so had to give him some love in between x

[trustinsturniolos]

at the same damn time | c.s & m.s

╰┈➤ chris loves watching you be fucked whilst jerking off—the noises you make, the faces, everything— and matt loves fucking you. perfect duo?

pairings : chris x reader x matt

warnings : no weird incest shit !! . language . threesome . p in v . male master nation . a little clit play . not proofread . doggy style . lmk if more

“Can’t- ‘s too much!” You pleaded, dropping your head to look down at the bed.

Matt was behind you, stretching your weeping hole with his brutal, relentless thrusts, watching as your ass bounced against his pelvis when he pounded into you.

Chris sat beside you on the bed, pumping himself with his hand as he ogled the sight of you face down ass up, the overstimulated whimpers and moans elicited from your soft lips causing whimpers of his own to spill from his lips.

“Yes, y’can.” Chris corrected you firmly, lifting his free hand to place it under your chin, guiding your head back up so he could see your face. His other hand stroked his cock rapidly, his dick twitching impatiently in his hand every time his thumb came in contact with his tip.

“Good girl, sweetheart. Doin’ so well f’us.” Matt cooed. His tone sounded sweet, but it was laced with mock.

Matt’s tip brushed against your cervix as he thrusted deeper, causing you to squirm forward, “uh uh uh, not doing that. Stay still” he commanded, his hands grabbing tightly at your hips to pull you back.

Matt’s hand lifted up before landing a slap to your ass once you were still, a punishment for trying to move away, but he was quick to soothe the area, gripping at your flesh gently.

You mewled pathetically at the contact, your pussy undeniably growing wetter.

Matt was big, and although you loved it, it didn’t come in handy when they felt like overstimulating you for their pleasure.

His massive member slowly slides out of your drenched entrance, collecting the left over cum and arousal from your last orgasm. His hand guides his cock down to your clit, rubbing the tip against your bundle of nerves teasingly before dragging the mix of cum and arousal back up to your hole, thrusting himself rapidly, deep, into you without warning.

The sudden invasion causing your body to jolt forward weakly as you whispered loudly, nothing short of pornographic.

Matt reached forward and collected your hair into a makeshift ponytail, pulling you back against him with a growl. He continued to tightly clutch onto your hair as he thrusted into you.

“Y’wouldn’t want Matt to stop, would you?” Chris teased, his voice filled with desire as he furrowed his brows.

You shook your head.

Yes, the pleasure was almost unbearable, to the point you couldn’t speak, but did you want him to stop? No.

“So don’t move, ‘s simple.”

You moaned softly, the combination of Chris’ calm but lustful voice and Matt’s thick cock stretching you out becoming painfully pleasurable. Your little noise earned a guttural groan from Chris as his hand beats his shaft faster, his head tipping back in pleasure.

©trustinsturniolos

dividers : me

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[rafesangelita]

So I just read after hours with dilf rafe and I NEED a fic for the next day aka the day spend at the country club, I am so curious to see how bitchy!kook!reader and the kids interact!

warnings: none really just some fluff <3

a/n: read ‘after hours with dilf!rafe’ here ! and read more about bitchy!kook!reader and dilf!rafe’s dynamic here ♡ also just for reference, i’m envisioning rafe has two kids in this fic; one girl who’s eleven years old, and one boy who’s five years old

you were still getting used to being around rafe’s kids, having never had any siblings of your own, you were learning how to interact with them by watching how they talked to each other and studying them the best way you could. what made them laugh? what kind of stuff did they like talking about? what kind of things did rafe get after them for? rafe could see how devoted you were to getting to know them and he loved that you had opened yourself up to not only letting him love you, but his children as well. despite this whole thing being new to you, you were a doing a damn good job.

everyone was currently at the country club, rafe and his son out on the golf course, and you and his daughter sitting comfortably underneath the shade at a table not too far away, both of you sharing a mocktail as she let you in on all the fifth grade gossip. “she told everyone that i copied her party theme but i had already been planning my birthday party for months! and of course everyone believed her because she threw her’s first..” you scoffed, shaking your head at the pure audacity.

“as if you needed the inspiration,” you rolled your eyes, “people— especially girls in competition with you, are always going to find something to grab onto, whether it be your party theme, your style, your personality.. you just have to remember as long as you’re true to yourself in a world full inauthentic people, they’re always going to try and take what you come up with, so the best thing you could do is just pick your friends wisely and don’t surround yourself with absolutely everyone. that’s what i did, and now i only have bestest friends in my circle.”

she looked at you like she was having an epiphany, her eyes slightly wide as she pondered over your words. “wow, that’s probably like the best advice i’ve ever gotten.” she hummed, taking a sip from the virgin piña colada in your hand. rafe smiled to himself, having heard your entire exchange. “you know what that means?” you asked with a teasing smile, “we’ll just have to throw you a bigger and better party next year.” rafe felt his heart stir at the mention of ‘we’— the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he cleared his throat.

drawing your attention to rafe and his son, you saw the way his little cheeks were bright red from the blazing sun beating down on him, his hair sticking to his forehead as he swung his miniature club the way rafe taught him. “ray!” you called after the little boy, “come get you some water, let’s take a little break real quick.” without hesitation, baby ray dropped the club and ran straight into your lap where you held the ice cold water bottle up for him to drink from. rafe all but melted at the sight, the corner of his lips twitching as he watched the you smiled down at his boy.

helping his daughter up from her seat, he fixed her in his lap so he could sit next to you, his lips coming down to plant a kiss on your temple. ray pulled away from the water bottle with a gasp, his legs working to climb up so he could give you a kiss too. you just about died when you felt his lips on your cheek, your arms wrapping around the little boy as he rested his head on your chest. “so what do you feel like eating for lunch?” rafe asked his daughter, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she leaned back against his chest. “why don’t we go back home and make something? y/n made these super good sandwiches yesterday and she took the crust off.”

rafe laughed, looking over at you to make sure you were okay with making the kids something to eat. “i can definitely do that, how about this time i show you how to do it so you can make them whenever you want?” at your words, she nodded frantically, shooting up to her feet and tugging on rafe’s arm so all of you can leave. laughing softly at her excitement, you adjusted ray on your hip before you and rafe followed her out of the country club gates. helping rafe put ray in his booster seat, you put his seatbelt on before booping his nose and shutting the door. “hey—” rafe stopped you as you were rounding the truck to get to your side, “you’re doing amazing with them.”

[ptergwen]

im not sure if you’ll see this😭 but can i have reader being like maddy from euphoria, confident, bad bitch, short skirts and she’s dating peter and they have this secret relationship cuz shes popular and hes not so they both go to a party and makes out in the restroom and comes out together and then flash is making fun of them and then she just kisses peter right in front of everyone (im so srry this is long but i hope u see this

out of sight, on his mind ‎♡‧₊˚

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w/c: ?

warnings: making out, suggestiveness, drinking, like one swear

a/n: oh i looooved this idea thank you very much for your service babes :D also don't forget to join my new taglist y'all i only got a couple of you so far & happy reading!

you down a shooter, gagging at the bitter taste of the alcohol. you giggle and stick the tiny bottle in your bra. you're dancing with a group of your friends. one of them takes your hand, the two of you moving to the beat of the music. peter watches you from across the room with the hint of a smile.

he wouldn't typically spend his friday night in the corner of a packed houseparty nursing a cup of jungle juice, but ned insisted they go. his best friend is determined they both up their social statuses this year. they're not too popular at midtown, with the exception of the academic decathlon team.

if people only knew peter was dating one of the most popular girls in school; you.

it was peter's idea to keep your relationship secret. you'd wanted to show him off, but he's too shy. you're always the center of attention, and peter parker doesn't do well with attention. he'd much rather admire you with everyone else in public and be yours in private.

"come on, peter! it's a party! shouldn't we be, like, dancing or something?"

"i don't know, ned. just... drink your juice."

ned takes a generous swig of his drink and cringes. peter chuckles, sipping from his cup.

"what's in jungle juice anyway?"

"um, everything i think. you might blackout if you have too much."

"dude, that's the goal."

you catch peter's eye again. you're holding your friend's arm that's wrapped around your shoulders, hips swaying. you shout along to the music with the rest of the girls in your group. you look so carefree, and so damn good.

the pink, strapless dress you're wearing is hugging your body in all the right places. your hair is styled to perfection, tiny gems dotted along your eyelids. your look is complete with a pair of knee high boots. peter loves your style. there's no way to describe it other than that it's you, who peter adores an insane amount. he wishes he could be as bold as you are.

peter's phone vibrates in his pocket; it's a text from you.

are u watching me?

before he even answers, you send another.

come to the bathroom

peter briefly locks eyes with you. you give him a mischievous smile before slipping away, making some excuse to your friends. he bites his lip to suppress his own grin.

"hey, ned? how about i go get us some refills?"

"bet! i’m gonna dance."

ned hands peter his cup and claps him on the shoulder, disappearing into the crowd. instead of refilling their drinks, peter makes his way to the bathroom. there's a few people waiting in line. knowing you, you've already claimed it from them. he knocks at the door. a hand reaches out and grabs at peter's flannel, pulling him inside.

"hi, baby."

your glossy lips capture peter's in a kiss. he instantly leans into it, but you pull back much to his dismay. his big brown eyes go even bigger.

"woah... hi."

you laugh softly.

"miss me?"

"seems like you missed me too."

"maybe."

you run a hand through peter's hair. his hands settle on your hips.

"sorry for watching you, couldn't help it. you look so pretty tonight."

"i always look pretty."

your tone is playful, but peter knows you mean it, and he couldn't agree more.

"whatcha been up to? you having fun?"

your manicured nails scratch lightly at peter's scalp. he practically purrs at the feeling.

"mm, just been hanging with ned. i don't really know anybody else."

"you know me."

"but you're with your friends."

"so?"

"so... you know i’m shy, princess."

you giggle.

"it's just 'cause you're not drunk enough, baby."

"oh yeah?"

peter's thumbs run up and down your sides, face only inches from yours. you retrieve the shooter from your bra. there's still at least half a shot left.

"open."

peter does as you say and opens his mouth. you take his chin between your fingers and tilt his head back, pouring the rest of the strong, sweet liquid down his throat. he swallows. you toss the bottle aside. peter gives you a look, one that says kiss me. you shake your head, smirking.

you want him to kiss you.

peter's lips smash into yours. his eagerness makes you giggle into the kiss. you grip the collar of his shirt in both hands, lips moving slowly against each other's. peter backs you against the door.

"did i already tell you how pretty you look?"

"mhm, but not enough."

"you're right. you're so pretty."

peter kisses down your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume. you guide his lips back up to yours.

"you are too, y'know."

you peck peter's lips softly, letting your lips linger over his after, eyes searching his. they twinkle. you mesmerize him, truly mesmerize him. you kiss an awe-struck peter properly this time. he holds your waist, head tilted to deepen the kiss.

your make out session is rudely interrupted by someone knocking on the door.

"yeah, one second!" you answer. "let's get out of here."

peter groans and buries his face in your neck.

"but i don't want to. wanna keep kissing you."

"not here, baby."

"why not?"

he leaves more kisses on your neck. you coax peter away, laughing, his arms still wrapped tight around you.

"the line. wanna find somewhere else?"

peter perks up at that.

"okay, let's go."

you lead peter out of the bathroom. he follows, hand in yours. even though no one seems to pay any mind to the fact that you were in the bathroom together, peter can't help but blush. he doesn't make it out unscathed, though; none other than flash thompson notices him.

"penis parker, is that you?"

you stop walking, eyeing flash over your shoulder. peter lets out an exasperated sigh.

"what's up, flash?"

"you are."

peter looks down to see an obvious bulge in his jeans. his cheeks burn hotter, hand leaving yours to readjust himself. a few people turn around to look.

"y/n's a big step up from your imaginary girlfriend. where'd you say she was from again, canada?"

you narrow your eyes at flash, a hand wrapping around peter's bicep.

"do you know him?"

"yeah, we're... friends. sort of. we do academic decathlon together."

your gaze shifts to peter.

"friends?"

"oh yeah, we go way back. any friend of parker's is a friend of mine."

flash smirks at you. you look him up and down, face scrunched in disgust.

"ew."

more people are starting to watch the exchange. you glare at flash, who holds your gaze knowingly. peter can tell you're about to go into protective girlfriend mode. he squeezes your hand that's on his arm.

"anyways, just wanted to congratulate you on your first baddie," flash tells him. "try not to fumble."

before peter can process what's happening, your lips are on his, hands cupping his cheeks to keep him in place. maybe it's just because he's tipsy, but peter actually finds himself having the courage to kiss you back in front of everyone. you smile at this. he holds you by your waist, letting himself enjoy the kiss for a while longer.

peter's lips are puffy and covered in your gloss when you two pull apart. he draws you in closer to himself, giving you one more short kiss, then another. the two of you earn whistles and chatter from everyone watching. you giggle, thumbs caressing peter's cheeks and gaze meeting his.

there's something in his eyes that you haven't seen before; confidence. he might be shy, but not when it comes to you. not anymore.

you look over at flash smugly, his mouth dropped open.

"he won't."

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