#i can’t explain the bottom rows

[candlecordyceps]

[freedomfireflies]

Knockout*

Summary: The one where Harry is a handsome stranger who always comes to your diner covered in bruises.

Word Count: 9.4k (jeepers, sorry!)

Content Warning: 18+, smut, slight exhibitionism, very brief violence

Your stranger is here.

He’s sitting in his favorite booth, fifth one down from the first row, directly next to the window.

He’s got his usual hoodie pulled over his head, obscuring any view of his face. His clothes are dark and seem to cover nearly every inch of his skin. His knuckles are wrapped in white gauze, but are stained with streaks of red.

And he’s looking down. Staring at the menu on the table as though he doesn’t order the exact same thing every time.

A cup of coffee – black – and a slice of pie.

He’s like clockwork. He comes in exactly five minutes after midnight, takes a seat in his booth, and orders his usual.

Then, he pays his bill, and he leaves.

You’ve grown used to him. Comfortable with the idea of his face and his voice and the strange, but unsettling presence he brings with him.

You find that it’s more unnerving when he’s not here than when he is. 

“Hi, Cherry.”

Your stranger’s voice cuts through the quiet diner and forces your attention from the mug of coffee you’re pouring. 

You glance up, finally able to see his face now that he’s lifted his head. His skin is littered with deep cuts and vicious scratches. There’s a bruise just by his eye that’s dissolving into an unsettling shade of purple and his bottom lip is split down the middle.

Even still, he’s smiling. A gentle upturn that looks almost painful given the cracked fibers and dried blood.

“Hi,” you reply softly, feeling your heart race beneath your chest as his eyes find yours. “Would you like your usual?”

Somehow, his grin gets a bit brighter. As though he’s touched by the question. “Of course,” he answers calmly, in a voice you imagine you’d recognize anywhere. It’s deep and sultry, but it crackles like lightning. Sensual in a way you can’t exactly explain. “What have you made tonight?”

“Chocolate,” you tell him, glancing back toward the counter where the pies are displayed. “With extra whipped cream.”

“Mm.” His hum is playful, and it matches the glint in his eye. “How much extra?”

“As much as you want.”

He laughs, and you swear fairies are born. “Then I will have a slice of your chocolate pie, with as much whipped cream as you’ll allow.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you nod and turn on your heel to grab his order. Setting the coffee pot down before grabbing a small plate.

Once it’s ready, you return, sliding it across the table beside his mug. “Is that all?”

“No,” he says simply, gesturing now toward the seat across from him.

And just like every other time, you feel your pulse jump. “I’m…I need to get back—”

“You don’t need to go anywhere,” he interrupts with a wry grin. “Please?”

Your lips roll into your mouth, and your heart lands in your throat. Your stranger has always been good at getting you to do what he’d like, and it seems tonight is no different. 

So, with a sigh, you glance back toward the kitchen. Checking to make sure you aren’t needed too direly before you slip off your apron and slide into the booth.

“There,” he hums, placing his arms on the table to learn forward. “S’much better, hm?”

And you can’t help but smile as you nod and glance toward your cuticles. Avoiding that vivid green that always seems to send your stomach into a frenzy. 

“How are you?” he asks next, and his voice is soft, as if attempting to draw your attention back.

Braving a glance, you lift your head, and meet his eye. “I’m all right. How are you?”

“Good. Better now.”

The flirtatious remark sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. But you don’t respond, instead reaching out your hand toward his. Allowing your fingers to dance along the gauze that’s wrapped around his knuckles. 

“It’s bad again,” you whisper, and you feel him study you. 

There’s a gentle pause. And then, “Not by much. It’s been worse.”

You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your lungs. Turning his arm around in order to inspect the wounds painted near his wrist. “You promised.”

Even without seeing the full of his face, you catch his expression fall. 

“I know, Cherry,” he murmurs. “And I’m trying, I promise. S’just…not that easy.”

Your throat constricts, growing dry from the implication. “I know.”

It’s almost inaudible, but your stranger still hears it, and he sighs as he slips his fingers between yours. Pulling your focus back to him. 

“You know you don’t have to worry about me,” he says, squeezing your palm as if to cement the point. “M’gonna be okay.”

“Are you?”

He looks gutted. Ashamed of your disappointment. “It’s just something that I have to do.”

“Why?”

He considers this before shaking his head once. “I don’t know.”

It’s the same answer every time. You ask him who does this to him. Why he does this to himself. Where he goes, why he keeps going back.

But he never offers anything concrete. Just enough to keep you hoping.

He leans closer. Desperate to make you understand. “I’m gonna be all right, Cherry. I promised, didn’t I?”

“But this isn’t ‘all right,’” you argue quietly, once again studying his scars. “You hurt yourself. Or you let somebody else hurt you. And I don’t know why.”

He takes in a breath before setting it free. “I don’t know why, either. But it’s not forever. And I promised you I would be okay. So, I will be.”

You release him and pull yourself from his grasp. Creating a physical distance much like his emotional one. 

“I have to be,” he adds, and that charming smirk reappears. Popping a dimple from his cheek. “I’d miss your pies too much.”

Even if your insides have twisted, you can’t help but laugh. “I suppose they’d miss you, too.”

“Good, I would hope. Might be my second-favorite sweet thing here. Only after you.”

Again, his coy remark leaves you entranced. Hands gathering on your lap as you look out through the large window beside you. “You’re quite forward tonight.”

“M’forward every night. You just don’t notice.”

“Is that right?”

“It is. Can’t really help myself, Cherry.”

The familiar nickname feels like home. It was coined after the first night he’d come in. He’d sat in your section – this very booth – and made small talk while you served him. 

He asked for your recommendation, and you suggested one of the desserts. The pies were your specialty, and you made a new one every evening. He seemed charmed by this and ordered two slices.

That night was cherry. He ate every bite between sips of his coffee and compliments to you. Leaving nothing but crumbs once you came to collect his plate.

He told you he loved cherry pie. It was his absolute favorite. But he’d never had a pie as good as yours.

And from that night on, you became his Cherry.

He never asked for your real name, and you never offered. You supposed this was intentional. A way to protect you from whatever life he led outside the diner doors.

And in the few weeks he’s been coming back for yet another slice of your pie, you’ve learned only three things about him:

He always pays with big bills.

He drives a vintage, black ’69 Mustang.

And his name is Harry.

Anything past that you suppose isn’t yours to know. Yet despite that, you feel drawn to your stranger. Even if he only seems to exist after midnight.

“You weren’t supposed to be working tonight,” he says, calling your attention back. 

You glance away from the window just in time to see his frown. “Joshua asked me to cover a few of his shifts,” you explain. “I’ll be here through the weekend.”

“You covered him last week,” he reminds you, with just a touch of disapproval. “And a few weekends before that.”

Your stranger is right, but you merely lift a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t mind. The extra money is nice, and the night shift is always quiet.”

“Not always,” he retorts, and you notice the pull of his eyebrows. “Not everybody is as kind as you, Cher. Not in this part of town. Or this late.”

You can’t help but smile at his need to shelter you. “I know. But Owen is here, and he makes sure to check on me from time to time.”

However, Harry’s expression seems to settle into something hard and unnerved. “And what if he gets distracted? What if he doesn’t see some loser trying to grab for you? Or talk to you? Or take advantage of you?”

His voice is rising, a gentle but obvious crescendo that turns the heads of the few patrons scattered about the diner. 

You reach for his hand once more, squeezing it hard to implore him to listen. “Then I will use my extensive training as a waitress and kick their ass.”

You can tell he doesn’t want to, but he smiles. Brushing his thumb along your wrist before looking down. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

“I know,” you whisper, dipping down in order to find his eye. “But I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

The air is charged with a sort of tension you can’t explain. He feels so close and yet so very far away. Your heart aches for your stranger, and for his scars that never heal.

“Hey,” calls a loud voice, ringing through the small diner until you and Harry both turn. You find a man sitting near the counter, wearing a camouflage baseball hat and flannel shirt. His beard is long and scruffy, and his expression is wildly annoyed. “Do you fucking work here or not? Been waiting on a refill for ten goddamn minutes.”

Feeling rather embarrassed of the way you’ve neglected the other customers and deserted your post, you quickly slide out of the booth and stand. Cheeks warm and heart racing. “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry, sir.”

You rush to check on the coffee pot near the counter, making sure that it’s hot and fresh before you approach. Then, you tip the spout into his mug, and refill his drink that’s already three-fourths of the way full.

You can see Harry watching you from his spot. A similarly irritated look behind his eye as he studies the man sitting before you.

Once the coffee has been refilled, you nod an apology, and begin to retreat.

“Not so fast,” the customer grumbles, clearing his throat as he straightens up. Forcing you to hesitate. “I want my check. And a slice of pie on the house. For my troubles.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, but you nod again. The Starlight Diner doesn’t exactly offer free pastries, and anything that a staff member has to comp comes out of the employee’s paycheck. 

Granted, one slice won’t set you back too far, but the shame will. The idea that you left a customer waiting while you chatted with a man you hardly know. It’s unprofessional and not at all how you’d like to be perceived in the workplace. As a mindless girl who merely doddles her day away. Fawning over handsome strangers and daydreaming about a life she can’t have.

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rushing to grab him a fresh piece just as Harry begins to stand from the booth. “Will that be all?”

“Don’t be stingy with the whipped cream,” he instructs. “In fact, I’d like to see you put it on in front of me. So I can make sure you aren’t trying to fuck me over.”

The blood drains from your face. You feel humiliated under the warm hue of lights strung up around the restaurant. Grabbing the can of whipped topping in a desperate attempt to please and end the interaction all together.

“Why don’t you watch your fucking tone,” Harry grits, approaching the man from his left.

But the customer merely scoffs, refusing to offer him even a disinterested glance. “Yeah, and why don’t you mind your own business?”

Suddenly, Harry’s hand smacks down onto the counter beside him, inches from his plate while the coffee inside his mug trembles.

You can’t help but jump, arm recoiling away from the pie while the entire diner grows quiet. Everybody’s attention has turned to your stranger. Watching him closely as he leans forward, and dips down to catch the man’s eye.

“Wasn’t a question,” he murmurs darkly. “You watch your fucking tone when you speak to her. Or I’ll watch it for you.”

And you can tell the older gentleman is a bit off-put by Harry’s distressing demeanor. Yet he remains rather calm, clearing his throat again before leaning back. “And what are you gonna do about it, cupcake?”

Harry’s head cocks to the side. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Harry,” you whisper, just loud enough to force his eyes to yours. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, she’s fine, buttercup,” the customer snorts, spinning around to face you once more. “Now let’s go, princess. I don’t have all fucking night.”

His fingers snap together before he points toward the pie. Instructing you to continue applying the fluffy cream until you hesitantly continue.

The whipped desert sprays out of the can in a steady stream, piling higher and higher atop the pie until it begins to spill over onto the side.

Yet he doesn’t stop you. He simply nods and mutters for you to keep going. To fill the plate until he’s satisfied. 

And you know exactly why he’s doing it. Not to satiate a sweet tooth but to demean you. To force you under his cruel, sadistic stare until you fold like a house of cards.

Your stranger fumes from his place a few feet away. You can tell he’s desperate to intervene, but he obeys your look of frantic insistence. Remaining quiet while you oblige the customer’s request. 

Soon, the can runs out. The last few drops spewing from the nozzle until you’re left with nothing but air and an empty bottle.

With a hitch in your breath, you begin to withdraw your hand. He’ll have to drop this degradation act now, and you hope that he only demands the rest of his check before going about his night.

However, before you can fully retract your arm, a collection of grimy fingers dart out and curl around your wrist. Keeping you in place while the man’s eyes narrow and he hisses, “Did I say you could stop?”

But the moment his palm touches your skin, Harry is stepping forward, grabbing a fistful of his collar, and hoisting him from his seat. Then, he shoves him back against the tile wall just behind him, the connection so forceful, it knocks the gentleman’s hat askew.

The other customers, including yourself, gasp from the sudden act of violence. Watching as Harry steps up to him and sneers in his face with the vilest look of disdain you imagine you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t ever…” he seethes through deep, even breaths, “…put your fucking hands on her…again.”

And he’s terrifying. So utterly terrifying, with his busted knuckles, his cracked lip, and his bruised jaw. It’s clear he’s a threat, and the man he’s holding goes deathly pale as Harry keeps him trapped against the wall.

All he can do is nod his understanding, choosing to end the fight before it can begin while Harry – after a very long moment – finally lets him go and allows him to flee from the diner.

There’s a stillness in the café that makes your heart race. The few regulars that are left watching on with a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment. It’s not until Harry shoots them their own venomous glare that they quickly turn away and continue on with their meals.

You slump into the counter, letting the can drop to your side while the sound of a door flinging open echoes from somewhere behind you.

“The hell…is going on?” Owen calls, exiting the kitchen in order to get a better look around. He finds you first, raking his stare up and down your frame before looking to Harry. “What happened?”

“You fucking left her out here, alone,” Harry barks. “That’s what fucking happened.”

Owen’s eyebrows raise as he moves his attention to you. But you quickly side-step into Harry’s path, attempting to end another confrontation before it can begin.

“Just…a customer,” you finally answer softly, reaching for the plate in order to clear your regret away. “It’s fine. He left.”

Your boss nods once. “But he paid first, yes?”

Again, your heart sinks into your toes. Lashes fluttering when you realize his bill will be coming out of your paycheck. “He…um, no, he…he left before I could collect it—”

“Darling,” Owen sighs, and it’s heavy with disappointment, “what did we talk about?”

“I…I know. I’ll…I’ll pay for it—"

Harry’s palm suddenly smacks down onto the counter for a second time this evening. Yet now, there’s a wad of cash beneath his hand. From the looks of it, well over a hundred dollars.

“This will cover it,” he mumbles, turning his unforgiving stare to your boss. “And it’ll cover the rest of her shift, too. She’s done.”

With that, his fingers are wrapping around your upper arm before you can even wrap your head around his offering. Blinking wildly while Owen glances from the cash to you in an effort to piece together Harry’s instruction.

 But your stranger leaves you no room for questioning or bargaining. He’s pulling you out the diner door and into the dark parking lot before you can even bid your boss goodbye.

He strides between the cars before hooking a left around the building. Leading you toward the back alleyway where he normally keeps his car, the wet pavement squeaking beneath his sneakers.

 And during this fervent stalking, his fingers slide down from your upper arm and into your hand. Grasping it tightly as if to make sure he won’t lose you.

Perhaps a part of you would like to feel miffed or ashamed of what just took place, but you can’t seem to fault him for his reaction. He’s always been nothing but kind to you – even if he doesn’t always lend that kindness to others. Expressing his desire to protect you, even if he doesn’t know you.

You wonder if this need to defend is part of the reason why you’ve only ever seen him covered in scars and bruises. If he comes to the diner in the dead of night in order to watch over you. Like a guardian angel or vigilante. 

Right now, however, he disappears into the shadows, gently pulling you along with him until you see his car only a few feet away. He releases you at the same time that he releases a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark curls as his hood is pushed down. 

“Harry…” you begin quietly, tentative of startling him.

“I’m sorry,” he says before you can even finish. “M’sorry, I lost my temper. I know.”

You watch the way he turns away from you. Bracing himself against the hood of the Mustang while dropping his head in what you only assume is remorse.

And your heart aches for him. For the gentleman that lives beneath the outlaw. “Harry,” you whisper again, stepping closer in order run your fingers down his back. Feeling the way his muscles tense before melting beneath your touch. “I’m not mad, I promise.”

“I know you don’t like it when I interfere,” he mumbles, and it’s almost swept away by the cold, early morning air. “But he fucking touched you, and I—”

“I know,” you interrupt tenderly. “I know, and I’m not mad. I’m glad you did it. I’m glad you were here.”

He hesitates, face turning toward his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You allow your chest to meet his spine. “Always feel safer with you.”

He exhales deeply, releasing something heavy before he’s turning around, and reaching for your cheeks. The soft, stained gauze slides against your skin, and his touch is firm. Keeping you in his embrace while he gazes at you warmly. 

“Are you all right, Cherry?” he asks now, thumbs sweeping beneath your eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

Your head shakes. “No. Scared me a little, but I’m okay.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like this, that familiar frown reforming as he holds you a bit tighter. “He never should have spoken to you like that. Much less put his fucking hands on you—”

“I know, but it’s okay,” you interject again, hoping to ease his stress. “I’m okay because you were here.”

And this is the only thing that seems to calm him. That familiar smile of his the perfect remedy for such a strange night. You don’t want to tell him how often this happens. Especially during the later shift. But that’s what you get for working at a 24-hour diner, and you’re starting to think this is merely part of the job.

And truth be told…you think he already knows.

His forehead meets yours, and you can’t help but grin yourself. Grateful for the comfort he provides – stranger or not.

“Speaking of which…why are you here?” you ask gingerly. “I thought you didn’t come in on my days off?”

“I don’t. But…I saw your car.”

“Oh…how?”

His smirk transforms into something coy. “I was driving by.”

“Oh, really?” you tease. “On purpose?”

The smile slips now, a more reverent look in his eye as he nods. “I like to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

And maybe in any other universe, this would strike you as odd. Perhaps even unsettling or disconcerting. 

But even if you don’t know him, you know him. You know his intentions have only ever been pure, and even without having much more than his name, he has always made you feel safe. 

You choose to believe in him. In the goodness of your stranger and the care he provides. Inside and out.

“You do?” you murmur, allowing your hands to rest on his chest. “How often?”

A beat. Then, “…every night.”

The alley grows quiet. Scattered streetlamps reflect off the pools of water that are sprinkled across the cement, warming the dark night with their sepia-toned beams.

And you stand there, just you and him, while the weight of the world seems to rest on his shoulders.

But instead of chastising him or asking any further questions, you push yourself up onto your tiptoes…and kiss him.

It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and you know, undoubtedly, that it won’t be your last. Your stranger has been stealing your kisses for weeks now.

And you suppose stealing isn’t exactly a fair comparison. After all, you’ve nearly pleaded with him to kiss you every time he’s come in. 

Not that there’s much need for begging when he’s so willing to offer them to you. Sneaking you away the moment your shift is through. Chasing you through the parking lot…pulling you into the backseat of his car.

It makes you giddy. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush on the handsome senior. Slipping into the shadows where he waits. Letting him hold you, kiss you, touch you.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t know more than his name or what he does behind closed doors. You choose to share these special – albeit somewhat scandalous – moments with the mysterious gentleman in booth 505.

“My sweet girl,” he breathes against your lips. The wonderfully delicious nickname melting on your tongue. “Missed you.”

You want to remind him that it’s only been about two days, but you can’t. Because you missed him, too.

“And m’so sorry,” he says next, trailing his quick but fervent kisses down your neck. “So fucking sorry for being so bad. Never wanna scare you or make you anxious.”

A soft, delicate noise bleeds from your throat, and you cling to his much stronger frame as though you’re afraid you’ll simply disappear without him.

“Wanna make it up to you,” he whispers. “Will you let me, Cherry? Let me be good again?”

You nod, needing him to keep himself as close to you as he’ll allow. You want to settle him in your lungs, keep him snug inside in your chest. Against your heart.

And a large part of you just wants to keep him…always.

“Let me make it better,” he says, hands dropping to your hips in order to push you toward his car. Placing you against the door in order to trap you and deepen his kiss. “Let me be good, sweet girl. Be good for you.”

And he’s always good. Good to you, good for you. It doesn’t matter how he is with everybody else. 

“Please?” he asks again, leaning back just far enough to catch your eye. “Will you let me?”

He wants your explicit consent. Wants you to say the words before he continues, and you appreciate this stricter habit. 

“Yes,” you manage to answer, exhaling the word with the little strength you still possess. “Yes, please—”

He takes your hand before you can finish, guiding you over toward the backseat before swinging the door open and stepping aside.

“Lay down, baby,” he mumbles gently, pressing a kiss to the side of your head while guiding you in. “On your back, okay? Want you comfy.”

You do as instructed, dipping down into the vehicle before settling into the soft, leather seat. Flipping over until you can find a position you like. 

Harry is quick to follow, landing between your thighs before pulling the door shut. You both maneuver until he can hover his body above yours, keeping you beneath him as he runs a palm up the side of your leg.

His warm hand feels good against your bare skin, the dress you’re required to wear as part of your waitressing uniform bunching just at the top of your knees from the new position. But it’s like ecstasy, heating up your goose bumped skin from the nippy air outside. 

“How’s this, hm?” He squeezes your hip. “You all right, Cher?”

You rest your head against the door and nod, fingers already itching to reach for him again. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Promise?”

“Mhm. Promise.”

The side of his mouth curls up, and it makes your stomach flutter. “Good girl. Gonna go slow, okay? Earn my forgiveness.”

He continues the lazy strokes to your thigh, falling all the way down to your ankle before going back up. It is slow, and it almost drives you mad. Because he knows what you want. And he knows just how badly you want it.

Things with Harry never go further than you. Something you’re almost tempted to find odd, but he’s a giver. That was made clear from the first time. He derives more pleasure out of your orgasms than he apparently does his own. He only ever wants to touch you, taste you, feel you. It’s never about him. 

You often wonder if there’s a deeper reason for this. If he’s denying himself release on purpose or if he’s merely terrified of getting close. And occasionally you wonder if he simply just doesn’t want to fuck you, but something tells you that’s not the case.

Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to ask.

Tonight, however, it seems he’s still determined to put the attention on you. Long fingers gently scratching at your leg until you shiver. It makes him grin.

“Can I see you, baby?” he asks softly, letting his eyes trail beneath the hem of your dress. “See how pretty you are?”

Again, you can only whine pitifully as you motion your head up and down quickly. Wanting to succumb to his strong touch. Only feeling grounded if he’s there to hold you.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he breathes, using his scarred hands to push your outfit up a bit higher. Revealing your quivering stomach and the delicate pair of panties around your hips. 

They’re nothing special. In fact, you imagine they’re rather embarrassing. A simple, tan fabric that does absolutely nothing to make your pussy look more desirable. 

Perhaps it’s a little silly, but you like to look nice for him. On the nights you know he might be coming to see you (which has been every night you’ve worked since you met), you tend to pick prettier pairs. 

Some with lace, some with little bows. Sweeter colors, sexier colors. Anything that might make him smile.

But you hadn’t anticipated seeing him tonight, and now, you almost want to shy away. Lashes fluttering as you look up toward the roof of his car.

But he doesn’t seem to notice. Nor does he seem to care about the color around your waist, his eyes growing wide as his attention glues to the mesmeric sight before him. Pink, bruised lips parting with wonder while he moves closer. 

“Cherry,” he exhales, the feel of his breath sweeping against your bent knee, “missed you so much. Been forever, hm?”

You nod again, braving another glance just in time to see his hand lower. And then you feel him. Feel his thumb pressing gently into the front of your underwear, just above where your clit lies.

Your entire body seems to spark to life like the flicker of a flame. And you gasp, subtly bucking up into his touch in search of more. In search of him.

He smiles. “S’it feel good, honey?”

You let out a soft breath, chest nearly caving in as you whisper, “Harry…”

He looks up, eyes flicking to yours as that coy smirk grows. “What, baby? You okay?”

Of course you’re okay. He knows you’re okay, but you’ve noticed he likes to hear you say it. He likes to know he’s making it better for you. That he’s helping, that he’s doing good.

When you don’t answer, he returns to your pussy, fingers strumming up and down your covered cunt like he’s playing an instrument. Tuning your body to his needs. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks now, dipping down to nudge his nose beneath your jaw. Pressing a soft kiss to your throat. “Wanna touch you…be good for you, Cher. Was so bad…just wanna make it better.”

He’s attempting to atone for what he did in the diner. To apologize, offer his remorse.

And even if you know he has nothing to apologize for, you can’t find it in you to deny him. Reaching up to tangle your fingers in his curls as you tug him closer. Kissing him fiercely.

He’s hard on himself. You know he is. You don’t know why. You don’t know what the cause is. But you can see the repercussions. They’re painted all over his body, and he wears them proudly. 

He curses against your mouth, and you’re reminded then of his busted lip. Instantly pulling away while you mumble an apologetic, “I’m sorry. I forgot—”

“No,” he nearly groans, slipping his other hand around the back of your neck to keep you close. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind, I promise. I like it.”

His kisses become hard again. Anxious, desperate, and rushed. As though he needs you in order to survive. His nose knocking into yours from the way he readjusts himself. Wanting to take you deeper, really taste you. 

You’ve never been so happy in your life.

He only pulls away in order to slip your panties down your thighs, pushing them to your ankles until he can really see you.

His entire expression softens the moment his eyes find you. Filled with a certain kind of hope and indulgence as he gazes at you almost tenderly. Unable to resist reaching out and letting his finger brush down your folds. 

You make another noise, but he doesn’t notice this one. Too content to be touching you. Feeling you. Spreading you open just to watch you drip.

“So fucking good to me,” he murmurs. “You know that, sweet girl? So perfect for me. Exactly what I need and far more than I deserve.”

You aren’t sure what he means, but the implication makes you frown. Pulling on his hair a bit harder while he moves to your clit and begins to press down.

The pressure of his thumb against the more sensitive nerves leaves you breathless. Squirming beneath him from the rush of pleasure that only serves in making you needier. 

“Always so warm,” he muses quietly. Almost as if to himself. “So soft. So sweet. Can’t ever get enough of you.”

It makes your head spin the way he seems to adore you. The way he talks about your body as if he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to behold it. To feel it, to get to indulge in it. Worshiping you like you’re his religion.

He begins to rub your clit in slow, teasing circles. Kissing you once more in order to taste your whines and feed off your desperation. Wet noises fill the car. Not just from your pussy, but from his frantic kisses that echo between the foggy windows. 

It makes you shiver, loving the way he nips at your bottom lip just to leave you restless. The way he whispers your nickname before moving to your neck, pulling your skin between his teeth and smoothing over the mark with his tongue.

He goes faster. Chasing after your whimpers and the way you arch your body into his. Loving how excitable you get from only a few flicks of his thumb across your sensitive clit.

Then, he slows down. Exhaling a heavy breath as if bracing himself to edge you. Like it hurts him more than it hurts you.

And you mewl pitifully as you cling to his broader frame and tug him down into your arms. “Harry—”

“I know,” he coos, and it’s gentle the way he speaks. Sympathetic almost. “I know, sweet girl. But m’not done with you yet. Just wanna keep you a little longer. Is that okay?”

You bury your face in his neck and make another noise. Something akin to his name that gets lost in the way he curses.

“It’s okay,” he tries again, allowing you to use his body like a lifeline. “I’ve got you, baby. All right? M’right here, I’ve got you.”

He proves this by resuming his sweet torture. Circling the nerves a time or two more before moving down. Smoothing through your folds and lowering toward the pooling of arousal that waits for him. 

You hear him hum. “So precious. S’this all for me, then? Mine to play with? Mine to taste?”

You whine, “Yes, yes, yes,” as quickly as your mouth will permit, and he chuckles. 

The tip of his finger dips inside, presumably to collect everything you have to offer him before he’s lifting it toward his lips.

And you settle back against the door to watch. Enchanted by the way he places you on his tongue and sucks. His lashes fluttering and cheeks flushing from the taste.

You don’t imagine you’ll ever get used to watching him do that. After all, you’ve never been particularly…unbothered by the idea of somebody tasting you. Not even with past partners. You get too caught up in your own head. Worried about the taste, the feel, the smell.

Truth be told, most of the men you’ve been with before were never interested in you. They wanted what you could give them. And then they wanted out.

By all accounts, Harry is nothing like anyone else you’ve ever known. Not just because of the mystery that follows his persona, but because of his endless attention to you. To what you need, what makes you feel good. 

He devotes every second to making you feel like you’re God’s gift to Earth. A gift to him. Praising you for simply existing. Indulging in your taste as though you're the sweetest dessert he’s ever had.

Like now, while a deep moan reverberates from the depths of his chest. Filling the car and your ears like music, making your thighs clench around his hips.  

“S’why I call you my sweet girl, you know that?” he murmurs, sucking on his fingers until you’re sure there’s nothing left. And even then some. “So fucking sweet for me. Can’t ever get enough. Gonna get me addicted, baby. Might already have.”

The moment he takes his hand back out, you’re lifting up, and pressing your mouth to his. And you don’t even care if you can taste yourself on his tongue because all you really taste is him.

But the mixture of him, and you, and the slight tang of blood from the busted fibers of his lip is euphoric. Strange but lovely in a way you hadn’t anticipated. 

He seems to understand this despondency, growing a bit more frantic in his need to please. No longer focused on edging as he drops his fingers back to your cunt while his other hand moves for the buttons on your chest.

He pops them free one by one until your equally plain bra is revealed to him. But again, he doesn’t take notice of such things. Instead swallowing thickly at the sight of your breasts that swell behind the cups.

He kisses you again. And again, and again. Then he moves to your cheek and down your neck. Trailing his tongue toward your collarbone and along your sternum. 

You feel restless. Waiting for something – for him. You already know how magical his touch is. You already know the kind of pleasure he provides, and it nearly drives you mad to simply sit in anticipation. Stuck on his time.

Eventually he reaches your chest, lips moving for the curve of your tit before he’s making another noise and sucking into the tender flesh. Nipping at it, pulling it between hungry teeth. Smoothing over the marks with the warmth of his mouth while you reel.

Your hands disappear back into his hair. Stroking the curls almost fondly, nails lightly scratching at his scalp.

He’s always seemed to enjoy this. Instructing that you pull on him as hard as you’d like. That you tug and scratch. That you use him to inflict your pain and your pleasure. That you think of him first and foremost.   

Now is no different. He nuzzles himself further into your breasts while simultaneously sighing with contentment at the way your hand feels against his head. The way you keep him close to your heart. 

You’d keep him forever if you could.

You hardly even notice the way his finger has slipped inside. The way it strokes your delicate walls that flutter from the intrusion, tensing before relaxing in order to allow him in.

“There,” he whispers, pleased with the way your body obeys him. “S’okay. Gonna make it better. I promise.”

And you know he will.

“So tight today, baby,” he says, leaving another kiss to the swell of your chest. Open-mouthed and messy. “Has it been that long?”

You don’t know. You can’t remember the last time he touched you, although you’re almost sure it hasn’t been more than a week. The two of you have become rather insatiable for each other. Chasing after a kind of release you only seem to find within the hands of the other.

Those beautiful green eyes flitter up to yours, studying you closely. Benevolently. “Have you not been taking care of yourself, sweet girl?”

You take a moment to consider what he means before you feel your cheeks warm. Offering him nothing more than a quick shake of your head.

He frowns, brows pulling together. “Why not, hm? Thought you promised you’d try for me. Help make things better when I’m not around.”

You shrug, growing a touch embarrassed. “I know, but…it’s not the same. Don’t like it.”

“Is that right?”

Another shake. “Get bored.”

“Bored,’ he repeats, and there’s a certain glint in his eye. But instead of disappointed, he seems empathetic. “Cause it’s not the same, yeah? Your fingers too small?”

Now you nod, making a noise of agreement. 

He nods along with you, beginning to smirk. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Bet it’s just so frustrating, isn’t it? Trying to find all your sweet, little spots, but just not quite being able to reach?”

You cling to him as he stretches you a bit further. Doing everything you can’t do for yourself. Effortlessly curling his finger into that one spot until you begin to shake.

“Just like that, hm?” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “S’that what you can’t find, baby? S’that what’s so achy?”

And it is. It’s so infuriatingly sore that it almost makes you cry. Wishing you could chase after that feeling until your heart gives out. 

“I bet.” More kisses to your chest. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix it, okay? Make it all better again.”

“Please?” you whimper, nails scratching down his broad back. Attempting to pull him closer. 

“Mhm.” He leans forward and brings his lips to yours now. His kiss quick but full of promise. “Always gonna take care of you.”

He begins to thrust the longer digit in and out. Slow enough to work you up but fast enough to leave you wanting more. Coaxing the muscles open before bringing a second finger into play.

The sounds of your wetness being pushed and pulled by his hand are sinful. Sending a chill down your spine and directly into your cunt.

You moan when you feel them, writhing a bit beneath his body until he has to press his leg into yours to keep you still.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he mumbles. Leaving another kiss below your jaw. “Know you can take it, baby. You always do. Don’t you?”

And even if that’s true, you aren’t opposed to the slight sting. Instead invigorated by it and the way he uses great care with you. Wanting to make sure you’re all right so he can please you the way he wants.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough. Even with the way he curls, and pumps, and thrusts those beautiful digits into your pussy, you feel empty. Barely scratching the surface of that itch as he presses his chest to yours to calm you.

Your noises are becoming more pathetic. Your entire being heaving with the weight of promised pleasure in a way you can’t seem to understand.

His thumb presses into your clit every few minutes, attempting to guide you closer to your release, and it works. The combination making your stomach coil until you nearly see stars. Every cell in your body tightening.

“You close, Cherry?” His free hand moves for your face. Palm pressing into your jaw as the bandage on his knuckles sweeps across your cheek. “Hm? You gonna cum for me?”

And you are. You are, you are. You can almost taste it. Can feel it bubbling up from between your thighs, ready to unravel like the seams on your favorite sweater. 

“Yes,” you gasp, arching from the leather seat. “Yes, please…please don’t stop. Please—”

“Won’t stop,” he promises in a soothing tone, lips ghosting atop yours. “Never stop, I promise. M’gonna be right here until you do, okay? Go ahead. I’ve got you.”

And this is all you need. It happens suddenly and yet far too slowly. Pulling you apart from the inside out. 

You moan so loud, your chest shakes. Eyes rolling back and nails scratching down his spine as it hits you. 

Instantly, he moves his hand from your jaw to your lips. Palm pressing hard against your mouth in order to silence you as he whispers, “Shh, baby. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? It’s okay, you’re all right. Just let go—"

And you do. Allow your body to deplete itself of all energy as he works you through every goddamn second. Dragging it out as far as it’ll go. Increasing the speed of his flicks and thrusts. Pumping your orgasm out of you until it sits in his waiting hand.

“Good,” he breathes before finally removing his hand in order to kiss you quickly. Fingers squeezing the back of your neck as he brings you closer. “So fucking good, there you go. S’okay. Keep going, come on.”

And it’s so good, so wonderful. You feel like you’re floating, high up into the clouds. You decide then that he must be an angel, carrying you in his wings and setting you on a sunset.

But you’re still squirming, seemingly discontented, and he notices far too easily. “You okay, Cher?”

“More,” you whisper faintly. “More…please…”

“More,” he echoes. “My sweet girl wants more. More what, hm? What do you need?”

“More,” is all you say. Once again wiggling your hips down as if to sink his fingers in further. “More, Harry, please.”

“Oh. You want another one. Is that it?”

You nod silently, too strung-out to think in coherent sentences.

He chuckles again, kissing your other cheek before pinching your chin. “All right. Give you as many as you want, baby.”

Feeling incredibly grateful, you allow your trembling limbs to fall slack. Once again settling beneath him as he works to get you to your second.

But even as he resumes the languid but practiced thrusts of his fingers, you feel unsatiated. Eager for something else, but you aren’t sure what.

He realizes before you do. “S’not enough, is it?” he coos. “Need something bigger, don’t you?” 

That’s what it is, and you nod eagerly as your nails scratch down the sleeves of his hoodie. 

“Think you can take something bigger? Think you can take another finger, baby?”

Another nod. Faster, more fervent. Eyes pleading with him to give you anything he has to offer.

He obliges this, glancing down before lining his fingers up, and slowly slipping all three inside.

This stretch is a bit more prominent. He’s deliberately gentle, never giving you more than he assumes you can handle. 

And he watches you closely. Searching for any grimaces or winces of discomfort. 

When he finds none, he seems relieved, kissing up from your chest to your throat once more. “Good girl. There you go.”

You begin to writhe a little more ardently until he has to bring his other hand to your knee in order to press it down into the seat. Keeping you spread and still until you settle.

“Easy,” he coos gently, placing some of his weight onto your thigh. “Gonna have to be good, baby, and relax for me. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

You want to obey. You do, really. But the overstimulation and sensitivity from your first orgasm is almost too much. Making you choke on the heated air until you can hardly breathe.

“Like it when I take care of you, don’t you?” he asks you now. Licking a stripe along your jaw. “Like it when I steal you away from them?”

He’s right, you do. Perhaps you shouldn’t, but there’s something about the way he makes you feel as though you deserve more than this. As though you’re meant for more than the diner. He makes you feel invincible.

“Maybe one day I’ll take you away,” he decides. “Fucking take you from them and make you mine. Forever. For always.”

And you decide you like the sound of that.

Another moment of his strenuous torture passes before he leans back to watch. And you notice something in his face. Utter fascination and lust over the way your body bends to his will. Over the way it stretches around his fingers, the way he pulls it open.

He releases a deep, coarse groan through clenched teeth. Fixated on the way his fingers disappear into your pussy. “Taking me so well, baby. Know you’d take my cock, too, wouldn’t you?”

You whimper miserably, undone by the thought. You can’t deny that you’ve wondered what he’d feel like. All of him, stretching you open. Fucking into you while leaving you a panting mess.

You often imagine what he’s like in bed. In an actual bed and not in the backseat of his car or yours. What he might be like when he’s truly lost himself to the pleasure. Guiding his hips to yours, bending you into a hundred and one positions meant just for his indulgence. 

You wonder if he’d be just as careful as he is now. Just as devoted to you. If he’d be hard and fast or soft and slow. If he has dirty kinks, secret fantasies. If he likes the lights on or off. If he likes the bed or if he likes it up against the wall. 

You hope one day you get to find out. 

“Think you would, yeah?” he continues, sliding his digits all the way to the knuckle. The fibers of the gauze brushing against your clit. “Know you would. Be so good for me. This sweet little pussy would treat me so well, wouldn’t it?”

You nod quickly, pouting at him anxiously.

“I know,” he tuts, finally leaning back over to kiss you again. “Know you’d be such a good girl for me. Let me work you open until you could fit me…let me stretch you just right.”

You reach out for his wrist in search of something to squeeze, and it makes him chuckle. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip until you moan.

“Might take a while,” he muses. “Might take hours. Days. I’ll have to just keep you in my bed until you can fit me, hm?”

He attempts to pull away, but you chase after him. Looping an arm around his neck in order to yank him back to you. 

His smirk feels good against your lips. “M’not going anywhere, sweet girl. Just like to watch you. Bet it’d be fun to watch you take my cock, wouldn’t it? Watch it sink right into this tight little hole.”

He’s evil. Absolutely sadistic and it makes you groan against his tongue until he has to soothe you.

“I know, baby. One day,” he breathes. “I promise. M’gonna take you away and do it right. Make it worth it.”

The thrusting of his fingers becomes more poignant. Enough to drive a plethora of desperate moans from your chest as he nuzzles his nose below your jaw and simply breathes.

“Gonna worship you. Give you everything you deserve.” He sucks in a quiet inhale before dancing his lips along your throat. “Have you sit on my face until I can’t breathe.”

The image has your eyes rolling back. Even if you aren’t sure you’d ever feel comfortable doing so, you’re enamored by the idea. Of the thought of him holding onto your thighs, pressing you down to his mouth. Completely controlling you. 

“Can never breathe when I’m with you, anyway,” he whispers, and you almost don’t catch it. You wonder if you were meant to. “M’gonna do it right, sweet girl. I promise.”

And this is the vow that pulls you through to the other side. Large digits curling up into that one spot that makes your legs shake and you’re falling apart for the second time.

But he still doesn’t stop. Stroking, pressing, pumping even after the tears have begun to slip from your eye. 

“Keep going, there you go. Does it feel good? Feel so good, cumming all over my hand?”

And it does, but you can’t exactly answer. Can’t seem to do anything but cry out as you ride the wave and his fingers as though your life depends on it.

“Doing so good,” he murmurs gently, raising up to kiss you once more. Swallowing your pitiful mewling. “So fucking good, baby. M’so proud of you. Took me so well. So beautiful when you cum, Cherry, you know that? Could watch you forever.”

The sentiment makes your entire body grow warm. You’ve always wondered what you might look like when you orgasm, and truth be told, you imagine it’s not very pretty.

But to hear him say it now – so earnestly – makes your stomach wrench. Nails curling into the seat below as you lift off the leather and knock your chest into his.

He holds you as tight as he can before slowly pulling his fingers out. Relieving you from the overstimulation before putting you back in his mouth. Sucking until a string of saliva drips down his into the gauze on his knuckles. Painting it a much prettier picture than the red has.

After swelling every drop of you with a lewd groan, he finally pulls his hand out, and takes you into his arms. Kissing you through the remnants of the blissful rush.

“So good,” he says again, face burying back into your neck while stroking your thigh with his soaked fingers. “Always make me so proud.”

Your limbs tangle with his as you both slouch into the backseat. Allowing your heart beats to synchronize into one, steady rhythm. 

And once they have, you begin to grin. “Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

He exhales a soft laugh before leaning back onto his knees to get a good look at you. “What for, sweet girl?”

“Just for…this, I suppose,” you mumble shyly. “For all of it. Tonight. Standing up for me and…you know, this part.”

His chuckle becomes a bit more smug. “Are you thanking me for making you cum?”

“I’m…trying. I think.”

“Hm.” His grin is playful and so damn charming as he dips back down to hover his lips near yours. “Don’t have to thank me, Cherry. Believe me. It’s my pleasure.”

His teasing remark makes you giggle, and you kiss him hard before he has the chance to leave you again.

You kiss for a while. A long while. Until you can hardly breathe, your muscles beginning to ache and your eyelids beginning to grow heavy from the lack of sleep in this early morning hour. 

It’s not until you actually yawn that Harry finally remembers to pull himself away and reach for the panties around your ankles. “Shit, it’s late, isn’t it? Know I’ve kept you longer than I should have.”

With a quick shake of your head, you push up onto your elbows. “No. I’m fine, I promise. Just…cumming makes me sleepy, I guess. And you’re so warm. It’s nice.”

This makes him smile again, and that dimple of his makes your heart ache. “You know I’d keep you in this car until the sun came up if I could.”

“I know.” Your fingers outstretch for his hoodie, tangling into the material on his stomach while he guides your underwear back up around your hips. “Maybe one day, yeah?”

His expression softens, and you almost swear you see a flash of sadness behind that sage green. “Yeah. Maybe.”

It’s quiet as you rebutton your dress and pull the hem back down. And even quieter as Harry opens the door and slips out of the car, extending his hand toward you in order to help you out as well.

But once you’ve straightened up and turned to face him, you see that something has changed. A look of longing that hadn’t been there before etched between those scarred features.

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye and then down to your lips. Tracing the lines and dips before he sighs and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Are you gonna be all right?”

You place your hand over his and squeeze. “Are you?”

Another deep breath. Heavier and more forlorn. “You know I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

His forehead meets yours, and you both still. “I promise.”

And you choose to believe him.

You say goodbye, and regretfully let him go. Shaky legs carrying you back to your car as his eyes follow you all the way. Making sure you get there safely before you take off down the road and leave him behind.

A few nights later, you’re back for your next shift. And truth be told, you’re almost excited. Because having to go so long without him feels like a form of punishment. Like your days aren’t nearly as bright without him. And neither are your nights.

You can’t help but count the seconds as you go about your evening. Unable to distract yourself with the pastries no matter how hard you try. Thoughts drifting back to those chocolate curls and that devilish smile.

When midnight strikes, you feel relieved. Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you grab your notepad and slip out of the kitchen. Ready to greet him in his favorite booth.

But the moment you slip past the door, you find that the diner is empty. Not a single customer to greet you as you scan the floor in search of that familiar face. Even a glimpse of his shoes or the sound of his voice.

But the booth is empty, the diner is quiet, and it’s 12:06. 

Your stranger isn’t here.

I know not too much has happened yet but we are building up to tons more smut and plot and angst and fluff, I swear!! 😭💞

Next Part:

~ Whiplash*

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge

[perlelune]

Sippy Cup | Coriolanus Snow

The war never left you, so you find a way to cope. One where you never lost your childhood. One where the world is still pure and safe. And Coriolanus can't resist that innocence.

Warnings: NON-CON, Dd/lg, Little!Reader, Innocence Kink, Mentions of war, PTSD, Manipulation, Age Regression, Capitol!Reader

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

The first time Coriolanus catches you and Tigris playing Tea Party, you expect to find disdain in his eyes, mockery perhaps. Instead, another emotion blooms in the blond’s cerulean gaze. Curiosity.

It happens on a sweltering Tuesday afternoon, the sizzling summer rays spilling through the half-drawn lace curtains of your bedroom. As usual, you and Tigris are sitting across from each other with Teddy occupying the third seat between the two of you. He is being his sassy self, of course, complaining about the sitting arrangement and wanting more tea cakes on his plate. You scold him, reminding him what happened the last time he went on a sugar high. Teddy’s eyes are much bigger than his stomach.

Nervousness slithered through you when you confessed your secret to Tigris. You didn’t want to, initially. You missed several days of class at the Capitol University in a row and your best friend grew concerned enough to show up at your house unannounced. She found you right here, playing with your dolls and chatting with your bear.

You explained to her that the pressure to be big is too much sometimes, that instead of shaking and crying on the floor of the girls’ bathroom, you come here. Once you enter your bedroom, every single woe vanishes. Your head is empty and your heart is full. You’re a carefree, happy little girl once more.

To your surprise, there isn’t a shred of judgment in Tigris’ eyes when you tell her. She never utters a single bad word about the neat rows of dolls and plushies adorning your shelves, your soft pink walls, your frilly dresses or the ribbons in your hair. When you reveal your little secret to her, what you did to ward off the nightmares, she simply listens, hands on her chest as her blue eyes fill with tears. You tell her the pink helps erase the red. The same red that splattered across the pavement when your parents and brother’s bodies hit the ground during the First Rebellion. You were still holding your brother’s hand when he fell. You held it even as his palm grew cold and stiff against yours. If it weren’t for the Snow cousins prying your weeping form off his that day, you might have stayed there and met the same fate.

Tigris gave you the warmest hug. Then she asked if she could play with you, if that’d cheer you up. You were ecstatic. Since that day, Tigris would play dolls with you, attend your tea parties and even fill out your coloring books with you sometimes. You never have to pretend with Tigris. Don’t have to pretend to be a big girl. Or speak long, complicated words. Or care about big, important things. You can just be a princess in her pink castle.

It’s why ice scatters in your veins when Coriolanus watches you and Tigris from the ajar door. 

“You weren’t coming home, so I came to check on you,” he mumbles as he takes in the scene before him. Your face heats beneath Coriolanus’ wide-eyed stare.

Alarm flickers over Tigris’ face.

“You need to learn to knock, Coryo,” she chides. She whispers a gentle apology to you before getting to her feet. She nudges Coriolanus outside of your bedroom and they head to the bottom of the stairs.

Eavesdropping is bad; you know it. Good little girls don’t peep or listen through the door. But you can’t help it. Heart in your throat, you try to hear the whispered conversation between Tigris and her cousin. You only catch snippets. Your best friend’s voice is a little harsher than you’re used to, like she’s a bit upset.

Don’t you dare make fun of her.

She needs this, Coryo.

Stark blue eyes lock with yours from afar. Your heart slams against your ribcage. You hastily shove the door closed, rushing back to your pink wooden chair.

You pick up Teddy and cradle him against your chest. “Coryo is our friend,” you remind him. “He wouldn’t make fun of us.” Teddy is uncharacteristically quiet. You feel tears rush to your eyes, your bear’s doubts starting to creep into you.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

The deep voice rolling over you yanks you from your thoughts. Your head whips up. Coriolanus’ hunkering at your side, his head tilted in inquiry. You glance past his shoulder. Tigris is standing behind her cousin with her arms folded, her wary gaze glued to his form. 

“Join us?” you repeat, dazed by his question. 

The corners of the blond’s lips lift. 

“Yes, it’s a tea party, isn’t it?”

Your gaze bulges. You never expected to hear such words spilling from Coryo’s mouth. He’s always so serious, so very serious, having no time for games. He’s been like that for as long as you can remember.

You wipe your tears and sniffle. 

A little defensive, you clutch fistfuls of your pink dress.

“Tea parties aren’t for boys. They’re for princesses,” you state curtly.

Coriolanus’ expression softens as he considers you.

“Then I could be a knight, from a visiting kingdom.” You purse your lips, brows knitting. The blond’s warm breath caresses your ear as he bends over you, “Knights protect princesses.”

You mull it over. It’d be nice to have someone watch over you and Teddy, make sure no rebels storm your castle walls, paint your heart-covered walls red. You pluck your teddy bear from his stool and question him.

“What do you think, Teddy?” A very serious conversation silently occurs between you and your plushie. After a few minutes, you hum and nod, agreeing with him. Your eyes rise to meet Coryo’s. “Teddy says he’s okay with it.”

A bright smile unfurls on Coriolanus’ handsome face.

“That’s wonderful, princess.”

Over time, Coriolanus’ visits grow more frequent. He even gets into the habit of bringing you gifts, like new plushies and sugary treats. Despite your reluctance to include him because he’s a boy and boys can be mean and smelly, the time you spend with him is always a highlight in your day. Coryo is never smelly; he smells like the flowers in the Grandma’am’s garden and fresh pine. And he’s not mean. He never fails to be sweet to you, bowing to you and kissing your hand like a knight would, and always embracing every one of your games.

He becomes a fixture in your weekly tea parties, often accompanying Tigris or showing up when she’s too busy at the workshop to make it. 

Somehow he always finds time for you, even if you know he’s so busy with important, grown-up things. You’re delighted. While playing alone is fun, your imagination knowing no bounds, it’s always better with a friend.

Today is one of these days. It’s just you and Coryo hanging out in your bedroom. He spends most of the evening handing you crayons while you color in the new picture book he got you, a comfortable silence swaddling the both of you. Coryo appears content just observing you, a peaceful smile hovering on his lips. The book is full of beautiful drawings of birds and landscapes. You never had one this nice so you were beyond thrilled to start coloring it.

When the sky gets darker outside your window, you sit up. You turn to Coryo.

“It’s getting late. I guess it’s time for the tea party to end. It was lovely of you to visit us, Sir Coriolanus and we hope-”

“Tigris said you were having nightmares,” he interrupts.

You go still, the crayons between your fingers clattering to the floor.

“That was a secret,” you mutter, your chest clenching. Why would Tigris tell him that? She’s your best friend. She should keep all your secrets forever. As you simmer in disappointment, Coryo places his fingers under your chin and lifts it. Your tearful gaze meets his.

“You can trust me too, princess,” he assures softly.

As you drown in his gaze, you get lost in a memory. Suddenly all the pink in your room is gone. Unmoving bodies. Gaping mouths. Hollow eyes. 

Bright red ribbons flowing from their mouths. Crimson confetti popping from their bellies. 

Everything in your vision becomes red.

You curl against the edge of the bed and close your eyes.

Hands on the side of your head, you take a deep breath. You slowly open your eyes again. You focus on the plushies sitting on your shelves until the somber clouds over your thoughts turn into cotton candy again.

You coax a shaky smile onto your lips. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just play?”

He chuckles.

“It’s too late for games, princess. Isn’t it your bedtime by now?”

“Then I guess you should go, Coryo,” you say, resting your chin against your knees.

Coriolanus pauses, studying you for a while.

His next words are barely above a whisper.

“Or I could stay.” His large hand drapes over yours, covering your knees. “I could sleep in your bed with you.”

Shocked that he’d even suggest such a thing, you gasp.

“Boys and girls don’t sleep in the same bed,” you mumble.

He cocks his head, amusement swimming in his blue eyes.

“But I’m not a boy. I’m your knight, remember?”

Happiness flows through you with this reminder.

“Yes, you are,” you chime.

His fingers slowly drag over your joined knees.

“Actually…I could be more than your knight, princess.” His gaze locks with yours. “I could be your daddy.”

Your forehead creases, confusion mounting inside you.

“My daddy?”

His lips twist in an uneven smile.

“Yes…daddies protect their little girls. Just like knights.” His fingers drift down to your ankle, the warmth of his touch seeping through your thigh high socks. “They don’t let anyone hurt their pretty princesses. And they keep the nightmares and monsters away at night.”

Amazement colors your tone with this knowledge.

“Really?”

“Of course.” He cups your cheek. “I could sleep in the bed with you and keep my little girl safe that way.”

“I could even tell you a bedtime story.”

Your eyes light up. “A bedtime story?” 

He fondles your cheek, his expression softening.

“Of course, anything for my sweet little girl.”

You climb into bed, your entire body shaking in anticipation. Coryo removes his shoes. He picks a book from your shelf and joins you on the bed. He gets under the covers with you and tucks your head against his chest. He opens the book to the first page, his tone patient and clear as he begins to read the tale to you. Your lids sag as you relax against Coryo, his fingers absently stroking the top of your head. You get engrossed in the story of a princess who gets lost on her way home. Lulled by his deep voice, you sink into sleep before the story’s even done.

For the first time in a while, a dreamless slumber welcomes you that night.

When Coryo’s tall frame slips through your door that day, hope twitches inside your chest. 

Tigris promised she’ll come today. She’s canceled on you so much lately and expressed how awful she feels about it, so you have been looking forward to seeing her again.

For some reason, work has been exceptionally busy these last few weeks. And while you understand how important work is to your best friend, you’ve missed her so much.

However as he clicks the door shut and you realize no one’s trailing behind Coriolanus, your shoulders slump.

The faint hope you harbored withers away.

“I thought Tigris was coming today.”

Coriolanus sighs as he inches towards you.

“I know princess…” He plucks your hands from your lap. “But there was an emergency at the dress shop. It’s gonna keep her the whole night.” His lips graze the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, she said it was more important than being here.”

Your mouth flies open.

More important than being here? Coryo’s words drive a dagger through your chest, his sympathetic expression twisting it even more.

You lower your head. Tigris has had a lot of emergencies lately. You hardly spend any time together anymore. Part of you even wonders if maybe she’s sick of playing with you. After all, Tigris is a big girl with many things to do. You know she dreams of becoming a stylist and that’s likely more important than silly little girl games. You swallow the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. 

Coryo cradles your face.

“But daddy’s here to play with you.”

Your voice trembles as you quell a sob. You look at him, warmth flowing through your chest. Your daddy’s right. You have no reason to be sad. After all, he’s with you. Just like he’s held you against him so many times in the last few weeks, reading you stories to help you fall asleep, and cheering you up whenever you felt sad, you can always count on your daddy.

“That’s amazing, daddy.”

His eyes seem to flare with an idea.

“Actually I thought we could play a new game today.”

Curiosity widens your gaze. “A new game?”

Coryo pulls you closer, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“Yes.” He pauses before revealing slowly, “It’s called ‘Mommy and Daddy’, princess.”

“Mommy and daddy?” Your brows squeeze together in confusion. “Tigris and I have never played that before.”

Coryo licks his lips, his gaze running over you.

“It’s a special game between daddies and their little girls,” he explains, his tone lower than before.

“I don’t know it.”

A deep chuckle parts from his lips. You frown, not understanding what’s so funny.

“I know you don’t, sweet girl,” he says. fondling your cheek. A tilted smile blooms on his lips. “It’s okay because Daddy can teach you all about it.”

You feel nothing but complete trust as Coriolanus nudges you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You look up at him, a mix of confusion and curiosity written on your features. He smiles at you, sinking to his knees to remove your shoes. 

You watch him do it, wondering why they need to be off for the game. Your daddy’s palm lingers on the sole of your socked feet, his finger traveling upward, dragging over your ankle. 

His eyes look a little weird now, though you can’t explain in what way. You frown, the air around you growing colder.

Did you forget to close the window?

He crawls over you, pushing you down on the mattress. Coriolanus’ smell surrounds you and your nose twitches. You’re not used to being so close to him. You can make out every detail of his handsome face, trace every one of his long lashes, and distinguish every line on his face.

He scrutinizes your form beneath him, one hand beside our head while the other sweeps under your thigh. 

“What’s going on, daddy?” you ask, your voice trembling. 

“It’s a game that’s easier played on a bed, princess.”

You give a nod of understanding. He strokes the side of your face, pride lacing his tone.

“Such a good girl.”

He bends his head against your shoulder. You hold your breath, a little uncomfortable for a reason you can’t place. Daddy drops a kiss at the base of your neck. Goosebumps spark on your skin. His kisses go lower and lower, his large hands following the same path. 

When his fingers land between your legs, your eyes go wide with confusion.

“D-Daddy, what are you doing?”

A soft gasp leaves you as he begins to rub your cotton panties. 

“There’s a special place where daddies touch mommies,” he whispers. He clutches at your center and the breath dies your throat. Your body gets hotter, your belly tightening as he pinches you in a particular spot. Coriolanus’ fingers go up and down. It both hurts and doesn’t hurt. Twisting and pulsing in a foreign way the more he touches you. Overwhelmed by the feeling spreading all the way to your toes, you cling to his arms for support.

His blue eyes are glued to your squirming frame as he traces circles around that little spot that leaves you feeling strange.

The hand besides your head moves, drifting to unbutton his pants. Your heart skips a beat as a part of your daddy you never saw is revealed to you. It’s big and red at the tip. You tense, heat rushing through you as you look away.

“Look at me, princess,” he instructs, drawing your quivering chin back to him. He presses himself against your little girl parts. Whimpers spill from your mouth as he humps you through your clothes, pinning you underneath his frame.

His hot breath rolls over your face.

“How does it feel?”

“A little weird.” You shake your head, a surge of tears threatening to break free beneath your lashes. “I don’t know if I like this game…”

He frames your chin, squeezing more tightly than usual. “Do you want to make daddy happy, princess?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer.

His thumb skims over your shuddering mouth.

“This is daddy’s favorite game to play with his princess.”

“Okay…”

Your mood sinks. You’re liking the game less and less the longer it goes on, but you don’t want to disappoint your daddy who held you almost every night to chase away the bad dreams. His daddy thing gets heavier and bigger against your belly while he moves. He grunts, his throat rippling. The sensation is almost too much to bear, your vision swaying as he stimulates your little girl parts.

Daddy’s game is a little strange, you’re starting to think, and it’s making you feel weird things. Weird, tingly things. And it makes the room spin like a carousel. 

You try to close your legs, stop the wave of strange, uncomfortable feelings…But Coriolanus wedges himself between your thighs, forcing your knees apart.

“Daddy…”

His brow twitches. “Shh, let daddy take care of you, princess.” His lips cover yours, smothering all your doubts. You feel bruises form on your mouth and cheek as he kisses you harshly. Lips trailing down to your neck, he pulls your panties down your legs. 

There’s barely time for you to register the cool air hitting your bare center before he’s starting to push himself in. The pain strikes you mute at first. Just the tip of him is so much. Too much. It feels like you will break any second. Coriolanus pants above you, straining to fit as you squeeze around him, fear and pain throbbing through you.

“It’s okay, princess. Daddy’s got you,” he mutters.

When he sinks even further, a broken sob leaves you. A fire burns you from inside, amplifying every time your daddy moves ever-so-slightly.

Tears fill your eyes to the brim. 

“I don’t like this game, daddy. Can we stop playing, please?” 

He wipes your tears with soft kisses. The words pouring into your ear, while uttered sweetly, are firm. “The game’s not over until daddy says it is, princess.”

Your breath falters as he goes all the way inside. He hums deep in his throat, draping himself over your shaking frame. Your head lolls to the side, your eyes wandering to your dolls and stuffed animals. The abrupt urge to poke their eyes out so they don’t have to see any of this blooms inside you. Tears stream down your cheeks as Coriolanus thrusts inside you. His throaty moans mingle with the slapping of skin against skin. The noises your daddy makes get louder every time he slams into you. He spreads your thighs more, pushing deeper. When you tighten around him, your daddy moans, his eyes rolling back. 

“You’re squeezing daddy’s cock so well, princess,” he lauds, knuckles dragging over your temple.

He goes faster, hitting sensitive parts that draw sharp noises of agony from you. Every part of your body is wide awake with pain and discomfort. Numb with a plethora of confusing, terrifying emotions, you don’t move as his hips snap into yours relentlessly. 

The game lasts for hours, it seems. You’re thankful when daddy appears done, his movements getting sloppier as his pace slows.

As his hips stutter, his hand wraps around your jaw. 

“Daddy’s going to come inside you, so you have to say ‘thank you’”

A hoarse sigh leaves him, his lashes fluttering as he empties himself inside you. You shudder.

“Thank you for coming inside me, daddy,” you mechanically repeat. Bile rises in your throat as the excess gathers around your folds, pooling over your once pristine white sheets. 

His sweaty form folds over yours. Another tear slides down your cheek.

“Such a good girl for me.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck and coos, “We’re going to play so many fun games together, princess.”

Your stomach curls with dread at that promise.

[thegeekstressart]

Who hasn’t dreamed of their own wings?

I can’t believe they’re done, and I made them! I bought this crochet pattern by Crafty Intentions on Etsy a year ago because I stumbled across it and wanted my own wing shawl so badly!

Only one problem: I didn’t know how to crochet.

And so the PDF sat in my inbox for an entire year.

Then, earlier this summer I finally got around to teaching myself the basics of crochet and how to read a pattern.

This is my second crochet project following a pattern 😬 - that’s what hyper focus and a dream will do for you!

I used a wool and acrylic blend, worsted weight yarn in three different shades of brown.

This pattern was fantastic. Each feather felt like an accomplishment, and everything was so well explained, it came together just naturally. All in I think it took around 50 hours over 3 weeks.

The wings are over 6’ long! And the bottom two rows of feathers are bordered with single crochet in the color of the row above it. I didn’t border the top row.

I love how they came out, it’s wonderfully heavy and I feel like some sort of great owl witch in it which is a vibe I can get behind.

Also many thanks to my 5yo for the photoshoot and taking these great pictures of mama! ❤️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet One 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“So, what do you think?” Lloyd asks as he turns to you, outstretching his arms as he gestures to the endless hangers. “All yours. You got your pick.” 

You stand just inside the door of the walk-in closet. The space would take up at least half your apartment alone. You cross your arms as you glance along the rows of coloured fabric hung from the walls, organized in a perfect ombre effect of shades. On the far wall, there are shelves full of shoes and accessories, along with a vanity in the centre. 

“I know you’re a simple gal,” he grins, “but you don’t have to be anymore. Whatever you want, ain’t no mountain high enough and all that.” 

You nod and blow out between your lips. It all still feel surreal like a nightmare. You swallow and tamp down your discomfort. You didn’t hate the life you had. Your small apartment, manageable and tame. You prefer predictability, even if some might say it’s boring. 

“Erm, I dunno,” you slowly trail over to the other side of the closet. 

“Well, you could pick some shoes first. That might inspire you,” he suggests as he approaches you, “you don’t need to be too fancy, you know, you always look nice.” 

“Mm,” you nod,” thanks that’s...” 

You let the sentence hang. This is really freaking you out. Your chest feels tight and your head is buzzing. You shudder out a breath. 

“What... what am I choosing for?” You croak. 

“I told you, jellybean,” he puts his arm around you and pulls you against his side, “it’s a surprise.”  

He reaches to grab a hanger and holds it out at arm’s length. A blush-coloured satin dress with a bit of frill at the bottom of the skirt. It’s nothing you would choose yourself. 

“Sure, that’s nice,” you say, just to appease him. What else can you do? 

“Hm,” he hums, “you don’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say...” 

“You don’t sound very excited,” he pouts as he turns to you, his hand lingering on your hip, “none of it? I got it all for you.” 

“I’ll wear it,” you sniff, “I’m sorry, I’m just... I’m... adjusting.” 

You don’t know how else to explain it.  

He pushes his lower lip out and narrows his eyes, “sure, sure, makes sense.” He drags his hand off your hip and steps back, keeping the dress up as he angles it before you, as if he’s imagining you in it. “This is gonna look so hot, baby.” 

You do your best to stay placid. It’s harder as you heart pounds furiously. You can’t even begin to guess what he has planned but with everything he’s done and said, you know exactly what his intent is.  

“You should get washed up, huh? Then get dolled up. Like I said, won’t need much of that,” he winks, “you could walk in ass-naked and I’m sure you’d stun.” 

You can’t help how your mouth slants at his remark. 

“Alright, jellybean, let’s get you in the tub,” he lays the dress over the velvet bench and spins back, startling you as he grabs both hips and jerks you towards him with a growl, “can I watch? I promise, I’ll try not to touch. Yet.” 

You clasp onto his wrists with a yelp. He curls his lips eagerly and you repress your horror. You don’t want to antagonise. You don’t want him to get any worse than he is. 

“Um, did you want... to?” You murmur. 

“Fucking of course,” he urges you against him, “the things I want to do...” he smirks, “I’m quaking in my boots.” 

He bows to smother you with a kiss. His mustache pokes at your uper lip and up your nose as he hums and slides his tongue across your lips. You squeeze your mouth tightly shut but he pokes through, nearly choking you as he invades. You press your hands to his chest as he locks you into his embrace. 

Finally, he part and you gasp for breath. He snickers as you puff against him. Your skin is crawling as you wriggle in his hold. 

“Yum,” he purrs. 

He lets his arms fall away and quickly snags your hand. You let him drag you around to the door, your feet hollow as they move without a thought. Resistance is plainly not a choice. 

He takes you back into the adjoining bedroom, the one you awoke in, and through another door way against the perpendicular wall. He steps to the side as he tugs you forward and releases you. Your take in the sleek black walls and black tub, the silver shower head in a monochrome booth, and the ebon marble veined with sparkling white. 

“I get it, it’s going to take a lot of getting used to,” he boasts, “this is our home, sweet cheeks. Remember that. You treat it like your very own... it is. Just like me, all yours.” 

You pad slowly inside, if only to keep a distance from your captor. You won’t forget what he is. He can give you all the luxurious things but you remember the days of starvation, of terror. He can’t see himself for what he is but you do. 

“Face masks, body scrub, bath bomb, shower gel, bonnet, robe,” he points at the fluffy purple robe still around you, “slippers,” he flicks his finger towards the mat beside the door, “lotions, creams, everything you can dream of. Oh damn, I can call a nail tech if you want a fresh mani--” 

“Uh, no thanks,” ball up your fists, hiding your short-trimmed nails, “that’s not... that’s okay.” 

“Only the best for you, kitty cat,” he says. 

He strides forward and you flinch out of his way. He goes to the tub and cranks it on, water splashing out from the high faucet. He flips the silver lever to put the stopper in place and backs up. 

“Voila, all for you,” he declares, “I’ll just...” he looks around and backs up to sit on the fluffy cushioned stools near the wall, “sit and watch. If you need help getting your back, I got you.” 

He wiggles his fingers and gives a lecherous grin. You withhold a shudder and face the basin, the water battering the bottom. You step forward and peer down into the shallows. You clutch the front of the robe and peek over in his direction but not at him. 

He waits, silently. You sway, squeezing the fluffy fabric as you peer back at the water. You don’t know if you can do it. Not with him right there. 

“Whatsa matter, baby, you need help?” He shifts and you jolt.  

“N-no, I just...” you look down at yourself and frown. 

“Ah, you’re shy. I totally get it,” he coos, “you don’t gotta be though. Your beautiful, so you should be proud. Show it off, honey.” He clucks and shakes his head, “you know that’s the thing these days, all you girls, you’re so insecure, but you trust me, sweet lips, you got nothing to be insecure about.” 

Your stomach flips. You feel hazy. You try to shrug it off and drop your hands to the belt of the rob. You untie it. You’re really going to do this. Why? 

Because you’re afraid? Weak? Yep. 

You shed the rob and look around. You hang it on the hook behind the door and return to the tub. It’s getting deeper and deeper. You touch the bottom of your shirt and scrunch it up in your fists. Just do it quickly and get in. He can only see so much from over there. 

You pull your shirt off, nothing underneath. You push your pants down quickly, your underwear rolling down inside. The skin feels cooler then and tingles across your naked skin as you latch onto the tub and swing yourself over the edge. You barely get a foot under you before you submerge your body in the water. 

You sit up, legs bent, stiff on the porcelain as the water continues to rise. It’s not quite at your chest yet. If you let it fill all the way, it might touch your chin. As you watch the depth climb, you don’t notice him until he closes. You slide to the back of the tub as Lloyd cranks off the faucet. 

You notice how his eyes stray to you. Your legs stay bent in front of you, blocking most of everything. You shrink down, hunching your shoulders as he searches through the ripples. He tilts his head and cracks his neck as he exhales and backs away. 

“Take your time, baby,” he purrs as he rubs his chest. 

He sits again and you lower your head. You’ve never been this bare in front of anyone, rarely even yourself. You’re just not comfortable without some short of shield around you. Your eyes tinge with the threat of tears. You feel like you’ve been hit across the face. This is real. Really real. 

Your eyes flick up and you reach for the purple scrubby on the little black shelf. You just have to get through it. That’s what you’ve always done. 

👄

You stare into the open case. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of make-up. When you were a teen, you had a phase, and you’ve been to enough job interviews to wield a mascara wand. Still, the amount seems excess. 

There’s almost every sort of product in every shade. Some sort of tap you don’t know what to do with, highlighter, and finishing spray. It’s too much. Your look is either a bare face or nothing at all. More often the former. 

You fidget with a tube of lipstick, clicking the lid up and down. This is all so strange. What are you getting ready for? And why? This isn’t your home, this isn’t your life, and yet it’s all so perfectly planned. 

“Honey bunnnnnn,” Lloyd’s timbre has you dropping the stick. He strides in, flustered, holding up two ties. He’s half dressed. A pair of red velvet pants and amber satin button up. It’s not a look you would go for. “What do ya think? Which tie? Paisley or the stripes?” 

You shrug and shake your head. 

He clicks his tongue, “genius, baby, genius. No tie. You’re right. Just the jacket.” 

Your mouth falls open and you nod, “sure, yeah.” 

You look back at the vanity and huff. Your face is untouched. You sit in your robe in the walk-in closet, mulling over your misery. Self-pity is as inescapable as these walls. 

“What’s up, cheeks?” He asks, “you need some help? I’m thinking you could give a bit more colour to lips but keep the rest very subtle.” 

He crosses the floor and hovers behind you. You stir around in the case and take out two bottles of foundation. You’ve never really used that either but the shades are pretty close. He lays the ties down on the vanity, brushing your back as he does, and pulls back to grip your shoulders. 

“I tried to guess as best I could. Don’t know much about all that but the lady in the store was a blessing,” he massages your shoulders as he talks. You’re tense as steel. “But you know, you got perfect skin so...” 

“Mm,” you put the foundation back and peruse the little shelf alongside the mirror. You reach for the moisturizer. Your skin feels raw.  

“I like it, au natural. Touch of cream, little lash...” 

“I’ll figure it out,” you grumble. He’s kind of annoying. No, he’s really annoying. All of this is annoying. 

“Right, yep, I will get out of your way,” he bends and kisses the crown of your head, “lots of time.” 

He strolls out and you scowl at the mirror. Something about him is getting to you. You’re not an angry person. You’re a nice person. You don’t go out of your way to be around others but when you are, you strive to be pleasant. Or at least, out of the way. 

You spread the cream over your face, watching your reflection as if it’s someone else. Where did he come from? Why? This is some cruel trick because you only ever wanted to mind your business. 

You cap the bottle and put the moisturizer back. You fish out a mascara stick and brush it on your lashes then find a neutral lip colour to put on. Nothing special, just like you. Hopefully he sees that soon enough. 

You pack away the case and push it to the back of the vanity. You get up and go to the velvet bench where the dress lays. He’s plucked out a few things to go with it. A gold necklace with small diamonds speckled along it and a pair of beige heels.  

You peek at the door before you untie the robe. You shiver as your fingers brush your stomach. You close your eyes as you recall how he wrapped you up in a towel after your bath. His touches were more than deliberate but his intrusive gaze made you squirm more. 

You pull on the lingerie tucked under the dress. A thong. You’ve never worn one of those, and a satin and lace bra with no padding. Even as you pull the dress up your figure, you feel like you’re on display. You reach back, bending your arm until your elbow throbs as you push the zipper up. 

“Need some help?” Lloyd’s voice makes you wince. 

You sniff, “sure.” 

You hold up the bodice as he approaches. You refuse to look back at him as he nears. He tickles along your spine with a single finger before he tugs on the zipper. He pulls it up little by little, until the fabric is snug around you. His fingertips drift down your back and he spreads his hands across your ass. You gasp. 

Before you can step away, his hands glide around and he grabs you by the hips. He pulls you against him and rocks with you. He inhales your scent from above and sighs. 

“Jellybean...” he almost sings, “are you...untouched?” 

You lock up and grab at his hands, trying to free yourself. 

“Is that why you’re so shy?” He snickers and spins you around, hands going to your waits, “I’m honoured to be your first.” 

You gape at him, horrified. His intent hasn’t been hard to guess but said aloud, it is all too imminent. 

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Who’s the Other Girl?

Summary: Tommy is having an affair with you in the states but what happens when you are face to face with his wife, Lizzie.

Warnings: Infidelity, talks of divorce, women standing up for other women.

I bet you're from out West somewhere

Hazel eyes and dark brown hair

And everything you wear fits you just right

I bet you drink martinis dry

And never let him see you cry

I bet you're more promiscuous than I

I bet your bold, 

I bet that’s why you seem to occupy his mind

I bet you’re smart

But do you know about me?

“You were just in the states last week, tell me again why can’t Arthur go and get this woman if she’s so needed here?” Tommy huffed as he finished lacing his shoes, snagging the cigarette from between his lips, looking up at Lizzy with a stare of annoyance as if he hadn’t explained several times before.

This was now the fifth week in a row that Tommy had met with Y/N due to “business”, Lizzie was already calling the bluff on that after a photo of the two of you together had been posted in the paper.

Rumors had already circled the Garrison that Thomas was involved with another woman and he had refused to make any comments regarding the accusations. 

Standing up he disposed of his cigarette, noticing the upset in his wife’s eyes. 

“Hey c’mere.” She allowed him to pull her near and dear into a hug but somehow even with his arms wrapped around her, he felt tremendously far away, straying further each time he’d come home.

“I’ll be back before you know it alright? Tell the children I love them.” Placing a kiss on her forehead, Lizzie tilted her chin up, hoping for more but all she received was Tommy walking out the door, leaving her bottom lip quivering, hands shaking with anxiety, knowing all too well how the story goes.

Going to the window, she watched him get into the car, glancing at his watch while Ruby’s footsteps hurriedly ran across the room, tugging at her mothers skirt. “Mommy, mommy! Where’s daddy going?” She looked down at their child, trying to come up with an answer suitable for a child.

“He’ll be back soon honey. Your father works hard to ensure our safety, and he loves us very much. He’ll be back soon.” Picking the child up, holding her closely to her heart she watched her husband leave, nothing but hopelessness filling her heart.

The fire was lit dimly in the living room as she settled with a cup of tea, trying to avoid picking up the paper but curiosity and the need to know getting the best of her.

Finishing off the tea, with shaking hands she looked at the headlines, her heart aching at how beautiful Y/N was. The picture was her and Tommy seated at a bar, far too closely to be just friends. Her legs were crossed like a lady but Tommy’s hand lay on her thigh, other arm wrapped behind her while she was smiling brightly, blushing like a girl in love.

She looked beautiful, attractive, young, strong, all the traits Lizzie didn’t feel she had anymore. A sudden, simple realization in the photo was almost too much to bare for her weeping heart when she realized Tommy’s wedding ring was no longer on his finger.

The question lingered in the air, did you even know about her, has Tommy told you he was married and if so why engage. Then again Lizzie was aware how convincing and manipulating her husband was. After all from the photo, you did strike her as smart but that didn’t take away from the younger facial features. If she had to guess you were in your mid twenties, and she was well aware how simple it was for men to deceive young women, especially when they were in love for the very first time.

Attempting to put her mindset in yours, she ganderd into Tommy’s office, opening multiple drawers and rummaging through scattered papers until she found the document of the deal.

Surely a young woman like yourself didn’t know how Tommy Shelby operated and to always read the fine print.

Skimming through the contract, she noticed your signature was not at the bottom yet which she believed to be rather odd, but maybe that was why he was bringing you back here. Why not just take it with him though?

All of the endless questions became answered with a simple sentence written in smaller, italicized text at the very bottom of the paper. Almost too small for even Lizzie to read.

“Termination of ownership shall commence after signature is received. Ownership of business transferred solely to receiving partner Thomas Shelby along with any additional funds requested.”

He was going to leave her with nothing. Absolutely nothing, high and dry. Lizzie knew very well what it was like to have nothing and try to find her way through life living off of the scraps of men. Searching the paper once more she found your address in the states, contacting one of Tommy’s assistants insisting that he get a letter to Y/N before it was too late on the behalf of Tommy. Simply stating he had forgotten to take an important paper. Maybe after all the wrongs she had committed in her life, this one good thing would act as a repetence.

Are you the one he's talkin' to

When he gets up and leaves the room

And comes back with a distance in his eyes?

Maybe I should be the one to leave

But damn, when he starts lovin' me

He makes me think I'm all that's on his mind

The knock on the door startled you from your reading. Glancing at the clock, a wide grinned expression spread across your face, knowing fully well who was at the other side of the door.

You’d been aware he was married but after some time of convincing, Tommy had ensured you he’d be leaving Lizzie and there was nothing to be ashamed of, nor feel guilt about. You had never met Lizzie, only heard about his wife through passerby’s conversations.

With the door opening, his piercing blue eyes enchanted your every being, reeling you in, never allowing you to take a second to think. It was like he put a spell on you. “I’ve missed you darling. We’re set to leave around four, surely plenty of time to…” He brushed his warm hand down your cheek sweetly, those ocean eyes scanning your body with such precision and crave. 

Jumping up into his arms, your legs wrapped around him as he kicked the door shut behind him, walking you into the bedroom as your lips collided together in a profound, lustful sensation.

As clothes were shed and he towered over you in the bed, your legs spread once more for this handsome, intimidating man.

He peppered poetic kisses down your neck, leaving marks on your shoulder blades as he thrusted momentously through your sweet succulency, fucking you in a way no other man could.

Impatience, and pure desire washing over you every time you saw his nude, muscular body, you thrusted down with him in harmonious rhythm, stemming your blooming rose with his cock. His eyes never once left yours, your fingers intertwining together as he released his seed into the tight, tunnel of love between your thighs.

When he excused himself to the restroom, out of the corner of your eye the wedding ring sitting atop the bedside table caught your attention. 

Was he really going to leave her? Are the children aware? What were you getting yourself into?

Hearing the toilet flush, the phone rang along with it, and it wasn’t long until you heard Tommy’s voice. Talking as if he were somewhere else, still closing the deal with you.

“We’ll be leaving soon….I invited her to dinner….it’s just business….alright see you soon.”

Just business? Is that all you were? Saddening, you rolled out of bed to retreive your clothes as if that would mask the betrayal and pain bubbling in your heart.

This exchange was supposed to be more than business, maybe not at first but you had grown up with nothing and Tommy was the only willing to invest in the idea of your, and the amount of money he invested was more than enough and made you feel like your ideas weren’t of nonsense or daydreams. One thing turned into another and once that pub opened after a tremendous amount of indecent flirting, you found yourself bent over the bar and Tommy making endless visits to your hometown, spending nights tangled between the sheets of your bed, him spoiling you with surprises and gifts. But what was it all for?

His heavy footsteps entering the room pulled you away from the questions.

Right away he could tell you were upset when your teary, pained eyes connected with his.

“Is that all I am to you is business?” He scoffed, approaching the clear understanding that you’d overheard the phone call and just like that with the flip of a switch his lips curled into a soft, endearing smile while his ocean eyes bore over you sincerely.

“Of course not. I’m trying to let her down easy Y/N. After we finish business, the loose ends will tie together and things will be settled. Alright?” Why did you believe this man who had promised you nothing? Why did his voice have to sound suave and convincing? Your mind was telling you one thing while your heart told you another.

Is it me? Is it you?

Tell me who

Who's the other girl?

Who's the first? Who's the fool?

Who's the diamond? Who's the pearl?

Are you mad? Me too

And I wonder in his world

Is it me? Is it you?

Who's the other girl?

You stop to collect the post, realizing there was a letter addressed to you from Birmingham, surely it wasn’t Tommy considering he was in front of you.

Guilt, and shamefulness flooded your veins while your heart felt like it was waiting to explode in your throat. Contemplating on throwing the letter in the trash, you thought better and slipped the envelope into the clutch Tommy had bought you weeks beforehand.

Stopping along the way to put petrol in the car, you excused yourself to the restroom while Tommy went inside to pay the employee, grabbing a pack of smokes as he did so.

Locking the door and fumbling frantically, you ripped open the letter, not knowing what to expect but it was quite clear who wrote this.

             “Y/N. My name is Lizzie Shelby, 

I’ve presumed you’re aware of me. I’m writing this letter to inform you there is no hatred in my heart toward you. I’ve been in your position of the other woman. There’s no need to tell Thomas as we will meet soon. Don’t allow your heart to stop you from seeing the manipulation. I must speak with you when you arrive, please don’t take this as jealousy but coming from a woman who has been at the other hand.”

What did this mean? How did she know about you? Surely Tommy wouldn’t tell his wife about his mistress.

A sudden knock on the door reeled your mind away from the letter.

“You alright in there?” Checking yourself in the mirror and shoving the letter in the pocket of your purse, you opened the door, attempting to appear unpanicked and at ease.

“Yeah, just was washing my face, let’s go.”

Who's gonna put on the red dress

Scarlet letter on her chest

Can't love with this on her conscience

Tell me who's the other girl

I bet you're cool, I bet that's why

You seem to occupy his time

I bet by now

You know about me

And you know about me

Walking into the dining room, you were taken aback by just how much money Tommy had. The shimmering chandelier, the golden authentic tablecloth, the peruvian curtains, the fine china. Amidst your shock, Lizzie strutted into the room from the kitchen, cradling Ruby gently in her arms while Charlie was running circles around the house. Your eyes locking in a surprised, yet insecure expression while the question, the elephant in the room sat quaintly up in the air. Who did Tommy’s heart really belong to?

Strutting behind you, Tommy lay his hand gentleman like on your back, offering you a drink in the process.

“Y/N this is my lovely wife Lizzie. Very wise she is, and my two children Ruby and Charlie. Dinner is almost ready, sha’ll we sit?” You smiled kindly, ready to take your seat before Lizzie interrupted. Clearing her throat as Tommy pulled your seat out before her own.

“Actually, Y/N do you mind if I speak with you for a moment? I just have a million questions about the states, I’ve always wanted to go.” Tommy peered in her direction, slightly agitated but nodded that it was alright. Lizzie handed Ruby to Tommy, escorting you two rooms away into the living area.

She was poise, collected, much taller than yourself but never did you get the impression she was a threat, even though you considered the situation rather uncomfortable and off.

“I assume you’ve read my letter.” She spoke in a hushed tone, but with a kind hearted smile, insisting you take a seat across from her.

Nodding, a cat felt like it had a hold of your tongue, not knowing exactly how to respond or act.

Reading you like a book, she could tell you were quite nervous and maybe the best way possible to approach this was to come straight to the point head on.

Reaching for her purse, you couldn’t help but notice it was the same one Tommy had surprised you with but a different color. That’s odd.

Pulling out the contract, she allowed it to sit on the glass table in between you for a brief moment.

The hand writing you recognized right off the bat to be Thomas’s with the perfect cursive letters, simply reminding you off all the letters he had mailed to you when he was in Birmingham.

Shrugging off your confusion, you straightened your back, pretending as if you held confidence.

“Y/N is it?” Nodding, she carried on, glancing into the corridor, ensuring her husband wasn’t on his way in here.

When she spoke her voice was gentle, speaking with kind concern, and a soft tone.

“I remember when I was your age. So young and in love, willing to do anything just for another moment with a man. I assume this is you first-“

“How long have you known about me?” You interjected, anxiety and curiosity rising in your throat. She was beautiful, quite breathtaking and the children were so innocent and completely unaware of their father’s infidelity. Why would he do this to such a magnificent woman, whom carried his child. Guilt was eating away at your stomach.

“I’ve had my inklings for quite some time now. Probably back in November. How about you?”

“Mrs. Shelby I don’t mean any disrespect but the plan here tonight um-“ You itched at the back of your neck nervoulsy, the guilt and truth eating you alive.

“His plans you mean. I feel it my duty to inform you to read the fine print before you sign your business over to him.” Before you could respond Lizzie excused herself, not wanting to take longer than she already was without Tommy gaining suspicion.

Reading over the night quickly, you were in shock and disbelief, realizing Lizzie was the one telling the truth. Fighting back tears, you set the paper back down, wiping your teary eyes.

“Y/N, dinner’s prepared. We have your place set.” 

Who's the first? Who's the fool? 

Who's the diamond? Who's the pearl?

Are you mad? Me too 

And I wonder in his world

Is it me?  Is it you? 

Who's the other girl?

“I suppose this dinner conversation is about the contract you’ve left mistakenly on the table. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Lizzie shifted in her seat as you took a deep perforated breath, thinking wisely before speaking. The atmosphere in the room came to a still, eyes wandering from one another in guilt and shame.

“This can’t be real. I-I thought we had a future together, we had a plan.” Your voice cracked, sadness washing over your aching heart while Lizzie looked confused from the other side of the table.

“I-I’m sorry what?” Settling his napkin over his thigh and sighing, he took a drink of his wine, clearing his throat.

“Did you think I would leave my family for you? My children?” Lizzie was stunned by the revelation that Tommy told you he was leaving her. Was she really just a pawn all along?

“Where does your heart truly belong Tommy?” Her eyes spoke with vindication, and impatience for her dying marriage. 

Tommy stood from his seat, pouring himself a glass of whiskey, allowing the cold stream of alcohol to stream down his throat, reminiscing the moment before lighting a cigarette.

“It’s just business. If I recall correctly, I’ve given you many things Y/N. A car, a home, enough money to live your life comfortably.” Lizzie scoffed in her seat, swirling the wine in her glass.

“Oh please, that’s not the only thing you’ve given her.”

“Nevertheless. With signing over your business you’d be doing yourself a favor and I knew by making you fall in love with me, that would be quite easy with me as the only investor. Such a small, inexperienced girl in a world full of wolves waiting to sink their teeth in. Signing your rights over would be the wisest thing to do. You give me the business, we’ll part ways just as business deals operate.” Your thoughts were running a mile a minute, as each venomous word he spoke shattered your heart.

All sense of reality diminished, any hope that a man could love you and take a risk for you seemed impossible.

This was no one night stand, but an ongoing affair and you were sat in the lions den between a rock and a hard place.

Lizzie frowned in her seat, thinking of where she went wrong that Tommy would throw their entire marriage away just for extra money he didn’t need. The cold hard truth was Tommy could buy out a business with a simple sentence, he wanted to fuck you and dispose of you.

“Clock’s ticking Y/N. What’s it going to be?” Time bore down on you, massive decisions between right and wrong impending a headache.

Tommy held out the pen, watching you sit there in defeat. 

Reaching for the pen, about to sign the paper Lizzie stood up grabbing the pen from your shaking grip, taking you both by surprise.

“No! Do not sign that pub over to him. After everything you’ve worked, all the time and effort you’ve taken into opening this place up. You’ve taken so many risks. Don’t do this Y/N, he has done nothing but manipulate. Please be wiser than I was at your age. He will leave you high and dry though you may not see it now, believe me.” Tommy’s shallow blue eyes rolled in irritation, slamming his drink down on the table nearly shattering the glass.

“Enough! I don’t recall your name on the contract Lizzie.”

“This is my fucking house as much as yours and I will not let you stomp and parade all over me any longer nor her. In fact I think I’ve just developed a new way of business. I want a divorce.” The room turned completely silent.

When you tried to get up and excuse yourself in unison they spoke loudly, “Sit down.”

Lizzie was fuming, the vein in her forehead visibly popping through her skin while her nostrils flared in anger.

Aiming for the contract, she picked it up ripping the paper in shreds while Tommy grasped for her wrists to try and stop her.

“You can expect to hear from my lawyer and I will be taking the children. They’re hardly yours, you’re never here to take care of them. The endless nights I dealt with them asking why their daddy is never home because he was fucking some other woman out of the country. I’m sure this wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last.” Tommy was at a silence, excusing himself from the room leaving you and Lizzie alone.

“Lizzie I- I really don’t have the money to keep this place open on my own. I can’t-“

“Well then consider me your next investor.” You were shocked by her statement, not expecting the sincere offer.

“I- I feel like I just tore apart your whole marriage, why would you want to do business with me?” Shaking her head, she smiled sweetly, raising her glass in satisfactionz

“No sweetheart, you got rid of my problem. I’m better off without him. We both are. So what do you say?”

[louloulemons-posts]

Misunderstandings

Eddie Munson X Fem!HarringtonTwin!Reader

Summary : Eddie and Y/N have been dating in secret for months now, but what happens when Y/N can’t do it anymore?

word count : 2.6k

Warnings : Use of Y/N, angst, reader crying, couple drama, twin brother steve, supportive bestie robin, pet names, kisses, a few swears, happy ending.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Steve come on!” she shouted from the bottom of the stairs, “We’re gonna be late!”

“Alright Alright I’m coming,”

“Next time we’re taking two cars, how the hell do you make us late everytime. We still have to pick up Robs!” she sighed, pushing her brother out of the door.

“Well Robin needs to get a license!” he exclaimed getting into the passenger side of the car. “She can’t afford it, don’t be a douche.”

“Blah blah blah, can you just drive. C’mon you said we were gonna be late.”

Turning the keys, engine starting, “I will kick you out of this car and you can walk.”

“I have my own car!”

“Then use it!”

The remainder of the journey continued with the twins bickering between themselves, only halting when they arrived at Robins. Beeping the horn to let her now they were here.

“Okay get in the back,” Y/N said to her brother.

“What? Why?”

“Robins a guest, she gets front seat! She’s also my bestfriend so-”

“She was mine first!” he cut her off.

“No!”

“Yes we worked at Scoops together!”

“And what? She didn’t even like you until I said you weren’t ‘King Steve’ anymore. Now move it.”

“You’re so bossy! I think you should be the older twin,” he sighed, climbing out the car.

Robin ran out of the house, sliding her jacket on, chuckling as she saw Steve climbing into the back, grumbling as he did. “Hey Robs,” Y/N smiled at her friend as she climbed in. “What happened to 5pm?” she asked the pair.

“Well Steve decided to procrastinate until 4:30, knowing it takes him at least an hour to get ready,” she explained, pulling away from the house. Grumbling came from the back, “Steve I swear I wasn’t joking about kicking you out!”

Robin laughed at the twins, knowing it’d be an eventful journey to the movies.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“And this is why we tell them to be here 45 minutes before we actually need to be here,” Dustin explained as the trio walked through the door. “I’ll remember that next time you want picking up from Hellfire,” Steve smiled him.

“Also we’re not even the last ones here, where’s Munson?” Robin asked.

“Eddies coming?” Y/N whispered to her friend.

“Mhm, maybe it’s time to tell Steve?” she wiggled her eyebrows.

“I’m here I’m here!” a voice yelled as Eddie Munson practically fell through the door.

“Great can we go now!” Mike complained, yanking Els hand towards the door. “I’m just gonna get something to drink. Robs you want anything?”

“Cherry Pepsi please.” Y/N hummed at her friend, walking over to the line.

“Where’s my offer?” Steve called after her.

“What do you want?” she sighed.

“Dr Pepper!”

“You’re paying me back later then.”

“I’ll help her, I want to get some snacks so,” Eddie said to the group who went ahead into the theatre.

Waiting for the people in front of her to finish ordering, Y/N felt arms wrap around her waist and a face nuzzle into her neck. “Hey Princess,” Eddie smiled, kissing her neck.

“Hey Eds.” Turning to kiss his cheek, “What do you want?” she asked.

“You.”

“Oh shush,” she wiggled in his hold.

“It’s true!” he exclaimed, which made her laugh. The people in front moved out the way and Y/N smiled at the worker. “Hey, can I please get a cherry pepsi, 2 Dr Peppers and … Eds?”

“I’ll order mine,” he smiled, which she nodded awkwardly at him. “That’s everything then please.” Paying for the drinks, she slid them across the counter, “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll bring Steves,” Eddie said.

“Oh um yeah sure, I’ll see you in there.” Grabbing her and Robins drinks she passed her ticket over to the clerk, giving them a slight smile.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

She found Robin and Steve, walking up to their row she handed Robin her drink, “Munsons bringing yours.” He nodded facing the screen.

Sitting next to Robin she sighed, “You okay?”

“Oh yeah fine, fine.”

The curly haired metal head walked in soon after, just as the movie began to play. Handing Steve his drink he sat down next to Y/N. She smiled at him, which he reciprocated, but quickly turned to face the screen.

Normally Eddie was chatty and touchy with her, they were keeping their relationship quiet but they were friends too. What if he didn’t want that anymore? Oh my god.

“Are we okay?” she whispered to the boy.

“Uh yeah? Why?” he asked, putting popcorn into his mouth. “You just seem a little off, you know you can talk to me?” He nodded, about to reply before they were shushed by Henderson.

Y/N sighed, sipping her drink, trying to ignore the feeling in her stomach and focus on the movie. Clearly she wasn’t hiding her feelings well as robin squeezed her hand. She looked up at her friend who asked, “Bathroom? You want a breather?”

The girl nodded, almost trampling Eddie as she went, followed by her best friend.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Cold water wet her face and she stood in front of the mirror, “Are you okay?” Robin asked, rubbing her shoulder gently. “I think he might want to break up. I mean come on, he won’t even look at me.”

“Hey he’s just being stupid, it’s probably just cause Steve’s here.”

“Yeah but he’s the one who wants to hide it not me! What if he’s embarrassed of me, or he’s hiding it cause he wants it to be a fling.”

“Listen to me, anyone would be lucky to have you. If he can’t see that then it’s his loss, he’s an ass. You’ve got this okay.” Y/N nodded at her, “Thanks Robs.”

“You wanna go back in? We can swap seats,” she suggested. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all, it means you can deal with your brother instead.”

“Oh goodie, lucky me,” she groaned, making them both laugh.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Walking out of the movies, the two girls walked arm in arm. “It was so bad,” she laughed. “Wasn’t even scary!” Robin exclaimed.

“All you kiddies okay getting home?” Y/N asked the younger kids.

“My moms getting me, El, Mike and Lucas. Thank you though,” Will smiled.

“Max?” she asked the redhead.

“Eddie said I could ride with him.”

“Henderson?”

“Do you mind?” He asked.

“Nah kid, let’s go.”

As she was about to leave the theatre, she felt a hand on her wrist. “Hey, what happened in there? You okay?” Eddies familiar voice spoke.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

“Do you want to hang out tomorrow? Wayne’s working all day so, we’d have the place to ourselves,”he smiled, pulling her closer by her waist.

Wow, she really was just a booty call. “You know what Munson, I’m gonna have to pass. I’ll see you.” She said, pulling out of his hold and walking over to her car.

“What was that all about?” Robin asked.

“Nothing,” she shrugged, starting the car and driving towards Dustin and Robins homes.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Robin and Steve were both working, but Y/N had a day off, so she was relaxing by the pool. Deciding that she wanted to spend the day by herself. Sliding into the water, she swam underneath, allowing herself to sink slightly.

Robin was right, she deserved more than to be someone’s secret, she deserved to be shown off and taken out on dates. Not just hidden away, never meeting family, a good half foot between them when friends were around.

Needing to take a breath she swam back up. Jumping slightly when she saw the familiar boy dressed in denim. “I did knock but no answer, and your car was out front so,” he explained.

Pushing herself out of the poor she squeezed out her hair and wrapped a towel around herself. “Did you need something?”

“I thought you were busy today?”

“Never said that.”

“What’s going on?” He asked and she walked passed him. “You tell me.”

“What? Baby hang on a minute.”

“Don’t do that,” she sighed.

“Do what?”

“Call me that!” Y/N exclaimed, walking up the stairs and towards her bedroom.

“What I’m not allowed to call you that anymore?”

“No you’re not!”

“Well why not, you’re my girlfriend aren’t you?”

“I don’t know am I?”

“What?” Eddie shouted, “What are you talking about?”

“Well you seem to only want me as your girlfriend in private! And even then it’s like we’re fuck buddies!”

“No it’s not!”

“Yes it is! You won’t even look at me around other people.”

“That’s not true!” Eddie starting shouting back.

“Yes it is! If you’re embarrassed of me just say so!”

“I-I … Y/N,” he stuttered.

“You know what just go!” she yelled.

“What?”

“Get out! If you’re so embarrassed of me, you wouldn’t want people to notice your van outside would you!”

“Embarrassed? I’m not embarrassed of you! Fuck will you let me speak!”

“Now you want to? Now you want to fix this? No I am done, get out.”

“What? Baby no-” he spoke gently.

“Get out of my house.”

She turned her back on the boy slamming the door of her bathroom and locking herself inside. Leaning against it she listened out. Footsteps pattered down the stairs and the house shook with the slam of the front door.

Unlocking her own, she ran to the window, watching him get in his van and slam his hand on the steering wheel. He sat for a few seconds, before starting it up and driving away at an unsafe speed.

Letting out a sob, her hands came up to cover her face. Wiping away her tears furiously she walked towards the bathroom to shower off.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

The phone rang out, echoing through the house, “Hello?” Y/N spoke.

“Okay what the hell is going on?” Robin spoke from the other end. “What?” she asked.

“Munson is currently going through romcom movies for himself, looking like he’s just been smacked in the face.”

Y/N couldn’t help it she sniffled, “Oh no, you broke up didn’t you?”

“Robs I couldn’t do it anymore! I’m so tired of being hidden away!”

“I know, how are you holding up?”

“I don’t know. Jesus Robs, I was so ready to tell him I love him, I feel like a fool.”

“You’re not. Hey I’ll come over later, we can have a movie night, I’ll make Steve take me to the store to get snacks.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Munson,” Robin spoke, walking up to him.

“Oh Hi Robin.”

“Listen, I’m not going to pretend like I don’t know cause I do. You and Y/N.”

“She told you?”

“I figured it out, you two kept making eyes at each other.” He chuckled at that.

“Yeah well not anymore. Pretty sure she hates me.”

“She doesn’t, just so you know. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why don’t you want to tell anyone you two?” she asked.

He sighed, “Robin, honestly, she’s way out of my league. I’m a freak. I’m a nerd. I’ve only just graduated highschool, and that was by the skin of my teeth. I have no money. I’m in a band. I have a shitty job.”

“Do you seriously think she cares?”

“I know she doesn’t, but she deserves the world.”

“Do you love her?” Eddie paused, putting the video he had in his hand back down, “More than anything.”

“Then that’s all that matters, now Munson, me and you are going to fix this.”

“Is there any point?”

“Eddie, I have never seen her like this over a guy. She adores you. You’re getting her back.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Lay on her bed, Y/N heard knocking on her door, “Yeah?” she called out.

“It’s me, do you want dinner?” Steve asked.

She hopped up off her bed and walked to the door, opening it to come face to face with her brother.

“Woah, you okay?” he asked. She shook her head, tears filling her eyes, wrapping her arms round her brother. “Y/N hey, it’s alright. You’re okay. Stevies got you,” he shushed her, rubbing her back.

Once she calmed down a bit Steve pulled away slightly. “What’s going on?”

“Just boy stuff. I thought I meant more to him than I actually did.”

“Want me to hurt him?”

“Steve, you’ve only won one fight in your life.”

“Against a Russian soldier!” she laughed at that. “Can I ask who?”

“I don’t think you’ll be happy.”

“Oh I already know. You’re not good at hiding it. Just wanted you to tell me when you were ready.”

“How long?”

“Couple months.”

“Well it doesn’t matter it’s over now.”

“I see the way he looks at you, I don’t think it is. I’m gonna order a pizza okay?” he said, to which she nodded. Pressing his lips softly to her head, he squeezed her shoulder.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Y/N can you get the door?” Steve called out.

Assuming it was the pizza she opened it quickly, but it wasn’t. “Eddie?”

“Hi, um these are for you,” he said handing her a bunch of Tulips.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to fix this, hopefully. I want too. I will do anything I can to fix this.”

“Eddie I can’t keep being your dirty secret.”

“You’re not! Baby you’re not! You deserve the world, you’re worth so much more than me.”

“What?”

“I just, baby look at us. Look at me. Look at you. You’re worth the world and more. You deserve everything, I don’t want to let you down.”

“Eddie you mean the world to me! You are everything to me. I want you. I want us.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just got into my own head. I saw the way the guy at the movies looked at us, and I’ve seen others too,” he explained.

“Eds I want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you. I want to meet your brother as your boyfriend, I want you to meet Wayne. I want the kids to think we’re gross when we kiss in front of them.”

“Well I’d appreciate if you didn’t kiss in front of me,” Steve spoke, he was leaning on the doorframe. “You make her cry again Munson, and you’ll be at the bottom of Lovers Lake faster than you can say D&D.”

Eddie saluted Steve, “It won’t happen again.” Steve hummed and wander back to another room. “Could we start again? Please baby, I love you and I’d be a complete idiot if I didn’t try and get you back.”

“You love me?” Y/N asked, her eyes widening.

“Yeah I do. So much. The thought of not being with you, of you hating me. It made me feel sick. Made me hate myself. I love you.

“I know I don’t have much, but I will give you everything I can. If you’ll let me?”

“Of course I will you idiot, I love you,” she said, taking his face in her hands and kissing him fiercely. “You do?” he laughed.

“Yes!” she gave him a watery smile, “I love you more than anything Edward Munson.”

“I love you Y/N Harrington.”

When their lips almost touched, someone cleared their throat. “Uh I’m sorry to interrupt but someone owes me $20,” a girl spoke, with two pizza boxes in hand. “Oh sorry, Steve!”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading, feel free to leave any requests 🤍

[rainyinautumn]

Scar does not lay down and die. He’s fought too hard to go out like that.

It’s a strange feeling, to know that he’s in full control of when he dies. No one chasing him down, no ticking clock, no curses. Sure, he doesn’t have regen, but he has a full row of hearts—a whole life ahead of him that he can spend in Sunflower Valley.

He doesn’t remember until he arrives that there’s nothing for him there. It’s about fifty percent craters. Some of them are blackened by the wither, and others by gunpowder. Despite it all, though, there are still sunflowers. Not many, but they’re facing his way when arrives, as if trying to be the welcoming party he never had. Scar sits down at the edge of one of the craters and swings his feet back and forth over the drop. It’s not deep enough to kill him, hardly even deep enough to take a heart off of him. The ash settled at the bottom is picked up by the wind, blowing into Scar’s boots and hair. He doesn’t wipe it out. It’s his only reminder that he wasn’t always alone in this world.

Across the crater, the air shimmers purple. Before Scar can figure out what it is, the color coalesces into a ghostly figure with a faint halo that shines just like the sun. Grian smiles at him wanly and holds out a bouquet of poppies and lilacs.

“You’ve won, Scar,” he says. “It’s time to go.”

“But I’m not ready yet,” he objects.

“He didn’t get me any flowers,” Scott mutters as he sits down beside him, transparent and crowned with a dozen tiny stars. “Trust me, you’re ready. You’ve won. There’s nothing left.”

“Well, I never had much anyway,” Scar says coolly. “Can’t say this feels too different.”

“I know.” Pearl’s voice comes from his other side along with the soft glow of the moon, and his heart aches, unwilling to turn toward her. “I know, but the game’s over, Scar. You did well.”

He wants to tell her sorry, but that would be disingenuous. He wouldn’t change a thing about that fight—the only thing he regrets is that it had to be her.

“More than well, I’d say.” Martyn takes shape in the center of the crater, his coral crown glittering the angry red of Mars. “I’m loving the trend of villainous winners we’ve got going here. Who do you think’s gonna be next? Joel? Gem?”

“Maybe we’re due for a more heartfelt finale,” Scott says, sending a sidelong glance Scar’s way. “No offense.”

“Didn’t you win through a battle royale?” he retorts.

“Didn’t we all?” Grian sighs. “It’s just the way of the game. Killing people. It’s a bit hard to get a heroic winner out of that.”

Scar stares at his feet. “I thought I’d feel more relieved,” he admits. “Like I’d- like I’d, y’know, won something. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, it’s all just kinda…”

“Empty?” Grian fills in for him.

“Disappointing?” Scott suggests.

“Sad?” Pearl says.

Martyn kicks a rock. “Fleeting?”

“One of those things,” Scar sighs. “So… now what?”

“I already told you,” Grian huffs, tired but good-natured. “It’s time to go.”

“Die, you mean,” Scar says. “It’s time for me to die.”

Martyn draws an axe that looks far more corporeal than the rest of him. “It’s my turn to take you out,” he tells him. “I was planning on a nice quick beheading, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Scar stammers, scrambling backward. “I don’t get to choose how I go?”

“Well, sort of,” Grian explains. “You’ve won. The only thing that can take you out now is another winner.”

“Pearl zapped me when my time was up,” Martyn says. “Didn’t hurt for more than a second.”

“And what if I don’t let you?” Scar asks.

Scott puts a hand on his shoulder, but it goes right through. “There’s no way around this, Scar.”

“Martyn has to kill you,” Pearl reiterates. “It’s not up to him, or us, or you. No one can move on until you’re gone.”

“Says who?”

Grian gestures broadly at the horizon. “Who do you think?”

The Secretkeeper looms in the distance, a dark sky overhead. It’s watching him. Scar knows it is. It’s waiting, impatient as ever, for its final task to be completed.

Martyn hefts his axe over his shoulder. The move should be threatening, but there’s no malice in it. His hand sits firmly on the handle, white-knuckled and duty-bound, but the rest of him is relaxed. He doesn’t want this to be a fight.

“I guess everyone’s waiting on me, huh?” Scar says. “Let’s get this over with.”

He walks up to Martyn and kneels, removing his hood to expose the back of his neck. He feels the cold edge of the axe blade placed against it and screws his eyes shut.

“Any last words?” Martyn asks.

“I’m taking away all your reputation points for this.”

He laughs, genuine and nostalgic. “Fair enough.”

The axe lifts, and a breeze ruffles Scar’s hair as it comes back down on his neck.

There’s a searing flash of pain, and then nothing. His eyes stay closed, staring at the darkness.

“Scar,” Grian says, his voice closer than before. “Scar, it’s done.”

He blinks warily, taking a moment to process the view he sees. The rest of the world now has the shimmering transparency of the ghosts, while the other winners are now solid and real in front of him. Grian is still holding the bouquet—when he extends it to Scar, it changes shape, twisting into a flower crown.

“Wait,” Pearl says. “One last thing.” She waves her hand and two glowing sunflowers wrap themselves into the wreath, blooming side by side. “There.”

Grian steps forward, right in front of Scar, who’s still kneeling in the center of the crater. “Congratulations, Scar,” he says. “You won.”

The crown is a perfect fit.

[matchingbatbites]

Love Grows - Part 1

This is my take on teen dad Steve! It was just supposed to be a ficlet, but the word count is currently hovering at 4k and I'm not done, so this will be going up in parts. <3

Ao3 | Part 2

February '85

The rumors have been flying for weeks. It only took one cheerleader to see Steve Harrington out and about with a baby and soon enough the news was all over the school. Nevermind that no one else has even seen said baby, but just the one accusation is enough to send the rumor mill into production.

It's something that had piqued Eddie's interest, but he quickly attributed it to teenagers spreading drama, a fiction created for their own entertainment. That is, until the day Harrington shows up to school with the baby.

The halls are buzzing, more so than usual, and it only takes until second period for Eddie to realize why. The entire class breaks into whispers when Steve walks in with a baby carrier in one hand, a piece of paper in the other, and a diaper bag slung over his shoulder. The paper goes to the teacher, who reads it before saying something to Steve, and Eddie is so curious but unable to hear anything over the chatter in the room.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off Steve for the rest of the class. He watches as the carrier finds a home on the floor, right by Steve’s desk, and Eddie has a perfect view of the little, rosy-cheeked baby girl from his seat two rows behind Steve (at least, Eddie’s assuming it’s a girl. The blanket tucked around her is a soft pink, so-). He sees every time Steve leans over to check on her, sees how her big eyes flick up to look at him, how she smiles around the pacifier in her mouth. 

It makes Eddie go all gooey inside; he's always loved kids, always hoped to find a guy who is good with them, and seeing Harrington being so attentive only increases the low-key crush he has on the other guy (he knows it’s a little pathetic, but Steve is very attractive, and Eddie is very gay, sue him). When the class ends, Eddie gathers his stuff slowly so he has an excuse to hang back a little and watch Steve interact with the baby some more, but soon enough the younger is also packed up and out the door.

Eddie doesn't see Steve again until later that day, when he's skipping out on 5th period and hears a baby crying as he passes by a closed classroom door. He peeks in through the window and sees Harrington pacing slowly while holding the baby against his shoulder, one arm supporting her from the bottom as his free hand rubs circles into her back. 

For a moment Eddie thinks about walking on, about just leaving Steve alone as he comforts his wailing child, but the cries pull hard on Eddie's heartstrings and he finds himself opening the door and slipping inside.

"Everything okay?" he asks, and Steve looks up in surprise before his expression shifts into something unreadable. 

"Yeah, we're fine. She's just extra fussy because she's teething. I came in here because I don't want to disturb anyone else." 

Eddie hums and goes to the nearby diaper bag, starts digging through it and is surprised when Steve doesn't tell him to stop. He finds a little bottle of numbing gel and smears some onto his pinky before sliding it into the baby's still wailing mouth, and carefully rubs it over her gums as he coos at her. 

"I know, honey, it hurts so bad. It's gonna be okay, though, just you wait." 

He glances up to see Steve staring at him, his expression curious, and Eddie suddenly feels overexposed. 

"My last neighbor had two jobs and three small kids, so I have a little experience with babies," Eddie explains, needing to fill the sudden silence that falls as the baby calms. His finger is still in her mouth, and he feels no desire to remove it, especially once she starts gnawing on it gently. Steve glances down at his girl before giving Eddie a soft smile, and Eddie's heart flips in his chest. 

"That's more than I have, at least. Thanks." 

"No worries, man. What, uh- what's her name?"

"Rosemary," Steve says, humming when the baby makes a soft noise. "At least, that's what I'm changing it to, as soon as I'm able." 

The warmth that had settled in Eddie's stomach sours a little at Steve's declaration, and as he pulls his finger from the baby's mouth he can't help biting out "And her mom is okay with you changing her name?" 

The atmosphere in the room changes as Steve's face crumbles, and Eddie knows he's said something wrong. 

"Her mom didn't want anything to do with her," Steve replies softly, and oh no, Eddie instantly feels like a piece of shit. He'd heard the rumors that some girl had just dumped the baby on him, but he didn't think they were true. 

"Shit, I'm so sorry, man. I didn't mean to assume anything." 

"It's okay. No one really knows about the whole… situation." 

There's an awkward pause before Eddie asks "So, Rosemary. Your choice wouldn't happen to be inspired by a certain Edison Lighthouse song, would it?" He smiles when Steve blushes, the pink dusting his face so sweetly as he shrugs. 

"It was my grandma's favorite song, and a lot of my happy memories are with her, so... I've already started calling her Rosie, so she'll be used to it." 

"It’s a good name," Eddie hums, rubbing his thumb over Rosie's tiny eyebrow. "She's a cute kid, Harrington."

Steve mutters a soft “Thanks,” and then there’s a brief pause before he asks "Do you- do you want to hold her?" and Eddie doesn't even hesitate before nodding and giving a quick “Yes!”

He takes off his jacket and vest in one go, knowing the fabric is a little rough, and takes the baby when Steve offers her to him. He holds her close, one hand supporting her and the other resting on her back, and starts to sway a little. "I haven't held a baby in like, two years. I forgot how calming it is." Steve hums and smiles as he sits on a nearby desk. “Yeah, it is.”

They spend the rest of the time just talking about whatever comes to mind, and it's really fucking nice. Eddie learns about the gaggle of kids Steve babysits ("They're all shitheads, but I love them, even when they're using me as a chauffeur.") and Eddie talks a little about his own friends, his band ("I mean being famous is the end goal, but it's also just fun to get together and be creative just for the sake of it, you know?") and before they know it, the bell is ringing to signal the end of the period. 

Steve frowns, a cute pout that tugs on the corners of his mouth, and Eddie has to bite back a smile at the expression. He sets a now sleeping Rosie back into her carrier before shrugging on his jacket and vest, and hesitates for a moment. 

"Listen, Harrington. I know that we don't really know each other, but I've seen firsthand how tough this single parent shit can be, so. If you ever need a hand, or need someone to watch her so you can get shit done, you can ask me, yeah? No worry, no judgment."

Steve blinks at him, big hazel eyes flicking between Eddie's like he's making an insight check against Eddie's words. He must like what he finds, because he smiles softly and says "Thanks, Munson."

And Eddie shrugs, and smiles in return. "Call me Eddie, man."

[sunlightmurdock]

Dog Fight || Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (18+)

You fucked me so good I almost said, “I love you”

Prompt: You and Rooster had fling during your first time at top gun. It ended with you both swearing you never caught feelings and going zero contact. Now, when you’re both called back to Top Gun, you spend two weeks denying your feelings until they all come rushing to the surface.

Warnings: Blood (just a nosebleed, briefly mentioned), smut, unprotected sex, brief choking, soft dom rooster.

Reader’s callsign is Hyde (i.e jeckyll &)

…

“So, is no one else going to mention the burning sexual tension between Rooster and Hyde?”

You turn your head and stare through Hangman, hoping that this is enough to intimidate him into shutting his pretty-boy mouth. He grin widens the moment he realises he’s gotten under your skin.

It takes everything not to take the pen in your hand and launch it at his head.

It wouldn’t usually bother you. It’s just that it’s Rooster. Not only that, but it’s the fact that Rooster is sitting one row behind you — and he’s wearing the same goddamn cologne he wore back then, and you hate to admit that the scent of him still gets you a little bit excited.

You were talking to Coyote in the Hard Deck when you smelled it first. A soft white musk scent. You had known it was Rooster before you even turned around. Just one intake of that surprisingly soft, enthralling scent and suddenly you were back in the barracks of North Island’s base, his palm over your mouth and your knees over his shoulders.

“Leave ‘em alone, Rooster’s blushing.” Payback adds into the teasing. You turn, maybe a little too quickly, to check. Rooster’s hazel eyes meet yours and he’s blank-faced. Maybe there’s a little rose hue to his cheeks, but there always is.

“Come on, when are you two just going to admit that you want to screw each other’s brains out?” Hangman continues, his arm resting across the back of the chair next to him.

“Or that you’ve already fucked.” Bob joins in and the group goes silent. Rooster’s brows furrow. Everyone looks equally stunned for a moment and you’re so grateful that the attention is off of you because Bob just said his first swear word, maybe ever.

Once the initial shock of Bob’s first curse word wears off, Hangman’s brow quirks at the notion that the two of you may have already slept together. He honestly can’t believe he didn’t think of that himself.

“Now that is quite the thought, Bob,” Hangman turns in his seat and leans closer, “Didn’t I hear that you two kids were in Top Gun together the first time around?”

“Aviators!” Maverick’s voice carries across the hangar, interrupting the gentle bullying that has been happening. Rooster sighs in relief behind you. You turn your head just slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder.

His eyes are still on you.

“Today’s exercise is all about team work,” Maverick begins explaining before he has even reached the front of the room. Everyone’s face slowly reflects their confusion as they realise he’s not in uniform. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. “You guys suck at working as a team and today we’re gonna take a little field trip to figure that out. Meet at the beach in front of the Hard Deck at 9am sharp.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you pull up to the Hard Deck’s parking lot and see Phoenix and Bob sitting on the hood of Phoenix’s Porsche, waiting for you.

You look at what they’re wearing.

“Phoenix, tell me we aren’t working out!” You call as you pull the keys from the ignition. It’s almost eighty degrees — you had assumed it was going to be an icebreaker type of day.

Phoenix presses a hand over her mouth as she takes in the flimsy bikini top you’re wearing. You’ve got a button up over it, and black shorts on your bottom half — but the two of you both know that you’re less than appropriately dressed for the day.

“Didn’t you get Mav’s text?” Bob asks, he sounds almost like he feels bad for you.

You grab your phone from the hands free set inside of the car and check, shaking your head, “No?”

“Dogfight football, he sent a text to everyone so they would know what to bring.” Bob explains as he and Phoenix hop down from the hood of her car. You check the time, it’s 8:58. No time to change.

“Please switch with me.” You put your hands together in a prayer-like motion and step quickly toward Phoenix. She laughs and shakes her head just as quickly,

“Fuck no!”

You groan. You take a moment, eyes closed, to prepare yourself for the morning you’re about to endure. You button the shirt, letting out a breath and pretending that you’ve composed yourself.

“Alright. Fine,” You agree, “Let’s get this over with.”

You regroup on the beach, Maverick has already begun talking by the time the three of you join the back of the crowd.

Rooster is off to the left. Your eyes linger. He’s a head and shoulders taller than Harvard, standing at his side. He’s tanned, ripped and practically glowing. His hair is more sunkissed than when you last saw him, it’s curlier too.

Phoenix follows your gaze, craning her head to see, spotting Rooster. She turns her head back to you and raises her eyebrow suggestively, her lips quirking up into a smirk. All of her suspicions are confirmed at once.

You shake your head at her, rolling your eyes as if she isn’t right about it all.

The game begins. Rooster’s on the other team. You kind of wish he was on yours, you know you’d have less contact that way. You last maybe fifteen minutes before the overshirt becomes unbearable in the heat.

“C’mon, Hyde — can’t striptease to distract us just ‘cause you’re losing!” Harvard calls out as you slip the material off of your shoulders and toss it down on top of Bob’s backpack for safe keeping. You smile at him and raise your middle finger.

The bikini top is a simple unlined black piece that ties behind your neck and between you shoulder blades. The lack of support is unmatched.

You do your best to minimise the movement, but you also refuse to let your team lose because of your bad choice of clothing. The red ball lands in your hands and you take off running.

Coyote is on your left and Payback’s on your right. They’re both so tall, their legs are longer than yours and they’re gaining on you as you break into a sprint toward your team’s end zone.

Your foot makes it over the line and you throw the ball at the ground, spinning and throwing your arms into the air, jumping in celebration. Phoenix laughs as she tackles you into a hug from behind, both of you stumbling, happy as you try to catch your footing.

You feel eyes on you and your laughter stops. Rooster’s wearing sunglasses but his eyes are on you. Well, they’re on your chest. They flicker back up to your face and he realises he’s caught. He turns quickly and pretends to be immersed in the game.

You swallow, shaking your head. You’re broken from the moment, laughing as Coyote playfully jibes at your touchdown celebration, pretending to bounce around in the sand before you.

You playfully barge his shoulder and press forward with the game. You try your hardest, but you can’t ignore the way your eyes keep meeting his.

Rooster scores the next touchdown for his team — it’s like he’s been trying extra hard since your touchdown. His celebration is similar to yours, but more macho. You are stilled in place at the sight before you as he and Coyote collide mid-air.

He’s laughing, stumbling just a little as his feet hit the sand again. You watch as he dances under the burning sun, performing — much to Coyote’s delight. Rooster has the other pilot in fits of laughter with his little shimmy.

Maybe you should be laughing too. At anyone else you would be. There’s just something so familiar about watching those muscles in his stomach ripple and contract.

Your mouth goes dry at the thought.

You haven’t let yourself think about him like that in three years. You and Rooster had been in Top Gun together the first time around. He was a couple of years older than you — partially because he was held back a few years early on in his career and partially because you were particularly skilled for your age, so had gotten there early.

Top Gun is a thirteen week programme. For twelve weeks, Rooster was yours. Secretly, of course. You couldn’t let anyone know that he’d gotten you into bed so easily.

Twelve weeks in the San Diego heat. Sneaking around. Stolen kisses in storage lockers, condom wrappers in the waste baskets in Admirals’ offices, him sneaking out of your room each morning before sunrise. You walking with a slight limp on the way to training that one morning.

You hadn’t ever been anything exclusive and neither of you had brought up such nonsense for the entire programme. Until the night before graduation, when Rooster had asked you ‘what comes next?’ whilst he had been inside of you.

You still remember that fight. Both of you storming off, slamming doors and cursing at each other. You were still pissed off that he hadn’t even finished.

You’re broken from your stream of explicit memories as Yale trips into you whilst running to catch the ball. His elbow hits the bridge of your nose as he swings out his arms to catch his balance. You both hit the sand.

You don’t even really make a noise, beside the initial startled gasp. You blink, waiting for the pain to really hit you.

“Fuck, Hyde, I’m so sorry - I didn’t see you.”

You feel a wet droplet hit your chest, bringing your hand up to touch tenderly at your nose. Then the pain hits you. You wince, pulling your hand back and finding your fingers are bloodied.

“Oh, shit, she’s bleeding.” You aren’t sure who makes the announcement but Rooster’s standing before you next. You’re on your ass in the sand, blinking up at him. He watches a droplet of blood hit your chest and slide across your breast.

“Come on.” He extends a hand — the first words he’s said to you since the two of you had gotten here two weeks ago. You reach out and put your palm in his, letting him help you to your feet.

“You alright, Hyde?” Maverick pushes through the crowd that has gathered around you. He reaches out and puts a hand on your shoulder, features creased with concern.

You open your mouth to answer him but are interrupted by a sudden head rush. You stumble, snapped back to reality as Rooster’s fingers curl around your biceps and steady you.

“Woah, careful — uh, Rooster, could you take her up and ask Penny to take a look at her for me?”

Rooster looks between you and Maverick. Your lips are parted and bloodied but your eyes are on him. So trusting and pretty. He shoots Maverick a look. Maverick knows who you are. He knows all about the girl who broke his nephew’s heart at North Island.

“Yeah, I got her.” Rooster agrees. Whatever happened between the two of you was three years ago, he reminds himself. Plus, it’s not like he wants anyone else to head up there with you. Maverick passes a key into Rooster’s hand.

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, shaking your head and swallowing, the taste of copper on your tongue, “No, I’m fine, seriously.”

“Y/N, you’re not coming back until Penny gives me the all clear.” Maverick is stern with his answer.

Rooster’s thumbs stroke at your biceps, he’s still the only thing keeping you upright, “Can you walk?” You nod.

He grabs your overshirt from Bob’s backpack and nods for you to follow him. You trip just slightly as the damp sand becomes soft sand near the top of the beach — it’s nothing to do with your fall and everything to do with the fact that you aren’t watching where you’re going. Yet, Rooster’s hand slides around your waist immediately.

“I can carry you.” He offers.

“I know.” You mumble in return, pinching your nose to stop the constant stream of blood.

Rooster looks at you and smiles just slightly. He unlocks and holds open the front door to the Hard Deck for you and motions you in. You take a seat at the bar, leaning across and grabbing some napkins, holding them up against your still bleeding nose.

“Penny?” Rooster calls out. He leaves your side for a moment to search the bar for her, poking his head into the back room. He shakes his head as he realises she must be on the beach.

“Wait here.”

You shrug. Still bleeding, you weren’t planning on going anywhere anyway. He disappears into the back room for a moment, returning with a first aid kit. This bar has its fair share of incidents. Rooster pulls up a stool in front of you, nudging your knees apart so he can sit as close as possible.

You lean your head back.

“No, don’t do that,” Rooster’s fingers curl around the back of your neck as he guides your head forward, pointing your nose back toward the ground. He feels you tense up, releasing you immediately. “You’re supposed to lean forward.”

He leans across the bar and scoops some ice into a plastic bag, then wraps that in a napkin.

“Move your hand for me.” You do as he says, hissing quietly as he rests his makeshift cold compress against the bridge of your nose. You press the tissues to your nostrils, still bleeding.

“You okay?” He asks quietly. You look up at him and shrug, “Been better.”

He chuckles, nodding his head, “Yeah, you hit the ground pretty hard.”

“You saw?” You’re inexplicably embarrassed by that. Rooster has seen you in most positions, but the thought of him seeing you get knocked on your ass makes you groan and squeeze your eyes shut. Until you realise it hurts to shut your eyes like that.

“Saw you checking me out.”

Your cheeks burn. You look at him furiously. He’s smirking, “I was not.” Your tone is a smidge defensive.

Rooster chuckles and shrugs his broad, tanned, bare shoulders, “So how come you didn’t see Yale sprinting down the pitch at you, baby?” You squeeze your thighs together. It’s been so long since you heard him call you that.

“The sun was in my eyes.” You answer a little too quickly.

“The sun that was behind me, was in your eyes? — so you were looking at me.” He has you there. You give in, caught for a moment.

“Hey, I saw you looking at me too. After I scored.” You counter. Rooster smiles at you, brushing your hair back away from the injury. His sunglasses mask it well, but you catch his eyes glance down at your chest.

“Can you blame me?” It’s hot and his voice makes you want to melt faster than the ice in his compress. “It’s been a while since I saw them bounce like that.”

You kick his shin, trying to hide the fact that you’re thrilled that he has brought it up. “Pig.” You chastise playfully.

“Just brought back some memories is all.” His lips are just hinting at a smile. You brush your ankle against his, putting your foot on the footrest of his stool. You wonder if he can tell that you’re so happy that he remembers it all as clearly as you do. He can. You look like the cat that got the cream. But bloodier.

“Good memories?”

Rooster lets out an amused huff, taking the compress away from your nose and inspecting the bridge delicately. It’s tender, but both of you know it isn’t broken. He fishes his phone from the pocket of his tight shorts and turns on the flash.

Your lips part in surprise as he reaches out and grabs your chin. He leans in close. You hold your breath. He lifts the phone and shines the torch into your eye, making you flinch and pull away.

“Come on, I need to check if you have a concussion or not.” He grips your jaw and turns you back to face him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, you realise. He leans close again and you breathe him in.

He lifts the phone and shines the flashlight into each pupil, his grip on your jaw keeping your eyes on him.

“You seem fine to me,” He decides, “You feel okay?”

You pull the tissue away from your nose, pleased to find that the bleeding has stopped, and nod at him. He grabs a set of antibacterial wipes from the kit and lifts your chin once more. You’re silent, just watching him as he cleans you up.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Rooster mumbles, making you blush. You furrow your eyebrows at him,

“Like what?”

“You’re the one who walked away, Hyde.” Rooster reminds you calmly as he wipes the blood from your lips, his other hand on your chin, keeping you still for him.

“I didn’t walk away — I just said that I wasn’t sure!” You protest. Rooster rolls his eyes,

“If I remember correctly, you actually said, ‘What? You thought I was going to fall in love with you or something?’” He mocks your voice as he talks and you narrow your eyes at him. You kick his shin again, a little harder this time.

You know that what you said was kind of mean, but he had you backed into a corner by that point in the argument and you were really frustrated.

“It was just sex!” You blurt out. The same thing you had said three years ago. Rooster stills his hand, the wipe resting on your breast as his brown eyes stare into you.

He gives you a slow, curt nod and sets the wipe down on the side. You sigh as he pushes himself up from the stool, “Rooster, wait-“

He drops the key Maverick gave him onto the bar, “Lock up when you’re done, kid.” You glare at him. He knows you hate it when he says that shit to you. He’s just a couple of years older. You watch him tuck his stool in and turn to leave.

“Rooster, come on, you know I didn’t mean-“

He slams the front door behind him. You growl in frustration as you push yourself up from your stool. He always was such a drama queen.

By the time you make it outside, your shirt balled up in your hand, he’s across the parking lot and headed down the beach in the opposite direction from the group. They’re still playing and they haven’t noticed the two of you yet. You look at them, then back at him, and take off jogging down the beach.

It takes you a while to catch up, he’s already across the cove and standing on the rocks by the time you catch him.

“Fuck, could you slow down for a second?” You pant as you clamber up the rocks. He ignores you and drops down onto the other side. This beach is empty, he continues along its shore away from you. “Rooster!”

He turns finally, in time to see you wobbling as you try to drop down the same way he did. Rooster walks slowly back toward you until he’s towering over you, “If you tell me it was just sex one more fucking time, y/l/n, I’m gonna lose it.”

You smile softly, trying to deescalate, “It was just-“

Rooster grabs your face in his hands and crashes his lips to yours, your back hitting the wall of rock behind you. You hum in surprise as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

The kiss is all anger and hard breathing at first, until Rooster grips the nape of your neck and licks into your mouth. The jagged rocks behind you press harder into your skin as he pushes himself harder against you. You tug at him eagerly, dropping your shirt onto the rocks. Rocks be damned, you want him as close to you as possible.

His hands slide between your bodies and pop open the button to your shorts, dragging the zipper down. You pull away from his lips, breathing hard. You’re looking at him like he’s crazy, reaching out and grabbing his hands to still him, “Here?”

“Live a little.” He murmurs, pressing his lips forward again slipping his tongue into your mouth. You hook your thumbs into the sides of your shorts as you shimmy them down, leaving you in the bikini before him.

He’s seen you in much less, but your cheeks heat as he pulls back and skims his fingers along your waist, taking in everything that’s different and everything that’s the same all at once.

“Stop staring, you’re making me nervous.” You complain, pushing your hips forward against his. Rooster’s hands come up and grope at your breasts as he pushes his body against you, “God, I missed you.” He admits, capturing your lips in a kiss.

You gasp as he tugs at the string behind your back, pushing his hands under the material of the flimsy black bikini. You whine softly against his lips. His hips press you back against the rocks whilst his thumbs brush delicately over your nipples. He stifles a groan as he feels them harden against his fingers.

Rooster pulls back for just a moment, to rip that stupid thing off of you and then duck his head down to suck your nipple into his mouth. You close your eyes, catching your breath as he nips and sucks at your breasts.

You’re so focused on that, you don’t even notice his right hand trailing your side until it’s already between your legs and nudging the bikini bottoms to the side. You gasp as he sinks a finger into you, the pad of his thumb pressing to your clit like he hadn’t ever been away. He knows your body like he knows how to fly.

“Shut the fuck up.” Rooster breathes, straightening up and looking down at you through those gold sunglasses. You tremble, nodding at him and taking your lip between your teeth. “Don’t want anyone else seeing you like this.”

You whimper as he sinks to his knees before you, nipping at your ribs, grazing his teeth across your hip bones. Rooster smiles just slightly as you take the sunglasses off his face and trail your fingertips across his cheek. You’re always so gentle.

He pulls the bottoms even more to the side, lifting one leg over his shoulder and burying his face between your legs. You take a sharp breath at the sudden contact, sliding your fingers into his curls. The sun hits his eyes as he looks up at you, they look especially brown in the midday sun, amber and shining.

He feels you clench around his fingers as he adds a second, groaning quietly against your core. You lean your head back against the rocks behind you, closing your eyes and just letting him touch you. His fingers work you open while his mouth focuses on your clit.

“Rooster, please just fuck me.” You whisper, tugging delicately at his roots. Rooster plunges his fingers into you, twisting them expertly and making you gasp.

He looks at you expectantly.

“Please.” Your voice cracks slightly, desperation never more evident. Rooster straightens up and pulls you against him, his cock strains against your navel through his denim shorts as his lips move against yours.

You know that the two of you have a limited time out here in the open like this. Your last time was unfinished and you had been walking around frustrated by that for three years. There had been instances in between with other people, but no one who could finish what Rooster had started.

Your fingers work at the button on his shorts, you’re trembling and it takes some willpower to have your hands comply. You manage to pop the button open, dragging the zipper down and pushing at the waistband of his boxers and shorts together.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” Rooster murmurs against your throat, his breath hitting you ear and making you shiver against you. He grabs your undershirt from the rock and drops it onto the sand, wrapping one arm around your waist.

You hum as he presses your back into the sand, then you gasp as he turns you onto your stomach. That’s what the shirt was for, your cheek rests against it - protected from the sand - as he lifts your hips.

You feel him pushing his shorts down behind you, pushing your hips back and feeling his exposed cock brush your core. Rooster revels in the desperate sound you make as he drags his cock between your folds, his lip between his teeth as he watches the tip sink into you.

“Fuck,” Rooster breathes out, fingers curling around your hip as he watches his dick disappear into you. You watch him over your shoulder. He’s so focused, brows furrowed and his lips parted just slightly. “Missed seeing you like this, baby.”

You push back against him eagerly, gasping as he pulls almost all the way out and drives back in, almost knocking you off of your knees and onto your stomach. You cry out, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt under you.

You feel him laugh breathily as he kisses your spine, “Gotta shut that pretty mouth, Hyde.” Easy enough for him to say. He’s relentless, dragging against your walls as he bottoms out again and again. You’re doing your best to keep quiet for him.

He pulls you tighter against him and presses his chest to your back, dragging his lips across your shoulder.

“Rooster, holy-“ A strangled noise escapes your throat as your knees buckle under you, the only thing keeping you from hitting the sand being his grip on your waist. “Shit.”

The breath is knocked from you as he pounds into you, you’re a whimpering mess, face pressed into the crook of your arm and his hand on the back of your neck keeping you there.

Rooster grunts, leaning forward and pressing filthy, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your back. You push back against him desperately.

He pulls out suddenly, making you whine at the loss of contact. He turns you and plants your ass onto the shirt, tugging at your hips until your head falls back against the sand.

“Want to see that pretty face when you cum.” He murmurs, guiding his cock between your legs again. Your heart flutters as his palm slides up to rest at the base of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, he just leaves it there, making sure you’re going to be still for him.

You arch your back, pushing your chest up against his as he fills you up. You push against his hand on your throat, grinning as he presses you back down against the sand.

“You like that?” He whispers. Your lips part as he drives himself impossibly deeper into you, squeezing his fingertips just slightly around the column of your throat. Both of you know that you do, he can feel you clenching around his cock.

You feel indecent under his unwavering gaze. No one has ever made you feel as wanted as Rooster. There’s always such desire in is eyes each time he looks at you. Everyone’s noticed it by now.

Rooster remembers suddenly why it was so fucking hard to let you go the first time around. Your pretty lips flushed and kiss-swollen, parted ever so slightly. Those gorgeous, trusting, eyes that twinkle with mischief each time your eyes are on him. Your pussy.

He grunts, his hips stuttering, “I can feel how fucking close you are, honey.” His thumb strokes at your throat as he leans down and slips his tongue into your mouth. You moan against his lips, breathing hard as he moves back to observe you again.

You had missed him. Had missed the way his curls hung over his forehead when he’s on top of you, the way he fills you up, his golden skin and the feel of his stupidly big hands on your body.

Maybe it’s the sun in your eyes, maybe it’s the intensity of it, but you’re seeing stars when he makes you cum. You don’t even realise you’re moaning his name until he moves his hand from your throat and covers your mouth.

“God, I love that sound.” He whispers, shaking his head slightly as you let out a muffled whimper against his palm. “But you gotta be quiet for me.” You nod, dazed as he takes his palm away and plants it in the sand behind your head.

“Fuck, Rooster,” You whimper, lifting your head and pressing a delicate kiss to his throat. “I-I…” You stop as you catch yourself in what you’re about to say. Your eyes widen at the realisation of what he almost just coaxed you into admitting.

Rooster doesn’t seem to notice, he rests his forehead against your shoulder, looking down between your bodies as he drives himself into you.

“D’you want me to pull out?” He kisses your collarbone in a surprisingly delicate motion, gripping your hips so tightly it feels like he might crush them.

“No.” You pant, maybe a little too quickly. You catch the smug look on his face as he glances up at you, you couldn’t care less — he should be smug, he’s the only person you’d ever let fuck you on a public beach during a work exercise.

He slides his hand around to cradle the base of your skull as he pulls you closer to him, picking up the pace. You whimper against his shoulder, sensitivity making you grip his bicep.

He groans softly against your throat as he comes undone, pulling impossibly close against him and driving himself as deep as he can go. He stays there for just a moment, leaving lazy kisses against the curve of your neck.

You whine as he slowly pulls out of you and tucks himself back into his shorts, zipping and buttoning the denim as he rises to his feet. You wobble as you push yourself up after him.

Rooster’s brows furrow as he watches you cover you chest with you hands whilst you grab your bikini top, “Are you serious?”

“I…”

Rooster walks to you and ties the bikini behind your back silently, then presses a kiss to your cheek, “You’re gonna have to start trusting me one of these days.”

“I do trust you.” You admitted, so quickly that it surprised even you. Your already warm cheeks burned. “I just…”

Rooster grabbed you shirt from the ground and shook the sand off of it, “I’m not asking you to tell me you love me, Hyde. Just… wouldn’t kill you to let me in.”

“I think I just did.” You muttered as you stepped into your shorts and buttoned them. Rooster’s palm hit your ass, his lips pressing gently against your shoulder as he handed you your shirt.

“Don’t get smart with me, L/N.” He grabbed his sunglasses and put them on once more, stepping up onto the rocks and offering you his hand. You take it and let him guide you back over the rocks until you’re on the sand, crossing the beach toward the hard deck.

You let him walk a little in front of you, both of you just walking at the speed your legs naturally carry you. His legs happen to carry him a little faster. You wonder what the hell that was back there. The urge to tell him you loved him.

It was confusing and even more terrifying. You shook your head and determined the cause to be some weird primal urge. Not the fact that you’d been thinking about him and your time together for the past three years.

“Do you think they’re all inside?” Rooster asks, noticing the crew are now gone from the beach. You cross in front of him, shrugging your shoulders and lifting your hand to shield your eyes from the sun as you try to spot someone through the windows.

Rooster sweeps sand from your back.

“Yeah, I see Payback.” You confirm, stopping to let him rid you of the evidence before the two of you head inside.

“Hyde, you okay? — where’d you go?” Maverick is the first to spot you, he’s just as concerned as he was before.

“Just needed some fresh air so we went for a walk.” You explain, pushing your hands into the pockets of your shorts. Rooster nods along in silent agreement.

You watch Bob elbow Phoenix, pulling her attention away from her conversation with Fanboy. Bob uses his beer to motion toward you and Rooster, but not towards your faces. You follow his gaze and look down at the matching imprints of sand on both of your knees.

You aren’t the best at reading lips, but it’s clear as day when Bob looks right at you and tells Phoenix, “You owe me twenty bucks.”

…

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[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Six: Would I Lie to You, Baby?

special thank you to @myosotisa and @loveshotzz for the beta read and also @myosotisa for helping me with a special scene that takes place in this chapter!!

warnings: minor injury; mentions of alcohol; unwanted advances/flirting/touching - R receiving end; and a whole lot of fluffy modern day!rich!fake-husband!steve x afab!reader. (9.3k words)

masterlist

——

——

 What’s that saying? 

Woman down. 

Abort mission. 

Houston, we have a problem. And boy do you have one. 

The day starts like any other, only because of the rainy weather that has plagued the city since September bled into October, you’ve been forced to take your morning walk indoors. And it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve used the personal gym in your home either. In fact, by now you’ve used it countless times. 

No. Instead, it’s the image that greets you upon entering that is a definitive ‘first time’ for you. Because there’s no forgetting the sight of your husband, bare chested, catching his breath as he rests on a bench. His hair is hidden beneath a baseball cap, a water bottle between his plush lips that manages to spill onto his chest with the intensity he’s chugging it. 

Oh, and his face? He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and Steve Harrington with a growing mustache and beard should be illegal. 

Jail time and a permanent sentence if you have any say in the matter. 

The reason why? 

Riling up his fake wife into a tizzy.  

The optic is…not helping your present situation. The dawning realization that seems intent on reminding you every single day that you’re attracted to your husband. Emotionally, physically—the whole of it. It’s infuriating, daunting and downright terrifying. But he can’t know that—can never know that, because of the deal. 

The deal. The arrangement. The rules. 

But lately, you want to throw them all out and burn that ridiculous contract he had you sign seemingly so long ago now. 

Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact you’re staring, watching as his brows draw high on his forehead. With a swallow, you turn your head away, hating how your damn cheeks start to warm under his scrutiny. 

He’s probably loving it, too. Loving the way you shift on the spot, unsure of what to do beneath his stare, hugging yourself tight. 

Basing it on the smug grin that curls his lips alone, you know he has to be. 

“Figured I’d get in a workout because Charlie is napping,” you explain, stepping further into the room, stopping in front of the endless rows of dumbbells your husband keeps on a rack against the far wall of the room with wall to wall mirrors reflecting your nervous image back at you. “And also because it’s raining, I couldn’t go outside.”

“Uh huh.” He takes a final gulp of his water and places it down onto the floor beside him, about to start more bicep curls when he catches your image in the mirror. “Looking for something?” 

Maybe it’s your inability to figure out what weight dumbbells you should start with. Maybe it’s because you’re already forgetting the layout of the TikTok workout you watched earlier that evening you intended to try. Maybe it’s the fact you know you want to start lifting weights, if only to help with your running and dog walking business (some of those bigger dogs get a little rowdy). Maybe it’s the fact you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. As a result of all of that, your teeth pinch against your bottom lip, skin taut between, meeting his stare in the mirror.  

“I’ll probably just hop on the treadmill. Go for a walk,” you decide, cowering away from his curious stare to rush to the farther corner of the room where the cardio equipment is. 

The present set up has a treadmill, elliptical, stairmaster, and spin bike. More than you’ll ever need, but you’ll never complain because one of the perks now in being married to Steve is that you were able to cancel your own membership and save a little extra cash every month. Hopping on, you tap on the large screen panel to set your leisurely walking pace, pop a pair of headphones in your ears, and drown out the sounds in the room. 

The plan works. 

For all of five minutes. 

Because you’re minding your own business, bobbing along to “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. as you strut across your runway slash treadmill belt, when Steve decides to lift his weights once more. Uses his knees to help prop them up, going right into a set of overhead dumbbell presses. 

And damn it, if the sight of him when you walked in hadn’t sent you into orbit, this certainly does. 

From where you’re standing you can see his back. The constellation of moles you never really paid much attention to, but now want to mark the path of with your fingers. Want to trace them like the stars in the night sky. With every overhead arch, his sinewy back ripples, muscles in his arms straining, veins sparking to life beneath his skin. You can see the lines of his abdomen, the sweat pooling across ridges, clinging to those perfectly sculpted divots. Can see the way his chest jumps with each movement, making your thighs clench. 

Only—one's thighs shouldn’t clench on the treadmill. 

Except yours do. 

And promptly send you crashing onto the belt, skin ripping from your kneecap in one rapid swipe. 

A giant, gaping black hole in the floor would be a good escape right now. That or a meteor falling from the sky, with its target directed at your head. Anything to rid yourself of the mortification of your current dose of reality. 

Steve’s already dropping the dumbbells by the time you fall onto your rear, nearly crashing into the glass window in the process, your trembling hands clutching your scraped up knee. 

It burns. A white hot heat that has your eyes prickling, embarrassment burning like a heated iron in your chest. And to make matters worse, Steve utters out a soft “baby” as he drops down in front of you, and that might as well signify the end of all life function. Because not only have you fallen off a treadmill ogling your increasingly “not-so-fake-husband,” but now he is calling you “baby” on top of it all.  

“Baby, let me see,” you realize he’s saying as you come crashing back to reality, the hazel of his eyes growing darker as he crawls closer on the floor, trying to inspect your knee. With a reluctant sigh, your hands fall away, revealing the freshly torn skin. “That’s a mean looking burn. Come on, let's put something on that.”

“I’m fine right here,” you argue, back pressing against the mirrored wall.

“Why?” 

His brows lift high on his forehead, left hand curling over the unbroken skin of your left knee. You can see he’s wearing a black silicone wedding band today, not his usual wedding ring, and yet you don’t miss that simple gesture. Always wearing that symbol of your union, while your own are presently sitting high enough in a ring holder so Charlie won’t be able to mistake them for very expensive doggy chew toys.  

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.” 

“It’s a little burn, and then you’ll feel better,” he promises, giving your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll be so gentle.” 

“Steve.”

“Honey.”

“Well when you say it like that,” you say, snorting. 

He takes it as joking. Head shaking as you curl your hand around his and allow him to help lift you off the floor, body nearly careening into his at the force of it. But there’s a sincerity behind the joke; the way your heart thumps a little faster every time he utters his affections like that; every time he graces you with a token of his appreciation, or the lingering sweetness of a fond title when no one is around to hear it. Those little moments that are completely yours for the taking, hidden away from those who would watch your marriage under a microscope—those you continue to act in front of to keep up your facade.  

There’s an expectation, though you’re uncertain where it derives from, that he’ll take you to your bathroom, connected to your bedroom. It’s closest to the gym, as it is. But when you pass your doorway and end up in front of his bedroom, drawing the excited gaze of your puppy lazing on Steve’s bed, you find yourself freezing. Pausing in the entryway as you take in his room. Like your living room when you first moved in, it’s minimalistic. Huge, with a california king bed in the middle. But it’s limited in decor. White walls, black furniture and bedding, with a few pictures strewn about his walls. 

This is where he sleeps every night. Where he slips away to when you bid one another goodbye. Briefly, you wonder if he sleeps on his side, or maybe his back. Wonder if he slings a forearm over his eyes or tucks the back of his hand beneath his cheek to draw comfort. Or if he sleeps with the comforter pulled all the way up over his shoulders, or if he prefers them slung low around his hips. All things you shouldn’t be thinking about; especially not now, not as he tugs you along behind him into the adjoining master bathroom, telling Charlie to ‘sit’ in the doorway. 

The puppy drops down onto his haunches, and then lower still, onto his little elbows as Steve gestures for you to hop up onto the sink counter. Palms curl around the edge as he starts to rummage about in his medicine cabinet, finding the topical ointment he’d been looking for. He hadn’t been lying about being gentle. He’s all gentle brushes of a clean warm washcloth damp with water. He then lets the wound air dry as he stands in the cradle of your thighs, looking down at your face.   

“What were you doing for this to happen?” he asks, opening a large band aid to cover the surface of your knee and gliding a small helping of the antibacterial cream there. 

“Just…tripped.” 

“Just a little spill?” 

At your rapid nod, he presses the edge of the band aid down and glides the rest over the surface area of the burn. There’s a bit of a sting, but it settles into a dull ache. His touch lingers. A slow, delicate sweep over the top of your thigh that draws your gaze to his point of contact. It has you wishing nothing more than to lock your ankles around his narrow waist, tug him near, and drag his mouth down against yours. 

Only you don’t. 

Because they’re all fantasies. All fantasies struck up by close proximity to the man. A normal reaction after living with a man like Steve and playing house for four months now. 

Right…?

“You didn’t happen to be distracted or anything?” your husband queries, giving you another one of those swipes of his thumb over your bare thigh. 

Dangerous. 

He’s verging on dangerous territory. 

“My music was pretty loud.” 

He barks out a laugh. “Was it?” 

“Uh huh.” Another swipe. Is it getting hot in this damn bathroom? Must be an October heat wave. “What’s the damage, Dr. Harrington? Will I make it?”

“Might lose the knee,” he says gravely, bowing his head in faux sympathy.

A little gasp spills from your lips, hand curling over your heart dramatically. “The knee?” 

Charlie jumps to attention at that, rushing over to bump Steve’s thigh with the tip of his nose. You lean down a bit to pet him, and holy mother of god he’s still half naked, you remind yourself as your face comes a little too close to Steve’s hip, eyes stuttering on those moles that litter his abdomen. 

And then he’s flexing. 

Fucking flexing, because you’ve been caught. He knows it, too. Lips curling upward slowly in that self-satisfied grin of his that makes your stomach swoop low. 

Woman down. 

Dead on arrival. 

The jig is up. 

I can fix this, you think, clearing your throat. “Actually, if you must know…I wanted to learn how to lift weights. I figured it would come in handy with the dogs. Charlie, too. He’s a little reckless on our walks still.”

Steve listens, patting Charlie on the head for emphasis as you lean back against the bathroom mirror, your knees still on either side of your husband’s hips. 

“And you,” you explain, waving a hand in the air, very noncommittal, and hopefully lackadaisical because you’re still trying to play it cool and all of that, “seem to have a wonderful form.”

“You mean wonderful form.” 

Record scratch. Steve’s finger’s pause in their dastardly trail, your eyes darting up to his. Dark. They’re so damn dark, and you swallow the thickness forming like a knot in your throat. 

Mortification rising, cheeks burning, you amend, “That’s what I said.”

“It's not,” he muses, “but if you say so.” 

Another swipe along your injured knee, while Charlie rests his snout on your other. Both your guys, all together in one room. It would make for a cute family moment were it not for the way your husband’s mouth twitches higher, enjoying your turmoil a little too much for your liking. 

“Remember we’re married. We live in the same home. I can still kill you in your sleep.” It’s a deadpan. But your facade breaks a moment later, a giggle rising up despite your threat.  

He leans in closer, and you briefly wonder if this is the first time you’ve noticed those little green flecks he has in his eyes thanks to broad daylight filtering in through the window. When you’re out to dinner for social functions, it’s usually in those dark, dimly lit rooms where you pretend to be absolutely smitten with the man. 

But after that kiss on your cheek after getting Charlie, there’s been a shift. Additional touches, sitting closer on the couch—under the guise of sharing the puppy, naturally—a brush of shoulders as you pass in the hall. The whisper of a kiss against your temple when you fall asleep on the couch watching your shows (or at least when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep). 

Changing. 

Things are changing with the seasons and each day a new layer is added into the reasons why remaining married to Steve Harrington for the next nearly two and a half years might be the most difficult challenge you’ve faced yet. 

Because the only casualty at the end of this…is your heart. 

You’ve never forgotten that, no matter how blurry the lines seem as of late. 

He whispers, “Remember the wife is always the first suspect.” 

His hand finally moves away, and you loathe that you miss it as soon as he does. Charlie scampers into the doorway as Steve helps you down off the counter, gritting your teeth against the flare of pain in your burnt kneecap. You walk down the hall together, saying nothing, basking in the comfortable silence as you enter the kitchen, pulling bottles of water free for both Steve and yourself. He accepts it gratefully, chugging half before leaning his elbows onto the kitchen island. 

“I could show you,” he says, smiling softly at your arching brows. “How to train. I could teach you.”

“Like…workout together?”

His head dips, fingers coming up to remove the hat from his head. And maybe your heart does a somersault when he shakes his hair out, now grown out quite a bit. 

“If you want to,” he says, rubbing his left palm over his stubbly cheek. 

And you do. So you agree to his suggestion and find yourself standing at a squat rack the next morning, thanks to yet another rainy day in the city. 

Steve’s foregone his shirt again. 

A fact you find equal parts exhilarating and infuriating. 

Him with his low hung gym shorts, highlighting the lines of his abdomen, the line of hair your eyes hitch on dipping below the waistband. 

Charlie sits in the distance, a happily distracted bystander to his parents trying to figure out what the hell they’ve gotten themselves into, thanks to the doggy bone Steve brought home for him the prior evening. 

“We’ll start with just the bar.” At the hesitance in which you approach, eyeing it precariously, he adds, “It's not that I don’t think you can handle more. You wrangle animals every day. But your form is important so you don’t injure yourself. Can’t have you ruining the other knee.”

“Couldn't have that,” you laugh, running your finger along the barbell. “Okay, now what?”

“You’re going to stand in front of the bar, legs shoulder width apart.” He does exactly as he says while he’s explaining, thighs separating just enough as he needs to. “You’re going to wrap your hands around the bar, thumbs around the bar. I’m going to get under and rest it just below the base of my neck.” 

He slips under with ease in a maneuver you’ve seen often enough from the numerous TikTok videos you watched in preparation. His biceps shift with the movement, fingers loosening and tightening as he gets into comfortable positioning. He unracks the bar with ease, spreading his legs a little wider, eyes on his reflection across from him. 

“You’re going to take a deep breath and brace your core before squatting.” 

He demonstrates, the bar clearly too light for him, because there’s no struggle on the descent. His thighs don’t even quiver, they merely tighten, highlighting the definition honed from years of time well spent in the gym. 

“You’re going to want your thighs to be parallel to the ground.” 

He lowers until he’s in the proper position. 

Pauses. 

“And then you’ll drive up through the heel.” 

He rises, hips drawing forward, racks the bar, and turns to you. Growing warm at the sudden attention on your figure, you push down the lip of the hat he wears, rushing in front of him to stand warily in front of the squat rack. 

Suddenly, you’re aware of the set of eyes staring at your form in the mirror that belong to Steve. The way he walks up behind you and curls his palms over your shoulder, kneading the muscle there. Suddenly, you’re overly aware of the fact that here's your ridiculously fit husband, and in front of him…you. 

You’re wearing a pair of running shoes you bought a few years ago, a ratty old tee shirt from your early years of college, oversized basketball shorts, and mismatched socks. 

“You know I can always tell when you’re overthinking, right?” Steve asks, rubbing particularly hard on a spot that has you about ready to melt into his arms and call it a wrap on your workout. 

I’m beat, looks like we’re all done here! Great workout, honey. Let’s hit the showers, you want to say, before folding into his embrace. 

“You won’t judge me? For being nervous?” 

“Why the nerves?” He turns you around to face him, peering down at your eyes. “It’s me. Me…who you’ve seen every day for four months now.”

You shrug, because there really isn’t a reason for it. With a heavy sigh of resignation, you turn back around and face your reflection in the mirror, trying to follow Steve’s instructions closely. Feet, shoulder width apart. Fingers around the bar, thumbs curled, palms facing forward. Duck, slide under the bar and rest it at the base of your neck. 

And here’s the part that has you nervous, the lifting up onto your feet, driving the bar up and out of the rack, wobbling a little bit at the unsteadiness of the suddenness of the weight on your shoulders. 

Before you can even start to panic, Steve’s fingers are hovering underneath the spaces beside your fingers, letting you start to adjust a bit and find your balance.  

“I’ve got you,” he says, chest barely brushing your back as you take a couple steps backward on unsteady feet closer to him. “I’ve always got you. I promise.”

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. I promise. 

You’re brought back to your wedding day. Dancing in the middle of a room full of strangers, arms around your new husband’s neck, swaying to a song you both liked enough to be the one to “define” your day as a couple for your first dance. Recall those words he spoke then. You’re the Harringtons. You’re not alone. It’s the two of you now. Different, and yet the same. Providing you with the strength you need to steel yourself, righting the bar, and training your gaze on the girl in the mirror. 

And you trust him. Wholeheartedly, you trust him, as you drop down into your first squat. Then the second, and the third. The fourth and the fifth come with a little resistance. Six feels like your thighs are burning. Seven has Steve coming up a little closer behind you, his arms extending out into the air on either side of your waist, hovering beneath the bar. 

“Do you have one more?” he asks, and you try…you really do. 

The descent is fine, despite the quivering of your thighs from exertion. But as you try and push back up through the heel your breath rushes out in a puff, head shaking. Steve hurries forward and pushes the bar up and onto the rack, just as you slide out from beneath it and smack backward into a chest. A firm, yet soft, and sweaty chest. That chest comes equipped with arms that curl around your form to keep you upright, and then linger for a moment as you collect your bearings. 

Like this, you can feel every inch of him. The contours of his body, the fullness of his biceps, the hair on his chest. Can feel the cradle of his hips…pressed precariously flush against your backside. And as you glance up at your forms in the mirror, it’s almost like you’re hugging. 

It’s not even an almost, because you are hugging. 

His arms around your waist. His ringed finger resting comfortably against your bicep. His chin over your shoulder, your cheek flush with his. Spine to chest, ass to hip, his breath fanning against your skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his weight. 

It’s a perfect moment, and neither of you want to disrupt it. There’s only his breath at your back, his arms around your waist, your hands across his forearms. Peace. Safety. Rest. That is, until Charlie Harrington decides he’s not about to let his parents hug without getting a hug of his own, running over to thump his paws against Steve’s hip, demanding his own cuddles. And you both oblige him, dropping down onto the gym floor to give him all the belly rubs he could ever want, pink tongue rolling out of his mouth, paws in the air. 

Laughter. There’s laughter and Charlie’s little yips of happiness. Laughter and Steve’s eyes on your profile. Laughter and your eyes darting to meet him. Laughter…and this unspoken thing left to linger in the air between the two of you. Laughter and maybe something tentative. Something more? A little breathlessness, the rush of air falling from your lungs as he reaches over and tells you how well you did. The gentle squeeze of his hand around your uninjured knee, a sweep of thumb across your skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. 

Eventually, Charlie gets his fill and scampers off. You return to your training session with your husband. There are gentle touches throughout, his arms there to correct your form, to guide you through the program for the day. There aren’t any more lingering hugs, but that ‘something’ burgeoning remains. 

It’s in his easy smiles. In his encouragement. In the brushes of his hands at your arms, your sides, your hips with your consent as he shows you how to move this way and that way. It’s in his praises and his promises. And later, it’s in his maneuvering in the kitchen as he prepares you a smoothie, as he looks at your knee again in his bathroom. 

And you…well, you want to explore it. 

Heart be damned. 

 ——

 Breathtaking. The material of your silk evening gown exudes elegance and sophistication. Eye catching, meticulously crafted, and designed for your exact measurements. 

It’s a timeless silhouette that only enhances your figure. Delicate sweetheart neckline that hugs your chest and shoulders, draping sumptuously at the middle of your bicep. Every movement of your body has it shimmering where it hugs the curves of your body, like an inky night sky. 

However, it’s the back of the dress that’s your favorite part. The captivating open design, leading to the fabric that drapes at the smallest point of your lower back. The way the dress falls down to the floor, swaying and shifting as you smooth your hands over the fronts of your thighs one last time. Exhaling deeply, you reach over to grab your rings from their holder. 

For the first time ever, you feel like Mrs. Harrington. Truly. 

“Well, what do you think, Charlie?” The Bernedoodle lifts his head from your bed where he’s been trying to get the squeaker out of his penguin toy. “Do you think your dad will like it?”

The puppy in question rests his head back down on his paws, nuzzling his face into the blankets you have pushed to the edge of the bed. It’s as good a response as you’ll get, and with one last glimpse at yourself in the mirror, you slide your rings up onto your finger and step out into the hall where Steve’s already dressed in a black tuxedo. And…the sight is just as wonderful, if not better, than on your wedding day. 

Hair freshly blown out and coiffed to perfection, facial hair trimmed, the tux tailored to perfection. He’s foregone his glasses tonight, instead opting for contacts, and you rush over when you notice he’s fiddling with his watch, reaching out to help him settle it into place. 

It’s better than locking eyes with him. Better than pretending you miss the way his eyes roam your form, round and full of reverence—for you. As the watch locks into place he catches your fingers within his own, holding them lightly as he takes a step back and gazes at you. 

“You look…” He pauses. Swallows thickly. You wonder if he can feel the sweat of your palms, can hear the beat of your heart slamming against your sternum. “Wow. You’re—well, you’re always beautiful. But…just…you’re stunning.”

“T-thank you.” 

You stutter your reply, parting enough to take him in. Hair curling around his ears, now in need of a trim. The hair along his jawline and upper lip, the dark tuxedo hugging his form. He’s handsome. Handsome in a way that has you feeling a little breathless, a little nervous as he laces your fingers between his own. 

“Should we…?” The words you speak are left to linger in the air, because Steve moves forward and cups the bottom of your chin. Tips your head up just in the slightest and presses a kiss to your forehead. Warm. He’s so damn warm and you’re pretty sure you’ve now lost all feeling in your toes. “What was that for, Steve?”

“I’m just…I’m really happy you're here with me tonight.”

“Part of the agreement, right?” 

It’s meant to be a joke. But Steve’s face drops, mouth drawing into a firm line. He coughs into his elbow, head turning away from you, and in that you know you’ve messed up. And not wanting to start the night off on a bad foot, you curl your arm around his bicep and drag him forward, forehead against his jaw, left to nuzzle there for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, feeling his hand tighten around yours. “I say things sometimes and I don’t think about how they might be perceived. I think you might actually be my best friend, Steve.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back enough to stare down into your eyes. “Best friends, huh? I’ll take it.”

“Four months of marriage definitely gets us best friend status,” you tell him, winking. “I’m excited to spend this night with you. I’m a little scared about being around all these people…but I’ll be the perfect Mrs. Harrington, don’t you even worry.” 

“Just be yourself,” he says softly, and you feel your heart jackhammer in your chest. “They’ll love you.”

After that, the two of you make your way down to the main floor as a couple. The doormen whistle and holler as the two of you walk by, dressed to the nines, and apparently looking a little extra loved up, because Hopper gives the two of you a look you’ve never seen before as you approach. Brows high on his forehead, shit eating grin in place, and smug as all hell. 

“Mrs. Harrington,” he says as he opens the door for you and Steve helps you in with an extended hand. “You look wonderful.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Steve muses as you settle down. 

And fuck, you hate what that does to the butterflies in your belly. They’re not even just fluttering anymore. It’s like they all picked up fireworks and set them into motion. There’s not much time to linger on it, however, as Steve rushes around the other side and clambers in beside you, your left hand sliding over onto his lap. You tell yourself it’s because you’re nervous, because you’re about to be around socialites, celebrities, dignitaries and businesspeople alike. 

But when you don’t let go—well, there’s no one to blame but yourself.

The drive is spent in nervous silence. Your fingers around Steve’s and his around yours, playing with your rings as always. The gala is being held at one of your husband’s hotels, and yet nothing prepares you for the grandeur of the Harrington Hotel looming before you. It’s massive. Reaches high up into the city sky, bracketed by workers prepared to take care of the guests’ cars, weaving in and out seamlessly as evening gown after evening gown pours out of classic cars, luxury cars, limousines, and the like. 

“Hey,” Steve says as Hopper opens the door for you and you both step out onto the busy city streets. You whirl around, facing him. Your chests brush lightly. His hand comes to rest in yours, pulling it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss to the skin there. “Eyes on me. It’s the two of us, remember?”

 ——

Harrington Hotel’s ballroom is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. High, vaulted ceilings that go on endlessly. White walls with ornate carvings in their tasteful pillars situated on the outside edges of the room. Drapery that likely costs a small fortune hangs from the walls in sweeping arcs, a projection of your new last initial displayed against the far wall, with the charity information beneath.

The room itself is dim, cast in a pretty blue light, with a large chandelier twinkling from up above. Set on each table are beautiful centerpieces with gorgeous flower arrangements. Various deep shades for the approaching fall season, with candles lit on the table below, flickering atop the tablecloth, gold embellished chairs awaiting their many guests for the evening.

Steve helps you get situated upon arriving at your table, tugging your chair out despite your protests that you don’t need him to. And before you can even utter a request, you’re being handed a glass of champagne from one of the many workers on staff for the evening, and finding yourself tugged into a hug by Eddie, who Steve purposefully placed at your table so you’d have someone by your side at all times throughout the night.

A fact you become increasingly thankful for as time ticks by and Steve’s immediately pulled this way and that way into various conversations you can’t seem to keep up with, before he’s ultimately tugged away from you with a promise to be back soon, your request for another glass of champagne when he gets back met with a glowing smile as he rushes off with another businessman, leaving you alone with Eddie.

 “Nope.” Eddie shakes his head, ringed fingers waving in the air. “Nope. No! I know how this goes.”

“How what goes?”

“You’re eye fucking your husband,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your fake husband, need I remind you. This whole charade has an expiration date. You two decided this. You made your bed, and now you both get to lay in it.”

“I am not.” You exhale deeply, watching your husband raise his hand to the bartender, capturing their gaze so he can order you another champagne. “I just…have been spending a lot of time with him lately. And would it really be the worst thing if I was…interested in the man I’m already legally married to?”

Eddie seems to consider this, twirling around his glass tumbler on the tabletop, silver rings glinting in the chandelier light above. “Look. That would be the best case scenario. I’d love for you two to fall in love, be disgustingly gross together forever looking at him the way you are now. But need I remind you of high school? Early college?”

“Eddie…”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. For a while there it was just you and me against the world.” 

You know this. Eddie’s been there for it all. For that first boyfriend in freshman year you dated for all of one week, and yet felt like they’d ripped the rug from beneath your whole world. 

To that asshole senior you dated while you were in your junior year, thinking that because he was an ‘older man’ that must mean he’s more mature. That must have meant he knew loyalty wasn’t making out with another girl while you went to grab him another beer at a party. 

And then there was freshman year of college. The pre-med student who promised you the world, only to decide two years later he liked the pretty nurse in L&D and broke things off through a text message.  

He’d been there for those major milestones and all the silly relationships in between. The fleeting things, and yet there all the same. Watching your heart crumble over people who never had any right to it in the first place, with his arms tight around your frame in a hug, a glass of wine at the ready, or your favorite tub of ice cream already purchased and thrown into your lap as soon as you let him know you were coming over. 

The stress remains on his face now. The downward drag of his lips, the furrow of his brows, the way his chocolate brown eyes regard you carefully, like you might shatter right in front of him now. 

But Steve…Steve is different, isn’t he? Steve, who stands right now with his elbow on the bar, tuxedo sculpted flush around his bicep, mid-conversation with a man with salt and pepper hair and thick black glasses. They laugh, and you can hear it from where you're sitting, your thumb running idly on the underside of your wedding rings. 

Eddie catches the movement and slides a palm over your own, stilling you in your movements. “Steve is a good guy. I wouldn’t have let you carry on with this crazy situation if he wasn’t—”

“Wouldn’t let me? When have I ever let anyone tell me what I can and cannot do?” 

Narrowing your eyes at him playfully, he amends with, “I would have strongly advised against it. Maybe stood up when the officiant asked if anyone opposed the marriage.” He swallows, giving your hand a squeeze. “He’s my best friend. But you’re family. And if he fucks it all up, I just want you to know my couch is always open. Don’t know if I’ll be around because of tours and all of that, but you know it’s yours. My snack pantry, too.”

You clap a hand over your mouth in a dramatic gasp. “The snack pantry?”

“The snack pantry.” He nods. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though,” you tell him, rubbing your hand along your forearm. “Pretty sure it’s one sided.” 

At that, Eddie breaks out into barking laughter, drawing the curious gazes of multiple tables around him. Someone even hisses for him to be quiet, and he reaches to grab a piece of caviar, poised at the ready to throw it right back at them. Luckily, you manage to whip your arm out and stop him before he can get himself kicked out of the gala. 

“What was that for?” Your voice is a whisper, but you’re shrieking it at him all the same. 

“One-sided?” Eddie laughs again, head shaking. “I’ve seen Harrington flirt with women. I’ve seen him fail time and time again, and because of that…I’ve seen him give up on the whole thing. He said when it happens, it’ll happen. I always thought that was just a thing people said. Today when you two walked in, he looked so damn happy to have you at his side. This room is full of people, but he’s only got eyes for one.”

Nose wrinkling at his words, you snort. “You’re going soft in your old age.”

“It’s called having you as a best friend since we were in middle school, and knowing if I say the wrong thing you could justifiably stab me and I’d have earned it.” His head turns to where Steve is gripping the stem of a champagne flute in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in another. “I just want you to be happy. I trust him. I do. But at the same time, I care about you enough to also know I don’t want to see you cry over another guy ever again. So I’m telling you again, no matter what…my couch always has space for you.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you breathe out, sniffling on a shaky inhale. 

The backs of your hands dab beneath your lash line, making sure you don’t actually cry in front of the man, and smile fondly up at Steve when he walks over and leans down to press a kiss to your temple, handing you your glass. 

Eddie dips his head at Steve, extending his fingers around the glass he holds in greeting. He lifts the glass to his lips and downs the rest of his drink in one go, before standing to his feet. “Now if you don’t mind me, I am going to try and talk to Chrissy Cunningham. Wish me luck.”

“You’ve been trying to talk to her for m—” At Steve’s pleading gaze, you pause. 

Eddie’s been crushing on the actress for months now. Met her at some party you'd been invited to, where Steve introduced the two of them. She had shyly waved at Eddie, and he’d waved back. 

Annnnd then they never said another word to one another for the rest of that evening, their nervousness too grand. 

Today she looks gorgeous in a powdery blue shimmering gown that matches the hue of her eyes, blonde hair curled to perfection, falling down from the high, slicked back pony tail on her head. From where you’re sitting you can see her laughing at something her friend has said, a bright smile glimmering in the dim light of the ballroom. 

“Ask her about her favorite song. Or—oh, her favorite cheese!” You suggest, bouncing on your chair, clasping Steve’s hand excitedly. 

“Could also ask her if she’d prefer an extra toe or an extra nipple—”

“Surprisingly enough, I actually don’t want to know what kind of stuff you two are into,” Eddie interjects, pinching the bridge of his nose. He levels his gaze with Steve. “Just…take care of her, okay?”

There's silence. Steve’s mouth twitches, his head nodding once. And then, “You know me.” 

Eddie only smiles. You don’t know what the hell that means, nor do you have time to investigate their odd exchange, because Eddie’s off to find Chrissy. 

 —— 

 The gala passes in a blur. 

Evening becomes night, and the ballroom is suddenly illuminated in a lavender glow. Your husband stands on the stage in the far corner of the space, thanking those for joining, and reminds everyone of the purpose of the evening: raising money for charity. 

All of this, this evening, is nothing to him if he’s not giving back. It’s one of the many things you admire about him. The acknowledgement that though he was fortunate to grow up with a life where he never needed to worry, not all experience the same. And the drive to want to do something about it. 

The room erupts into clapping and people disperse to grab drinks, interact with friends and family members, make new acquaintances, and give their donations. 

Your feet have never hurt more in your life in these way too expensive heels, you’re still itching for a dance with your husband once they announce for those wishing to to walk onto the dance floor, and your champagne glass is empty. 

Caught up in a conversation with a business partner, you offer to refill yours and Steve’s glasses, trying to no avail to call over the bartender. 

All around you you're made aware of the decadence in which these people live their lives. 

Women and men alike seemingly drape over the bar, garbed in fancy suits and flowing dresses. Hair perfectly done, makeup to perfection, men showing off with the most expensive watches, shoes that likely cost a small fortune, cufflinks with family initials on them, encrusted with diamond embellishments. 

Tonight, they behave like you’re one of them. A member of their seemingly secret society. They pass you smiles as you go, veneers glowing in the dim light, those who weren’t present at your wedding congratulating you on your marriage. And for a moment, however brief, you allow yourself to enjoy it. To enjoy the affection from strangers. To enjoy being Steve’s wife. Being perceived as the woman who gets the joy of spending forever with a man so well loved by many. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you at these social functions before. I would definitely have remembered you,” a voice from beside you practically purrs. You stand up on your tippy toes once more, waving at a bartender who seems to completely miss you as they rush on by, trying to keep afloat in a sea of bodies. The man waves a hand in the air, and a bartender finally notices. “Jason Carver. Quarterback for the—”

“My husband watches your team.” 

Simple. 

Curt. 

He’s shock of blonde hair and a handsome face, a multi millionaire, ridiculously popular for being one of the best at what he does, but you can already feel the asshole aura radiating off of him—made only more so noticeable when you catch the flash of his smirk directed at you, the trail of his gaze on your bare shoulders, and then the flash of his ring on his left ring finger.

Briefly, you recall meeting his wife, Tina, earlier that evening. A smiling face with a hand never straying far from her presently rounded belly. A little girl due in early January, she’d told you fondly, muttering how she hopes the baby gets her husband's eyes. Those same eyes that look at you now with increasingly questionable intent. 

With that knowledge, you train your stare ahead, rambling off your husband’s order and yours. Jason shifts closer, the heat from his body making your skin crawl, back ramrod straight. 

“And your name?”

You tell him in a rush, watching the bartender start on your husband’s drink behind the bar. There’s a touch along your tricep that has your throat closing, the feeling of his breath nearing your ear as he leans down closer into your personal space making your stomach curl. 

“Can I just say,” he whispers, and your eyes dart up to reluctantly meet him, “you are absolutely beautiful.” 

The backs of those fingertips trail your flesh. Unwarranted and unwanted, chest heaving with the flurry of your choked breaths. The room starts to swirl around the edges, Jason’s voice a revolting caress down your spine, colors melding into a kaleidoscope around you.

Harnessing the shiver of disgust into power, you shift out of his grasp, barely brushing against the person standing on the other side of you. “And you, Jason Carver, are making a fool of yourself.”

And then you hear him. The familiar sound of Steve’s voice in your ears, and then feel his hand at the small of your back, the warmth of his palm and the slight tingle of his wedding ring against your spine tethering you back to reality. Grounding you once more.  

Jason stills beside you as the bartender slides your drinks over into your waiting palms. Steve takes his from your extended hand and sips, leaning down to tug you closer and press a kiss to your temple. All still unfamiliar, all still sending new waves of electricity along your skin. 

“I see you’ve met my wife,” Steve says calmly, and you glide your hand over your husband’s chest for emphasis. 

“I have,” he says thickly, dipping his head. 

“Sweetheart,” you begin, “we were just talking about how lovely and beautiful Jason’s wife, Tina, is. He’s so lucky to have someone like her in his life and definitely shouldn’t ever forget that. We were also talking about how exciting it is that they’ll be having a little girl in just a few months. He was just getting back to her, wasn’t he?”

Jason wastes no time in making himself scarce, leaving you to stand near the bar, still pressing against Steve’s side. Neither of you moves for a bit, and you simply relish in the nearness—shocked by the comfort that barrels into your bloodstream over simply having him there. 

“For the record—”

“You didn’t need me to do that,” he finishes, and your brows shoot up because how the hell did he know what you were thinking. “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s one of the things I…honestly admire about you. But I also want to remind you that you’re never alone. You have me. You know that, right? Isn’t that what a…best friend would do?” 

You snort at the title. “I know. I-I do know that, Steve.” 

But you’d been taking care of yourself for so long you don’t know any differently. So instead you glance over to where Jason and Tina are sitting at their table, his hand over her rounded midsection, overly affectionate for someone who had just moments ago been flirting with another woman.

Another married woman, on top of it. With her husband only a few feet away. 

“He’s an asshole,” you tell Steve. 

“I know. I saw him touching you. I watched you tense up.” His fingers trace the path Jason’s had trailed, covering the tracks he left with his own. “I’m serious. You look for me in a crowd, and I’ll always be there.” 

There’s such a sincerity there. A plea behind those hazel eyes that has you swallowing the remnants of your drink and placing it down on the bar, gripping Steve’s hand tightly within yours. Without another word, you pull him along behind you, Steve managing to drop his drink down onto your table before you tug him over to the dance floor where other couples are now slow dancing, far away in their own little worlds. 

“What are you—”

“I want you to dance with me,” you tell Steve simply, stopping in front of him. Your heels to his leather shoes. “I really really want you to dance with me. I feel like a damn princess in a silly dress, at a ridiculously fancy party with my husband, and I want him to dance with me. Because I hate that I’m enjoying this. I hate that my last name is plastered on everything here, and that I’m in this dress, with these shoes on, and I feel like a pumpkin carriage is going to pull up at any moment and take me home. And if I’m enjoying it, and if at twelve I’m going to be whisked away from here, then I at least want the full experience.”

Steve’s not judgemental. He’s never been. Has never questioned your past, wondered where and what you came from. He’s only ever been open to knowing who you are at present. The everyday. The chaotic and crazy moments. The monotonous ones. The time spent watching your shows, cooking to music in your kitchen together, playing with Charlie in the living room as a movie plays in the background. 

But standing before him now. Him in his tuxedo, staring at you the way he is now, his hands moving to curl around your waist and draw you close—it’s the first time you really feel like someone could take a needle to your current reality and pop it. Like all of this would disappear at any given moment, like it’s all a dream conjured up in your mind. You hate it. Hate it so much that your eyes start to burn with it. 

Sensing your inner turmoil, or seemingly just wanting to hold you, Steve folds you into his chest. Rests one forearm low against your back, and curls his hand around yours, swaying you back and forth on the dance floor as “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra starts playing in the distance. Your dress shifts and moves across the floor, your cheek to his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. He’s warm and solid and you can hear the frantic flutter of his heart, and can feel the slickness of his palm against your back. He’s not wholly unaffected by all of this, either. There’s a sense of comfort in it. This unfamiliarity of feeling—and the uncertainty of what? 

“Can I be honest?” he asks at the top of your head. 

“Always.”

“I hate all of this, too.” 

“Steve, it’s horrifying. Our name is on literally everything.”

“I know,” he laughs, the rumble rattling your skull. You nestle in closer, and his arm drags you in tighter. “Does it make you feel less bad if you strip away all of the—” He waves his hand around at the grandeur of the room. “stuff and just focus on the fact you’re allowed a night out where you dress up. Away from school, away from stress, with the people who care about you? Because take all of this away, and that’s all this is.”

It’s not. And even so, you know he’s right. Because take away all the gorgeous scenery, the fancy clothing, the endless drinks, the designer cars, and the end result is the same: Eddie and Steve are here. 

You’re not sure when Steve became one of those constants, yet it’s the truth all the same. 

“If I’m being honest, parties like this usually end up feeling lonely,” he says heavily, and you tip your head back enough to get a good look at him. “I grew up going to these things. My parents were always leaving to talk to friends, leaving me to sit back at the table. And I mean, people talk to me now, but only because they need something. Never because they want to. Not really.”

And that laugh that…wrinkles your nose…

“I want to,” you tell him softly. 

It touches my foolish heart…

“I know. And that means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he mutters back, a little choked, a little breathless against your skin as he lowers his face into the space beside your ear, cheek to cheek now. 

Lovely…don’t you ever change…

There’s a whisper of a kiss against your shoulder, meant for those looking to see, nothing unusual there. And then he adds, “The parties aren’t so lonely anymore either.”

Keep that breathless charm…won’t you please arrange it?

He holds you closer, if possible. Hides his face in your shoulder—trembling against you as though the words he’s spoken terrify him. They terrify you too. The implication of them. The meaning. The lines in the sand that become blurrier by the day. His head leans back, eyes locking with yours, dancing to your lips, then moving back up again. 

His fingers curl around the side of your cheek, and he leans down. Presses his lips to yours in a way that’s familiar. You’ve done this before countless times at dinner. A short peck. The smallest of brushes. Yet you sigh against him all the same, palm resting over his sternum, his hand along your back. Against your skin that burns hot—hotter now. 

“No one is watching,” you murmur against his mouth and open your eyes to find the room swirling around you. 

They’re not. You’re surrounded by a sea of couples on the dance floor. Even Theobald and Cami, who you would try to go above and beyond to sell your marriage to, are tucked away in their own little world. Forehead to forehead, hand to hand, heart to heart. 

Cause I love you…just the way you look…tonight…

But he doesn’t speak. 

Doesn’t say a word as you sway to the song, chest to chest in what feels like a slow motion love potion, his other hand joining the first on your opposite cheek. His eyes roam your face, a frantic slide across your features, before he’s leaning down and kissing you anew.

I’ll be gentle, echoes in your mind, his soothing words like balm across the sudden skip of your heart. He is nothing but gentle as his lips slot with yours, your lower lip between the plush curves of his mouth. Warmth, warmth, warmth abounds as your eyes flutter closed and you lose yourself in it. 

You’re not his fake-wife right now. You’re not under contract, you’re not putting on a performance for investors or chairmen or Theo, you’re not practicing to make sure it all looks real. This is real—the press of his nose against your cheek, how he uses the touch on your jaw to adjust your head to press in at a better angle, the gentle glide of his soft lips around yours as he kisses you like you’re something delicate. Something precious. Something real.

Time stands still and time rushes forward all at once, the moment exploding through all those ‘what if’s and ‘what are we doing’s and ‘should we’s. None of that exists here as your swaying comes to a stop in the middle of the dancefloor, your fingers tucking into the lapels of his tuxedo in a show of please don’t go.

His steady hand skates down, sliding along the side of your throat to press the tips of his fingers into the nape of your neck, thumb beside your ear in a show of I’m right here.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs absolutely burn in your chest, pulling just a sparse inch away to gasp in air like you’ve just surfaced from water. Steve is similarly affected, shoulders in a heaving rise and fall as he presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you say a word as you catch your breath—your eyes lost in the mossy green woven into the golden brown of his hazel eyes, his flicking back and forth between your gaze and the shine of your lip gloss like he can’t think about anything else.

A gentle clear of his throat, a harsh swallow of nerves before his lips, the ones that just kissed you, tilt in a bashful smile. “I didn’t mean to take your breath away,” he murmurs in a tease, hot air puffing against your lower face as he gently laughs.

Unable to find the part of you that wants to tease back, to make it a joke, to keep it safe, you’re pouring out honesty when you tell him, “You don’t have to try very hard to.”

He remains there, you both do, bodies swaying, foreheads pressing close. There are no more stolen kisses, no whispers of breath between the two of you, only the quiet of togetherness that drowns out the rest of the room. There are no decisions for the ‘what next?’ nor the ‘what does this all mean?’ Instead you relish in the moment, hands still around his lapels, his own covering yours, keeping you near to him. 

And that’s more than enough. 

 ——

——

if there was ever a chapter i would love to hear your thoughts on—it’s this one! please consider reblogging, liking, leaving a comment. you all mean the world to me. haha seeing everyone get excited over this fic has made my week. xo luna. 🤍

[familyvideostevie]

october twenty-third

day twenty-three: eddie munson you and eddie go apple picking…and hook up in the parking lot | 18+, mdni, fem!reader, established relationship, car sex, unprotected sex | 1.8k detailed content warnings: fem!reader, sex in a car in a parking lot, mentioned oral (m receiving) but not on page, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, riding, creampie, dirty talk

“Please explain to me what makes apple picking a romantic date.”

You shiver at the bottom of the ladder. Eddie climbs down a few rungs before jumping the rest, four apples cradled in his arm.

“You need more imagination, babe,” he says. You open the bag and he puts them on top of the pile you’ve collected thus far and then takes it from you.

You loop your arm through his and start off down the row. “I want your opinion.”

He hums. “Well, we both like the leaves, right? It’s pretty. And the weather is pretty nice.”

“It’s cold!”

“I said nice, sweetheart, not warm.” He taps his chin. “Oh, you look very cute, obviously. And so do I.”

That gets you to laugh. You’re wearing like, three layers, two of which are his, and a hat you found in his van.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“And we get apples. And doughnuts and cider.”

You can’t wait to get back to the farmhouse and warm up with some treats. “Valid point.”

Eddie leans close, even though there is no one around. “But best of all…”

“Go on.”

“Once the sun goes down, this parking lot is the best place to hook up.”

Oh, so that’s why he insisted you come in the late afternoon.

“You brought me here to have sex in your van?”

“I might have,” he says. His nose is a little pink. He looks at you with his stupid big brown cow eyes.

You’re used to Eddie by now and you love him and all of his ridiculous antics. He’s romantic when he wants to be and boyish and silly in the same breath. Honestly, you were probably going to go back to your place and fuck anyway, so why not make the evening a little bit more interesting?

“Okay,” you tell him. He beams and kisses your cheek sloppily.

He buys you all the donuts and cider you want and you take your spoils back to the van to wait. Eddie puts on some music and you chat and watch the orange rays slowly disappear behind the trees.

Darkness falls.

“You sure no one is going to think it’s weird we’re parked here?” He put the van in the back corner of the lot near the trees.

“Nah,” he says. “There’s an inn on the grounds, remember? People park here overnight but no one comes to look. I swear.”

“Done this before, have you?”

Eddie grins. “Harrington told me about it.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, great. You took advice from Steve Harrington on where to fuck your girlfriend.”

Eddie turns down the music and climbs back to the bench. The rest of the van is full of junk — blankets, milk crates of Hellfire supplies, a weird looking trash can shield that you don’t know why he has.

“This isn’t even the weirdest place we’ve done it,” he reminds you. You brush the sugar crumbs from your hands and follow him. He pats his lap and you straddle him.

“Remind me?” His hands rest heavy on your hips. You lick your bottom lip.

“The equipment shed at the pool,” he says. “Last summer.”

You remember. “What did you do, again?” Now you’re teasing him. He picks up on it and presses his fingers a little harder into your skin.

“Pretty sure I kissed you,” he says. He leans in, ghosting his lips over yours. “Kissed you so good you were begging for me to touch you, yeah?”

You close the gap. It’s not a bruising kiss, but a slow one. You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue and he opens. He keeps on hand on your hip so you don’t fall and cups your face with the other. You fist your hands in his shirt and grind on him as light as you can manage.

Something you’ve learned about Eddie is that he loves kissing you. He’s said he would make out for hours if you let him. He loves to lick into your mouth, loves to pull your bottom lip between his teeth. He loves the spit and the swollen hue of your lips after he’s nibbled on them.

But you also like to get things going. You pull away from him and he latches onto your neck, nibbling on your skin and then soothing it with his tongue.

“What did you do next?”

Eddie pulls away with a pop. “Pretty sure you got on your knees and sucked me dry.”

“Sounds like me.”

He presses his thumb into the corner of your mouth. “Always look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

You swallow. “Want me to?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve got another plan.” He taps your thighs and you stand, hunched over in the van. “Take off your pants?”

“I’m not letting you fuck me on the gross floor, Eddie,” you remind him. He laughs. You unbutton your jeans and push them down, bracing yourself on his shoulder as you kick off your shoes, too. He reaches out and snaps the waistband of your underwear with one finger.

“C’mon, baby,” he coos. “All the way. I want you bare.” That sends a bolt of pleasure between your legs.

You do as he says. “Satisfied?” Your boyfriend looks hungry.

“Course I am. Look at you!” You’re half-naked, crouched in his van, his flannel and t-shirt on top. What a weird dude. “Okay, so, lie back on the bench and put one leg up against the back, okay?”

It’s a bit tight, but you do as he says. Your other leg hangs off the edge and you’re spread wide open for him where he’s now kneeling, just barely fitting between the bench and the door.

“I feel like I’m posing for a painting,” you mutter. Eddie’s hands trail up your bare skin.

“Oh, you look like one.” You tilt your head so you look down the slope of your body to find him staring at you. Well, a very specific part of you. “Have I told you that you have a perfect cunt?” he says.

You clench around nothing and laugh breathily. “Once or twice.” He drags two fingers through your folds. You’ve felt your arousal pooling since you got on his lap.

“God, sweetheart,” he groans. “You’re soaked. Been wet since I suggested this, hm?”

“You gonna touch me or what?”

Without warning, he leans down and presses the flat of his tongue to your clit. You whine, hand pressed against the car door behind you. And then it’s all bets off — no more teasing, no more dirty banter. Eddie laps at you like a man starved. The angle is a little weird and the leg you’ve got against the bench is cramping a bit, but god it feels good.

“Yes, Eddie, right there, oh fuck —” He’s too far away for you to really grab his hair so you settle for shoving your shirt up and bra down and rolling your nipple between your fingers. “So good,” you praise him. “It feels so good.”

He sucks on your clit and slides two fingers into you, but you’re not as close to an orgasm as you want to be. His fingers are thick, capable of great things, but you need more.

You manage to tap him with the foot on the ground. He pulls up, mouth shiny. He licks his lips. “Can I help you?”

You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t so damn horny. “I’d like to ride you now. If that’s amenable?”

Eddie literally moans. “As if I’d say no to that.” You catch your breath as he shucks off his shoes, pants, and boxers. He gets back on the bench and you sit up to make room, admiring him in the dim of the van. You know every inch of him by now but fuck, you really love his dick.

You spit in your hand and stroke him a few times before he stops you with a hand on your wrist. “You said something about riding?”

“Impatient, aren’t we?” You straddle him and you’re back where you started, only this time down a few items of clothing. He helps you line up and you sink onto him quickly because you know you can take it.

“Fuck,” you hiss together. “It never gets old,” he says, ragged. “Being inside you.”

“I could just sit here,” you say, face in his neck. “See how long we last.” Its appealing. You’ve tried it a few times, his cock hot and pulsing inside you, both trying desperately to keep still. It’s relaxing in a really strange way, comfortable and intimate.

“Maybe another time,” Eddie says. He kisses your cheek, your nose, your lips. He tastes like you. “I…I’m too wound up right now.”

“From just fingering me?”

“C’mon,” he whines. “You know how magic your cunt is, don’t you sweetheart?” He bucks his hips and you both groan. “Just looking at it gets me hard as hell.”

You reward his compliment by rocking back and forth in his lap. He grabs your hips hard enough to bruise as you start to lift yourself a bit and slam back down. It’s not fast, it’s not desperate, it’s not the most comfortable place to be doing this, but it’s hard and deep and that seems to be working for both of you.

“Gonna have to — fuck — wash the seat after this,” he grunts. “Gonna make a mess all over it, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who is gonna come inside me.” His thumb finds your clit and you bite back a scream.

“Don’t want everyone who sits here to know how you took my cock, do we? How wet you are, how tight, how hot —”

The van is probably shaking but you don’t care.

“Eddie,” you gasp. “I’m close, I —”

He starts to lift his hips more, slamming into you. The tip of him brushes the perfect spot inside you and his thumb drags across your clit just right and then you’re coming, gripping his cock like a vice as you tremble in his hold.

He’s not far behind. “God, you feel so good, sweetheart, gonna be so full of me —”

You feel him spurt inside you and gasp your name as you pant into his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “God, fuck.” You both catch your breath. The van feels much hotter than before and smells like sex.

“You sure made a mess alright,” you say. He laughs and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“If you keep it all in there till we get home I’ll clean you up.”

You just had an orgasm and his words make you feel on the verge of another right away. “Is that a promise?”

“Why don’t we find out?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[st4rgzer]

ORANGE JUICE matt sturniolo

summary: y/n comes back after a few tough months (very much recommend listening to orange juice by noah kahan before reading)

genre: fluff and angst

cw: big TW for recovering and becoming sober :)

a/n: again, theres more info in the songs if this doesn’t make much sense but yeah, hope y’all like it<3, will do more song rec fics, i love them

The triplets called me today, they heard I was better and they were hanging out with Nate and some other friends, so I decided to tag along.

It’s been 6 months on the dot since I got sober, I think they know about it. I’ve kind off disappeared from the face of the earth, changing myself, and I wasn’t sure if some people would approve.

I knock on the door and I’m greeted by Nick immediately, he engulfs me in a hug that lasts about a minute

“nick I missed you too but I think that’s enough” I laughed, trying to unwrap his arms, he eventually does it himself.

“yeah stop hogging her!” Chris says before wrapping his arms around me in yet another never ending hug. After a bit, Im left standing in front of Matt, he’s different, he’s grown a little bit of a beard, barely a beard, more like a stubble, a smile creeps up on my face, a familiar one, a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“you look great” he smiles at me, coming closer and embracing me in my third hug in the span of 5 minutes, I linger there for a little longer, he sighs and rests his head on the crook of my neck, his words tickle. “I’ve missed you, a lot” I giggle a bit as the stubble brushed against me jawline. I break from the hug as soon as I remember Nick, Chris, and Nate are waiting on us. “I missed you too” I whispered before Nick began ranting on about the things I’ve missed.

“And we’ve been on tour! And we’re going again soon” he explains as the end of his Ted talk comes to an end.

“wow! Thats great, im so happy for you guys” I can’t help but have a huge smile on my face, looking at the three and realizing how much they’ve grown without me, and the fact they’ve waited for me and they’re not mad at me for leaving, no questions asked.

“What have you been up to?” Matt asks with a quiet voice “if you don’t mind us asking” he quickly reassures me I don’t have to say anything I’m not comfortable with.

“Well, I’ve been getting help, doing better now” I leave it there, not wanting to give any more information than I needed to, not right now at least.

“That’s amazing, we’re proud of you” Matt places a hand on mine for comfort, everyone nods agreeing.

“Wanna help me with the snacks?” Matt breaks the silence, I nod and he leads me to the kitchen, it hasn’t changed a bit since I got here, there’s just more stuff, it’s more lived in, I like it.

I open the fridge and see a row of beers at the bottom, probably for when friends come over, my body goes tense and the sounds around me become muffled, I snap out of it when Matt pats on my shoulder.

“Hey, you alright?” He ask’s concerned, I know he’s trying to keep a calm expression but I can tell he’s worried.

“Yeah I’m fine just- got caught up for a second” I utter out with a sigh, I don’t notice my hand trembling till he grabs it.

“Theres orange juice here, I know it’s your favorite” he says softly, rubbing the palm of my hand, making sure I looked at him in the eyes so I wouldn’t get distracted with something else.

“Yeah? Thanks, I’ll get it then” I smile at him, he kissed the tips of my fingers gently

“Anything you need ok? Count on me, please” he begged, looking at me with sincerity, no games.

I nodded and the corners of my mouth turned upwards as it hit me that I was with him again, after such a long time, for me at least. I then grabbed the orange juice from the fridge and poured myself a cup, Matt glancing at me with a smile on his face as I did so.

Our hearts have changed, our faces have changed, but we’ll always find our way back to each other, no matter the changes we succumb to, and I’ll always hold that in my heart.

taglist: @iha8you @dwntwn-strnlo @slaysturniolo @stvrni0lo @strniolo @gabbylovesreading @sturn3g1rl @ifilwtmfc

[gimmethatagustd]

venor (5) | kth + jjk

The barista at the university’s café keeps telling Jungkook not to come back, but Jungkook is too busy daydreaming about kissing the beauty marks on his face to be paying attention to his warnings.

○ Pairing: Tiger!Taehyung x Bunny!Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Hybrids, predator/prey, college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, light angst, eventual smut

○ Word Count: 4,917

○ Warnings: None

○ Notes: Sorry I forgot to schedule this to post yesterday y'all. We're not having a great time but it's okay!! Min Yoongi said we'll bloom after all our hardships yknow.

○ Post Date: March 4, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Cross-Post

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Series Masterlist

Convincing Yoongi to join Jungkook at the on-campus fitness center isn’t as tricky as Jungkook expects. All it takes is the promise that Jungkook won’t leave Yoongi alone in the weight room with all the confusing weightlifting equipment and the intimidating gym bros — because, as Yoongi quickly learns, even the prey fitness center has gym bros.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t one of them.

“You’re a gym bunny,” Yoongi snickers as the two cross the fitness center’s parking lot, nearly getting hit by a car driven by a lamb hybrid cutting through the lot.

“Isn’t that term only for girls?” Jungkook asks with a scrunch of his nose. He must drag Yoongi by the long sleeve of his dri-fit shirt to avoid getting run over by more cars.

“You’re literally a rabbit.”

“Not literally.”

“You’re half-rabbit.”

“I guess.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and pushes the front door of the rec center open for Jungkook. His statement still isn’t entirely true, though understanding hybrids is difficult. They’re not quite half-human, half-animal, but something entirely separate.

The most disappointing part of being what they are, in Jungkook’s opinion, is that they can’t shapeshift. What is the point of having animal features if Jungkook can’t fully turn into a rabbit? It seems lame.

After scanning their student IDs at the information desk at the entrance of the fitness center, Jungkook leads Yoongi down a long hallway leading to the weight room. They pass the doors to the indoor pool and a few gymnasiums lined with bleachers. Most rooms are occupied by varsity athletes or students just there to have some casual fun with friends. Jungkook has made friends with other students who like working out; there usually isn’t a ton in the weight room. He supposes the stereotypes about prey not being particularly muscular prevent many from exploring the weightlifting world. It’s unfortunate; Jungkook doesn’t believe in letting societal norms dictate what he does with his body.

“They offer fitness classes?” Yoongi peers at a corkboard with announcements and class fliers tacked to it. The board is mounted on the wall just outside the weight room door.

“Yup! Yoga, different dance genres, martial arts, even some unique sports like archery and fencing,” Jungkook explains as he digs to the bottom of his backpack.

“Fencing sounds sick.” Yoongi jabs into the air like he’s holding a weapon, his sleek black tail vigorously flicking behind him.

Just inside the weight room entrance are a few rows of small lockers against the wall. Jungkook shoves his backpack inside one of them after taking out a combination lock and two insulated sports water bottles — one for himself and one for Yoongi (since Jungkook knew Yoongi would forget to bring his own).

“You should sign up for a class!” Jungkook hands Yoongi one of the bottles and gives him an encouraging smile. “I can go with you if you want, so you won’t be alone.”

Yoongi seems to contemplate the idea but quickly gets distracted by a group of domestic cat hybrids stepping past them to reach the half of the room that holds all the cardio equipment. That’s likely where Yoongi should begin his workout journey, but he has been insistent on learning how to lift weights. To get swole or whatever. Jungkook tries not to laugh.

“Let’s go this way,” Jungkook gently steers Yoongi toward the other side of the large room.

There are fewer workout machines on this side of the room, which is fine. Jungkook wants to teach Yoongi some basics about exercises he can do with his body weight and smaller weights he can hold without a spotter. For now, their gym sessions are about ensuring Yoongi feels confident and comfortable with what Jungkook has planned for him. The more intense exercises will come later.

Jungkook begins by showing Yoongi the correct posture for simple exercises like arm curls and squats. It doesn’t allow Jungkook to get much working out in, but he finds that he enjoys teaching Yoongi just as much as he enjoys working out on his own.

“Keep your toes pointed like this,” Jungkook demonstrates the correct way to squat, gesturing at his feet, “And angle your back like this,” he then gestures to the mirror wall in front of them to show Yoongi his form.

“How do you even know how to do all this?” Yoongi grunts as he picks up one of the weights and holds it while slowly easing into a standing squat.

“Youtube, mostly. And after a while, my kickboxing instructor helped with the stuff I didn’t pick up on my own. It just takes time to figure things out.”

Yoongi shakes his head slowly.

“You’re so different, Jungkook-ah. It’s good, though. Really good.”

Jungkook shrugs and pauses for a moment to have a sip of water. It’s pretty early on a Saturday morning, so few people are working out. Jungkook prefers to get his workouts in early so he has the rest of the day to do other things.

On most Saturday mornings, Jungkook doesn’t have much to do besides hanging out with friends or finishing homework since he doesn’t work his library shifts on the weekends. This morning is far different than most Saturday mornings, though. Jungkook has actual plans for the rest of the day, plans that make his stomach flutter just thinking about them.

Jungkook and Yoongi spend an hour in the weight room before Yoongi eventually taps out. He manages to last twice as long as Jungkook had expected, much to Jungkook’s excitement. Working out may seem simple, boring even, but something about being strong makes Jungkook feel euphoric. Perhaps it’s the endorphins, but he thinks it can’t just be that.

Regardless of the exact reason, he feels on top of the world as he drags Yoongi to the communal bathroom. He’s overcome with a slap-happy kind of energy he gains after pushing his body to its limit.

Quickly, he shows Yoongi how to work the showers and exchanges their sweaty workout clothes for the clean clothes they packed together before leaving their dorm. Yoongi only minimally complains about having to use a shower other people have used, and Jungkook manages not to spend an eternity shampooing his ears.

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Yoongi complains once they’re back in the fitness center lobby. He grips his water bottle like a lifeline and glares at Jungkook.

“What?” Jungkook grins as he scans their student IDs to notify the security system that they’re leaving the center. “You did such a good job! Now you can load up on some protein and take a nap.”

“I guess that sounds nice…” Yoongi mutters, taking his ID back from Jungkook and pulling the long sleeves of his sweater over his hands to protect them from the chilly autumn breeze when they step outside.

The morning sun is finally poking through the clouds. Jungkook flips the hood of his hoodie over his head and tightens the strings slightly, making the fabric scrunch around his face. Wet hair and a cool breeze are never a comfortable combination in autumn.

“Are you coming back home?” Yoongi asks as the two cut through the parking lot toward the west side of campus, where the prey dorms are.

Jungkook shakes his head and adjusts the straps on his backpack. Once they meet a fork in the road, Yoongi heads left while Jungkook twists to the right.

“I’m going to study at Venor…” Jungkook mumbles, eyes cast downward. When Yoongi doesn’t respond immediately, Jungkook peeks at him through his wet bangs.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but his smile is genuine.

“Like a lovesick puppy, I swear to god.”

“Hyung!” Jungkook whines, kicking at a loose chunk of sidewalk with the toe of his Nikes.

“I’m just pointing out the obvious!”

With an exaggerated sigh, Jungkook throws his head back and stares at the sunrays muted by milky clouds.

“I’ll be home after, okay? You have to help me plan my project, anyway.”

Grumbling a reluctant agreement that isn’t as hesitant as he plays it off to be, Yoongi waves Jungkook away and heads toward the dormitories. Jungkook watches him go with fondness warming his chest even as the breeze springs up goosebumps along his skin.

Now that he’s alone, Jungkook takes his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. His stomach grumbles as he walks across campus, but he knows food will be waiting for him at the cafe. He opens his text conversation with Taehyung, rereading the last few texts they shared the night before.

vante95 did you fucking fall asleep on me bun damn it’s like that huh making me quadruple-text you like a loser see you tomorrow bun sweet dreams 🐇

Smiling like an idiot, Jungkook nearly runs into a light pole when he veers to the right on the sidewalk. He’s saved by a stranger grabbing his arm and yanking him back on track.

“Oh, thank you,” Jungkook gasps, but the person is already walking away, shaking their head at his foolishness.

Maybe he is a lovesick puppy. He can barely keep himself together.

It only worsens as Jungkook approaches Venor Cafe, and his stomach falls slightly when he notices the lights are off inside and the sign hanging on the front door is still flipped to closed . Checking his phone, Jungkook frowns at the time. Taehyung opens the cafe at ten o’clock on Saturday mornings. It’s currently fifteen minutes past ten.

Taehyung is always on time.

Well, he was late to class that one time, but that was it! Otherwise, Taehyung is always early. Jungkook is the late one, always meandering even when he knows where he’s going, usually lost in some daydream he’s crafted that makes him lose himself in the clouds. Over the past few months, Jungkook has learned that Taehyung is firmly grounded, responsible and reliable.

Everything is fine, Jungkook tells himself as he waits at the corner of the cafe. There’s no need to jump to terrible conclusions about Taehyung’s welfare. He likely slept in.

With that thought in mind, Jungkook decides to call Taehyung. If he has overslept, perhaps a phone call will wake him up. Jungkook wouldn’t want him to get in trouble for being late.

Nerves make Jungkook tap his foot against the cracked sidewalk while the phone rings. Each ring’s tone reverberates through Jungkook’s body, zapping his nerves even more. When the automated voice message announces that Taehyung is unavailable, Jungkook feels like his entire body will vibrate off the side of the building.

“Hi, Tae. I’m at Venor, um, I can hang out for a bit, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Can you call me or text me…”

Jungkook trails off, and the automatic voicemail system eventually saves his message and hangs up due to inactivity. He doesn’t notice; his attention is on the two individuals approaching from the neighborhood's east side.

It takes everything in Jungkook’s power to stop himself from tapping his foot faster. He goes as far as stepping on one foot with the other, terrified of letting the predators notice how distressed he is.

“Well, look who it is,” Byungchul smirks as he speaks, his mouth pinching with ugly amusement that doesn’t reach his cold, dark eyes. “Our little bun.”

The snake hybrid beside Byungchul laughs, the sound nasally, more of a hiss than what Jungkook would recognize as genuine laughter. At first, Jungkook thinks the hybrid is Hoseok, but when the snake turns to him, Jungkook realizes he doesn’t recognize who he is.

There’s a war inside of Jungkook, one he was unaware of until he moved to Seoul. The independent, confident part of him wants to stand up to these predator bullies. He wants to snap at Byungchul, to tell him not to call him a nickname only Taehyung has ever used. He wants to tell Byungchul that he doesn’t care about whatever rude things he has to say.

Instincts, however, tell Jungkook to flee.

His mouth goes dry, and the euphoria he’d felt earlier drains from his system as every muscle in his body weakens. He thinks of Yoongi’s warnings about the aggressive behavior of predators and Suyun’s insistence that not all of them are bad.

“Byungchul has something wrong with him.”

Suyun’s voice echoes in Jungkook’s head as Byungchul advances, his silky wolf’s tail swaying side to side. It might be cute on someone else, but Jungkook’s automatic response is to flinch at the behavior.

“What’s wrong, bun?” Byungchul asks with a mocking pout. “Don’t tell me the cat’s got your tongue.”

The snake hybrid hisses again, scaly hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. He glitters red in the weak sunlight.

“I’m shocked Taehyung hasn’t torn him to pieces yet,” the snake’s voice slices through the breeze, sharp and clear.

“Same,” Byungchul turns to look at his friend when he talks. Jungkook doesn’t get much relief, Byungchul’s mean stare returning just as quickly as it left. “Our hyung should be careful. Unclaimed prey are fair game, aren’t they, Minsu?”

Unclaimed prey. 

Jungkook doesn’t know what that means, but his body stiffens when Byungchul speaks. It sounds violent and possessive. Jungkook’s eyes fall on Byungchul’s sharp canines, and the cold floods his veins when he realizes Taehyung isn’t coming.

Jungkook will never tell anyone, but he runs.

The fear of being chased by Byungchul and his friend doesn’t leave a sweet taste of longing on his tongue like when he lets his mind wander to the strange desire for Taehyung to chase him. Instead, the fear tightens Jungkook’s chest until he has to stop running and bend at the waist, heaving as cold air freezes his lungs, making breathing painful. He grasps at his chest and rips his hood from his head to get rid of the claustrophobic feeling suffocating him.

When he closes his eyes, all he sees is Byungchul’s face shadowed by contempt. 

-

vante95 aw shit i forgot to set my alarm sorry you still there? gimme like 10 min hey if you still wanna hang im here now or we can meet up after my shift? lmk hey bun where do you want to meet? im done now fuck im sorry i was late but i still want to go with you today are you ok?

Jungkook tosses his phone on the coffee table and snuggles deeper into the blankets he has wrapped around himself on the couch. Yoongi stares at him from the other end of the couch with a suspicious look, but he doesn’t push Jungkook to explain what has gotten him so shaken up, and for that, Jungkook is grateful.

“Can I do anything for you, Jungkookie?”

Yoongi’s tail swats the back of the couch in a steady rhythm that Jungkook finds strangely comforting.

“No.”

“Nothing at all?”

Jungkook shakes his head.

With a sigh, Yoongi stands up. He gives Jungkook a look that is both frustrated and endeared. Jungkook is sure it’s an expression only Yoongi could master.

“Can I at least feed you? I was thinking of making fried chicken in the air fryer.” Yoongi waits, not discouraged when Jungkook stares off into space. “It’ll be really crispy.”

Jungkook sighs like Yoongi had. His gaze slides from the blank TV screen to Yoongi’s soft expression.

“Yes, hyung. That would be nice.”

Pleased to have a purpose, Yoongi heads to their small kitchen to prepare the chicken. He calls out if Jungkook also wants rice or noodles, and Jungkook can’t say no to carbs, no matter how upset he is.

It isn’t just that Byungchul encroached on Jungkook’s personal space and clearly tried to intimidate him. What has Jungkook more disturbed is what Byungchul said about Taehyung. The two predators are friends. Wouldn’t Byungchul know Taehyung well? So what is all this talk about Taehyung being, well, a predator?

Jungkook may have spent significant time with Taehyung in class and at Venor, but today was supposed to be the first time they hung out alone. Taehyung had agreed to go to the art museum with him since Suyun is busy. Now, Jungkook isn’t sure if he feels like he wants to. He’s not sure if he can.

A knock on their front door startles Jungkook out of his stupor. His voice is weak when he calls out to Yoongi, “Hyung, is that for you?”

Yoongi’s head pops out of the kitchen doorway to look at Jungkook, who is still sitting in the living room.

“Jungkook, I have, like, two friends, and you’re one of them.”

“Okay, but same,” Jungkook admits, nose scrunching with confusion. The knock at the door could be Suyun, but she’s with Jackson and his family this weekend. Besides, she would have texted Jungkook if she planned to come over.

“Can you get it for me?” Yoongi shouts from the kitchen.

Part of Jungkook thinks Yoongi probably could get the door himself, but instead, he’s forcing Jungkook to get off the couch. It’s fine. Jungkook does what his hyung wants, even if he keeps a blanket wrapped around his body as he drags his feet to the door. For a brief moment, he wonders if it might be Byungchul. The thought sets Jungkook’s heart into overdrive, thumping in his chest like his foot wants to thump against the floor.

A predator stands on the other side of the door, but it isn’t Byungchul.

“Bun, what happened?” Taehyung rushes to speak before Jungkook has a chance to say anything. “I called and texted you.”

Taehyung looks disheveled. His curls are frizzy and sitting a bit higher than usual on his head, as if a gust of wind had hit him and he didn’t try to smooth his hair back down. His white t-shirt is wrinkled beneath the light blue jean jacket he has on, one sleeve pushed up while the other hangs down at his wrist. Jungkook tries not to stare at how long his legs look in his skinny jeans or how cute his leather boots are — an outfit so different than Taehyung’s usual look. He’s dressed like he’s planning to go out, and technically, he is.

Jungkook drops his chin to stare at his own body, loose sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt hanging on his frame in a rather unflattering way underneath his blanket. He was supposed to be dressed to go out, too.

“Byungchul said I’m unclaimed prey,” Jungkook blurts out. His voice wobbles, and he turns away when Taehyung’s eyes narrow. The look is scary and makes Jungkook feel like he’s done something wrong.

“He said what ?”

Taehyung’s voice is gravelly, nearly a growl. The sound of it makes Jungkook’s skin prickle and draws goosebumps up his arms. Behind a twinge of fear, a tiny bit of heat stirs in Jungkook’s stomach.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on here?” Yoongi appears behind Jungkook, brandishing a pair of greasy tongs.

Jungkook isn’t sure if Yoongi is holding the tongs simply because he forgot to put them down or if he’s planning to use them as a weapon. It’s silly either way.

Yoongi’s question reminds Jungkook that predators aren’t allowed to be on the prey’s side of campus and they definitely aren’t allowed in prey dormitories. It’s one of the highest offenses a predator student can make.

“Come on, before someone sees you,” Jungkook urges, grabbing Taehyung by the arm to pull him inside.

It’s strange having Taehyung in his dorm. He looks too big, an oppressive presence barely contained by the tight space of the entryway. Yoongi stares at Taehyung with suspicion, still clutching the tongs. Taehyung eyes them, and Jungkook is shocked to see Yoongi’s cheeks flush.

“I’m making fried chicken…” Yoongi mumbles, quickly looking away from Taehyung to stare at Jungkook with wide eyes.

“Oh, um, this is Yoongi, my roommate,” Jungkook gestures toward the cat hybrid, “And this is Taehyung. Uh, you know.”

Perhaps if the situation wasn’t so tense, Taehyung would have used this as an opportunity to tease Jungkook. Instead, Taehyung stares at Jungkook with a heavy gaze that weighs on Jungkook almost worse than the stress of confronting Byungchul alone.

“What happened, Jungkook?” Taehyung asks quietly. The question is deceptively calm.

Sensing their stress, Yoongi slowly inches toward the kitchen.

“I’m… going to finish… cooking…” Yoongi mumbles before disappearing through the door. Neither Jungkook nor Taehyung pays him any mind.

“I was waiting for you,” Jungkook doesn’t mean to sound accusatory, but his tone comes out that way regardless. “He was there with one of his friends and said…”

Wrapping the blanket tighter around himself, Jungkook takes a deep breath. To his credit, Taehyung stands with his hands in his pockets and waits patiently despite the anger simmering just below the surface of his relaxed demeanor.

“Well, first his friend said you would, you would…”

“I would what?” Taehyung’s nostrils flare, but he keeps his mouth shut beyond the probing question.

“His friend said you’d tear me apart,” Jungkook whispers, “And then Byungchul said you needed to be careful because I’m unclaimed prey.”

Taehyung barks a cruel laugh, loud with an edge that makes Jungkook’s body tingle. His ears fall flat, and his tail flicks much like Yoongi’s when he’s irritated.

“The son of a bitch.”

“What does it mean?”

Taehyung shakes his head, and his gaze falls to stare at the space between them.

“It doesn’t matter what it means.”

Stomping his foot, Jungkook lets out a tiny, frustrated growl. It’s not intimidating in the least bit, even though Jungkook thinks he seems tough. Despite being furious, the corners of Taehyung’s mouth twitch in amusement.

“It does matter. They were talking about me, so I deserve to know what they were saying.”

With a sigh, Taehyung rolls his shoulders and lets his arms hang limply at his sides. After taking a deep breath, the hard lines of his face soften until he looks much calmer.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with them,” Taehyung begins, holding up his hand when Jungkook starts to protest, “And I want to make it very clear that I would never do anything to hurt you. I swear on my life, bun. I am not like that.”

Jungkook nods. Instinctually, he wants to burrow in his blankets and hide from this conversation, but he knows he needs to have it to decide if he can trust Taehyung in the future. He wants to believe that Taehyung won’t hurt him, but nothing makes sense anymore. Honestly, nothing made sense even before. 

“Unclaimed prey…” Taehyung inhales sharply, his tone deepening when he spits out, “God, Byungchul is such a bitch.”

“Taehyung…” Jungkook calls out softly.

“Sorry,” Taehyung nods, eyes never leaving Jungkook’s. “Some predators who grow… fond of certain prey like to… claim them as their own, so other predators know not to pursue them, I guess you could say.”

Jungkook shifts on his feet, eyes dropping because he’s finding it too difficult to look Taehyung in the face. This conversation is making him uneasy, but not in the way Taehyung likely thinks.

“I’m really sorry, bun,” Taehyung takes a step forward and slowly holds out his hands as though he’s afraid Jungkook will run away if he moves too quickly. “I wish I had been there. I would have—”

“It’s not your fault.”

Jungkook lets Taehyung rest his hands on his shoulders and lightly squeeze them. It isn’t the hug Jungkook wants, but he has a feeling that this is a lot for Taehyung, who seems far more reserved than all of Jungkook’s other friends.

“How do predators…”

“They scent them, usually,” Taehyung answers so Jungkook doesn’t have to finish asking.

His hands are hot, the warmth bleeding through Jungkook’s blanket and shirt enough that Jungkook can feel it on his skin. It’s comforting, especially when Taehyung is close enough for Jungkook to breathe in his scent, even though it’s spiked and bitter with anger.

Jungkook stares up at Taehyung with wide eyes and tries to ignore the heat building in his body.

“Will you scent me?”

Taehyung’s fingers flex around Jungkook’s shoulders, and he inhales sharply. His feline eyes search Jungkook’s face like he’s waiting for there to be more to Jungkook’s question. When nothing else comes, he wets his lips and squeezes Jungkook again.

“I don’t think you fully understand what you’re asking of me.”

“I understand enough,” Jungkook challenges, brows furrowed and nose scrunched.

Taehyung stares at Jungkook for a bit longer. Jungkook is about to snap at him for acting as though he’s stupid when Taehyung slips his fingers around the edge of the blanket and slowly pulls it away from Jungkook’s shoulders. The soft fabric pools around Jungkook’s elbows, exposing the top half of his torso. Despite his sweatshirt, Jungkook shivers from the exposure.

With gentle, intentional movements, Taehyung reaches up to cradle the side of Jungkook’s face. His fingers brush against Jungkook’s floppy bunny ears and Jungkook has to bite his bottom lip so he won’t make noise. Keeping quiet becomes more difficult when Taehyung leans in, tilting his face down while angling Jungkook’s head up and to the side. Using his other hand, Taehyung curls his fingers around the collar of Jungkook’s sweater and pulls it back while dragging his nose up the length of Jungkook’s neck.

Jungkook inhales sharply, letting go of his blanket to grab the lapels of Taehyung’s jacket instead. His skin tingles as Taehyung repeatedly nuzzles his neck, each time starting at his collarbone and trailing up to the edge of his jaw. After a few agonizing seconds, Taehyung presses a light kiss on the soft spot just below Jungkook’s ear.

Before Jungkook can speak, Taehyung lifts Jungkook’s head back to nuzzle the front of Jungkook’s throat, then swipes around to repeat the scenting process on the other side of Jungkook’s neck.

Taehyung finishes scenting that side of Jungkook’s neck with a kiss, too, and Jungkook’s stomach swoops so severely that his body trembles.

“How do you feel?” Taehyung asks quietly, pulling back far enough for them to look each other in the eyes. He doesn’t move his hands from the side of Jungkook’s neck and the back of his head.

“G-Good.”

Taehyung’s dark eyes drop to Jungkook’s mouth where Jungkook has bitten his bottom lip.

“I need to scent you every time you come to Venor, okay?” It’s a question, but Taehyung speaks it like a command. Jungkook is more than willing to accept it.

“And I’ll scent you, too,” Jungkook says, gently tugging at Taehyung’s jacket lapels, only just realizing he’s still got an iron grip on them.

Taehyung’s eyes widen, and he steps back, making Jungkook stumble forward against his chest.

“You, it’s, the scenting is to protect you,” Taehyung sputters.

It’s the first time Jungkook has seen Taehyung so shy and unsure of himself. It’s cute, and it makes Jungkook feel a little cocky to know he’s the cause of it.

“But I want to do it, too,” Jungkook tugs on Taehyung’s lapels again, “And it’s not fair that your scent is on me, but mine isn’t on you, is it?”

There’s no way for Taehyung to argue against that logic. Silent, he nods and holds still when Jungkook grabs his shoulders to balance himself as he stands on his tiptoes to reach Taehyung’s neck more easily.

Taehyung’s skin is soft against Jungkook’s lips. Scenting doesn’t go as smoothly when Jungkook does it compared to Taehyung. Jungkook is slightly clumsy as he nuzzles Taehyung, his movements not as sure. A twinge of jealousy pierces Jungkook’s chest when he realizes Taehyung must be good at scenting because he’s scented someone else in the past. 

Chasing that thought away, Jungkook focuses on the smell of Taehyung’s skin. It must not matter that he doesn’t know what he’s doing because Taehyung’s breath hitches when Jungkook kisses the corner of his jaw. His large hands fall on Jungkook’s waist to help hold him steady when he switches sides. It feels nice to have the pressure and warmth of Taehyung against his body. Jungkook tries to avoid getting lost in it. Finished, he forces himself to finally step back, letting his arms fall as Taehyung’s do.

“There,” Jungkook says with a smile, that fuzzy euphoric feeling he had earlier in the day returning to him.

Taehyung clears his throat and looks off to the side, “Yeah.”

If it weren’t for the pink blush spreading across Taehyung’s cheeks and the way his tail swishes behind him, Jungkook would think the tiger was angry.

“Do you still want to go to the art museum?” Jungkook asks as he gathers his blanket from the floor. He keeps his face neutral when Taehyung clears his throat again, but inside, he’s a mess of butterflies and somersaults.

“Sure, I’m down.”

“Okay! I just need to get dressed. You can wait in the living room.”

“Cool, cool.” Taehyung nods a few times and awkwardly follows Jungkook down the hall, plopping onto the couch that Jungkook gestures for him to sit on.

Jungkook hides the bottom half of his face in his bunched-up blanket, so Taehyung can’t see him smile, and spins around to scurry to his bedroom. This time, the nerves making his body tremble are from excitement, not fear.

As Jungkook strips his clothes and looks for something cute to wear, he can’t help but notice that his own natural floral scent smells lovely mixed with Taehyung’s. He wonders if Taehyung thinks so, too.

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd &daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

[wineauntie]

spot the differences (trick question; there’s none)

I don’t know why my brain connected the two and now I can’t stop thinking abt it.

Also the one in the second picture, on the bottom row, second from the right is Luke, I can’t explain it

[whiskey-bumblebee]

when I kissed the teacher 💋

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3338

A/N: fits into the touch tank ‘verse! All characters are consenting adults (and not to spoil it, but Hotch isn’t really a professor so it’s especially okay <3), Smut! Office sex. MDNI 

Also I feel like I didn’t describe the sex position super well, so here’s a visual (link image is N S F W!, it’s drawn so it’s not pure porn but. It’s sexual) 

Divider courtesy of @animatedglittergraphics-n-more​

There’s a rush of excitement in your veins as you smooth your hands over your outfit, walking down the hallway to the onsite lecture theatre at Quantico. Dr. Hotchner is guest lecturing today, and you’ll be damned if he doesn’t notice you.

The bottom hem of your skirt sits well above your knees. You’re wearing your favourite blouse, holding some books in your arms, which are folded across your chest. Your tote holds a handful of pens and a notebook. The lipstick on your lips is your favourite shade. A diamond tennis bracelet adorns one of your wrists. In short, you feel like a million dollars, and you look like a billion.

You can tell that you’re late by the fact that the hallway leading up to the door is completely empty. When you walk in, and take a seat in the back row, your suspicion is confirmed. Professor Hotchner doesn’t look up at you, caught up in the concept he’s explaining. You take a minute to set up your notebook and take the cap off your pen. It’s one of the ones with a feathery doodad on top, and you can’t stifle a smile when you watch it bobbing in the air above the page as you write the date. 

“So, based on those traits, we were able to determine that the unknown subject was disorganized, driven by passion, and prone to making mistakes. Each of those assumptions was correct, but which aspect of the wider profile was an error? Someone who isn’t familiar with the case, please.”

A tall young adult with blonde hair raised his hand, and Professor Hotchner called on him.

“The assumption that they must have been part of a wider criminal network?” He offered.

“Yes,” Professor Hotchner replied. “Can you tell me why that was a significant error we made?”

“Well, there wasn’t much evidence for that part of the profile, aside from the fact that there were a lot of crime scenes for a single individual.”

“And what is the lesson there? Someone else, please.”

Someone you couldn’t quite make out in the front row raised their hand, and the professor nodded in their direction.

“Don’t assume the worst?”

“Well,” Hotchner paused. “Sometimes it’s helpful to assume the worst, because it forces you to confront a minimal loss scenario, rather than a completely effective solution. Has anyone ever heard the expression ‘when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras’?”

There was some scattered nodding throughout the room.

“Right. So in the field, statistics matter. For instance, the vast majority of arsonists are young males. Knowing that information can help you narrow down the suspect pool quickly, which is key when response time is important.”

He clicked over to the next slide, and you grimaced, seeing the gutted remains of what had once been a lecture hall. 

“However,” Professor Hotchner said, taking a dramatic pause as the students considered the image. “It’s important that you don’t make a habit of ruling out zebras, because every now and again, you’ll see an unsub who doesn’t fit the stereotypical profile for their crime, method, location...”

Something pink caught his eye, and he glanced up at the back row, where he saw you, dutifully taking notes with a completely ridiculous pen. You looked up when you realized that the room had fallen silent, making eye contact with him. You gave him a dreamy wave, resting your chin on your hand. 

He looked away quickly. “As I was saying...”

The rest of the lecture continued fairly successfully. At one point, the professor was stumped by a question from a student, who had asked how a profiler was supposed to know the difference between a horse and a zebra when the hoofbeats are all you have to go on. He’d paced the room for a minute or so, considering his response.

“I would say that it takes practice. The main takeaway is that you shouldn’t jump straight to zebra, but you shouldn’t rule it out either, until you have a strong reason to do so.” He looked at the student who’d asked the question, a small smile causing his lips to turn upward. “But I wouldn’t know. I’m not a biologist.”

Scattered laughter broke out in the auditorium, and he pulled back the sleeve of his suit jacket to check the time. 

“Alright, I’m sure you all have places to be, but if there’s one piece of advice I would give you all, it’s that there are no perfect answers, which, honestly, makes lecturing on this topic a little difficult. You’ll make mistakes, no profile is ever flawless. But, most of all, remember that the profile doesn’t need to be perfect to work. A lot of the time, research, police work, autopsies, all come together, and it’s the details from those, combined with the profile, that enables us to limit harm.”

He cleared his throat and glanced up at you again, pressing his lips together tightly before looking somewhere else in the room.

“Thank you everybody, have a good weekend. I have a few minutes for questions-”

The end of his sentence was overtaken by the sound of students chatting, packing their bags, and clearing the aisles. You stayed put, watching a line form between his lectern and up the stairs, almost stretching to the back of the lecture hall.

You sighed lightly, waiting for the line to abate before you joined it. The other students were lucky that the professor was being so generous with his time. It had been half an hour, and the last three students were still waiting patiently for their turns. Most of the interactions had just been handshakes, futile attempts at networking. Even with the best intentions, he’d never remember their names, and besides, it would be unprofessional to give any of them a leg up. The BAU was a selective group, and for good reason. Very few of the students who had an interest in profiling would actually be good candidates for the unit.

At long last, the professor was finishing up with the last student. You made eye contact with Hotchner, shooting him a small smile before pushing the tip of your pointer finger between your lips, under the guise of soothing a papercut. You made sure to drag your finger out of your mouth torturously slowly, emphasizing the way your lips parted. He’d know exactly what you were getting at.

He cleared his throat and tore his eyes from yours. “I’m very sorry Patrick, but I really need to get back to work. Besides, I think you’ll be able to find most of the answers on the FBI website, if the hostage negotiation stream is something you’re interested in.”

Patrick stuttered, nodding and quickly leaving the room. Professor Hotchner had perhaps been a little curt, but you could tell he was tiring of the schmoozing from the look he shot you, eyebrows raised. 

He said your last name affectionately. “Would you mind if we take this to my office? I think another class is scheduled in this room in a few minutes.”

“Of course,” You said, gesturing for him to go up the stairs before you.

“No, after you,” He insisted. You crossed your arms.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I have a rule not to let men walk behind me.”

Your comment clearly flustered him, and he cleared his throat, a blush coming over his cheeks. He confined his eyeline tightly to the ground.

A few minutes later, you were seated in his office, the professor in his leather armchair and you sitting on the edge of the desk. 

“Sorry there are no other seats,” He apologized, still struggling to make eye contact with you.

“It’s no problem,” You said sweetly, letting your legs swing. 

“What did you want to talk about?” He finally looked up at you, his eyelashes framing his dark eyes beautifully. 

“I was wondering if you could help me revise the notes from today? I missed the first few minutes and I hate leaving them incomplete,” You explained sheepishly.

You leaned all the way back on his desk, letting your back rest flat against it as you reached to the floor for your notebook. You heard him take a sharp exhale at the way he was suddenly in the right place to look directly up your skirt. He pressed his lips together tightly, looking away as you popped back up, spine upright again.

Opening the book to today’s page, you held the book open with one hand, propping it up on your lap, pointing to the notes you’d made. Sure enough, he walked you through each of the notes you’d taken, telling you where you’d missed a key point. As you did so, he pulled his chair in closer to the desk, one of his hands coming to your thigh, where he rested it casually. If you put the book down, he would have been face to face with your barely-covered pelvis, given how much your skirt was riding up.

You played with your hair for a moment, nodding as he explained the principle of minimal loss. In a breathy voice, you asked, “And that’s where the trickle, flow, gush strategy comes into play?”

He noticed your emphasis on those three words, and swallowed. “Well, yes. Sometimes the minimal loss principle is used outside of hostage situations, but trickle, flow, gush is only ever used in hostage scenarios.”

Undoing the top few buttons on your blouse, you leaned forward, emphasizing your breasts. “That’s so... interesting.”

His hand, the one on your thigh, started to move incrementally towards your hip, taking the skirt with it as he went. You set the notebook aside, finally, and waited for his reaction. 

“Professor?”

“Yes?”

“Would you care for a practical experiment in profiling?”

He sighed and leaned back in his armchair, drinking in the sight of you on his desk, skirt bunched up around your hips, blouse no longer modestly buttoned.

“We tend to make a rule of not profiling profilers,” He explained, but in all honesty, you were watching his hands slip from the arms of the chair to his lap, where he folded them over his crotch.

“One sentence, just tell me if I’m telling the truth,” You begged, spreading your legs slightly. He couldn’t help the way his jaw slackened as he realized what you were revealing. This whole time, his whole lecture... you had nothing underneath that tiny, tiny skirt.

Suddenly, he was standing over you, disrupting the height difference that had left you, for once, looking down at him. He placed the tip of his index finger on the beginning of the inside of your thigh, just by your knee. 

“Go ahead,” He breathed, close enough that you could feel it on your neck. He pressed a soft, chaste kiss there, trailing down your neck at an excruciating pace. Once you were moaning softly, he started tracing his finger up the inside of your thigh. You had the distinct feeling that once his finger and mouth crossed paths, you might burst into flames. Such light, delicate touches that they were almost ticklish.

You grabbed his tie tightly in your fist, pulling it so he had no choice but to face you.

“I want you to fuck me, more than I want anything else in the world.”

From the immediate reddening of his face, you could tell he knew you meant every letter of what you’d said. It must have been almost intimidating to know that you were being completely earnest, almost frightening to be wanted so badly.

“So, Professor...” You sighed, before pulling him in by the tie and licking a stripe up his stubbled cheek, “True or false?“

“True,” He said, his baritone cutting right through you. It was his straightforward, factual tone. There was no room for argument or misinterpretation.

You let go of his tie and laid back on the desk, leaving your legs dangling over the edge, your hips at the perfect height, resting securely on the desk. 

You heard the sound of a zipper being undone, and looked up to see him draping his blazer over the back of his chair. He was standing between your legs, taking you in like a painting at a gallery, cocking his head from side to side.

“You’re ethereal,” He said plainly. 

“Fuck me then,” You replied.

It was bold, but you knew that after the lecture, and the way you’d been teasing each other in the office, you’d be able to take him. You were soaked, leaving your core dripping, feeling hypersensitive to the slight coldness of the room. 

He pumped his hand up and down his cock, and on any other day, you’d be happy to watch him pleasuring himself: the pure masculinity of his huge hands fisting his length... But today, you needed it.

“Please,” You whimpered. 

“Just putting on a condom,” He murmured quietly. In the hush that came over the room as you admired each other, you heard the wrapper landing in the plastic-lined bin under his desk. 

He gave your hip a squeeze, and you nodded. He nodded back, and nudged your legs wider apart. There was already a delicious stretch in your inner thighs from how you had to open your hips to create space for his strong frame. Once he was satisfied with your position, he started to ease into you, guided with one of his hands.

Your breathing immediately became shallower, and you felt yourself clench tightly around the very very tip of him. He moved his hand away and guided your legs into the air, letting your ankles rest against the front of his shoulders. He gripped your thighs for leverage.

He pushed in further, and you moaned loudly. You both knew the office floor would be empty, so neither of you made any attempts to stay quiet. 

“You’re so big,” You said, grinding your hips towards his and whining softly at how it pushed his length even further into you. He gave a short thrust, and it knocked the wind out of you. 

He moaned your name softly and whispered, “I don’t think I can keep up the act. What do you need, baby?”

“Please just fuck me, don’t worry about taking it slow,” You breathed. “Please, just give it to me hard.”

He huffed a short laugh, breaking character temporarily to cup your cheek affectionately. 

“I love you,” He said tenderly, his mouth setting into a firm line as he leaned into the second part of his sentence, “But I’m going to fuck you like I want to break you.”

 And with that, he pressed the rest of the way inside, his mouth dropping into an ‘O’. His sigh was almost pornographic, and he looked up at the ceiling. You weren’t sure if he was praying or just trying to become accustomed to the feeling.

“You’re so tight,” He hissed. “Gonna fuck you open.”

True to his word, he set a brutal pace; slow but deep, slamming his hips into yours, pulling out halfway, slamming in again. It left your brain in a tailspin, with stars behind your eyes. He’d switch it up by pulling almost all the way out, leaving you begging and writhing, grinding your hips towards his, and then he’d push back in slowly, watching your reaction to every inch, your brows pinched, eyes screwing shut.

“Touch your breasts,” He said. “Wish I could, but I’m a little,” He breathed, fucking into you hard. “Preoccupied.”

With each thrust, shit was tumbling from the desk. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, the crashes to the floor only a small part of the soundtrack of his thrusts and your shared sounds. When his groans gave way to something more akin to whines, you knew he was getting close. The desk was scooting across the floor with the force of it all. 

“Can you finish like this?”

You knew it was a question without judgement, so you weren’t ashamed to shake your head. 

He stroked one of your legs affectionately. “I’m going to drop this one so I have some room to work,” He said under his breath. 

You nodded, and he gently eased your leg down, making sure it was slow enough that you wouldn’t cramp or stretch too far in this strange position. With one of your legs in the air, and the other wrapped around his hip, he lowered his free hand to your labia. He pressed his cock almost all of the way into you, and traced his thumb around your stretched opening, making you aware of how much of him you were taking.

“So deep,” He groaned softly. “Feel how well you take me?”

He brought his thumb around to the top of your slit, tracing it in wide circles, gathering some of your wetness and using it to lubricate your clit as he made his circles narrower and faster.

“Like that?” He breathed.

“Up and down,” You whined breathily. “I’m so close, Aaron.”

He moved his thumb up and down, flicking your clit under his thumb. Your reaction was immediate, your legs shaking around him, held in place by his steadying hand on your upright leg.

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron,” You chanted, eyes rolling back. 

He moaned, the ragged sound getting caught in his throat. You heard your name echoed back to you in his deep baritone, and the sound, and his continued attention to your clit, sent you deeper into your orgasm. Whether this was still the first, or the second, you were unsure. Your legs shook against him, and he pressed kisses to your calf as he spilled himself into the condom, muffling the sound into your skin. You were starting to come down just as he came, so you watched as his face crumpled, almost as if he was about to cry. He panted heavily and opened his eyes, looking directly at you.

It was cliche, but you really felt that he was staring straight into your soul. His face broke out into a wide grin, and he eased out of you quickly, before you became too sensitive. With the utmost care, he helped you bring your other leg back down, rubbing your thigh gently to discourage any aches from setting in. His warm hands felt wonderful on your skin, and you moaned softly. Once your body felt like it was back on the right planet again, you grinned and he smiled right back at you, leaning down to press kisses all over your face. 

“I love you,” He murmured. 

You hummed affirmatively, running your hands over his back, still clothed in his button up and tie. “I love you too.”

He disappeared from your eyeline for a second, and when he helped you to your feet, you saw that he had laid out his suit jacket and pants on the floor of the office. 

“It’s not a bed, but...” He blushed slightly, hand coming to the back of his neck. You kissed his cheek and lay down as he took off the condom and pulled on his briefs. He loosened his tie and lay down beside you. The ground was undeniably hard, but for now, the warmth of his clothing beneath you was enough. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping them around you so you were snug against his chest. Happy, you nuzzled into him, feeling his comforting natural scent fill your nose. 

“If I doze off, you have to wake me up,” You craned your neck so you could look at his face. He gave you an affectionate squeeze, but he was already almost lost to the sandman. He hummed softly, his breath evening out. 

You snuggled into him. You’d both wake up soon enough, since he was right, this wasn’t much of a bed, but for now, you couldn’t imagine doing anything other than resting your head back down on his chest and letting yourself be held, but more importantly than that, completely and utterly loved.