#but he truly hits different in all denim

[doll-elvis]

the way that if I were Elvis’ costar I would purposely mess up every take of this makeout sequence so we could do it over and over and over again 😩

[mountainsandmayhem]

Shhh...Just A Little Bit More

Part Three (Soft Version)

DBF!Joel x Female!Reader - 18+

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 (Spicy Version)

Summary: Joel Miller caught you working where you shouldn't be after you promised to quit. Now he's taking matters into his own hands. Word Count 4.7k

CW: DBF!, Dom!, SoftDom!, use of nicknames (baby, sweet pea, baby girl etc.), Sub/Dom, DD/LG, use of a collar, use of toys. no use of y/n. no description of reader except for piercings. Praise, degradation. After care.

AN: THANK YOU for all your love on parts 1 and 2. I was in my feels when I wrote this, so this is the sweeter version of the two. I'd love to hear which version you preferred!

“Hey, buddy. It’s Joel.”

“Joel?” You can hear your dad’s muffled and panicked voice through the receiver. “Where’s my daughter? Why do you have her phone? It’s 5 am!” 

“Remember that time Sarah ran away to your house and you told me that one day I might be doing the same for you?” 

Your dad is silent for a while, a distorted higher pitched voice filters through before you hear your dad again, “It’s alright honey. She’s with Joel.” He lets out a deep sigh before adding, “I thought we skipped the rebellious phase with her.”

“She’s a good girl. I think she just needs some time to cool off.” Joel says, his voice is friendly and light.

You squeeze your thighs together and nuzzle deeper into Joel’s throat. You know what you need, and it isn’t to cool off. He and your dad have been friends since the day he moved in down the street. You were seven and Sarah was eleven, you thought she was the coolest person on the planet. Wonder what she’d think of you now, cuddled up against her dad after he just edged the fuck out of you after spanking you in an alleyway. You’re lost in your thoughts as Joel talks with your parents for a while.

A sane person would stop being so turned on right now. Fuck, I need Joel. So badly. Maybe I should rile him up some more. 

“I’ll come by this afternoon,” Joel hugs you tighter, bringing you back to the conversation. “Ya, if she wants to, I’ll bring her. She’s ok, just never seen her more - frustrated.” 

You squeeze his side, knowing he’s smirking about how frustrated and needy you truly are right now. He hangs up the phone and brings his lips to yours, kissing you harder this time. You moan into his mouth, hands roaming up his body to tangle in his hair. 

Holy shit, Joel Miller is kissing me. 

As you run your nails along his scalp he lets out a pleasurable sounding gasp. Oh, he likes that, he likes that very much. 

Got ya, you think to yourself. 

He pulls away to see you smiling at him. “This is why I usually tie naughty girls down,” his voice is completely different from how it was just moments ago. Deeper, more commanding, and it reverberates through you, right to your pussy. “Because they think they’ve found spots that will get them what they want. Let’s go home now, darlin’.” 

Joel’s front door has barely closed before he’s pushing you up against the wall, caged in by his arms and strong chest. 

Every bump on the drive home had you twitching, you tried your hardest not to gasp and moan but the combination of the gravel road, your insane state of heightened arousal, and the lack of underwear in your stiff denim shorts were all working against you. 

“Did you come on the drive home?” He says coldly, lips pressing against your neck, hitting that sweet soft spot just below your ear. 

“No, Joel,” you whine. 

His teeth graze your throat and you cry out, “It’s Mr Miller, don’t make me remind you again.” 

Your hands scramble for purchase as your knees start to give out, wrapping around the open flannel shirt he’s wearing over a fitted black t-shirt. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Miller. I don’t…” you trail off, you aren’t sure if you should say you’ve never been a sub before, at least not to someone this experienced. You don’t want him to stop, you love what happened tonight and you want him to show you and teach you what this all means. But even more so, you trust him to teach you. 

Joel stops kissing you, hands coming to your waist and lifting you so your eye level. When you wrap your legs around his trim waist you gasp out in a mix of pleasure and pain. Your poor cunt is begging for relief but you can’t barely stand your clit to be touched. His eyes look at you with concern. 

I deserve to go to hell if she tells me she’s a virgin. Fuck, you were so stupid when it comes to her. 

“I need you to finish that sentence, babygirl. You don’t what?” 

Your cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, so shy compared to that bratty girl who told him to kiss his ass. Joel has the gut sinking feeling that you might have him wrapped around your little finger already.

Dangerous.

Very very dangerous.

Not to mention stupid. 

“I’ve just..” you start, he brings his hands to cup your face, moving a few strands of stray hairs that are stuck to your lips. “I haven’t had a Dom before. I don’t know what to do or what to call you.” 

Cute, Joel thinks to himself, she’s so fucking cute right now. 

“Well babygirl, when we are playing like this you do what I tell you, and if you don’t like what I tell you, you use the safe word. Do you remember it?”

You nod, biting your lip as you whisper, “Cowboy.” 

His face lights up with pride and in that moment you realize you’ll do anything to have him look at you like that again. And when he throws in a gravelly, ‘good girl’, any inhibitions you had go out the window. You are a good girl, you want to be his good girl…forever. 

He continues, “And when we are playing you call me Mr Miller. Otherwise, you can call me whatever you’d like.” He places a light kiss on the tip of your nose and you melt a little more into him and the wall behind you. “Do you have any other questions, baby?” 

Do you know what it does to me when you call me baby? 

Or kiss my nose or forehead like you have? 

Can you spank me again? 

Can you make me come? 

Can I suck your dick? 

How do you feel about anal? 

“Umm,” you press your lips together, eyes taking in every little bit of his face, trying to memorize this moment. “How will I know when we are playing and when we aren’t?” 

Fuck, if this girl lets me put a collar on her I’m going to come in my pants and then propose. 

“There’s my smart girl,” he praises, his coffee and caramel coloured eyes washing over you. “We can have a symbol, something I give you when we play. And when you’re wearing it you’re mine.” His voice sounds full of passion all of a sudden, each work almost sears itself onto your heart. 

Your heart is pounding at what he’s implied and you’re almost sure he can hear it. “What kind of symbol?” 

He puts you down and then gets on one knee to untie your shoes and help you slip them off. His warm fingertips trail up your legs as he stands before taking your hand in his. With his large palm encasing yours, suddenly you feel safe and loved, your pussy flutters at the promise of him taking care of you in a way that only he can. You know you’re going to be ruined for all other men. 

He leads you to his bedroom and it’s nothing like you remember when you’d play hide and seek while Sarah babysat you. Gone is the old wooden furniture and mismatched bedding. Replaced with a black metal bed frame, along with matching bedside tables and dresser, and the fluffiest white sheets you’ve ever seen. You so badly want to just sink in and get naked with Joel. It looks like it would be like getting fucked on a cloud or cotton candy and those thoughts are only solidified when he tells you to sit before he heads to the closet doors. 

He slides the barn door of his large walk-in closet open. The room seems to wrap you up in Joel’s scent, warm and spicy with a hint of vanilla. As he walks into the closet he toes off his boots and then slides his flannel off, placing it on a hanger. It might be your very neglected pussy talking, but you swear you can see every muscle in his body underneath that shirt and you unconsciously spread your legs a little bit. He reaches up above the clothing and pulls out a black box with a lock on it and then looks at you mischievously as he pads back over to you. 

“Sometimes,” he says gently, “A dom will give their sub a collar. When it’s on, we’re playing. You belongs to me. When it’s off, we can just act how we normally would.” 

A collar, definitely not sure how you feel about that. You don’t want to be like a dog with a black leather collar around your neck. He slides the numbers to enter the combination and then flicks the clasp open. 

To your surprise, he pulls out a dainty golden chain. It almost looks like a bunch of yellow paper clips strung together, and there’s a tiny lock pendant on the end. He runs the thin links through his fingers before looking over at you. 

“You don’t have to do this, I can just take you home and we can go back to how things were. Ultimately, you always have the choice.” If a stranger could see the way he was looking at you right now, they’d never be able to tell he was capable of the spanking he gave you earlier. 

“You’ll stop if I say ‘cowboy’?” You say, voice cracking, nervous and excited energy fighting for first place. 

“Always, babygirl. I’m here to dominate you, but I’m also here to take care of you. A good dom will always take of their sub.” 

“Then I want to. Please, Mr Miller. Make me yours.” 

He almost growls as he pulls you to your feet. You squeal as he hoists you over his shoulder, his hands strong on the back of your thighs as he carries you to the floor-length mirror at the end of his closet. He stands behind you as he works the clasp, placing the thin gold collar around your neck and then doing it up. He’s so close that you can feel his cock harden at the sight of you as he officially makes you as his for the first time. Joel's thick fingers trace along the rings, he thumbs the little lock pendant before he grips your throat just below your jawline. He applies pressure to your pulse point as his now black eyes come to meet yours in the reflection and brings his lips to your ear. 

With a growling, rough whisper he says, “You have five seconds to get naked and lay in my bed with your legs spread as wide as you can.” 

The instant his hand releases, you sprint to his bed, stripping your clothes as you go. He counts to five with authority and after what happened his truck, and now this, you’re sure you’re never going to be able to count without getting turned on ever again. 

“Such an eager little thing, aren’t you?” 

Desperate to hear him praise you, you lay on your back, planting your feet on the bed before letting your knees fall open. 

“Straighten your legs and put your hands above your head.” You position your body how he says, even though you’re completely exposed to him his eyes stay locked on yours. “This is how I want you when we start playing. Exactly how you are now.” 

He grabs another box from his closet and places it on the foot of the bed, eyes travelling up your toned legs, “I’m going to show you what you’ll be going to work with inside of you tomorrow if you decide to stay there. I haven’t forgotten that you were a brat tonight.” 

He opens the box and pulls out a black U-shaped piece of silicone and lays it on your belly. “Do you know what this….” 

He stops mid-sentence, eyes lighting up as they rake over your tits. They dance from each nipple, taking in the tiny barbell and the thin hearts that encompass each one. “You are a naughty little thing, aren’t you?” 

“I like pain,” you whisper, throat going dry at the admission. 

“My little masochist,” he hums. “As I was saying, do you know that is?” He nods his head towards the little toy. 

You shake your head, “No, Mr Miller.” 

“That goes inside your gorgeous pussy. One part pushes on your g spot, the other on your clit. I have the remote.” He holds up a small plastic remote with a few shiny buttons.

“Oh,” you moan, your lips forming in the shape of the word, nipples getting harder at the thought.

“I will keep it turned on low enough that you will not come. In fact, it might be more like torture than pleasure.” His eyes are sparkling at the thought of you squirming for hours.

“But I don’t want to quit,” you whine. You’re a glutton for punishment and you know Joel will dish it out. 

“How long is your shift?” He says, picking up the toy, the graze of his fingers along your belly sends an electric current through your body. 

“Four hours,” your voice is husky with need. 

“I’m going to get some lube and then put this toy inside of you now, babygirl. We’ll see how long you can last. Is that okay?” 

“Of course, Mr Miller.” You try to sound confident but in the bright lights of his room, you can see how dark and serious he looks. 

He lubes up the toy and then swipes some lube through your folds. Your back arches off the bed and you let out a loud high pitched moan when he hits your clit. 

Fuck. I’m gonna come with the tiniest vibration and it’s probably going to hurt. 

“So wet. So swollen. My poor girl,” he says mockingly, he’s loving that you’ve been suffering and on edge since the minute you saw him in that alleyway. 

The toy slides in and the pressure just from the silicone alone sends the air whooshing out of your lungs. You’re gasping for breath, your clit feels like it’s being zapped with electricity and you immediately slam your thighs together and start to whimper. 

A small, almost evil sounding chuckle comes from Joel as he holds up the remote. “Ready?” 

“No,” you gasp, rolling onto your belly. “I can’t. Please don’t.” 

“Are you going to quit?” 

You cry out in frustration into one of his fluffy pillows and then whisper a sad, “no.” 

The vibrator comes to life and the most intense mix of pain and pleasure floods your body. He’s right, the sensation isn’t enough to make you come, just enough so that you know it’s there. You bury your face deeper in the pillows, curling yourself into the fetal position, back towards Joel, as you try to breathe normally. 

Joel strips down to his boxers before shutting off the lights. He slips into the sheets, covering you up along the way. “Good night, baby girl.” 

“What?” You gasp. “Mr Miller. I….oh god…I c-can’t. It’s on.” 

“You may as well get used to it. You’re going to work with it in tomorrow. No more talking. Go to sleep.” 

Joel lays on his back, one arm behind his head, the other palm spread out on his chest. You flip around to face him, the early morning sun lighting his profile. There’s no way you’re going to be able to sleep, you shift your legs around. 

Maybe if they’re spread I won’t feel the vibration as much. 

That doesn’t seem to work so instead you squeeze them together. More pressure might make you come and then you can finally get some rest. Joel looks over at you as you jerk around silently. 

“Come here,” he says, patting his chest. You cuddle into him, one leg draping over his warm body. The arm behind his head wraps around your naked body. He feels so soft but hard against you. You can’t help but hump against his hip bone. You’re right on the edge. So close to tipping over it and coming. So very close. 

“Baby, it hasn’t even been four minutes, how are you going to last four hours?” He’s taunting you, trying to get you to beg. “You’re pathetic.” 

You can feel sweat breaking out across your body. This is torture, was right. You hate that he was right, but you hate even more how much he’s loving it. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

He pulls back to be able to look into your eyes. “What are you going to do for me if I make you come?” 

“Anything. Just. Please, Mr Miller.” You grind yourself into him harder, you’re so close that it’s almost unbearable. 

“Quit your job, baby girl.” He demands again. “I’ll tell your parents you’re going to work for me.” 

You start to pant as the pressure in your lower belly increases, you can feel wetness pooling inside of you, begging to be released. “I can’t take your money. Oh god - please - I ca-can’t. Hnnnnng. P-please.” 

A tear runs down your cheek and you’re not even sure why you’re crying, probably out of frustration.  

“You can. I’ll pay you to help around the house,” he holds up a hand, almost like he knows exactly what you’re doing today. “Not for the sex you’re guaranteed to get if you quit and come here.” He wipes the tear away and hikes his leg up to increase the pressure that’s already on the verge of making you pass out. 

Stars start to blur your vision as you whisper, “ok. I’ll quit.” 

Joel has you flipped onto your back, trapped under his weight before you can even register what’s happening. He’s kissing you deeply, tongue taking what it wants as your legs kick and shake under him. 

“Please!” You cry between kisses. 

His thick fingers slide between your puffy folds and the toy, you scream out as he pulls the toy from you. 

“Shhh…just a little bit more. I’m going to make it better,” he says gently, kissing down your neck, swirling his tongue around each nipple piercing. 

“Please. Please. Please, Mr Miller. Please. It hurts. I need, please.” You’re a mumbling mess and the words leaving your lips are practically incomprehensible. 

“I know. Relax baby. Breathe.” He says between kisses down your sternum, his tongue tracing your curves. When he finally settles in between your thighs he swallows hard, he wants to dive right in, make you drench his face as you come. “Look at me, darlin’.” 

His warm breath hits your pussy and you fight your hips from bucking up to his face as prop yourself up on an elbow and try to focus your eyesight on him. You didn’t know it was possible to be so turned on that you practically had tequila vision. 

His voice is serious yet calm as he says, “I’m going to make you come using my fingers and my tongue. Is that ok?” 

You nod your head and a faint ‘yes’, leaves your lips. 

“Can I lick and touch both the outside and inside of this beautiful, weeping, pussy?” 

His words from earlier echo through you. Ultimately, you always have the choice. 

Joel Miller would never do something you didn’t want and that sets your soul on fire. He cares. About you. Only you. Wants to do things for you. You are not a burden here. You are not a burden to him. 

“Yes, Mr Miller. Please. Touch me.” The room suddenly feels twenty degrees hotter, you can feel sweat beading on your skin. 

“What’s your safe word?” 

“Cowboy,” you hum, never taking your eyes away from his blown out obsidian gaze. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, sliding his ring and middle finger around your desperate entrance. You cry out, dropping your body to the bed. Pleasure. Overwhelming pleasure. “No no baby girl, eyes on me.” 

You somehow muster the strength to raise yourself onto shaky arms. His two strong fingers slide deep into your heat with minimal resistance and you immediately start gasping. Pleasure. Life altering, heart stopping pleasure. 

“Fuuuuck. Baby. So tight. Have you ever squirted before?” His cheeks are flushed with need. He might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

Your breasts rise and fall with your ragged breaths. You shake your head and moan out a ‘no’. 

He smiles down at your dripping cunt, “I can feel it. Gotta relax for me. Just breathe and let it happen.” 

Nerves flutter in your stomach and then he curls his fingers forward, putting so much pressure on a soft spongy spot that you didn’t know existed. On instinct, your knees try to close but his wide frame keeps you open. You yell his name to the ceiling, he knows he should punish you for not calling him Mr Miller but you look so goddamn beautiful as you start to fall apart. 

“Breathe baby,” he says as he curls his fingers once, twice, three more times. You can hear how wet you are and the pressure becomes unbearable. Stars blur your vision again, the walls of your pussy squeeze tightly around his fingers and then it’s just a blur. A blur of all consuming pleasure. 

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Come for me. Soak me. Good girl,” Joel’s free hand pressed down on your mound as a wet heat leaks all over you. “Good fuckin’ girl. Let go for me.” 

You’re not sure if you’re screaming or not, all you hear and feel is Joel. Everything is Joel. Strong hands, deep gravel voice, warm vanilla smell. He’s everywhere and you never want it to stop. 

“Keep going. That’s it. You look so beautiful,” he says, licking a long stripe up your fluttering pussy, drinking up your juices. “Oooh yeah - gooood giiirrll”

Almost immediately after your orgasm crests it becomes too much. You’re so overstimulated that it hurts and your moans of pleasure become cries of pain. You forget your name, where you are, you even forget your safe word. But Joel knows, he always knows. 

He stops pumping his fingers and says your name, “look at me sweet pea.”

You blink slowly, you’re wrecked, barely able to keep your eyelids open, almost convinced they’ve been replaced with steel. You’re sucking in air, did you not breathe that entire time? 

“Breathe baby, you’re ok.” He says, stilling his fingers until you’re ready. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Miller. I know I called you Joel. I won’t do it again.” 

There she goes again, being so fucking cute. “It’s ok, darlin’ girl. I want you to let loose when you come.” He places a few light kisses along your thighs. The sheets and his t-shirt a soaked, he’ll need to change things before you both get some sleep. “I’m gonna pull my fingers out.” 

You fall back to the bed and fist the sheets to ground yourself as he slides his fingers out. “You did such a good job. Made a huge mess. I’m so proud of you, babygirl.”

Every bone and muscle in your body seems to have dissolved and all you can muster is a weak smile and a little whimper of thanks. “I need to get you cleaned up. Stay here.” 

Stay here? I have no bones. Where else will go? 

The sound of running water coaxes your eyes to close. The mattress shifts under Joel’s weight as he sits beside you, lightly trailing his finger down the bridge of your nose. “I’m going to carry you to the shower. Ok?” 

You let out an agreeable hum as he scoops you into his arms. His warm naked chest pressed against you. He walks into the shower with you, the steam warming your skin. He places you on your feet and guides you under the water with him. Water is hitting you from all angles. You open your eyes to see 3 showerheads in his large, modern glass shower. A large rainfall one above the two of you, then two down the wall. The bundle of fresh eucalyptus hanging from one head fills the shower with a fresh scent. 

His fingers fumble with the clasp of your collar behind you, “how are you feeling after what happened tonight?” 

You smile at the white and black tiled wall as the collar slides off your neck and into Joel’s hands. “Mmm - like I’m not gonna quit my job so we can do it again.” 

“Don’t think I won’t put this on again right now and make you regret that.” 

You giggle and press your body back into Joel’s. He’s completely naked behind you and you have the sudden urge to taste him. As you spin around and get to your knees he stops you, “don’t interrupt my aftercare, please.” 

“Your what?” 

He grabs the soap and a fresh wash cloth and starts to work it to lather. “I told you, it’s my job to take care of you.” It’s too early to admit it to you, but aftercare is Joel’s favourite part. He’s grumpy and rough on the outside, but he loves the tender moments after playing with his subs. Especially you, and that’s something he won’t even admit to himself yet. 

He runs the soft cloth over your arms and chest, using extra caution not to catch on your nipple piercings. I like these,” he says, eyes memorizing every inch of the skin he’s washing. 

“Thanks, you’re actually the first person to see them.” 

“That right?” He moves the cloth down your stomach before kneeling in front of you and washing your legs. “You know what I think you should pierce next?” 

“I have an appointment next week for something,” you tease. It’s not a lie, you have an appointment to get a second hole in each earlobe, but may as well play with him a little. 

“Oh? Don’t tease an old man like that, baby girl. What new surprise am I gonna find?” He brings the cloth up and down your other leg. 

“What do you want to find?” 

His hands grip your hips and he spins you around. You have a small bruise forming on your one ass cheek and his cock jumps at the sight. “Belly button,” he says. 

“Oh?” You say with surprise as he stands behind you and scrubs your back. You turn to look at him over your shoulder and add, “I was thinking of doing my clit.” 

Joel’s hands come to his heart as he moans. “Fuck me, baby girl. I’d have to leave the god damn continent until it healed.” 

You laugh as he brings his lips to yours. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you aren’t wearing a collar. But he’s kissing you and washing your body. Does this mean that Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend, might have the same sort of feelings that you have? Or is this just what he does with his subs after dehydrating them with his fingers and tongue. 

“Stay in the warm water while I change the sheets. I’ll be back,” you look over your shoulder to finally take in his naked body. His back is lined with corded muscle, water droplets filling the dips and grooves of his sculpted body. It looks like you could bounce your whole fucking bank account off his round ass. 

Am I salivating. I feel like I’m salivating. 

He wraps a white bath sheet around his waist before you get to see his front - as much as you loved being taken care of earlier you should have looked down. You run some shampoo and conditioner through your hair, rinsing it out just as Joel comes back, now in a pair of fitted boxer briefs. He holds up a towel for you, and after turning off the water you pad over to him for him to wrap you up and gently dry you off. 

“Thank you, Mr Miller,” you say instinctively. 

He smiles softly at you as he dries every inch of your skin. “Go lay down, babygirl. I’ll get some lotion and then you need to get some sleep.” 

When you walk out to his bed there’s a t-shirt and a bottle of water on the pillow for you. 

Fuck. I’m in love. 

Taglist:

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[springsylph]

bodyguard.

[bodyguard!john price x rookie actress!reader]

extension of this blurb. || minors, do not interact.

read on ao3

this was supposed to be a one-off thing but uh. my hand slipped? had to cut down the "price wouldn't do that" monster with my "i can do what i want" sword, and we got 3k of an unedited brain dump that i typed on my phone at six in the morning. also my first time writing something for price! woo!

He pulls out the crown on his watch, begins to twist and twist so that the dials can begin their inevitable rotation. “You know what time it is?"

Yelling secures you your first big project.

You can’t pay those bills until I land a job. A real job.

You’re almost certain your agent thinks you’re throwing a tantrum, and it leaves a coarse grit in your molars. You don’t like to pick fights. Hate it, really. But pushes are usually succeeded by shoves, and you can’t afford to get knocked out of the ring this time around.

The worst they can do is say no, right?

Thankfully, one yes is all you need to beg for. Your chariot arrives in the shape of a surprisingly low-budget rom-com, in simple terms. You and your C-list costar (flanked by a squeaky clean track record, thank god) are swept up in a soundless spiral of table reads and filming and wrapping before you can really, truly process.

But a warden stands guard at the eye of your perfect storm. John Price, assigned to you through your agency without so much as a proper word.

(“Squeaky clean,” apparently, didn’t take a history of overzealous stalkers into account.)

The peephole to your dilapidated apartment can barely contain him. blocks him—or attempts to do so—like a child might shield their sandcastle from the pulsing tide. Only, you think the tide might be more forgiving. He’s rooted in place, made harsher under the cracked fluorescent bulbs out in the hallway. They hum along with him. Faint, unless your breathing stills.

You’d feel a little more at ease if he were actually ex-military; the scraps of information you’ve been fed tell you that he’s been discharged, but you don’t believe it. Not for a second. You hadn’t been given much else apart from that and a face, but you could put together that he was disgustingly overqualified—not that you were complaining, though. Not yet.

You watch as John Price—Price?—gazes with a deceiving sort of apathy toward the end of the hall, then to the other, and back to the other end in three smooth seconds.

You think he’s seeing things till the apartment two doors down produces a tenant from its depths and price is turning, warding the disturbance off with an easy mornin’ and a wave of a large hand. He says nothing when they shuffle off awkwardly without a response, and the slow crawl of his opposite hand away from a flash of metal at his hip draws your pupil like a magnet.

It’s then that you note the suspiciously white shirt—rolled up to his elbows, tucked neatly into dark denim. hands tucked into pockets. Beard trimmed. Everything not protected by the skin on his body squared away just so, with just enough of his bulk on display to prompt that second spike of wariness.

A meticulous problem, then.

You peel yourself away from the door after an inhale and swing it open regardless.

The smell of tobacco and cologne hits your nose like a hammer the moment the door hits the bolt behind you, but you recover the feeling in your knees quickly. The fisheye lens doesn’t quite do him justice—you have to look up a bit to take another quick scan, cheeks cramping with the sudden momentum of your smile.

“I don’t see a bible or a pamphlet, so I’m assuming you’re not here to preach?” 

The joke doesn’t fall flat, but it does sail into one of the weaker bulbs before it shuts off with a buzz.

“…Captain Price, right?”

His eyes crinkle with a hint of what might be a grin. Under different circumstances, maybe. “Right on the mark. A pleasure to finally meet you, Ma’am.” But that thrum of irritation is there, as is the narrowing of his eyes when you extend your hand in greeting. “Just Price’ll do though.”

Hm.

He reaches up to fix his beanie just above his brow before giving your hand a firm shake. Definitely military. And hot as a furnace. You’re more than a little dizzy when he pulls back to check his watch, the inside of your wrist now raw from the grazing of a fingernail.

You can feel the skin he’s taken with him when he looks you in the eyes. Assessing. You don’t know why, but think you’ve won until he’s looking back down at his wrist.

He pulls out the crown on his watch, begins to twist and twist so that the dials can begin their inevitable rotation. “You know what time it is?”

Nine in the morning.

Or, at least it was thirty minutes ago.

“I—yeah. Lost track of time, sorry.” You scratch just under the collar of your shirt, straighten it out when the itch turns into a tingle you’re willing to overlook. You realize after an embarrassing beat that he’s probably asking for the actual time. “I sleep like a rock,” you add anyway. Your agency had actually given you three things, not two: a poorly put together profile, a face, and a meeting time.

It dawns on you now that a thirty minute “test of patience” with your back pressed to the door may not have been the way to go.

Price looks up, finally. Rolls his shoulders back as if to shed the pileup of gravity that’s compressed his spine in the half hour you’ve kept him waiting—and somehow, someway, seems to double the amount of space he takes up.

“That so,” he questions. Low in his throat, and a tad exasperated, because you’ve studied exasperation. Went into debt to have that understanding feel like a second skin. Which is why you observe, perplexed, as he gestures to the entryway. You think you feel your head nod, and he brushes past you to push through the door. “‘Nother habit we’ll have to kick.”

Any objections you might’ve had are killed in your throat the moment his prowl begins, and your socks catch on the scuffed linoleum as you flounder in after him.

The door slams back against the bolt while Price’s boots press the air out of your hardwood floors, squeals escaping with each heavy step. You squeak out a feeble excuse me alongside them once or twice, but to no avail. He can’t hear you, too intent on following some internal rhythm that takes him to the open window, the dusty cabinets, slipping fingers into the creases of a space you’re barely acquainted with yourself.

Something like nausea begins to bubble. You planned this. You’d planned out your introduction. Picked out your clothes, your shoes, where you’d grab coffee so you could build up your integrity and explain to him that you’re not looking to be coddled, he’d just get in the way. And now you’re wringing your hands, abject unease burning in a dense knot between your eyes while you figure out how to melt into the poorly hidden pile of dirty laundry.

There’s a delay in your processing, and you don’t start to catch up until Price finally slows down enough for you to realize he’s been talking.

He’s stooping over your dining room table, swiping a finger over his tongue before using it to card through old mail. “Real sorry ‘bout this, Ma’am. Not the most ideal introduction, I know, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch. Standard protocol—’m sure you know how it is, yeah?”

Price moves to turn over a stack of magazines on your dining table, and you wonder: were you supposed to know? You’re sure his question is rhetorical, and you’re certainly not inclined to answer. But something about the way it hits the water stains on your ceiling justifies the way he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

Concern. An uncut gem, plucked from some cavernous fissure that might be closer in proximity to hell than your own flesh and blood.

The crease between his brows deepens. “You have had security before, haven’t you?”

“Don’t get out much. I do my work, come right home.” You shrug, but your shoulders can’t seem to come back down. Perhaps this was why they’d put him on leave—he couldn’t do math.

You shuffle a bit in place, kick aside a ratty tennis ball left behind from one of your pet sitting stints. It hits your refrigerator and he’s still looking down at your feet, so you look with him.

—at the last two toes sticking out of your sock.

You rush to cover it with your other foot while Price sucks his teeth. He doesn’t move, hands still planted on the table, but each time he blinks his eyes are trained on something different.

Price lets out a sigh before he finally stands upright, perching his hands on his hips. “I'm surprised your people waited this long to call someone in. Right idiots they are, I’ll tell you that.”

Your people. You wrap your arms around your middle, pinch the fabric of your shirt between your fingers.

“I can't really blame them,” you say after a moment. Tip your chin up, a last ditch attempt at salvaging what little of your farce is left to cover yourself with.

Price tuts, strangely unconvinced for someone you’d only known for around ten minutes. “You’d be smart to blame them.”

“Don’t think I can do that when I'm working for them, Price.”

“Can’t you? S’clear they’ve done fuck all to look out for you.”

And you could. Should. Want to. So, so desperately need to. But you’re already saddled with enough things to hate. Hope of catharsis is an outbound ship, a blip on the horizon that you don’t have the funds to board. 

“…I don't follow.”

Price doesn’t flinch when the table rocks without the weight of the magazines to keep it steady, and neither do you.

“You don’t follow,” he repeats. Like a crucial detail has been lost in translation.

You shake your head.

“Well, that’s no good.”

Cigar smoke snakes its way into your headspace again when he strides past you to put his hand up against the door, muscles in his forearms flexing when he pulls at the doorknob. He beckons you closer, and you’re pulled out of orbit when you skirt close enough for him to reach, guiding your hand to the cool metal while he stands just behind you.

“Here,” he mutters. Your chest is a cushion, and the rumble in his chest is a bright red pin.

(Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if the crackle of a walkie-talkie might bury how frighteningly human he sounds.)

“What am I looking for?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

He takes his hand off once you’ve stopped throwing glances at him, and your knuckles sizzle in his absence. What was he looking for? Nothing…looks different. 

You can’t focus. His eyes are on your neck, and you can’t focus.

And suddenly, you don’t like how close he is. You’re reminded of how he’d shoved his way into your apartment. Barely spoken to you before driving a stake through the bubble put together with your blood sweat and tears. Made you feel ashamed in your own home.

Righteous indignation flares up, and you’re spewing words you’re certain you believe in until they tumble out.

“If you’re just here to poke fun, I’m not—”

Pop.

You look down. The keyhole pokes just out of the doorknob and you look to Price, his face remarkably passive.

“Lock’s been tampered with.” He runs a thumb over the offending protrusion, watches as it slots back into place. “You should see some scratches on the other side of it. Thought I noticed something when the door first slammed, but I didn't want to startle you in case my eyes were playing tricks. Can’t quite see like I used to.”

Why not get glasses?

“I would’ve put up less of a fuss if you’d told me up front.”

He looks at you, eyes a perfect congruence of something just beyond what your fingertips can touch. But he smiles, and you think you can understand. Maybe mash the pieces together. A distending warmth. Nepenthe sinking into every orifice until you’re expelling your woes through your nostrils.

Your axis tilts when Price puts a solid hand on your shoulder.

“It’s not good to lie, mm? Not to me.”

Not good to lie.

When you slide out from under his palm, his callouses snag on the exposed seam of your shirt. You toss him a grin, a bone. “Noted.”

Insecure seconds pass, but not without movement. 

It begins like this: Price walks away from the door, and you’re almost grateful for the squealing underneath his feet to fill the silence. He takes your stack of mail and magazines, sets them exactly as they had been before he’d entered. The table is righted, and he works in reverse from that point on.

Closing cabinet doors. Angling that picture frame you’ve been meaning to adjust for weeks. He’s putting things into their proper place, like setting bones before they’re enclosed in a stiff cast. 

You, though, are still standing awkwardly by the door.

“You really don’t need to—”

He holds out a hand. “Relax. ‘M just having a second go around.”

You bristle, but your decision to pad over to the couch is of your own volition. It caves in when you sit, and you wiggle to get the cushions to realign with your hips. Your hands feel around blindly for the remote to your TV before remembering you’d dropped it out of the window in a fit of anger some weeks ago, so you sit back, spine hitting the hard frame of the couch. Price’s noises pair well, somehow, with the wind sliding over the glass and the neighbors downstairs.

Until you feel his presence at the back of the couch, and a thought smacks you right across your forehead.

You shoot up, heart rate suddenly inflamed by panic. “Price?”

The movement stops, and you turn around, peer over to find Price prepped to duck his head under the couch. “Hm?”

“Uh.” You hesitate. Shit, think—

“H-how much are they paying you, anyways?” Good save. Maybe a little less than good.

You feel a little bad that you’d stopped Price mid-crouch; you can’t quite remember how old he is, but you know he’s old enough for knee pain to be a concern. He looks up as if crunching the numbers in his head. Hums. “Enough.”

“What’re you looking for?”

“Saw the picked lock, didn’t you?”

“Were you really discharged?”

“Depends. There something under this couch you don’t want me seeing?”

Looks like you can knock “interrogation skills” off of your list of special skills on your resume.

Your jaw snapping shut is enough to send his arm sliding under, and you can only watch in horror as his clutched hand emerges holding a scrap of thin blue fabric. He pushes himself up off of his knees. Takes his sweet time wringing out his back while your eyes track his hand like he’s got a thumb over the button of a detonator.

If he had any shred of decency—

“Another thing I caught on my way in,” he huffs. He holds out his hand and allows the blue fabric to uncurl. A flag, hung full mast right between your eyes. Another one of his tests. 

“Price.”

“C’mon, now. Take it from me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice; your arm shoots out and you win it back in one go. Stuff your lacy underwear into the pocket of your pants and wait for your ceiling to collapse in on you.

“Can’t leave pretty things like that layin’ around.” And Price stops, watches as you curl in on yourself. Voice like the push of velvet shifting underneath your palms. “Likely to rip if you’re not careful.”

You pull your head into your shirt and curl your knees into your chest. It’s a shock when you find yourself face to face with your heartbeat, the skin over your left breast jumping underneath your nose. “I think we’re done here.” 

Price makes that sucking noise again with his teeth—agitation, you think it’s agitation—and you trace the hazy shadow of him through your shirt as he steps around the couch to walk to the window. He snaps twice, and you’re beginning to entertain the thought of what might happen if you had enough strength to push him out.

“What now,” you croak.

“Eyes up.”

Slowly, you muster up enough spite to bring your head just above the collar of your shirt. Military men and their incessant need for…whatever the hell this was. 

“You’ve gotten better at this. Quick study,” Price remarks.

“Better at what.”

“Listening. That’s good, real good. That’ll make this a whole lot easier,” he says, a note of appreciation that you haven’t heard yet stirring that tiny pool of filth just underneath your navel. You hum.

Price crosses his arms. Flicks his stupid eyes toward the fluttering curtains. “How often d’you leave this open?”

Your face pinches. “I mean—pretty often? It’s hot, Price. And in case you haven’t noticed,” you wave your hand to the general state of disrepair, “I don’t exactly have good circulation in here.”

This gives him pause. Whatever plan he’s recalibrating, you want no part of it. You do notice that he hasn’t put his hands in his pockets since he showed up on your doorstep, instead favoring the use of his left hand to rub his chin. 

“Come over here and close the window.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. “...Close the window? Price, you can’t be serious.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Can’t…can’t you close it?”

“It’s not my window. Can’t do everythin’ for you.”

He stares at you expectantly. Your tailbone is beginning to throb, and for some damning reason, that note still ringing bright in the back of your skull. That’s good. Good, good, good.

Price catches that eager glint the moment it surfaces.

“Go on then, love.” He tips his head. “Close it.”

The rest of you surfaces slowly. You look back for a moment at the indent left on the couch, think about how long that imprint will be there until you feel inclined to fluff out those cushions again.

(Later. You’ll get to it later.)

Shutting the window doesn’t take much effort, but the swampy temperature is noticeable. You turn around a little too quickly, so you hold an arm out to the now sealed vault in an exaggerated show of bravado. I did it, see?

Price slides past you to look outside. He purses his lips when he finds what he’s looking for, and you can almost see the note being stashed into some faraway file.

He turns to you. “Keep this window closed till further notice,” and a hand reaches out to tug the curtains shut, and yellow from the lamp you’d left on last night washes over the room instantly.

“Price.”

“I take my work seriously. You take yours seriously, you’ll need me.”

It feels like a slap in the face. “I do, but that doesn’t mean—”

“My job,” and he points to himself, then to you, “is to keep you out of harm's way. Can’t do this if you don’t trust me.”

“You’re asking a lot for someone who hasn’t—”

You go silent as he reaches a hand into a back pocket, pulls out his hand and you count one, two, three square devices around the size of a nail.

“Busted lock, three faulty cameras, all outside. You’re lucky these people are idiots.” He shoves them back into his pocket before returning his focus to you. “You need me.”

You blink. 

Price smiles, raises his eyebrows as if the conversation is already over. “Hungry?”

You stumble back. “But what about—what about the apartment?”

“S’fine,” he says. He checks his watch. “I know a couple guys, you’re in good hands.”

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 19: wrapped in your regret

"I'll live now 'cause the bad die last. Dodging bullets with your broken past, wrapped in your regret. What a waste of blood and sweat." -Could Have Been Me by The Struts

Regent Masterlist Part 18 Mundane Macabre AO3

In exchange for not beating the ecto out of him (he does need it Ellie) Jason convinced the youngest halfa to join him for a night of “troll the bats”. If Jazz was a lesser woman, she might’ve been frightened by how many teeth Ellie’s grin displayed as she agreed. Jason didn’t seem all that worried though as he kissed her goodbye and left with both her siblings in tow, the menace she called Danny having invited himself to join the chaos.  

Though she was relieved that they seemed to find common ground, Jazz knew she was in for a nightly patrol by her lonesome as both her siblings (and her soulmate) rushed out as their alter egos to cause chaos for the rest of the batclan. Should she have been more concerned about the consequences? Probably. Relief won out. 

(That didn’t stop the Regent from hitting just a little harder on patrol.)  (Her worries were thankfully unfounded.) 

(If the pictures of a tireless Batmobile and a tire-throned Ellie were anything to go by.) 

While Jason was incredibly fond of Danny, the genius halfa one of the few people he knew he could trust to have his back and not stab him in it, Ellie was the mischievous little sister he never wanted (but would burn down Gotham for). Supposedly,  the fifteen year old was the clone of Danny- 

(If Jason had a nickel for every time he’d met a clone created to kill and replace their original, he’d have two nickels.) (Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird its happened twice.)

-though it took a few extra seconds for Jason to find the similarities between the two. It was easier to play ‘spot the difference’ between template and clone. Where Danny’s hair was raven’s wing black, Ellie had bathroom bleached hers to a shade off platinum blonde. If Danny’s aesthetic was tired nasa nerd with goth best friend then Ellie’s was punk rock death jokes meets cut-a-bitch feminist. Danny favored his red sneakers and denim jacket. 

Ellie’s leather jacket had clearly seen some shit. 

Despite the differences, the older halfa clearly loved his clone with the way he doted on her, had her back but still let her handle her own shit. Ellie was powerful but still young, still had time to grow up, to mature into adulthood and all that awaited her. 

Was that how siblings were supposed to act? 

Jason had witnessed how Jazz cared for Danny, in a semi-maternal fashion that proved just how skewed their relationship was. Hell, she’d been able to claim regency because the bond between them was more like mother and son rather than siblings. 

Dickwing was often like that with Damian, now that Jason examined their relationship with new lenses. Bruce had been lost in the time stream when Damian needed a strong guiding hand, but like always the Bastard Bat wasn’t there when he was needed the most. 

(Like a warehouse in Ethopia.) (Like when the bomb went off and he died) 

(where were you dad?)

It took a few moments for Jason to shake off the tension building in chest, the onset of a panic attack he now could recognize without the green tint off the Pit clouding his waking world. The shitty Gotham air helped ground him too, better than if he’d been in the Batcave or the Manor and he’s able to refocus his attention back on Jazz’s siblings. The two hadn’t seemed to notice his dissociation moment, attentively keeping an eye on the crowd below on street level. 

They’d been out for hours now, already having pranked Robin and Spoiler separately, but the two Halfas had been drawn to this crowd for some reason. 

The crowd was mostly made up of freaks and the stragglers of Joker’s Royal Flush, both gangs barely clinging to existence with the clown’s demise and the effectiveness of the Ridge vigilantes breaking the Freaks’ will to live. 

(Truly, the Bats should take notes.) 

Jason hadn’t really given much thought to the Royal Flush gang, not even before Joker’s head was claimed and mounted like a deranged trophy. They weren’t many in number, less than the twenty one the clown had capped out on, but they were dangerous as a group. Nothing for a bat to hesitate at, but still meant to be cautious about. 

It made sense for the Freaks and the Flush to join forces, strengthen in numbers, but the crowd had decided to test their luck by lingering far too close to the Ridge. 

Ellie liked Jason, sure, but she wasn’t quite sure what to make of his whole… thing.

She wasn’t exactly a fan of Red Hood, not like her Template was. There was appreciation that he cared for her elder sister and big brother so much, but she couldn’t help but be wary of how shadowy he was. 

The liminal had a shadow proto-core, newly healed, but the shadows that danced through the Spectral mist were creeping Ellie out. 

Too many for her to feel comfortable with him at her back. Force of habit thanks to her nomadic ways- never let the shadows escape your eyes, as she’s learned. 

Ever since she crossed paths with that witch-doctor over in Barcelona, the younger halfa’s core-ability had been out of whack. Stronger, weirder, and harder to ignore. 

Then again, she did possess the rarest shadow core variant, a mixture of light and dark Frostbite had called ‘dawn struck’. 

Danny called her Twilight Princess with zero hesitation. 

(So uncool for her emo punk image to be called a my little pony character.) 

(Even though she was, in fact, a Princess.) 

The ‘spectral mist’ was what Ellie had taken to calling the secondary plane she could peer into, the plane of existence that mediums and spiritualists could conjure glimpses of Ellie had full view access. 

It was creepy. 

The halfa had spent years traveling to haunted places, doing a medium’s job of communicating with the dead that haunt the living, trying to help where she could. 

(If anyone could understand being trapped, it’s Ellie.) 

Officially, Ellie had a good reputation among the paranormal community. She was well liked and well respected once people got past her age, known for her incredible third-eye and compassion for both the living and dead. She was regularly contacted for help, others wanting advice about what a spirit said or how to handle a particularly picky poltergeist. 

Unofficially? Ellie was serving her people, as their Wandering Princess should. That she helped the living was just a bonus, honestly. 

(Lie.)

(Ellie was the clone of a powerful protector spirit.)

(And a fledgling protector in her own right.)

(She would always feel compelled to help others.) 

Ellie had been aware of Jazz’s boyfriend thanks to Danny, her template eager to divulge the gossip about the once-revenant sharing their sister’s bed and proto-core warmth, but she hadn’t expected the revelation of soulmates being an actual thing- much less for the Red Hood to be Jazz’s other half. 

His shadows, the literal haunting of his regrets, almost blinded Ellie when she first laid eyes on the man. His victims, whether they were by his hand or not, shrouded his aura in inky midnight. 

“Hey Hood, isn’t that the Batmobile?” Her template, in his Phantom form, questioned and promptly drew Hood to confirm what he had spotted. The older vigilante leaned over the rooftop edge, his spectral mist unfurling in the barely perceptible breeze like a cloak draped behind his massive frame. 

(Like a bigger bat’s cape.) 

A shiver ran down her spine as Ellie made eye contact with the faint visage of a woman with pale grey-blue eyes and blonde hair. 

Yes, Jason had many regrets. 

He was perhaps the worst sort to be fate-matched with Jazz. 

But as he led her and her template down towards the infamous Batmobile, Ellie could understand how the two complimented each other. Jazz was protective and self-sacrificing to a fault, but had a heart for the hopeless and the damned. Jason, with his work as Red Hood, had decided to dedicate his life to making Crime Alley a haven instead of the desiccated remains of whatever hope it once held, willing to take the lives of those whose crimes had no chance for redemption. Both death-claimed liminals with so much regret on their hearts. 

(Was it sad that Jazz’s haunting regrets were few but so strong?) 

Jason Todd, the Red Hood, Avenger of the Forsaken. Jasmine Nightingale, The Regent, Protector of the Once and Future Star King. 

Protection and blind justice. 

(Not quite a hero, not yet a martyr.) 

Huh. 

By the end of what would've been Phantom's Witching Hours patrol, the Royal Flush/Freaks were beaten and potentially missing a few bones, the Batmobile had its four tires stolen and Ellie was glad she didn’t have to use her shovel on her future brother-in-law.

[ieatfanficforbrunch]

Reignited Flame-Steddie

TW: Violence, brief mention of Homophobia, swearing

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

Eddie fell hard, he knew that. He watched as the man he loved went after the girls at his school, getting whoever he pleased. Eddie knew, deep down, that these girls were just flings. Steve Harrington had girlfriends, but they were never serious, never permanent. He thought that maybe he still had a chance.

Steve had just gotten out of a relationship, immediately he was shrugging it off, laughing happily with his friends.

Eddie knew he was being naïve but how could he care when he was so damn excited? He wore his uncle’s old leather jacket for confidence, put on his jeans with the least holes, and even straightened his shoulder-length curls, all in the hope of Steve, King Steve, finally taking an interest.

He asked his uncle for help, all the questions he could think of. “What’d you like most when someone approached you?” “Did you ever get uncomfortable by things they did?” “What did you avoid?” “What should I be prepared for?"

Wayne truly loved the kid but sometimes he just needed to calm down. He explained that Eddie didn’t need advice, because if this guy was worth it, he could be himself.

With this advice, Eddie practiced guitar to cool off and left for school.

His uncle’s jacket made him feel invincible. He was prepared to finally, finally, talk to Steve.

He walked through the doors, putting on his best smile, optimistic and prepared for anything, except when he rounded that corner where he knew Steve would be, he froze.

There leaning against the wall was Steve with Nancy Wheeler on his arm.

He could feel his body go ridged, his heart breaking in his chest because this time Steve was looking at her like she was the only person in the entire world.

Eddie left school.

Sure, his dad was an asshole, and his mom was dead, but he thought that there was still good in the world. He thought that he had a chance at happiness.

The year passed in a blur, pot and booze his only comfort. He kept the jacket, eventually getting an awesome denim vest. He grew his hair, embraced his curls, and finally gave up on hiding his interests.

Steve and Nancy broke up and for a second, he thought that maybe, maybe, that little hope of love was flickering alive, he quickly decided to stomp out that flame.

Eddie almost felt bad for the fallen king of Hawkins High, after the new king (some dude named Billy) came into the role. Steve seemed lost, lonely even, but Eddie was not going to let “King Steve” hurt him again.

Billy had a thing against freaks, everyone knew he didn’t like different. Eddie basically had a target on his back.

The hit came unexpectedly, A mix between metal and flesh. A man and a locker. He puts his hands up to guard his face as best as he can but it’s really no use. The slurs hit his face and hands dig through his pockets.

He felt disgusting, refusing to cry, but he felt his breaking point approaching quickly as Billy brought his fist up.

Eddie shut his eyes, prepared to accept his fate, but suddenly the weight of the man was off him and he was being pulled away.

He opened his eyes to see Steve, his Steve, dragging him out of the building as fast as he could.

Steve practically threw him into the passenger seat of his BMW as he ran to the other side.

Eddie was in shock as they sped away.

“You ok? He didn’t hit you, did he?” Steve asks.

Eddie shakes his head.

“No, No I’m ok. Thanks for…for saving my ass back there,” he replies.

Steve nods.

“Well, if there’s one thing, I hate more than anything, it’s Billy. He’s…He is a prick so just stay away from him, alright?” Steve says.

“Alright, yeah. Thanks again.” Eddie says quickly.

They rode in silence for a while, Steve taking the long way back to the school just in case.

“You run the D&D group, Hellfire? It’s Eddie, right?” Steve asks.

Eddie smiles and nods, “That’s me!”

Steve smiles, “I got this middle schooler who’s a friend of mine, if you happen to still be there next year you should talk to him, the kid loves that stuff!”

Eddie chuckles, “I might just take you up on that Mr. King.”

Steve shakes his head, “Don’t call me that, I’m not that guy anymore.”

Eddie nods.

They drive for hours; Eddie can feel that familiar flame of an old crush burning in his chest. He’s surprised that Steve hadn’t dropped him off sooner, but as Eddie drives himself home in his rickety old van, his cheeks heat up at the thought of Steve Harrington.

[clumsy-jiminie]

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

❝ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴅɪᴄᴋ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 4k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, implied marking

↣ notes :: shit is about to get JUICY. from here on out will be the banter I mentioned before and I am SO excited. thank you for reading! 💕

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"maybe we could've been friends if I met you in another life."

- ꜱᴋɪɴ, ꜱᴀʙʀɪɴᴀ ᴄᴀʀᴘᴇɴᴛᴇʀ -

Kiara's shoulders slightly raised and dropped as she heaved heavily. She stared at the canvas ahead of her, tilting her head to the side as she reached down to grab another water balloon from the trays beside her. The concrete walls that surrounded her were stained with different colors. Despite the tarp on the ground, paint still made its mark on the grey slab. Shelves lined the walls adorned with various shades and hues of paint cans. The room was a mess, and she was a mess, but it was art. Every splash, every drop, every spill had a story along with it. This place was her safe haven, allowing all her ideas and feelings to flow without restriction. That's all her art was: a display of her feelings poured onto a blank canvas.

She bounced the somewhat heavy water balloon in her hand as she examined her canvas. Blues and teals spread over the once-white base with rough brushstrokes and thrown paint. She swung her arm back, throwing the paint balloon at the canvas. It exploded on impact, staining the middle of the two colors with a lovely blush pink. She smiled to herself as she wiped her hands off on her denim overalls, adding any leftover paint to the collection of stains. She left the piece to dry before adding her signature touch of gold or silver accents. As she walked out of the garage-converted studio, her phone buzzed sporadically in her pocket. She approached her kitchen, quickly washing her hands before pulling the device out of her back pocket. She answered the call without looking at the caller ID, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"Hello?" She said as she dried off her hands. 

"I have the best news!" She instantly recognized the voice as Aimee's as the girl squealed in her ear.

Kiara's brows squished together as her nose wrinkled at the sudden pitch that invaded her eardrum. "Yeah?" She questioned as she opened the fridge door. "And what would that be?" She glanced over at the various food items before grabbing a yogurt. She tried to pull the foil lid off with her fingers before using her teeth.

"Someone just brought out your new collection!"

The tub of yogurt fell from her hands, landing on the floor and tarnishing her kitchen tile with white. "What?! It hasn't even been a month since it's been out!"

"I know!" Aimee sounded excited for her. "We finalized the payment today! All six pieces, and at full price, if I may add." 

It took a moment for the reality to sink in before it hit her like a brick wall. She began to squeal, causing the woman on the other line to do the same, as Kiara bounced on the balls of her feet. 

"So, you know what this means," Aimee said after the girls calmed down.

“What time is the reservation?" Kiara asked as she cleaned up the spilled yogurt. Whenever someone brought out a collection of hers, she would have dinner with them to show her gratitude. It was a risk every time, but Aimee ensured she protected Kiara with an NDA and a few security guards. Keeping her identity a secret was sometimes challenging; it was a bit pricey but worth it.

"Seven. Remember to dress to impress!"

"When do I not?" Kiara chuckled before hanging up the phone.

It didn't take long for her to get ready. An hour passed, and she had showered and styled her waist-length hair into a high ponytail. She sat at her vanity in her bedroom, applying makeup as she heard the front door open. It wasn't long before the shape of Taehyung walked past her to put his bags down. He returned to her reflection, standing behind her before kissing her head.

"You look gorgeous as ever," he said as he pulled the suit jacket off his body. "You going out with the girls tonight?"

She shook her head before spraying her face with setting spray. "Client dinner!" She grinned as she fanned her face with her hand. "Someone brought out my latest collection." She stood up, turning to face him with a proud smile on her glossed lips.

He returned the same smile, his large hand finding her waist to pull her in. "I'm so proud of you." He kissed the top of her forehead carefully to make sure not to ruin her makeup. "My baby is such a hard worker and so pretty." He leaned in to kiss her neck, causing her to giggle. "Mm, and she always smells so good. What time is dinner?"

"Seven."

He glanced at the watch on his wrist before smirking at her. "You have time for a little quickie." She squealed as he leaned into her neck again.

"No, I don't!" She giggled as she escaped his grasp. "Plus, nothing is ever a quickie with you." She grabbed her purse off of the bed before walking to her closet.

"Are you saying I last too long?!"

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing!" She laughed as she slipped on her heels. "Just not good when you must be somewhere in 30 minutes."

He sighed dramatically, plopping himself on the bed as he took one last look at her. "What time will you be back?"

"Like ten, probably. Maybe earlier?" His lips formed a pout as she rolled her eyes, a smile present on her lips. "You know you'll be up, don't act like that." She leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "And when I come back, you can take as long as you want."

He looked up at her with his brown eyes glazed over with lust. "Yeah?" She nodded, goosebumps raising on her skin as his fingertips grazed her leg. He briefly bit down on his lower lip, eyes peering over her frame. She could always make a simple black dress look like a Met Gala gown. The material hugged her frame in a way that only provoked the imagination. "Let me get a little taste, at least." Before she knew it, Taehyung had already pulled her into his lap.

Kiara stepped out of her car and walked up to the restaurant. She cursed softly to herself, already feeling the tender spot of her neck stiffen and form a bruise. Taehyung had to be so convincing, making her nearly 20 minutes late. She pulled her faux fur coat closer, hoping to shield herself from the brutal wind. Dress to impress resulted in a tight black dress that stopped around her mid-calf with a sweetheart neckline. It was barely suitable for the winter, but usually, these dinners took place in warmer weather. She could remember how nervous she was for the first one. An older man with eyes so kind it calmed her within minutes. He was genuine and thoughtful as he purchased her collection for over the initial selling price. He told her to know her worth and never sell herself short; she took his words to heart. That one dinner sparked the custom into what it is today. As she entered the restaurant, chatting and soft music drowned out her heels clicking against the polished wooden floor.

She stopped to check in her coat before approaching the maître d', who stood with a broad smile behind a podium. His brunette curls contrasted with his sea-green eyes. Sun-kissed freckles littered his tanned skin, making the man's face appear more childlike. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Luna."

"As well as you, Eric." She smiled warmly, resisting the urge to pinch his cheeks. Despite being years younger, the man was taller than her, forcing her gaze to travel upwards to look at him constantly. "Is my guest already here?"

Eric nodded. "He arrived at least 15 minutes before the usual time." He said in almost a question as he ushered Kiara to follow after him. Her brows furrowed as she walked, wondering why that was.

They walked past tables with dining couples and families. The establishment had a nature theme, with flowers and vines intertwined with the wooden beams on the ceiling. A small bouquet of carnations sat at each table with twinkle lights intertwined between the stems and buds. She felt confident walking through here. The owner was a close friend of her father’s, and he was gracious enough to let her hold her occasional meetings here without asking many questions.

"Can you tell me what he looked like?" She asked as curiosity filled her. First, it was a he. Second, he brought multiple pieces at full price. And third, he was early? She just wanted to know if it was the older gentleman from her past dropping by to say hello. She wouldn't put it past him.

”Isn't that unfair now, Luna?" She could picture the smirk on the younger's lips, causing her to roll her eyes.

"Who's side are you on, Eric?!" She huffed as he laughed.

"I think you'd like him," he said before slowing to a stop in front of a black door. He turned to face Kiara, pushing the door open to let her slip through. She stared at him momentarily, hoping he would cave just a little and give up at least a hair color. But he didn't. Instead, he just waited patiently with a smile for her to pass.

"Screw you," she pouted as she walked past him.

He chuckled softly. "Enjoy your meal!" He let the door close, abruptly silencing the sounds from the other side. Quietness filled the air, making it heavy as her eyes connected with her guest for the night. Her eyes widened, and he mirrored the expression. Their contact broke as his eyes darted around briefly. His lips moved slightly, mouthing as if he was trying to find words that left his mind too quickly. Kiara walked over to the lone table, lowering herself into the seat across from no other than Park Jimin.

His brows furrowed as his eyes shamelessly scanned over her once again. Kiara gulped softly, her palms growing sweaty as her mind went wild. She's never had dinner with someone she previously met. All the people who knew were either family, friends, or under contract. But now there was him, the first person to figure out both sides of her. And though she was protected, she had yet to determine if he could buy his way out of the NDA or hire some expert lawyer to find the smallest of loopholes to run with. Did he plan this? Did she slip up somewhere when they first met? Or did Taehyung slip? Could he have caught on from—

"Well," he exclaimed, putting her rackety thoughts to a halt, "there goes my hope of flirting with my idol all night." His plump lips tugged into a slight smirk. He didn't miss a beat, oozing the same confidence from their first encounter.

Kiara raised an eyebrow slightly, her eyes falling over his appearance. He was dressed in a blue dress shirt with the first few buttons opened and a black suit jacket with a single silver chain to match the earrings that adorned his ears. The man knew he was attractive, and that was her problem. He was still remarkably handsome even after he was rude. She scoffed as she opened the menu, trying to keep up appearances like him. "For some reason, I don't believe you."

"What?" He gasped dramatically, causing a little smile to tug at her lips. "Me? Flirt with my friend's girlfriend? You think that lowly of me?"

”Yeah," she answered quickly. Her eyes met with Jimin's, matching his playful energy with ease. "If I recall, you kept checking me out even after discovering I was dating Taehyung."

He opened his mouth to say something before closing it soon after. He leaned back into his chair with a smirk on his lips. "OK, you got me there. You're just so beautiful; it's hard not to stare."

Kiara felt her cheeks flush with heat as she rolled her eyes. Her head shook from side to side as she looked at the menu again. "See, couldn't even last five minutes."

"Is calling it like I see it really flirting?" He asked as he tilted his head to the side.

"Yes, if you intend to get in bed with the person."

”Who said I wanted to do that?" She looked up at him again, seeing that smirk etched on his face as he bit his lower lip. He sat up, leaning his arms and chest onto the table. "Maybe I just like complimenting people. Maybe I like complimenting you." Her eyes widen before darting back to the words on the menu. She shouldn't be blushing this much, especially since she was in a relationship. But there was something about him. There was something about how his lips formed words, his tone dripped with sweet sultriness, and his eyes never left hers, taking every moment to drink her in. Even the way he smiled. He was too attractive for his own good. And she shouldn't be feeling this way. She shouldn't be this flustered.

"Oh yeah, I figured. What was it again? You hold a beauty one could only dream of containing." Jimin's eyes went wide as she let out a fit of giggles.

"Give me a break! It was a good line!"

"If I were a love-sick fool, maybe, just maybe, you would've had me," she laughed.

Jimin shook his head despite the smile on his lips. "You mean to tell me if Taehyung had you that line, you would've reacted the same?"

"Yes."

They stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Stone cold," Jimin said as he leaned back into his seat.

Kiara felt the nerves wash away as she continued to talk to Jimin. Surprisingly, he was a very entertaining person to talk to. He didn't question her about her work or what inspires her, but about herself. It was a change of pace. Most clients would praise her like a goddess and ask the same three questions: Who's your inspiration? How long does it take you to paint? Do you take commissions? It felt like Jimin wanted to know her for her and not for the work she does. It was nice. The conversation only slowed when they started to eat, switching the subject to the food quality.

"So," Jimin started once the waiter had collected their plates. He picked up his glass, putting it to his lips to take a sip of red wine. "Why do you hide?"

Kiara's brows furrowed. "Why do I hide?" She picked up her own glass of water as he nodded. "I don't hide, necessarily. I just don't think I need to show my face for people to understand my art. Plus, I enjoy still having a normal life."

His brows knitted together as his head tilted to the side. "A normal life?" He put his glass down. "I hate to say it, but it sounds like you're a coward, Kiara."

"What?" She asked sharply.

"Think about it; you're hiding your face and missing out on all the beautiful opportunities to have a 'normal life'. It sounds like you're scared of the fame."

"I'm not scared of the fame," she quickly objected. She could feel her heart beating in her face like she just ran a 5k. It was solid and brisk, spreading up to where she felt the pulse throbbing in her cheeks. "I just don't want people to take advantage of me."

"They'll take advantage of you whether or not your name is known. So what is it?" His eyes then narrowed as he straightened his back. His shoulders appeared broader than before. "Why do you hide?"

Kiara stared at the man for a second, eyes searching for an answer in his. She's been Luna for so long now. She couldn't even remember why she hid her name and face. Was it anxiety? Was it the fear of rejection? Was it the fear of being judged? It could've been all of the above at this point.

"It's OK to admit that you're scared."

His words were all but comforting. "I'm not! I just…." She trailed off, eyes leaving him and resting on the tablecloth before her.

"You had me sign an NDA before I could even step foot in this restaurant. There's this special section specifically made for you to have these types of dinners. There's even security at the door to get in!" He spat out before she even got the moment to gather her thoughts. She felt under attack, though it was just a simple question. Even his points were valid. She never prepared herself for a question like this.

"Sir," she started to reel back in the conversation, but his eyelids lowered at her. "I have these dinners to discuss my work, not to be disrespected."

"But Luna is your work. I'm asking you questions to understand why you actively chose to stay hidden. You have the opportunity to come out every day, and you ignore it every day. If it's not because you're a coward, it's because you're selfish."

"Excuse me?!" She fumed, her eyes narrowing at the man.

He didn't flinch at her glare. Instead, he chose to shift his position by leaning closer toward her. "Choosing to stay hidden robs you of the chance to do any public charity event. You have to let people see you or at least hear your voice. Right now, Luna is only a thought. No one even knows if she's human. People have the right to see who they're supporting, and you shouldn't have to make them spend over ten thousand to meet you." 

The more he spoke, the more infuriated Kiara got. Being interrogated or called out wasn't the reason she had these dinners. This conversation was barely a discussion but a lecture from a 20-something-year-old nepo baby who thinks he can speak about how she chooses to live and spend her money. Her lips pressed into a taut line, keeping herself quiet when all she wanted to do was curse him out.

"And it's not like you could slap on some wig and be Hannah Montana. People aren't that dumb." As he continued, her eye twitched a little. "So which is it?" Jimin watched as Kiara nodded her head a few times. She grabbed the napkin off her lap and placed it on the table.

"And to think that maybe you were just having a bad day earlier." She chuckled softly as his brows furrowed. "Turns out that you're just an asshole regardless."

"Excuse—"

Kiara swiftly threw water in his face, drenching him and his hair as she stood up. He scoffed loudly, hanging his head down to keep any more water from going into his eyes. "Does that answer your question?" He looked up at her and locked eyes one last time, exchanging the same look of hate before she stormed off to the door. "Fucking dick," she mumbled to herself as her heels quickly led her through the restaurant. She dug her hand into her purse, feeling around until she grabbed her cell phone. She clicked on Taehyung's contact before putting it to her ear while getting her coat. It declined on the first ring, adding fuel to her fire before she tried again. Then it went straight to voicemail.

She groaned, putting her coat on and heading outside. She scrolled through her contact list as she reached her car, finally settling on calling her best friend.

"Hey!" He picked up on the second ring, sounding cheery as ever. She could hear the sizzle of a hot pan in the background. "You finished dinner already? It's kinda—"

"That guy was an absolute dick!" Kiara yelled, cutting the man off as she got in her car. "You know, I thought he was nice at first. We seemed to really get along, but then he had to open his dumbass mouth, and ugh!"

"Woah, slow down. What happened?"

Kiara began to drive home, trying to monitor her speed, but it was nearly impossible. "So I met one of Taehyung's friends at my last art show. He seemed nice until he made a slick comment about Tae. I thought maybe he was having a bad day, and me rejecting him was the icing on the cake. Turns out he was the one to buy my collection. We had dinner, and then he called me cowardly and selfish!"

The man began to choke on the food he was eating. "What?! You're the least selfish person I know! What would even make him think that?"

"Because I use a pen name and hide my face."

"WHAT?!" He practically yelled, prompting some annoyed muffling from his roommate. "How the fuck do the two even correlate?!"

"I don't know, JK! He was going on about how I can't donate because I don't show my face like people don't anonymously donate all the time! Like they can't write my name on whatever I donate! But of course, Mr. Nepo Baby is obsessed with pictures and showing everyone his good deeds."

"Wait, he's a nepo baby?" Jeongguk asked as he shoveled some more food into his mouth. "So that means he's loaded, right? Is he looking for an assistant?"

"Stay focused!" Kiara warned.

"Right, right," he said with stuffed cheeks. After he swallowed, he continued. "I wouldn't take what he says to heart, Ki. He's obviously a prick who doesn't know you or care to know you."

She sighed deeply, "OK…, yeah…." She wanted to change the subject but couldn't stop thinking about how he looked at her. It seemed like she was having dinner with a completely different person at the end of the night. She's never had someone look at her with so much disdain. It was jarring.

"You want me to beat him up for you?" Jeongguk asked unexpectedly.

Kiara laughed as she pulled into her driveway. "No! Why must you always resort to violence?"

"Some people just need to get beat up. These hands stay ready." Kiara laughed again, shaking her head as if he could see her. "You still coming tomorrow?"

"Of course!" She grinned. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I'm glad you said that. I wouldn't want to have to beat you up." She could hear the smirk playing on his lips.

Kiara rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. Just because someone is taking boxing lessons doesn't mean they're hot shit."

"You couldn't even beat me up on my bad day."

"You know what?" As she gathered her purse and phone, Kiara scoffed, exiting the car. "Remember you said that. I got something for that ass." 

They laughed as she walked to her front door, bidding Jeongguk goodnight before stepping inside. The house was dark and quiet, signaling that Taehyung had fallen asleep. As she walked into the bedroom, her assumption was correct. She swiftly got undressed before slipping on one of Taehyung's t-shirts. After completing her night routine in the bathroom, she crawled into bed. She fell into the familiar spot on her boyfriend's chest before he sleepily wrapped his arm around her. But she was far from tired. All that consumed her mind were the events of tonight.

Why couldn't she answer him? Could she be one of the two things he called her? Or what if she was both? All these years, she thought she was being genuine. She thought slapping her signature on a check would be sufficient. Was there more to it? A coward. Selfish. Neither of those was supposed to be Luna's intention. She was supposed to be a safe sanctuary, unaffected by criticism. She was supposed to be someone that people understood. Someone who gets it. A friend. And people didn't even know she was a person. All she wanted to do was make art and have people experience her feelings, knowing someone out there felt the same. She never thought she would get this big; she only ever dreamed of it. And now that she was there, maybe she bit off more than she could chew.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

[snallavanta]

thoughts on svt lollapalooza 🎉🩷💎

i can't believe i have to write this rn because it means the concert has ended 😭

overall performance

the set list for this was quite interesting to say the least. they covered most of the basic songs but i was surprised at the order they chose to sing them

i was quite impressed by their ability to cover jun's roles in both the songs and the choreo. it felt seamless (both fortunate and unfortunately) and they were still so cohesive nonetheless. spell without jun felt a little awkward though (but that's just me being used to a 4-person team 🥲)

i always love their outfits and this one was no different. the casual vibe of denim and white tees were nice against the intense choreo. it also made them feel more relatable in a sense because it just feels like watching a group of guys have fun rather than something super calculated

i luv my team i luv my crew

people with the most aura gains in this performance: hoshi, scoups, minghao, jeonghan. they had my attention every time they were on screen. possibly mingyu too but that man is just irresistible to the eyes so he takes the spotlight without even trying

hoshi? is? literally? crazy? being svt's hype man, being the concert hype man, performing fighting, spell AND cheers with full choreo + his rap, giving 110% to every other performance. energy is flowing out of him & i want a quarter of however much he has leftover because it will still be more than what i have experienced in my life

my boo and boy dk fighting for their life because they had to keep singing with little to no breaks in between + hitting all the high notes at that... they are truly one of the most extraordinary vocalists ever

HUGE shoutout to joshua & vernon for being svt's personal translators. it was so nice of them to take charge but also convey their members' words to the crowd. it cannot be easy trying to translate what 5 other people are saying all at the same time

everyone did a spectacular job and i am so so proud of them 🫶🏻

misc. thoughts

hearing "caratdeul" from our beloved general leader fixed something in me fr. no one has ever called me in such an endearing way (except joshua maybe because his 'caratdeul' is so swoon-worthy)

to be honesttttt there was a weird vibe between svt and carats..... i heard about some drama happening in berlin about stalkers and rude fans so maybe i'm just projecting but they didn't seem to get as many personal crowd interactions like they usually do + all the fans swarming towards mingyu when he went to the barricade seemed slightly uncomfortable. svt was just a little off with their personal fan interactions imo (which good for them if it means protecting themselves)

all in all, another performance slayed 10/10 svt world domination

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Since you said your asks are open, I would love to hear your thoughts on Rosielemmons + too hot to cuddle. Please. And thank you!

I also wanted to say how much I love "There's a Part of You Always Standing By (Mapping Out a Sky)." When I watched episode 9 the first time, I thought about what Lemmons would think when he heard Rosie had gone down over Berlin. 😭😭

So, before we get to my entirely too knowledgeable head canon on too hot to cuddle, I just wanna say that I wrote THAT scene tonight and hit 100k on the fic. I am very pleased.

But, let's talk too hot to cuddle:

I've mentioned this before: I grew up in the same general area as Ken Lemmons. I'm from farther west in Akansas, but the highway that runs through my hometown runs through his. So, I know a LOT about Arkansas hot.

And, look, the bottom of Arkansas has it worse off than the top of Arkansas, but that's like saying the first level of hell has it easier than the seventh level in terms of fire and damnation.

Summers hit 100 when I was a kid. Humidity of 95% if you were LUCKY. The ground cooks and cooks and cooks no matter if it's asphalt or grass or mud or anything. When the sun goes down, the humidity doesn't. And the ground lets out all the heat of the day, so it doesn't really and truly cool down in the way it does other places.

Rosie Rosenthal would show up in Arkansas in summer in his best seersucker suit and WANT. TO. DIE.

Ken, in denim and cotton because he's working the fields in this shit, meets him at the train with a big jug of ice water. By the time they're back to the farm, Rosie's chugged half of it.

Rosie figures it'll be better at night. The sun will be down. Ken promises there are fans.

It is not better. Okay, fine, Rosie's brain isn't getting fried by the sun, and the house is built to lift the heat up into the ceilings. But it's still 95% humidity, and the ground STAYS HOT.

And, god, all Robert wants to do is roll over and hold Ken and love that he can share a bed with him finally, after years of being desperately in love but in different barracks.

But he's sweating just lying there. And when he touches Ken, he's damp, too.

So night one isn't what Robert had hoped for. Too fucking hot. Too sweaty. The air too damp.

And the next night, it seems to be repeating, but then just around midnight, there's a thunder clap and lightning, and Ken pulls Robert out into the yard as the sky opens up.

It thunderstorms for two hours. They stand out in the rain the whole time, and Robert finds out, it DOES cool down at night. It just needs a little help.

By the time they get back inside, they're soaked to the skin and shivering, and Ken dries them both off and they manage to curl up against each other and fall asleep in each other's arms.

The next morning, it's just as hot and humid as the day before, but Robert finds he's a little affectionate towards it. He's never stood in the rain like that, never laughed and kissed and tipped his head back to taste the rain on his tongue.

But now he has. With Ken. At Ken's beloved home. And Robert can find a kinship with the hot and humid and sweaty weather that brings him those things, too.

[littledreamling]

Fluffbruary 50/50 Challenge: February 3 - Beach

Tags: Volleyball, sand, fun in the sun

Hob couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten truly sweaty. It might’ve been in an American sauna back in the 20’s, where he had found himself face-to-face with Scarface himself. It might’ve been back in Vietnam, when the heat of the jungle was inescapable and the moisture sunk into your very skin. In any case, at this moment, he was the sweatiest he could ever remember being. A small part of him reckoned he should be slightly disgusted by this fact; perspiration was dripping off of every plane of his body, his limbs were coated in sand up to his knees and elbows, and he was sure he was a riot of all sorts of unpleasant scents. The rest of him, however, was far more taken with the bright beaming sun, the laughter and shouting of his teammates, and the laser focus that it took to actually hit the damn ball. His tight denim shorts did very little to protect his skin from the onslaught of sand and sun and he knew he would be wind-chafed, sunburned, and sore tomorrow. One too many desperate dives to keep the volleyball in-bounds had ensured that he would be finding sand in every crevice of his body for the foreseeable future. All of it was worth it, though; he was too caught up in the celebration of the winning point to care much at all.

Read on AO3!!

Fluffbruary 50/50 Challenge: February 3 - Beach pt. 2

Tags: waiting, liminal space, the Sunless Lands, devotion

He was waiting. He had been waiting for an eternity. The sand was scalding under his palms and his arse, but he didn’t dare move. If he moved, he’d be lost. If he stayed exactly where he was, at least he knew he was here. This spot was his and his alone; a single step in any direction would render him hopelessly lost and alone.

He didn’t know what he was waiting for. He didn’t know how he had gotten here, nor how to leave. He wasn’t sure the thought of leaving, indeed of any ending at all, had crossed his mind until this very moment, and then he forgot it entirely.

The sands were endless. No, they were Endless. He wasn’t sure why something as simple as hot, golden sand would warrant a capitalized letter, but he knew, instinctively, that it made all the difference in the world. The sands were Endless, and he was but a speck, little more than a single grain among billions. 113 billion, his brain supplied, though it was a passing thought, a dust mote floating through a shaft of light before disappearing again.

There was no sun; this fact didn’t bother him. The sky was bright, a shade of blue that wasn’t blue, a grey that looked more like white and more like black. His eyes burned with the glare of finality against the Endless field of sand, but he didn’t raise a hand to shield himself from it. The futility of such an action was not lost on him. 

Time didn’t exist here; the only passing things were his thoughts. There was no breeze nor movement on the horizon to break the monotony. The omni- and ever-present light never moved; there were no shadows to indicate the flow of seconds to minutes to hours. There simply was. Perhaps, he thought, he existed in a single moment, confined to a solitary droplet of water, separated from the unstoppable march. He had reached the inevitable.

He gazed out, over the flat dunes, unmoving. He couldn’t remember the last time he had blinked. He didn’t need to. He couldn’t feel his eyes. Were they dry? Were his muscles groaning in protest from his posture, hunched over in the sand? He didn’t know. His body was but a figment, a fleeting sheen wrapped around the essence of him. The sand under his palms was known; the sand an inch to the side was a mystery, as unknowable as an unremembered dream. He was waiting. He had been waiting for an eternity.

Read on AO3!!

[stagefoureddiediaz]

This was going to be part of my costume meta (which I’m still working on!) but it is too epic to get lost in the big post - I’ll link to this one in the main meta. This little discovery gains more significance after listening to the interview Oliver gave earlier - I’ve linked the @911bts post in case you haven’t heard it. 

So Kitchen scene from 6x01 - Buck is wearing a white tee - and we’ve long established that Buck and white tops means trouble! in this instance the trouble is present in the scene - its his tantrum over being passed up for interim captain and actually reflects nicely on to the turmoil his mind is currently in in relation to his personal life with all the loaded sentences about couches and and relationships. 

Then there is the the mid to light blue zip front shirt with vertical stripes and a yellowed tint to it - which is a lightweight cotton denim. Its this denim zip shirt I want to talk about because when I realised its significance I gasped (and freaked the person I was sitting net to out) and have spent the rest of today flapping over it.

I was initially intrigued because we never see buck in denim and then I remembered we have seen him in a denim shirt - just the once - a western style one pictured below which also has a yellowed tint to it!

This is the only time we have seen Buck wearing a denim shirt until 6x01 (incidentally he is also wearing a white shirt underneath it and the sleeves are rolled up in a similar manner. He’s worn a few different denim jackets etc, but never another shirt.

I was intrigued by this and then I remembered the full context!!!  That western style denim shirt was the one he wore for his coffee shop date with Abby at the end of 1x09. The reason I gasped at this parallel that the costume team have made here hits on a few different levels. Firstly 1x09 is the only other time that blimps are mentioned in 911!! Yes indeed that coffee shop date comes after the failed hot air balloon date and that locker room talk with bobby about blimps and stepping in with someone in a relationship. So not only do we have the blimp parallel, we also have a Buck and Bobby talk in both episodes.

That coffee shop date is when we see Buck really starting his first serious relationship - seeing all the things that come with dating Abby (her Mom’s Alzheimer's for example) - and choosing to embrace them (dare I say that this is the Buck 1.5 KR was speaking about in her interview!) and stepping in for all the difficult stuff. That date was a foundation stone for Buck - what he learnt from that relationship is still present today in what he has been building with Eddie - it was a moment of growth for him and a lesson he took to heart and continues to live by to this day - stepping into Eddie’s mess and supporting him time and again. the difference between them is obvious Abby wasn’t truly interested in building a true relationship where as Eddie has been from the off - he continues to let Buck into places no one else has been allowed.

So here we are post 6x01 with a scene so laden with metaphors and multiple meanings, where body and facial language are very loud in another episode where a there is a blimp in some form. Only this time we have an actual blimp rather than a mentioned one that was actually a mix up with a hot air balloon by Bobby. Bobby who gave the advice which Buck took to heart in 1x09 and which has had far reaching consequences and Bobby who gives Buck more advice in 6x01 which is likely to have far reaching consequences and intertwines with the advice from 1x09.

The fact that the costume team have drawn this parallel won’t be by chance - it will have been discussed at length in production meetings - its like a repeat outfit - only better - repeat outfits are just that - a repeat - they directly invoke the previous time it was worn and suggests a lack of change - the idea of making the same mistakes again whereas a similar outfit used in the same way as a repeat outfit in this specific way (it only works in situations where the character doesn’t normally wear a particular type of clothing like this one where Buck doesn’t wear denim shirts) shows growth - as well as the parallels that can be drawn between the scenes. Ergo Buck is not the same person as he was in 1x09, he has grown. this use of costume and colour (remember the yellow tint I mentioned that both shirts have - well that plays into the yellow and blue colour theory) is a physical and visual way of stating the aims of the show, about the intent of the writers and adds an additional layer to that kitchen scene and only adds further weight to the acting choices - and they all add up to Buddie going canon! this is why Oliver comparing Abby and Eddie in that interview is so interesting and significant.

tagging a few people who I know will be interested (and some of whom had to deal with me screaming at them about this  😂)

@girldadbuddie @livingwherethesidewalkends @lovecolibri @loveyourownsmiilee​ @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mistmarauder @theladyyavilee @leothil @extasiswings​ @yramesoruniverse @kitkatpancakestack @ktinastrikesback​ @trashendence​ @burnthatbridge​ @fiona-fififi

[earlgreydream]

rough.

| draco x reader | angst | smut |

enemies to lovers 🖤

anon requested. theyre enemies but deep down theres a sexual tension and one day theyre on vacation and have to stay in one room together

cw: angst, name-calling (degradation), hate-fucking, very slightly dubcon

.

“I can’t stand you! I don’t want to stay in a room with you!” You shouted, shoving him away from you.

“I’m just as angry as you! I don’t know how the hell this happened!” Draco snapped, pushing past you into your shared hotel room.

You had gone on vacation to America with some of your schoolmates, and due to a mix up in the planning, you and Draco had ended up in the same hotel room. To make matters worse, the room only had one bed.

Draco was your sworn enemy since first year. He’d embarrassed you in front of the Weasley twins, the boys you had a crush on, and you’d retaliated by tainting the love potion he gave to Pansy. It had started seven years of fighting and backbiting, the two of you always at each other’s throats and never seeing eye to eye.

It had become second nature to fight with Draco. Screaming matches with him lit a specific fire in your belly— different from anything else. It burned through you, igniting every nerve in your body. You thought it was anger, though it proved to be more when nothing satiated the rage, and your mind began to wander.

The electrically charged energy between you was hard to ignore. It was like a live wire, blazing everything in its wake, or an oil spill, turning everything flammable.

.

“Malfoy-” you started, but you were cut off by his sharp glare.

“I was going to suggest that we change quickly and meet the others in the lobby. I was going to ask if I could use the loo, but I was going to give you the courtesy of offering it first,” you hissed, and he shook his head.

“Go, it’s fine.”

You stepped into the bathroom, closing the door. You were desperate for some distance from Draco. You freshened up in the mirror, not taking too long so you didn’t get him even more agitated than he already was.

“What are we going to do about-?”

“We’re going to worry about it when the time comes,” you interrupted, glancing at the one bed.

The bathroom door slammed shut, leaving you alone in the small room. There wasn’t a couch— and the chair simply wasn’t adequate. Ultimately, you both knew the two of you were going to end up in bed together that night, whether you liked it or not.

A deep sigh left your lips, and you grabbed your bag, preparing to meet your friends downstairs. Draco locked the door behind the two of you, and the elevator ride was painfully silent. 

.

“My two favorite people. Sorry about the room situation,” Theo grinned, opening his arms as you walked up to him. 

You stepped into his chest, letting tattooed limbs wrap around you. He kissed the top of your head, grinning into your hair. 

“If Malfoy’s mean to you, you just let me know, okay? I’ll take care of him,” Theo promised you, finally getting you to giggle. 

“Maybe tell her not to be a right bi-”

“Draco, baby, try a little harder,” Theo hummed, kissing Malfoy’s cheek before getting pushed off. You laughed at them. 

Seven years, and you still wondered how it was possible for Theo-- the sweetest boy in the world, to be best friends with Draco Malfoy-- the devil’s incarnate. 

“Come on, we’ll get breakfast then catch the ferry,” Cedric said, handing out ferry passes to your group: Draco, Theo, Blaise, Fred, George, Hermione, Ginny, Pansy, Cedric, and you. 

Hermione took your hand, pulling you from the Slytherin boys. 

“It’s going to be fun. And besides, we’ll only be sleeping in the rooms. It’s not a problem,” Hermione assured you, the girls walking ahead of the others.

“Except there is only one bed,” you muttered, and Ginny and Pansy spun to look at you. 

“Are you serious?” Ginny giggled, and you smacked her arm. 

“It is not funny!”

They held their hands up in defense, though their amusement was clear. You took the subway to the ferry, crowded with American muggles. 

“Careful!” Draco hissed in your ear, catching you ask you lost your balance. His hand went around your waist, pinning you to his chest. 

“M’sorry, I slipped!” you were thankful for him holding onto you, even if you’d never admit it. You gripped the pole for support, trying not to lean into him too much. He helped you off of the train, and you took Theo’s hand as you boarded the ferry. 

“Look at the statue!” you gasped, admiring the skyline and leaning on the railing of the boat as you road to Staten Island. 

“Don’t fall,” Draco came to your other side. 

“Are you serious? Draco, I’m not a child!” you snapped.

“You’re leaning on the railing, and we can’t be using magic to drag you out of the water!”

You shot him an indignant look, and climbed up to stand on the railing. Even Theo looked anxious at your actions. 

“Get the fuck down, right now.” Draco’s grey eyes were wide, and you stared back at him, daring him to touch you. 

“We’re going to dock, and it’ll knock the-” Theo was interrupted before he could finish his sentence. The boat stopped suddenly, and as you caught yourself, Draco grabbed your waist, pulling you off of the railing. 

You shrieked, struggling away as he pulled you down. He refused to let go of you, and you tried to shove him off. 

“Knock it off. And quit doing dangerous shit,” Draco swatted your ass through your denim shorts, making Theo choke on his water bottle. You immediately stilled, staring at him in horror. 

“Did you just spank me?” You gasped, startled. 

He let go of you, answering with only a cold look. You shook your head and went to join the others, Theo and Draco falling into conversation with Cedric and Blaise. 

“What happened back there? We heard you yelling,” Hermione asked, grinning behind her oversized mirrored sunglasses.

“Draco just being an ass. It’s fine,” you said, stealing her sunglasses and putting them on. 

“Come on, let’s go have some fun.”

. 

You spent the day sightseeing, walking around Staten Island before going back to Manhattan. The sun was warm overhead, the summer heat getting to your minds. You’d managed to avoid bickering with Draco most of the day, but now the sun was hanging low in the sky, casting a golden-orange glow over everything. You were drinking cocktails at a place near Times Square, tired from being on your feet all day.

“Tomorrow we’re going to the MET,” Theo said, checking the plans. 

You stayed out late, talking and laughing until the lights of the city had drowned out the ink-black sky. You were tired, a little buzzed, overly hot, and you wanted to sleep. 

.

“What the hell was that on the ferry? Do you think you can just-?” Draco grabbed your arm, cutting off your rant that you’d saved until you were in private, not wanting to fight in front of your friends. Your back hit the hotel room door, Draco’s chest pressed up against yours.

“Do I think I can just what? Knock that bullshit little smirk off of your face?” Draco seethed. 

“Tell me what to do!” You pushed his shoulders, though he didn’t move.

“It’s clear that you can’t be trusted to make good choices on your own.”

“That’s rich coming from you-” you hissed, feeling the familiar burning spread through your abdomen. 

“You should learn a little respect,” Draco’s hand wrapped around your throat, the rings on his fingers cold against your warm skin. A moan escaped you before you could stop it, and his eyebrows shot up. 

“Is this what you need? Do you just need to have the bitch fucked out of you?” You squirmed, gripping his wrist and trying to pry his hand off of your throat. 

You were seething, the energy between you becoming intensely sexually charged. You hated yourself for growing aroused, but you couldn’t keep the heat from spreading through your body, and you were becoming keenly aware of your throbbing sex. 

Draco pushed his knee between your thighs, and you shook your head. 

“No, no.”

“No? You aren’t horny and desperate? I know how much you hate me, and I know you’ve been dying to release all that pent up energy. You’re going to be sleeping in the same bed with me tonight, trapped under the sheets with my body. If you don’t act now, you’ll have to go untouched for the next week of this trip...” he smirked, knowing he had leverage, able to see how desperate you were. 

Truly, Draco was desperate for you too. You made him so angry, but you managed to turn him on as you got under his skin. He was aroused now, growing harder as he watched you squirm in pure need. He was waiting to hear you say yes, to give in. He may have hated you, but he wasn’t an animal. 

You bit your lip so hard you tasted metal, trying to hold in a scream. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths, your eyes narrowed into a glare. His thigh was pressed against your sex, and you fought against the urge to grind against him, desperate for friction. 

“Fuck,” you swore, and Draco squeezed your throat, making you whimper. 

“Is that a no, Y/N? Do you want me to let go of you? Let you go finger yourself in the shower?” he mocked you. 

“I hate you.”

“I know. It’s mutual, love.”

“Alright, Draco. Please fuck me. But this doesn’t mean anything!”

He smirked, letting go of you and tossing his shirt aside. You rid your own clothes with his, freezing as your eyes lingered on his naked body. The need and arousal pulsing through your body was overpowering, and just the sight of him was making you falter. 

“Do you need me to do everything for you? Get over here,” Draco’s hand wrapped around your elbow, tugging you toward him. He ripped your panties off, the veins in his hand flexing at the display of strength.

“Draco!”

“Save it.”

Draco hauled you to the bed, bending you over the edge. You struggled, trying to sit up. He shoved your head back down, pressing your chest against the duvet. 

“Are you serious?” you snapped as he gripped your wrists in one hand, holding them at the small of your back. 

“You’re going to lay here and be good or you’re not going to get fucked at all,” Draco threatened, and you burned in shame. You stopped straining yourself to look at him, residing to resting your head on your side, ceasing your struggle against his hold. 

A choked groan left your lips as Draco slammed into your cunt all at once. He buried himself deep enough to where his hips were pressed to your ass, his body bent over yours. Draco slammed into you, frustration powering his rough thrusts. You writhed under his strong grip, moaning and squealing as he tore into your tight heat. Even with how wet you were, your body spasmed at the force. 

It felt primal, rough, and dirty. 

Fucking Draco was scandalous, even for you. The two of you getting so angry that the energy had to be channeled into sex felt deviant, Draco’s cock tainting your innocence with every thrust. 

You felt better than Draco had imagined. Your noises were erotic, encouraging him more than the momentum he was gaining. He kicked your legs further apart, shoving himself deeper into your sex. Your moan was muffled by the duvet, squeezing your eyes shut. It felt like he was tearing you open, and you couldn’t get enough. Your head was spinning, and your fingers flexed, the only part of your body you could move freely against his hold. 

“You’re fucking divine,” Draco breathed, reaching his hand under the two of you. His fingers found the area where your bodies connected, sliding upward through your folds. 

“Draco, fuck, please!” you cried, arching your back as he pressed against your nerves. 

“Please what, love? Are you going to quit being contrary?”

“Yes, I’ll do anything, just please touch me there,” you begged, abandoning your stubbornness.

You buried your face in the bed and screamed, your back curving into a bow as he fucked into you in time with the circles he was tracing with skilled fingers.

Draco swore as you pulsed around him, squeezing his cock as you cried from euphoria. Electricity shot through your limbs, your orgasm ripping through your body. Draco was quick to follow, pulling out and coming over your ass, watching you shudder and throb around nothing. 

As his memories being frustrated with you returned, he continued his assault on your clit, pinching you harshly to watch you writhe and scream. 

“Draco, Draco, I’m sorry, I’ll be nice, just stop!” you squealed, trying to kick him as he overstimulated you. 

He released you as you asked, taking in the sight of your absolutely wrecked body. Your arms were shaking as you brought them under you, trying to push yourself up onto your elbows. You heaved in deep breaths, still trembling as you came down from your high. 

Draco wiped down your skin for you, finding some decency. 

“Hey, look at me. You alright?” Draco held your jaw, tilting your face up. You nodded, and he slid boxers up his leg before digging for something in his jacket pocket. 

“Y/N. Come here,” Draco’s voice was low and husky, his back to you. 

You forced yourself to stand up, your legs weak as you stepped toward him. You followed Draco onto the balcony, where he sat down on a lounge chair. Ringed fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to sit sideways on his lap. 

His touch was no longer aggressive or harsh, but instead moving you with authority. You held a blanket loosely around your body, shielding you from the cool night air. 

Draco didn’t speak as he pulled a cigarette from the box, putting it between his lips. He lit the end before setting the box and the lighter on the table, leaning his head back and taking a drag. He held your jaw, pressing his lips against yours before exhaling the smoke into your mouth. 

He turned, watching the city lights glitter around you. He offered you the cigarette, and you accepted, sharing with him. 

“Our secret?” you asked softly, and his silver gaze connected with his.

“Our secret.”

“Do you still hate me?” 

The corners of Draco’s lips pulled up, and his fingers brushed over your bare back, his hand resting at the base of your spine. 

“Only when it serves me, I suppose,” he murmured, and you fought off a smile.

“You’ll not bite me in my sleep then?”

“Full of questions. I make no promises, I’ve found I rather like how you taste.”

He kissed you then, under the city lights, tasting like smoke and sage and secrets. 

[sunnypogue]

use your words (rafe smut)

i wrote this with coho!rafe in mind, but you can honestly insert anyone your little heart desires, as i don’t use any specific names. 

this is for @moldisgoodforyou​, who asked me three different times to incorporate a viral tiktok by @/maditasbibliotheca into a fic. the lines “please. i- please” and “please what? use your words” are prompted directly from that video. 

i tried a different writing style here - more reminiscent of older, unpublished stuff i have hidden away in the archives. 

as always, enjoy.

warnings: nsfw, 18+ only.

She bounces twice on the unmade bed, letting gravity pull her downwards, sprawled out on the messy sheets.

He’s got his hands on her ankles before she can get comfortable, finger and thumb connecting as he pulls her towards him, smothering a grin as she yelps.

They work together to get her jeans off, an awkward, unpracticed routine of shimmying limbs and muffled grunts, the stiff denim hooking around her knees, then ankles, before coming clean off.

It’s a slow, practiced dance after that. Calloused hands ghosting over soft thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He initiates the kiss. She likes it better that way.

The kiss moves south, slick lips gliding over planes of skin, an ombre of shades determined by the sun.

He nestles at the apex of her thighs, murmurs something about coming home.

She lets her legs fall wide, inviting him in.

His hands accompany his mouth, fingers pressing deep, followed by his tongue.

She keens for it, chasing a feeling she can’t quite describe, hips canting up towards his slick chin, his pink mouth.

He grins, swiping a thumb across his lower lip, before offering it to her. She lets the digit slide across her tongue, lets him press down until she’s drooling.

The dance builds, his hands moving towards his pants, pulling them down just enough to provide relief as she whines lowly.

He jacks himself with a smirk, watching as her tongue lolls out of her mouth, her cunt clenching around nothing.

She starts to squirm, mewls getting louder as he drags the spurts of precome down his cock, tip inches away from her folds.

“Please? I - please.” She whimpers, voice breaking on the last syllable.

“Please what?” He’s mocking her, voice laced with faux-pity. “Use your words.”

Her cheeks are the same shade as her swollen cunt, a deep, dark shade. His favorite color.

He fights the urge to tell her.

She breaks first. He likes it better that way.

“Please,” She starts again, voice high and reedy, “please fuck me.”

He laughs, mean enough to get her cunt to clench.

“With what, baby?” He drops his free hand to her hip, fingers stretching towards her cunt. “With these?”

She squirms. “No, I -“

“Or with my tongue again?” He offers, punctuating his words by cupping her heat. “I know how much you love that.”

She bucks her hips, letting her clit hit the rough palm of his hand. He gives it a smack in return, drinking in her yelp.

“Or maybe nothing at all, if you can’t listen.”  

The threat hangs in the air, thick and heavy. She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, trying to figure out her next move.

He leads her there.

“Just use your words, baby.” He reaches forward to tug her lip free.

The words spill from her, the first crescendo of the night.

“Please, please fuck me.” She’s babbling, mouth barely closing as the words roll off her tongue. “With your cock. Fuck me with your cock, please, please, I-“

He leans forward as she begs, fingers running along the seam of her cunt before his cock follows, his head nudging her throbbing clit.

He sinks home mid-please, reveling in the way her voice fully and truly breaks.

He indulges her, murmuring into her neck about how good she is, into her jaw about how sweet her little cunt is, into her cheek about how much he loves her.

The remainder of the performance is soft and slow, with rolling hips, and deep thrusts, and perfect gasps of pleasure.

She comes first, gently thrashing under his weight. He’s soon to follow, clenched eyes and clenched jaw, hips pressed to hers.

They like it that way.

[blouisparadise]

Today’s rec list consists of bottom Louis fics that take place in the country, the Midwest, or any rural area. We hope you enjoy. If you do, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Save A Horse | Explicit | 2400 words

Louis goes to a rodeo with Liam, and gets a lot more than he bargained for. Featuring bull rider Harry, obnoxious t-shirts, and one hell of a night.

“Come on Jackson ain’t you been practicin? It ain’t fun for me if I always beat you,” the boy drawls out, voice slow and thick like molasses. “You comin out tonight?” he asks, nudging him with his elbow.

“Not tonight H, me and Liam are going to grab something to eat,” Jackson replies, the blush returning to Liam’s cheeks.

“What about you, what’re your plans for the night darlin’?” Harry asks, crooking an eyebrow in Louis’s direction.

Louis, who is the epitome of outgoing and confident, is at a total loss for words. He starts to say something but freezes, Harry now raising his other eyebrow and smirking, awaiting Louis’s response. “I uh- I’ll probably just go home,” Louis manages to stammer out, and what the fuck? Who is this man and how has he turned Louis into an introvert in a matter of seconds?

2) Gunsmoke | Explicit | 6527 words

Harry 'Gunsmoke' Styles and his boys Liam, Zayn, and Niall are all traveling cowboys who come across a small town on their journey to nowhere. They hang out at a tavern where Harry meets Louis, a cute and fiery bartender, and they may or may not fall in love.

3) Hey I Heard You Were A Wild One (If I Took You Home It'd Be A Homerun) | Explicit | 12106 words

Harry came to the bar to forget. Louis gives him a night to remember.

4) This Land Is More Than Dreams | Explicit | 12878 words

Louis is a student taking a gap year, travelling through the States. His plans change when he meets a cute cowboy-wannabe in one of the towns.

5) Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy | Mature | 13356 words

Harry owns a farm and Louis rides horses (and pretty boys sometimes) for a living. Harry hurts himself by being clumsy before he gets to ride a horse with Louis.

6) Manifest Destiny | Explicit | 15210 words

Louis is a Pony Express rider and Harry runs a station along the trail.

7) Baby Blue | Explicit | 39439 words

Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

8) I Ain’t Gonna Fence You In | Mature | 40645 words

Louis Tomlinson is a 18 year old city boy who is forced to spend his summer before his senior year at his aunts farm. There, he meets Harry, a 19 year old country boy his aunt hired to help around the farm.

Maybe the farm isn't the worst place to fall in love?

9) Boiling Blood Will Circulate | Explicit | 42420 words

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

10) Your Touch Shouldn't Make Me Feel Like This | Explicit | 48883 words

Uni AU in which Alpha Harry has been in love with his omega friend for the longest time and one motorbike trip to the countryside with Louis made him realize that he could no longer hold back his feelings.

11) For the Sake of Propriety | Mature | 52360 words

Louis Tomlinson is the caretaker of an estate that is not truly his, and when his Uncle calls upon him to take it back, Louis knows he will soon be out on the streets with four overly zealous sisters to care for.  His only solution: wed the eldest two off and pray for the best.  When an even better solution unexpectedly presents itself in the form of the charming Mr. Styles, Louis is faced with a difficult choice.  But as with all things in the regency era, reputation very well may threaten to outweigh the fleeting matters of his heart.

12) Through The Wheatfields And The Coastlines | Explicit | 52855 words

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” Hot Cowboy asks, tracking his little lamb with his eyes. Louis frowns slightly, having thought he was doing pretty well at not sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s not like he’s not from around here — it’s not his first summer he’s spent at his grandparents'. But he supposes that the Manhattan city lifestyle that he’s used to is always going to shine through.

“I’m visiting family for the summer,” Louis explains, cheeks a little pink. “Trying to get some work done without distractions.”

13) The Bachelor | Explicit | 53953 words

The one where Harry dates six other guys and still falls in love with Louis Tomlinson.

14) Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You) | Mature | 54609 words | Sequel

Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles.

Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

He also starts to fall in love with Harry.

Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

15) Such Good Luck | Explicit | 66025 words

An Edwardian AU where Harry is a young aristocratic lord and Louis is a working class dairy farmer. Secrets are a necessary part of their relationship, but Louis has one that could topple their whole world.

16) Given a Chance | Explicit | 173511 words

Five years after One Direction took their last tour, the last thing Louis Tomlinson ever expected to happen while on a tea run at the local Piggly Wiggly was to run into his ex-boyfriend and ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

The odds of them ever running into each other again had to be super slim, right?

Wrong.

What happens when you mix ex-boyfriends with a large serving of Small Town America? Will Louis and Harry be able to set aside their differences, or will Louis be able to stay breezy as fuck in the wake of Harry’s arrival?

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Needles & Ink, Pt 2 (NSFW)

Lena slips in the back door of the InkSpot. She pauses just inside, absorbing the utter silence that fills the place. Gone is the thumping music, and buzzing of machines. Gone is the bustle of clients coming and going. It's completely and utterly still.

At nearly 4am, it's well past normal operating hours, even for the night crowd. Lena knows she herself ought to be in bed, catching as many winks as she could before her next morning meeting, but-- even after a day of committees and endless reports, Lena is absolutely wired. She'd known tugging on James' door would be a long shot, but when it opened she'd hoped her fellow night owl might be down for a late tattoo session. 

Looking out across the darkened shop, though, it seems more likely that James has simply forgotten to lock the back door. She pulls out her phone, intent on teasing James into oblivion, but freezes when an odd sound drifts out of James' office.

It sounds almost like a moan, but when it's followed by another, longer moan of a different pitch, Lena realizes someone is humming. Someone in the office is humming a Bonnie Tyler song.

Total Eclipse of the Heart, to be exact. 

Lena saunters silently to the office door and leans against it, taking a moment to observe Kara Danvers humming along to the music playing in her ears. She's bent over paperwork, and despite the hour and the solitude a soft smile graces her lips, pulling one to Lena's own face at the sight of it.

"You look good," she says in a low voice.

Kara jumps violently in her seat, jolting the entire desk with the force of her gasp.

"Oh my sweet baby Jesus!!" she exclaims, pressing a hand to her chest. When she looks up, Kara sags at the sight of Lena. "You scared me!"

Lena watches Kara remove her earbuds, and folds her arms over her chest, still leaning against the door frame. "Sorry," she purrs unapologetically. She smiles. "How are you? It's been a while."

"Good, good. I mean, I'm-- I'm in Metropolis! Wait-- you're in Metropolis! What are you doing here??"

Lena gives a tilt of her head. "Business. I may have moved my company to National City, but it still feels as though I do more business here than there these days."

"Right, um..." Kara suddenly looks nervous, casting a worried look past Lena into the hallway. "Sorry, but um.... we're kind of closed? Actually-- how did you get in here?"

Lena huffs a faint laugh. "Back door. James lets me slip in now and then. I was hoping he would have time for a quick session."

"Oh, um... I'm the only one here. Sorry."

"Don't be," Lena smiles. "It's good to see you. Is James treating you well? I don't need to yell at him, do I?"

"Oh, no! No, no, he's been great-- everyone has been really amazing, truly. I couldn't have asked for better hosts. I've been loving it here."

Lena nods, glad to hear it. Pushing off the door jamb, she lets her arms fall, clasping her hands in front of her. "Well, I won't keep you. It was good to see you--"

"W-wait!" Kara jerks to her feet, slamming into the desk yet again in her haste to keep Lena from leaving. Lena pauses, biting back a smile at her clumsiness. "James isn't here, but I am. Why don't we do some more work on your crane?"

"Oh, it's late--"

"No, I-- I mean, I'll text James to make sure it's okay, but... I'm down if you are."

Lena regards her for a long moment. 

"Okay."

--- 

There’s something ethereal in the moments that follow. James gives his blessing, which Kara barely notices past the distraction that is Lena Luthor unbuttoning her blouse. Backlit by a halo of neon light, she looks like a hazy dream, long and beautiful and full of mystery even as she lays herself bare. 

In deference to the late hour, Kara keeps the overheads off, and simply turns on her worklight. The spill of light pulls Lena’s attention to her, catching her watching. In the shadows, Lena smiles coyly. 

“Like what you see?” Lena asks, casting her shirt aside. She takes a wide stance, presenting herself to Kara’s gaze in all her tattooed glory. Maybe it’s the late hour, but Kara allows her gaze to linger, charting a path from the stylized storm brewing at Lena’s collarbones, to the dragon that disappears down one hip. 

“Always,” she murmurs.

Lena looks aside for a moment-- when she looks back, it’s with a heat that sends a bolt of desire straight to Kara’s core. She takes a breath that quakes in her lungs, and then suddenly Lena is there, tucking a wisp of hair behind Kara’s ear.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since our first session,” Lena murmurs. 

A flush heats Kara’s neck and face. “Me either,” she confesses. “I mean. You too--”

Her blunder is swallowed by a kiss. Lena’s lips press against Kara’s, warm and soft and absolutely intoxicating. Kara lifts her hands, framing Lena’s face and pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. She’s rewarded with a muted moan, and Lena’s hands on her hips, thumbs brushing beneath the hem of Kara’s tank top.

“You are so beautiful,” Kara breathes when they part, panting for air. There’s an insistent throbbing between her legs, aching for more. Lena’s hand cups her gently, making her whimper. 

“May I?” Lena whispers against her ear. Biting her lip, Kara nods. Only then does Lena unbutton Kara’s jeans with her long fingers, peeling the denim away to reveal her panties. Kara’s completely forgotten hat she’s wearing until Lena laughs, low and throaty in Kara’s ear.

The pizza panties. Goddammit. 

“I love them,” Lena murmurs, reassuring her. “But I’d love them even better on my bedroom floor.”

Oh god. Kara envisions a clean penthouse apartment, spotless save for the mess of their discarded clothes. But here in the shop? Gross.

“Guess I’ll just have to make do,” Lena says, hitching up the legs of her trousers to kneel between Kara’s legs. In moments, Kara’s pants and panties are both below her hips and a warm tongue sweeps through her folds, collecting the moisture of her arousal in a single taste. Lena hums with pleasure before her thumb gets to work against Kara’s bare clit. 

Kara quivers, nearly staggering as her body reacts. Lena’s hands brace her hips, steadying her. 

“All right there?” she asks, playfully teasing. Kara whimpers with a nod. To her surprise, Lena guides Kara’s leg to rest over her shoulder, until Kara’s stretched and gaping at her very core. “Press against me if you need to.”

Kara nods again. She doesn’t last long. In mere moments she’s moaning and writhing against Lena’s mouth, shuddering as waves of ecstasy roll through her. Lena’s tongue continues to guide her through her orgasm, pressing firmly to calm her through the aftershocks. When she finally pulls away, Kara can’t bend down fast enough to kiss her own taste away from Lena’s lips.

“On the table,” Kara urges, pulling Lena from her knees. She hastily pulls her pants up, but leaves them unfastened as she quickly devotes her attention to the curves of Lena’s body. Lena doesn’t quite make it on top of the table. She settles for leaning against its edge as she kisses Kara soundly, her hands buried in Kara’s hair. 

Kara kisses her messily, wet and sloppy, but Lena can’t seem to get enough. She only pulls her hands away to fumble at the back zipper of her dress pants, until Kara nudges her. “Turn around,” she murmurs.

Lena turns, and Kara carefully unzips her trousers. They fall to her ankles, exposing the rest of Lena’s tattoos. Kara takes a moment to admire them, kneeling to run her hands from Lena’s hip to her ankle, tracing the shape of the tiger clawing up one leg and the dragon coiling down the other. Even in the low light Kara can see the artistry, the mastery of the craft that has been inked into Lena’s skin. And there, curving around Lena’s ribs, a crane peeks out-- Kara’s own offering to the altar that is Lena’s body.

Unlike Kara’s pizza panties, Lena is resplendent in black lace. The fabric hugs Lena’s hips and ass in a tantalizing display. Kara can barely breathe as she stands and runs her fingers across the floral threadwork. Her whimper is eclipsed by a wonton moan from Lena’s throat, her hips pressing out and back against Kara’s hands.

“Kara…”

Lena’s voice is heady, even breathless. It sends a shudder of delirium down Kara’s spine. How is this her life. But Lena’s need is real and evident in the heady utterance, prompting Kara to hook her fingers under the panties and delicately sliding them down Lena’s hips. Every inch of Lena’s inked buttocks steals Kara’s breath, leaving her gasping by the time Lena shifts plaintively in her heels. Finally, Kara cups Lena from behind, and when Kara finds arousal nearly dripping from Lena’s core, she swallows thickly.

“Relax for me, baby girl.”

Lena shudders, sending a gush of fresh warmth into Kara’s palm. Leaning forward, Kara slides one hand down to Lena’s wrist, pressing it against the table as she slips two fingers into Lena’s folds. Gently, she begins to thrust.

“Harder,” Lena gasps almost immediately. She shifts her stance until Kara’s fingers hit a new spot. Kara nods, catching Lena’s gaze when she turns her head to look over one bare shoulder. She increases her speed, adds just a touch more pressure, and is rewarded with a hitch in Lena’s breath. Soon Lena is moaning with every breath, her back glistening with building sweat as her body temperature rises. 

Suddenly, Lena’s body shudders with a piercing moan, her walls clenching tight around Kara’s fingers. Just as she begins to come down, Kara releases Lena’s wrist to slip between her hips and the table to press her thumb against Lena’s clit, rubbing swift, furious circles until Lena crests again with a sharp gasp.

When she recovers, Lena turns against the table to loop her arms around Kara’s neck. Kara wraps herself around Lena’s bare skin, nuzzling against her neck, nibbling at her pulse point. 

“You’re incredible,” Lena murmurs. 

Kara hums against Lena’s neck. 

“I’m not finished yet.”

---

Kara draws back to wipe her hair from her eyes. Lena lays before her on a freshly sterilized table in nothing but her bra and panties, looking sleepy and relaxed despite the blood stippling to the surface of her skin.

“You know,” Kara observes, “not everyone would follow sex with a tattoo chaser.”

Lena smiles. “Their loss,” she murmurs. “I highly recommend it.”

Forgoing the use of a stencil, Kara had freehanded the plumage of the crane directly onto Lena’s skin, and already she could see the bird coming to life.

Kara smirks. “Not everyone is a masochist.”

“Imagine tattooing while having sex,” Lena drawls. “Now that would be kinky.”

A laugh bursts out of Kara, earning a deep grin from Lena. With her hair loose and sweaty, Lena is a veritable dream-- to have her skin under Kara’s needle is an honor on a bed of honors. The atmosphere is slow and silky around them, like the world outside has slowed to a standstill without them. Kara savors every moment, lest it all slip away. 

“So how has Metropolis treated you so far?” Lena asks, watching Kara dip her needle in fresh ink. She relaxes back when Kara approaches, allowing her easy access to the tattoo site. She doesn’t flinch when Kara resumes. “Still taking walk-ins? Besides me, of course.”

Kara grins, even as she focuses on what she’s doing. “You’re the first one I’ve taken in weeks, actually. Most people are looking for big, personal pieces, so the walk ins don’t really happen you know?” She pauses. “I’ve already started booking back at Argo, since my time here is already booked up.”

“Really? Congratulations!”

“Thanks.” Kara can’t help but blush. “But you know… something tells me I probably have you to thank for all this.”

Lena regards her. “Oh? How so?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re the only canvas I’ve worked on that James Olsen would have seen.”

Lena’s lips part in a silent ah. She regards Kara for a long moment, before reaching out a hand to halt Kara’s ministrations. With a single touch, she pulls Kara’s entire attention to her. 

“I didn’t suggest anything, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

Kara doesn’t respond, and thereby tips her hand: it’s exactly what she’s afraid of. That a top-paying client threatened to withdraw their business unless James agreed to take on an unknown artist from a strip mall in National City.

Lena cups her cheek gently.

“All I did was show James the work you’d done-- as I would for any piece I was proud of.” She holds Kara’s gaze, allowing her to see the truth in Lena’s eyes. “Anything he did after that is entirely on you and your body of work. Do you hear me?”

Kara releases a shaky breath, laughing slightly. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I hear you.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her arm. “Now lay back so I can finish.”

Lena does so, but her eyes don’t leave Kara. Kara can feel her gaze linger, until she’s too immersed in her art to be aware of anything else. 

---

“This,” Lena says hours later, pressing cash into Kara’s hand, “is for the tattoo. Just to be clear.”

Without even looking at it, Kara tucks it away. “Good to know.”

“Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” Lena winks, earning a chuckle in return.

“Right. Absolutely. But you know…”

“Hmmm?”

Kara tugs Lena closer by the hips, bringing their fronts flush together. Taing advantage of their proximity, Kara kisses her deeply. “You’re going to need some touch ups.”

Lena smiles against her, then kisses her again. 

“Well, then…. I guess I’ll just have to see you again.”

“You will.” Kara creeps her hands playfully up Lena’s shirt, only for Lena to pull away with a good natured laugh.

“I have to go, but, ah… I’ll see you later?”

Kara watches Lena back away towards the rear entrance, a smile ever present on her lips.

“Yeah. You will.”

It’s not until long after Lena leaves that Kara realizes. 

She didn’t get Lena’s phone number.

[doubleleoenergy]

V. Off to the Races, Lolita Series

My old man is a tough man, but he got a soul as sweet as blood-red jam. And he shows me, he knows me. Every inch of my tar-black soul.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: bestfriendsdad!Andy Barber x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of alcohol, mentions of relationship violence, rape, and murder, pet names, passionate sex,

Words: 4025 (I am SO sorry for this)

Summary: Andy takes y/n on a weekend getaway while Jacob and his friends are out of town.

Two weeks had dragged on since Andy had gotten a taste of y/n’s sweet nectar, and since then nothing. It wasn’t like they really had the chance to be alone, Jacob and the other boys weren’t going out late at night or on the weekends as they usually did. Andy had to settle for his hand every night, reminiscing on their oral escapades.

It didn’t help that Andy had been swamped with cases, court appearances, and tons of paperwork. He had spent every night of those two weeks at the office until his eyes physically couldn’t stare at the cases in front of him anymore. Andy even showed up on the weekend to fit in a little extra work, hoping it would help take care of some of the load but to no avail. He was completely and thoroughly exhausted, and he could tell that y/n was as well.

She had worked directly with him on a few late-night cases, the rest of the time being spent shadowing Neal fucking Loguidice. It was great for her internship to do so, getting new perspectives of different attorneys in the office, but it was not as good for his jealousy.

By Thursday evening the heavy load of cases and paperwork had seemed to disappear, and Andy was grateful for being able to leave the office at a decent hour. With y/n in tow, he ducked into his Audi, waiting for y/n to get comfortable in the passenger seat before roaring the vehicle to life.

“Is it just me, or have these past two weeks been exhausting?” He asked, glancing out of the corner of his eyes at y/n as he drove. Andy knew her answer before she even opened her mouth, a loud groan leaving her lips as she rested her head back against the seat.

“You’re telling me, if I have to hear Neal mention one more time about his new kickboxing class, I’m going to gouge my eyes out. He really fucking sucks.” Her words elicit a chuckle from Andy’s lips, a smile of pride seeping onto his face. It was good to know she didn’t have any interest in Neal.

“We should do something fun this weekend, just the two of us. Maybe you’ll let me finally take you on a date” He suggested, lulling his car to a stop at the next red light. Y/N raised an eyebrow in his direction, cocking her head to the side. “Andy, I already told you, I don’t do relationships.”

Andy rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat to look at her. “Yeah, you said that, but I’m in it for the long game, y/n. You have to admit there’s something between us.”

“Andy…” She sighs, watching the sun setting out the passenger window. Sure, there was definitely something between him. Was he different from all the other guys before that she had hooked up with? Yes, of course. First off, she had never been with a man his age, someone with a career, a house, and a car of his own. He even had a pension and a life insurance policy; she hadn’t hooked up with any men who had those.

The car is silent as they pull into the garage, Andy immediately shutting off the car and sitting back in his seat. Y/N looked down at her lap awkwardly, reaching for the door but Andy stopped her with a tug to her wrist, getting her to look up at him.

“You want to be an attorney, right?” The question has her furrowing her brows, looking at him as if he had said ‘You know the sky is blue, right?’

“Of course, you know that, but what does that have to do with-” Andy cuts her off by holding up his index finger, loosening his grip on her wrist. “Attorneys defend their cases in court to a judge or jury, who then ultimately decide the fate of their clients. Their job is to convince someone that their claim is right.” Andy rests one hand on the steering wheel, a smug smirk crossing his lips.

“Saturday morning we’ll leave for a weekend getaway, planned by yours truly. This will all be part of my case as to why we should be together, no more games, officially together. You as the judge will examine the weekend's evidence and conclude on whether we should be together. If you decide after the weekend that you don’t think so, I’ll leave it alone and we won’t have to discuss it ever again. But I’m hoping for it to change your mind.” Before she can protest, Andy holds his hand up. “And I’ll even get us a room with two beds, no funny business, promise. So...will you hear my case out?”

Y/N had to admit, she had never been chased by a guy so ferociously, but what was the harm in seeing the evidence and getting a free weekend vacation out of it? She stuck her hand out for him to shake, a professional gesture for their arrangement. “Alright, I will gladly hear your case out.”

Andy had arranged it all down to the last detail, including lying to Jacob and the boys about an important conference for work that they both had to attend that weekend. Of course, he didn’t suspect a thing, he went out of town for conferences all the time, and thus his plan was set.

When Saturday morning finally arrived, Andy was feeling great. He had gone for an early morning jog, took a long shower, and even trimmed his hair and beard. Andy dressed in a plain white t-shirt and dark denim jeans, packing his bag with his essentials for the evening before walking out into the kitchen. As usual, the boys were all still asleep, hungover from their late-night game of shot roulette, which left the house extremely quiet.

Andy couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his face as he walked into the kitchen and saw y/n waiting at the counter, a familiar plate of breakfast and coffee next to her. “It’s a Saturday, you know that right? Thought breakfast was for workdays.” He stated, moving to sit at his usual spot beside her.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” She responded, taking a swig from her coffee mug. Andy’s eyes wandered along her body; her outfit of the day effortlessly beautiful. She wore a tight white bodysuit tucked into a pair of figure-hugging mint shorts; a pair of matching wedges slipped onto her dainty feet to complete the look.

“You’re right, it is.” Andy’s silverware moved to cut into his meal, chewing thoughtfully as he thought about the day ahead. “You’d think that by making me breakfast you were trying to plead your own case.” He teased, engulfing another bite of his food.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, moving to set her now empty coffee mug in the sink. “I’ve got nothing to plead, you on the other hand, do.” She waits with her back to the counter, playing on her phone until he finishes his meal, setting his plate in the sink behind her.

“Are you ready to go?” He questioned, grabbing his duffel bag off the floor. Y/N followed suit, grabbing her tiny black suitcase and following him out into the garage. Andy grabbed the suitcase from her, setting it with his own bag in the trunk before they both got into the car, backing slowly out of the driveway.

It was a beautiful day out, the sun was shining, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Y/N asks, crossing her legs.

“Would it matter? You’re not familiar with the state anyhow.” He retorted, pulling up the address on his GPS as they started on their journey.

“True, I just want to know what I’m getting into.” Her eyes locked on the GPS, noticing the destination was an hour away. “Rockport? What’s in Rockport?” She asked, raising a shapely brow in Andy’s direction.

“Well for starters, it’s along the ocean, which guarantees a good view. It also has great shopping, beaches, and restaurants. It’s a nice little getaway.” Andy turns on the radio as the car goes silent, y/n admiring the view as they drive.

The silence in the car was comfortable, both of them enjoying each other’s company, and before they knew it, they had arrived at their home for the weekend. They were staying at the Cove at Rockport, a beautiful inn right along the ocean. It was even more classy than the photos online, and Andy made quick working of getting them checked into their room.

Andy and y/n walked together down the long hallway to their room, room one on the first floor. Unlocking the door with the key provided, Andy pushed it open, allowing y/n to step in and take in their living arrangements.

The main room was huge, donning a cute little breakfast nook adjacent to the kitchen, a living room, two separate bedrooms, and a bathroom. The decor was all beach themed, of course, shades of blues and beiges filling their sights.

“This definitely deserves a point towards your case.” Y/N admitted, chewing on her bottom lip. It was honestly the nicest place she’d ever stayed at, more luxurious than what she had expected. Walking further into the space, y/n pushed open the sliding door, the sound of waves hitting the shore bursting through her ears as she took in the view. It truly was gorgeous, much different from shitty life in Ohio.

“So, I did alright with my first piece of evidence?” He chortled, leaning back against the cool wall. Y/N continues to take in the view outside, a light breeze picking up and blowing her hair off her shoulders.

“I’d say so.” She shuts the sliding doors and walks back to investigate the sleeping spaces, setting her bags in the room with a large picture of a beach umbrella over the bed, the smaller of the two. “Well, what else do you have planned for your case? Because if this is it, I can come to a decision right away.”

Andy moved his own bag into the opposite room before walking into y/n’s and sitting down on the plush comforter. “I wanted to start the trip with a walk downtown, explore some of the shops before we get ready for our dinner reservations at six.”

Ah, he even sprung for reservations, what a smart man. “Sounds good, let’s explore.” Y/N got up from the bed, grabbing her purse before Andy followed her out, walking out of their room towards the lobby.

Downtown was only about a five-minute walk from the inn, an enjoyable stroll filled with laughter from a group of teens on the sidewalk, birds chirping in the trees, and the smell of fresh muffins wafting from the window of a bakery on the street. “Well, where should we look first?” He asked, turning to look at y/n for guidance on where she’d like to go.

They had spent about two full hours downtown, walking in and out of all the little shops, picking up a blueberry donut to share from one of the bakeries, and taking photos of each other along the Rockport streets. Most of the photos Andy took of y/n were very Instagram appropriate photos, staring down the camera and moving from angle to angle. On a few photos though, Andy would say something to make her laugh, snapping away at her genuine reaction.

Before long they were walking back into the room to get ready for their dinner reservations. Andy was pulling out all the stops, dressing up in one of his nicest black suits, a matching black tie situated atop a crisp white button down. He spritzed on some of his favorite Versace Eros cologne, adjusting the laces of his dress shoes before walking out into the living room. Andy had ordered a dozen red roses to be delivered to the suite, arriving shortly after he had finished getting ready, sitting on the couch with the flowers and waiting for y/n to walk out. God, he hoped this wasn’t too cheesy.

After about five minutes of waiting anxiously, the door to y/n’s room opened, noticing her delicate silver peep toe heels first. His eyes roamed up her toned and tanned legs, settling on her baby blue dress, off the shoulder with slightly puffy sleeves, a tie in the front revealing just a bit of cleavage. The ruffles on the hem swayed as she moved, her eyes taking in the sight of him as well with the flowers.

Suddenly Andy stood up, holding out the flowers to her. “You look incredible, Lolita.” There went the pet name again, though it was always so fitting for her. “Shall we go?” Y/N silently thanked him for the flowers, taking a whiff of their sweet aroma before setting them down on the counter near the door. She followed Andy to his car, waving him off when he tried to open her door for her. Her expression stayed on Andy the entire drive, inhaling his intoxicating cologne, licking her lips. Y/N had to admit, he always looked great in a suit.

The restaurant was only a ten-minute drive from the inn, a little classy seafood restaurant along the ocean coast. It was packed with people, a quartet playing Sinatra’s finest hits off in the far-right corner of the room. Some people were dancing, some were sitting along the bar against the left wall, while most were diners enjoying their meals at their table.

Y/N and Andy were led to a table near the back wall facing the ocean view. Andy started off by ordering a bottle of chardonnay for the table, taking in the sight of y/n lit up by the candlelight provided.

“This is beautiful, Andy.” She exclaimed, her eyes scanning the room and all the happy couples around them. Andy smiled before opening his menu, mulling over what to order. “I told you, I’m great at pleading my case. And as you know, I almost always win.” Y/N rolled her eyes, opening her own menu. “Key word, almost.”

After deciding on what to eat, Andy getting the seafood gnocchi and y/n ordering the lobster bisque, Andy poured them each a glass of wine, holding his up towards hers. “Cheers to an unforgettable night.” He exclaimed, clinking their glasses together before they each took a sip of their respective glasses.

As they wait for their food, Andy and y/n sit and talk more about their likes and dislikes, what they want in the future, and the day they had downtown. Their food arrives during the conversation and they continue to talk while they indulge in their meals, all the food just as incredible as the atmosphere.

About thirty minutes later Andy and y/n take in their last bites of food, sitting back and enjoying the liveliness around them. As they waited for their check to arrive, the sound of Sinatra’s hit ‘It Had to Be You’ started drifting from the quartet. Andy smiles, holding out his hand towards y/n as he stares down at her. “Dance with me?” He asks, taking in her surprised expression before she scoots herself out of her seat, grabbing his hand as he led her over to where the other couples were dancing. Andy places his hands on the small of her back, y/n wrapping her own around his neck as they sway to the tune.

“This is definitely not as good as dancing together at the club.” She joked, making Andy laugh. “Well, technically I wouldn’t call that dancing. More like...gyrating, or maybe dry humping? Definitely not the same.” Her smile brightened; his eyes locked on her as they moved. It was as if they were the only people there, like the whole world stopped to see them dance.

“For nobody else gave me a thrill. With all your faults, I love you still. It had to be you...Wonderful you...It had to be you…” The quartet crooned, the song ending and a few of the couples clapping in response. Andy’s eyes bore into y/n’s, licking his lips before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her lips, holding it for a moment before y/n pulled away, clearing her throat and letting go of his neck.

“M’sure the bill is on the table.” She stated, walking back towards their chairs. Andy let out a huff of disappointment, following her over to the table and paying for their meal before they walked in silence back to their car.

The car ride felt riddled with tension, the tension continuing to build as they got back to the room. “We need to talk, y/n.” He admitted as the door of their suite shut behind them, crossing his arms against his broad chest. Y/N leaned her weight against the wall between their bedrooms, tilting her head up to look at him.

“Andy…” She started, becoming silent again and chewing on her bottom lip. Andy’s stance becomes more tense, taking a step closer to her. “I want you, y/n. And not because of how mind-blowingly attractive you are. You are intelligent, thoughtful, and selfless. You’re not stuck up or fussy about material items. You make me feel like I’m in my twenties again, you make me feel like I’ve never felt with another woman.”

He takes another step closer to her, hovering above her due to his height. She puts her hands on his chest to stop him from moving, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“I’m terrified of this, Andy. How do I know you won’t turn out just like my piece of shit father, huh?” She leans her body weight against the wall, peering up at him.

“Look, I know how you feel, alright?” He moves away from her again, his back turned towards her as his hand ruffles through his hair. “I know firsthand, my father...he’s also in prison. He went to prison when I was young for raping and murdering a 19-year old woman. I vowed to myself to never ever treat a woman without kindness and respect. Though my marriage with Laurie wasn’t perfect, I’m sure she’d say that I was nothing like my father, and nothing like yours for that matter.”

He turns back to look at her, arms outstretched. “I promise I will never hurt you; you can trust me. I’m all in, y/n. And I meant everything I said.”

She processes his story of his father, realizing they had a lot more in common than she once thought. Her heart is beating so fast she thought it might splatter in her chest, closing the distance between the two quickly. Her hand came up to grip his jaw, leaning up and kissing him lovingly. They continue to kiss, y/n parting her lips to allow Andy’s tongue to slip inside, exploring her mouth and causing her to moan. After a moment they both pull away breathless, her hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Okay...I’m all in too, with you.” Her words are all Andy had been wanting to hear, gripping her waist and kissing her lustfully this time, pushing them backwards until they both hit the wall again with a groan. His lips trailed a line of kisses down her neck and along her collarbone, shrugging off his suit jacket and making quick work at the buttons on his shirt, practically ripping the buttons off completely.

Y/N is tilting her head back against the wall, helping to push off his now open shirt to expose his God-like torso. This was her first time seeing his chest, running her cool fingers against his abs as he kissed back up her neck and into her mouth.

He plays with the fabric on sleeves of her dress, pushing them down so that she can fully shimmy out of the pale blue fabric. Her breasts are on full display, no bra to pull down, and Andy growled at the sight of them. They were just as perky as they had been while peeking through her outfits.

He nudged her body in the direction of his bed, hands making quick work of his belt and pulling down his trousers, kicking them into a pile as he walked into the bedroom after her in only his Calvin Klein briefs. Andy moved forward to kiss her again, knocking them both over onto the bed, a breathy laugh escaping her throat. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful, my little Lolia.” He purred, his hands coming up between them to knead over her delectable breasts. Y/N cried out from the touch, grinding her hips up into Andy’s to evoke a similar noise from him. “Andy, need you…” She whined, her back arching off the bed, her panties rolling against his clearly clothed hard cock.

He slipped his hands lower, teasing his fingertips along her folds, already slick with her desire. “Need what, Lolita? Need you to tell me exactly what you want.” Her hands rub his cock through the thin fabric, a whine of impatience leaving her lips. 

“Need you inside me, Andy. Please, fuck my pussy.” Her words ignite an animalistic groan from his lips, pulling off her and scooting her up further onto the bed until her head touched the pillows. He quickly tugged off his boxers, stepping out of them before shimmying her out of her panties, tossing them aside.

His eyes grew dark as he took in her naked form in front of him, stroking his cock. She really was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and she was all his. Andy moved onto the bed, hovering over y/n with his cock dragging against her glistening folds. He was bigger than the guys she’d been with before, and the thought alone excited and terrified her. Her fingers land on the skin of his shoulder blades, pressing in lightly as she locks eyes with him.

“Andy, please.” She begs again. Andy keeps his eyes on hers as he pushes in slowly, giving her time to adjust as he moves inch by inch into her cunt. Her nails dig a bit deeper into his skin, mewling as he continues to press into her until he finally bottoms out, holding himself in place. 

“God, my little Lolita, you’re so fucking tight...you’re milking my cock and I haven’t even moved yet. Do you want me to move?” He leant down and pressed a passionate kiss to her lips, waiting for her mumbled ‘mhm’ against him before he rolled his hips into hers.

The pace started slowly, building up speed with every little noise y/n’s mouth made, coming undone underneath him with each thrust. They continued to share soft kisses, moaning into each other’s mouths, y/n’s hands locking around his neck.

“Andy.” She breathed, her walls tightening and releasing around him. “Wanna cum for you.”

Andy quickened his pace, kissing along her pulse point on her neck. “Cum for me, Lolita. Want to feel you cum on my cock.” It doesn’t take her long after his sentence before she’s tightening her walls again, crying out as her orgasm rips through her. Her eyesight is full of stars, and it takes a second for her to regain her vision, focusing on Andy’s face once she does.

“M’gonna cum in this pretty cunt, fill you up to the brim.” He states, thrusting a few more times before coating her walls with his release. He stills inside of her for a moment before pulling out slowly and plopping down with his back on the bed next to her.

They both lie in silence, staring up at the ceiling, panting. The sex was incredible, better than they both could’ve imagined. Andy’s arm wraps loosely around y/n’s shoulder, tugging her into his chest and pressing a loving kiss to her forehead.

“You’re mine now, it’s official.” He looked down at her with a lazy smile, watching as her fingers began to trail up and down his chest. “Guess you could say I won yet another case.”

“Shut up, Andy.”

Tagging those who may be interested. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list: @my-divine-death @blackwiddows @sokovianheadtilt @fuckandfluff @rattlemyb0nes @rootcrop @turtoix @sylvielaufeydottirr @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @ccmarvelxx @rebelemilu @tenaciousperfectionunknown @agentofbarnes @serendipityrogers

[alstublieft]

Circle of Love - Sobbe

30th July 2021

“Robin, look!” 

“No, there’s no way..”

“Please...pretty please.”

Robbe let out a deep sigh and eyed his boyfriend’s large green eyes and adorable pouty lips, he couldn’t say no when Sander looked at him like that - it was near impossible. 

The couple had decided to spend their Friday afternoon at a Funfair that was set up in their local park, to celebrate their 20 month anniversary which was technically yesterday, but they were both too busy to really celebrate. Walking around each attraction their hands clasped tight, they laughed in sync, bodies buzzing with alcohol in their veins. 

Striped red and yellow tents were dotted around the park, each one containing a different amusement, the park was filled to the brim with friends and family, the sun shone bright and it really was the perfect day.

Sander had fed Robbe pink clouds of candy floss and with each bite he’d watch his lover lick the sugary confection from the sides of his mouth, missing a crystal or two.

Later on, Robbe had spent more money than he’d like to admit on ‘Hook a Duck’ but eventually won a plush shark toy which he gifted to his Bowie-loving boyfriend, earning him a sweet kiss to his cheek. Robbe watched lovingly as Sander immediately took the toy, hugging it close to his chest. 

But now, as Robbe looked up at the Ferris Wheel that Sander so eagerly pointed out, it’s circumference alone sent shivers down his spine. It had bright neon lights that glowed at the entrance and the seats looked way too unstable to sit on. Nevertheless, one look at Sander’s pleading eyes and he was a goner.

“Okay, let’s go then.” Robbe gives in, trying to hide his nerves with a dimpled smile. 

Sander let out a high-pitched squeal and dragged the smaller boy to the queue, he babbled on and on about how he’d love sitting right at the top watching the rest of the world below and how he loved how the air’s density decreased the higher the ride took him and how he felt ‘on top of the world.’ Robbe loved listening to Sander, he would often rewatch the lockdown walk videos he had sent him when they were unable to see each other, getting lost in his deep voice; it was like a lullaby. 

Finally they paid for their tickets and stepped onto the metal platform and made their way to their seats, Robbe’s nerves increasing as the seat rocked slightly, he reached out and gripped Sander’s light denim jacket, fingers curling into the material like a lifeline. 

Sander, who had stepped on with ease, chuckles and helps Robbe to his seat, a steady arm wrapped around his waist.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re fine Robbe.” Sander reassures, his warm breath hitting the side of Robbe’s face and travelling down the length of his neck.

“Dank je” Robbe whispers, as they sit side by side in their cosy carriage. Robbe’s eyes wandered along the ride, ensuring each screw was tight and the bar to hold them in went all the way down and locked into place. 

On the other hand, Sander was bouncing with excitement as a worker came and checked they were buckled in securely, wishing the conductor would pull the lever and start the ride.

As if his mind had been read, the carriage swings back squeaking, evoking an endearing yelp from Robbe who has somehow gotten closer to Sander in their tiny seating area. 

“Sander, oh my god, oh my god, we’re moving!” Robbe shrieks.

“I know! Isn’t this sick?” Sander places his large hand on Robbe’s thigh, squeezing from sheer joy, his toothy grin could be seen from miles away.

Slowly they drift through the air, catching sight of their friends below who waved and cheered in excitement. Robbe looks up at Sander, analysing his facial expressions, the way his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, the mole on the side of his face which Robbe would always kiss twice because ‘it’s extra special’ a thin layer of sweat shone from the tops of his cheeks, glowing like embers of gold; truly magnificent. 

He loves him. He loves him wholeheartedly. Robbe would gladly step onto a million ferris wheels if it meant seeing Sander like this, so carefree, so joyous, so alive. 

Sander turns to face Robbe, catching his stare, a radiant smile makes its way to his face, brighter than the stars. They had glided higher, still not at the highest point, but significantly higher, butterflies erupting in their bellies and Robbe had to stop himself from looking down.

“Baby, look out there, you can see the mural.” Sander points with his arm, his voice getting caught in his throat, emotion getting the better of him.

“I still can’t believe you did that.” Robbe says in awe, squinting a bit, seeing himself across the park on a big wall in intense colours. Sander’s declaration of love really was for all to see.

“Why? You’re so beautiful, everyone had to know.” 

Robbe moves his eyes away from the mural to look at Sander, his chest filled with warmth, he reaches down and takes Sander's hand on his lap, slotting his fingers between the gaps - a perfect fit. 

Their eyes don’t leave one another’s, green melting into brown, brown melting into green. It’s as if the rest of the world went on mute, and it’s just them two alone, on a ferris wheel, sharing the same love. 

They don’t need words to communicate, they have longing looks, and the softest of touch; their souls are so intertwined, it would be paradoxical to try and tell them apart. 

In the midst of their love-struck haze, their carriage had reached the very top of the wheel, halting to a stop, lightly swinging back and forth, the sudden momentum breaking their adoration. 

“Happy 20 Month Anniversary, My Love.” Sander says, voice like melted honey, words ooze out of his mouth effortlessly, drawing Robbe in completely.

Robbe fixes his eyes on Sander’s mouth, the sides curling up into a grin, pearly teeth just peeking through. “Happy 20 Month Anniversary, My King.” 

Sander uses his free hand to cup behind Robbe’s neck, fingers tangling in his auburn curls, bringing his love in for a heated kiss, head tilting, breathing out through his nose. Robbe kisses back with just as much passion, wrapping his lone arm round to hold onto Sander’s shoulder. 

He's starting to understand why Sander loves being so high up, the atmosphere up here instantly eliminates the noise around them. A dingy carriage, on a rusty ferris wheel, at a funfair in the late afternoon. A haven for two.

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This is dedicated to my favourite person @debussyatmidnight

Millie, my light, my love, where would I be without you? I love you so much and wish you the happiest birthday...<3 

I know this is nowhere as good as the gifset you made me, but i promise, as soon as i learn how to create gifs - i’ll make you as many as you want xxx

love, aamana