#on the other hand everyone seemed to have sharp edges in the book and the show sanded them down

[stupidsexpotflanders]

Unpopular Opinion - Show!Luke was kinda defanged(so was everyone else)

Luke's scar not being big is the least of my problems with his show version. I don't know if it's Charlie's features,acting,direction or simply the script,but this Luke seems too soft. Yes,Luke is supposed to be friendly and gentle,but there's also this sharpness to him. To be fair,everyone's edges were softened,not just Luke's. But since this is about Luke,and he's my fave,I'll talk more about him. He's supposed to be a veteran of this harsh world,and looks like "He could deal with just anything" - and Charlie's Luke doesn't show this,IMO. He seems more like a rich popular kid who never had a hard day in his life. Him having a worse scar wouldn't change much,since it wasn't just a physical mark on Luke,but his aura and behaviour. In fact,Charlie's Luke with a big blemish in his face would give the vibes of an accident while joyriding on his daddy's car,or doing something particularly reckless for fun and having to spend a few days in the hospital. In fact,I'd take a scarless Luke with harshness and trauma over a scarred but soft Luke.

[youryanderedaddy]

When Life Gives Lemons

tw: female reader, technically non con because of stealthing, baby trapping, breeding, obsessive behavior, reader being a bit rude

You couldn’t believe the irony of your life. You were about to break up with your immature boyfriend, and he still managed to be grossly late to the date, unconsciously digging his own grave deeper. You had put on your best white shirt and the tightest skirt you owned, and you even went through the trouble of booking the latest hipster coffee shop close to the centre. He had been fifteen minutes late, to be exact, and when you brought it up, he simply shrugged a long sleazy smile, dragging his skeleton - shaped metal rings against the edge of the table.

“All in due time, princess.” He took a sip off his coffee - a single shot of espresso with no creamer, as always. “All in due time.” He repeated, reaching in his pocket for a pack of off - brand cigarettes. He really couldn’t afford any of the fancy ones. Once the cigarette was lit, he slowly brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply, letting his head relax against the chair. His thick neck tightened as he swallowed the deadly smoke, and even the sun seemed to avoid his messy dark locks, instead keeping the man in the shadows.

“What does that even mean?” You threw your hands around helplessly, sinking into your chair. “Don’t you want to know?” Axel teased, taking another puff. Although his expression was one of mild amusement, his sharp blue eyes were carefully following your every movement - wondering what will tip you off the most. “You know, you’re so fuckin’ hot when you’re mad, mami.” He smiled in a playful boyish way that once would have made you melt, but now only served as a reminder of his unserious nature.

“Stop playing around. I need to discuss something imp–”

“Shhh, don’t talk, babygirl. I need to show you something.” Axel interrupted, gripping the big guitar closer to his lap. ”I wrote you a song.” His thin fingers grazed the delicate transparent strings, forcing a catchy, although not fully polished melody out of the old thing. He took a deep breath, wetting his lips so the lyrics would come out softer. 

My girl knows how to set me

on flames she goes through 

the motions of the wind she

is a fireball, a fireball, on fire

“What the fuck, Axy.” You pounded your fists at the table, shaking the glasses and spilling coffee all over the wooden surface. You could feel everyone’s judging stare across your back, all of the other patrons were jeering and whispering about the two of you, and your cheeks were heating up by the moment. “I’ve told you countless times to stop writing those shitty songs. They don’t even rhyme, for fuck sake.” You whined, suddenly overwhelmed by helplessness. He was never going to change, was he? “This is exactly why I want to break up.”

The music stopped entirely. His dark sunglasses ended on the ground. 

“You wanna break up?” The musician repeated slowly, suddenly appearing awfully composed - so composed it made you look crazy. After that question he remained silent for a very long time, taking long drags off his cigarette while studying your face for any sign of your true feelings bleeding out. “Real’ funny, babe, real’ fun joke.” He forced a crooked smile, reaching in to squeeze your hand all the way through the table. “Now tell me, what’s wrong with the song? I stayed real’ late to compose it just for our date today.” He winked, which only made you feel worse.

“I am being serious, Axel. Let go of me.” Your tone turned icy and your ex boyfriend quickly released you, eyes filling with raw fear. “Wait, baby, we can talk about–”

“There is nothing to talk about. You’re such a child!” You blurted out, too frustrated to spare energy on fluttery words and sweet apologies. “I want to do my masters soon. You know I’m applying to Metwyorth - I can’t be seen hanging around with a high school dropout who does Saturday gigs for a living.” You continued, pursing your lips together. You knew you were being harsh, cruel even, but this was the only way to push him away. The musician could be awfully clingy, so you needed to be firm.

“A highschool dropout who made you scream your brains out.” Axel responded bitterly through clenched teeth, eyes growing dark with anger. You shook your head bashfully, avoiding his fiery gaze. “Sure, we had our fun,” You gestured vaguely at nothing in particular, trying to hide the shame blossoming on your sides. “But it’s time to wake up. I mean, be realistic. We live in different worlds.” You began to collect your things quickly, standing up to leave.

“Y/N!” He called out to you, causing you to turn back just for a second - you owed him that much for all the good memories you knew you both would have trouble forgetting. “You’re making a mistake. Please, think it through.” The man took a hold of your hand, caressing your fingers gently. “I know I can’t offer you much right now, but I really love you!” His eyes dilated, honest and clear like an untouched sea on a quiet day. 

“Goodbye, Axel.”

***

You meet him sooner that you’d like.

Two weeks later you’re drunk off your mind, dancing the night away with some of your girlfriends when you catch a pair of familiar eyes fluttering across your body from the other side of the room. It makes you feel hot all over - despite what you said back then, you felt each agonising moment of the break up. Even if the logical part of your brain knows you have no future with such a man, your body needs him, craves him. 

Axel keeps staring at you intensely, burning holes through your neck, your thighs, your lips. His yearning gaze lingers, completely miserable, and yet as lustful as the night he first wrapped his arms around you and claimed you as his. He can still feel your nails scratching his back red and bloody, sending shivers down his spine and setting fire in his loins. This staring game of yours lasts for approximately thirty minutes before he gives in and comes over to your table. He doesn’t say anything - doesn’t look at you or greet your friends, doesn’t even pretend to have any reason to approach you. He simply grabs you, swallows an airy pant, and drags you inside the bathroom.

You’re all over each other in no time. His hands are tangled in your hair and your nails are sinking into his warm flesh once again. You can’t breathe for a second, suffocated by a deep, longing kiss that he only spares you of once your lips start to turn blue. He licks your neck and bites at any spot vulnerable enough to steal a gasp out of you - and you return it by sucking on his collarbone until a purple hickey adorns his skin. You swiftly unzip his loose pants and start taking your dress off, but as you try to spread your legs, he turns you around facing the wall. 

“Fuck, I wanna do you from the back, princess.” Axel mumbles, one strong hand gripping your throat as the other gropes your breasts freely. You nod weakly, too turned on to comprehend any of the words he’s saying. “Ngh, wanna be able to pull your hair n’ shit.” His fist wraps around your ponytail, pulling slightly so you expose your neck to his teeth. You can already feel his throbbing manhood prob at your thighs, slowly moving towards your entrance. “Y-you have a condom on, right?” You manage to whimper through the little electric bursts of pleasure running through your whole body as he plays you like an instrument. He mumbles something like “yeah”, and in this state of mind that’s enough for you.

He starts sinking into your heat slowly, letting you adjust to his hard length inch by inch, then once you’ve settled, practically begging him to just give it to you, he begins thrusting painfully slow - really making you feel it going in and out, in and out in a perfect rhythm. Each time his cock brushes against your most sensitive spot, you’re reduced to a slick, desperate mess, but just as your thighs begin to go numb and you slip down, Axel catches both of your wrists and pins them to the wall, keeping you in place. You’re so wet you can hear the slap of skin on skin every time your gummy walls hug his member, but you’re too far gone to care about the nasty sound.

“F-fuck, baby, you’d be so fucking hot as a mother. Have you ever thought about it?” Your ex whispers against you, picking up the pace. You shake your head - kids have never been your priority, since you’re still so young and your education would always come first. “I thought about it. A lot, ‘n fact, when we were separated.” His heartbeat fastens. “Ugh, you’re still so tight, god…” His free hand dances at your hips, ogling and caressing any curve it can find. “When you dumped me, I was completely lost, ya know? Didn’t sober up for three days. But then I dreamt that I knocked you up accidentally. S-shit, did you just tighten up?”

Your whole body stiffens at his words. Your stomach fills with unexplainable dread - this whole conversation is turning you off, but somehow your body seems to have a mind of its own. 

“Q-quit it with the small talk, asshole.” You groan, pushing back so you’d get more friction between your legs. “Just fuck me, okay? I don’t need to hear your weird fantasies.” You hear yourself saying confidently despite the provocative position you’re currently stuck in - you can’t even see his face, but you know he’s probably laughing at your bossy comment. But instead he keeps blabbering on as if you’re not even there. “You were so beautiful, princess. So big and–” He bites his lower lip. “So fucking needy for me - just like now. You were dripping everywhere. You were so excited for our little baby.” He grunted hoarsely, reaching in to stroke your clit - and despite your best efforts, you let out a soft moan. 

“And we were a family - just you, n-ngh, me and the little guy.” Axel utters through clenched teeth, trying to hold out for as long as possible - savouring you in tiny little bites. “No stupid degrees or anythin’, just us two against the world.” He slows down further, now barely moving inside of you. It’s driving you crazy with anticipation - both his story and the way he’s fucking you. “And it made me think, we could really have all that - if it wasn’t for your stupid pride. All I need to do is knock you up. Just think about it.” The man grips your hips roughly, impaling you on his thickness. 

“Your tits will swell, your thighs will thicken; you’ll be so tired you’ll have to lay down all the time. You won’t even be able to touch yourself because of your belly.” He smiles at you gently, although you can’t see it. At this point you’re already so close to climax you can’t break through the cotton cloud haze that’s taken over your mind to truly focus. This is one of the reasons you had to break up with the musician - he could get you cockdrunk with a simple touch, and that vulnerability felt terrifying.

“And I will take care of you through every-” He kisses your cheek. “single–” He kisses you again. “step of the way.” He inhales deeply, thrusting in one final time before he spills inside you. “I love you, baby. I really can’t let you go.”

[camzeecorner]

ONE TASTE 18+

Summary: Matt, the school's 'nerd,' unexpectedly found himself in a vulnerable position after confessing to his best friend that he was still a virgin, leading to a moment that would change their friendship forever.

Warnings : edging, praise, mommy kink, squirting, kissing, virginity lost, creampie, explicit language, manipulation if you squint

sub!matt x fem reader

—————————————————————————

I lay on my back, gazing at the familiar patterns on my ceiling, the soft glow of the lamp casting gentle shadows as I listened to Matt flip through his pages repeatedly. It was almost hypnotic, the way he immersed himself in his studies. I couldn't help but wonder what fueled his passion for school; he cared for it with a devotion that was rare among our peers. People often whispered that I kept him around for his grades, that I used him, but they didn't understand. Matt was my favorite person, my best friend.

No one ever talked to him, and girls never seemed to approach him, which, oddly enough, made me happy. I liked how closed off he was to everyone else; it felt like I had a little piece of him all to myself. I began to wonder if Matt had ever been with a girl. He never mentioned crushes or the girls he found pretty, which was strange considering how open I was with him. I shared everything about my life, my escapades, my heartaches, but his world remained a mystery. At first, I didn't want to push him, but now I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he was just embarrassed to share his secrets with me.

Sitting up, I fixed my gaze on him. Matt was different from the other boys at our school—only Chris and Nick shared that same vibe, but for entirely different reasons. To me, he was always attractive, with a magnetic charm that made my heart race. His sharp jawline and godlike features were mesmerizing, and his hair was perfectly soft, almost inviting to touch. But it was his eyes that captivated me the most—an enchanting shade of blue that seemed to hold entire galaxies within them. His glasses only accentuated his striking looks, making him the quintessential nerd, though never in my eyes. It was a shame that other girls couldn’t see what I saw. I pondered a little longer, taking in every detail, my heart fluttering as I examined him from head to toe, wondering if he could ever see himself the way I saw him.

“hey Matt..” I call out, catching his attention “..yea” Matt said looking up from his textbook. He turned his head slightly to the side so he could see me. I took a moment looking at him, “You ever..kiss a girl?” I say smiling. Matt shifted in his seat quickly reverting his eyes back to his book. He cleared his throat, his chest rising and falling. He began looking over the words on his book nervously. “Why are you asking me that..?” He spoke quietly. I got up walking next to him. I placed my hands on his shoulders running them up and down. “I’m just wondering matty.. you gonna answer my question?” He looked around in front of him, he had beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. “I really have to study .. you’re disturbing me.” I knew he was trying to avoid the conversation, but I was curious. I wanted to know everything about him. “It’s just one question..” I say scoffing. I look at his stuff sprawled out on my desk. I quickly grab his things and place them in his bag. “I was using those!” Matt barked at me. Turning around in his chair fast. “Matt you’ve never kissed a girl have you..” I whisper to him.

I bend my body down so I’m eye level with him. “You’ve never felt the touch of someone else on you” I lean forward to whisper in his ear. “S-stop” Matt stuttered. It was so fulfilling listening to him speak pathetically. He didn’t want me to stop. “Matt..” I look in his eyes, then his lips. His soft pink plump lips. They were chapped from the amount of time he had bit them. I bring him to my bed sitting him on the edge.

I knew what I had to do. I knew what I wanted to do. I kissed him.

It felt like a suction cup and I never wanted to release him. It took him a moment to realize I was kissing him. He moved him lips in a matching pace to mine. I tug on his hair pulling him even closer to me. I lick his top lip asking for an entrance. He doesn’t understand that, so I bite his lip gently. He gasps opening his mouth slighty. Being fast i slip my tongue inside his mouth. I find his tongue and start to gently suck on it, moaning into the kiss. I pull away with a string of saliva connected to our mouths. Matt’s eyes are wide open. “What..what was that for.” i shrug my shoulders smiling at him. Gently placing my lips back on him. I pull away and chuckle. “I was curious of what you tasted like..” I look up at him. His eyebrows raise. “I’ve never done that before..” he smiles blush slightly. I smile at him looking down. I licked my lips, tasting him. I look at Matt and smirk. “Have you ever seen a girl naked?” I bite my lip at him moving his glasses back onto his face as they slid down. Matt shook his head. “uhm..no.. I-i haven’t” “do you want to?” I ask him smirking. “Well. I don’t know.. if that’s a good idea” I stand up and take my shirt off. “I don’t see why it’s an issue.. if you want me to stop, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

I walk over to my bed, climbing on it. I scoot back so I’m at the headboard. I look at Matt and pat the spot beside me signaling him to sit there. Matt gets up and walks over. I can see his slightly hard boner, making his pants tighter. I smirk at myself. He sits beside me, putting some space between us. I scoot so I’m closer to him. I reach for Matt’s hand interlocking our fingers. I place our hands on my chest, gently squeezing them. Matt’s breath hitches in his throat. “Oh my god.” Matt spoke in a hushed breath. I let go of his hand reaching behind me unclasping my bra. I let it fall in my lap, picking it up tossing it to the side. His eyes immediately look down and my bare chest. “Do you like them matty?” He nods his head quickly. “I’ve never seen them in person, they never looked this perfect in the movies.” I laugh at his comment, enjoying the praise. He smiles lightly.

I lean forward grabbing Matt’s face. I kiss him rougher than I did the first time. He climbs on top of me making sure not to break the kiss. He begins massaging my boobs rolling my nipple in between his fingers. “Oh fuck Matt” I grind my hip upwards towards his hard erection trying to create friction. I reach my hand down gently palming him. He moans loudly into my mouth. I could’ve came right then and there from his sounds. I pull away from him and flip us over quickly. I straddle his waist. He’s lying down and I’m on top of him. I begin unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling it off of his body throwing it in the same direction as mine. I trail my hands up and down his toned stomach. “Do you want to have sex with me Matt?” I ask him shyly. “Yes.” He speaks quick. “But.. I don’t know how..” he looks away getting embarrassed. He’s so cute. “ that’s okay baby. Just lie down and be good f’me” I reach down kissing him. I pull away and get off of him pulling my shorts off. I look up and see Matt copying my movements, taking my underwear off I get back on Matt. I grab his fingers and place them right into my wet folds.

He gasps loudly looking up at me. I roll my body into his hand enjoying the feeling. I’ve never felt like this towards anyone before. “Oh g-god m-matt.. you make me feel s-so good” I moan throwing my head back. I feel him moving his fingers in a circular motion. I grip his wrist feeling my stomach tightening. He slips two fingers in moving them fast, in and out. “Oh god Matt.. right t-there.” I moan loudly. “Shit shit” my breath picking up. “Matt I’m gonna cum” bucking my hips forward, I cum all over his fingers feeling my body shaking. I slowly come down from my intense orgasm, feeling limp. “Did I do good for you?” I look at Matt and smile nodding my head. “So good baby” I kiss him. “Such a good boy” I whisper in his mouth. I pull away grabbing his hand placing his fingers into my mouth sucking my juices off of him. I lick each finger making sure to clean them perfectly. “You wanna taste me baby?” “Please..” I bring my lips towards him and kiss him sliding my tongue in his mouth, my cum mixing between us. He inhaled in the kiss. “So sweet” I pull away, resting my forehead against his. Leaning back up i repositioned myself so I’m sitting on his hard dick. “I’m gonna ride you now okay baby” he nods looking up at me.

I rub his cock slowly giving him satisfaction. He moans lowly closing his eyes at the feeling. “That feel good baby?” “S’good.. so good mommy” I stop my motions right then looking at him. Matt opens his eyes fast, and begins to sit up. He looked so scared. So vulnerable. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that I’m so sorry-“ “don’t apologize,” I smirk at him. Cupping his face tilting my head to the side. “be a good boy for mommy okay” he whimpers at my words bucking his hips up. I sit up, placing his tip at my entrance rubbing it back and forth before slipping it into me. “Fuck Matt, you’re s-so huge” I pull my body up and slam back down, fast. Repeating the process until I build a pace going back up and down. Throwing my head back I moan. God I could ride him all day. My legs felt like they were getting weaker and weaker. I place my hands on his chest gaining balance. Matt noticed how tired my body was getting, he grabbed my thighs and started to thrust up. For a virgin he was so good at this. Hitting every perfect spot, at such amazing angles. I could feel him start to twitch in me. He must’ve been so close.

“M’so close mo-mommy” he whimpered. “Wait for me baby.. can you do that? Be a g-good boy and wait for me” he moaned and started gaining speed adding his fingers. He rubbed fast on my clit making me scream. “Fuck shit- oh my god- I’m gonna cum” he kept going fast hitting the same spot over and over. The pressure from his fingers and the way he was fucking himself into me making me squirm. “C’mon mommy.. wanna feel you cum on my cock” hearing him say that was enough to send me over the edge. I whimper chocking on my sobs. “I’m cumming Matt shit shit-“ I felt the knot in my stomach releasing over matt for the second time. I saw liquid flow out of me fast, Matt getting pushed out of me in the process. I felt his cum dripping out of me. Our fluids mixing together. “You made me squirt Matt..” I look at him shocked. I begin giggling covering my face. I look at Matt in disbelief, “No one has ever made me feel that good.” He smiles at me through his heavy breathing, the look he was giving me was enough to make me want to fuck him again.“does that make me special?” He closed his eyes trying to catch his breath. His glasses had fogged up, I grab them wiping the lenses. “You’ve always been special to me.” I look up at him through my eyelashes. “I’ll get something to clean the mess” I get up going into my bathroom and grab a cloth. I run the rag through hot water, ringing the extra water out. Walking back to my room I climb on my bed beside matt.

I gently wipe him down, being careful not to startle him. I can tell he’s sensitive; he hisses every time I touch him. Getting up, I head to my closet and grab some clothes for us. Walking back to Matt, I hand him the clothes. “Thank you,” he says, a soft smile spreading across his face. “Of course,” I reply, slipping into my own outfit.

I climb into bed, scooting next to Matt and resting my head on his chest. It feels so comfortable here; he always makes me feel safe, like I can truly be myself. My mind races with thoughts, and I can’t help but wonder how we would look together as a couple. I look up at him, my heart pounding, and finally speak up. “I wanna be with you, Matt. I’ve never thought any less of you. You’ve always been so perfect to me.” My voice is quiet, but I hope he hears me.

For a few seconds, he doesn’t respond, just picks at his lips with his teeth. Doubt creeps in, and I start to regret my confession. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? He clears his throat, licks his lips, and pushes his hair back before turning to look at me, gently grabbing my chin. “You’ve always been my favorite girl,” he says, leaning in to place a soft kiss on my lips. I smile into the kiss, warmth flooding my cheeks. When he pulls away, he tucks some hair behind my ear and locks his fingers in my hair, scanning my face as he tugs his lip between his teeth. “I wanna be with you too…”

In that moment, I feel like the happiest girl alive. I leap up from the bed, swinging my arms around him in pure joy. I’ve never felt this happy before! I shower him with kisses all over his face, feeling myself melt into him. He giggles, wrapping his arms around me, and I finally place a gentle kiss on his cheek, relaxing into his embrace. It’s perfect.

A/N: just notice I don’t have a tag list #embarafuckingssing

[4unnyr0se]

❥ librarian | chuuya nakahara

warnings: fem! reader, meet cute, chuuya is a flirt bc i said so, wined and dined, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, bedroom sex, hickeys, making out, hair pulling, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, rough sex, whiny chuuya, corruption kink(?), reader does not know how to dress to save her life, sugar daddy(?) chuuya, unironic lip biting, chuuya is one hell of a chef, dirty talk, reader reads smut, semi-proofread

MDNI | 18+ content

word court -> 4.7k

“Excuse me, could you keep your voice down, please? It’s a library…” was something that you said more often than you would like to admit. Sure, you only took the library job because of how insanely introverted you were, but that was neither here nor there. You thought that people would have more respect for a place that let you borrow as many books as you wanted, but nope. It was either filled with screaming children, teenagers kissing in the nonfiction section, or the elderly who didn’t know how to open their email accounts, bless them.

Other than the constant shushing (and the resulting glares you get from people you’ve shushed), the library job was nice. It was comforting, it had decent pay, and you got to keep some of the books that no one wanted to check out anymore. Hell, you even got hit on once or twice by freakishly tall men. Then again, all men were freakishly tall in your eyes. You fit the tiny librarian stereotype quite well, which your fellow librarians found to be adorable. 

Standing in the true crime section, your heeled feet stood on a step stool so you could better organize books about mafia activity in past decades. It wasn’t a very popular section by any means, mostly because the locals that frequented the library thought that true crime a was bit too niche. You didn’t mind really, it just meant that you got to be on the opposite side of the building and away from the screaming children. Often you wondered what it would be like to be a witness to a mafia hit, how the adrenaline pumping in your veins would make you feel. Lost in your train of thought, you neglected to notice that you were slowly slipping off of the step stool, the backings of your high heels teetering off the edge. It wasn’t a steep drop by any means but it would hurt pretty damn badly if you fell. 

Taking an ignorant step back, the back of your heel found nothing to land on. Yelping slightly, you spread your arms out and waved them back and forth in what was probably the world's weakest attempt at flying. “Oh shit-” you closed your eyes shut and braced for impact, hoping that you wouldn’t land on the sharp metal bookshelves behind you.

The impact never came. Instead, you felt a warm embrace of someone holding you. You opened up one eye carefully, your baby hairs covering your forehead. 

“Hey, you okay?” A deep and raspy voice snapped both of your eyes open, your gaze landing on a head of ginger hair. The man smirked at you and let you down, making sure you didn’t have any scratches by scanning your body up and down. Or maybe he was checking you out, who knows?

“Uh, yeah. I think I’ll be fine.” You nodded, dusting off your pants. No scuffs on the expensive fabric, thank God. “Thanks for making sure I didn’t hit my head, by the way. Not everyone would do that.”

The man crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, giving you a questioning look. “You must work with some real assholes then. In my line of work, ladies don’t get treated like crap. At least the ones who everyone respects.”

“Seriously? Damn, that seems like a really good job.” You smiled at him, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“Eh…it has some setbacks. I won’t get into it now, too much bullshit to unpack here.” He bit the inside of his cheek, holding out his hand for you to shake. It was gloved, he seemed like a gentleman. Or maybe he just really didn’t like getting dirt on his hands.

You smiled and eagerly took his hand, looking into his subtly blue eyes. They really complimented his ginger hair and pale complexion, hell, he even looked like the main character in a popular romance novel. 

“Chuuya Nakahara, at your service.” He smirked once more, letting go of your hand. He noticed that your hands were smaller than his own, in fact, you were actually smaller than he was. And that was rare, considering he was in close competition with most middle schoolers in the height category. “What’s your name? I wanna know the name of the women I saved from eating absolute shit.”

You giggled and told him your name, putting your hands in your pockets. Chuuya thought your giggle was sweet, like a song bird. It was a welcome sound in his life. After all, Chuuya was used to gunshots and screams instead of the giggling of a cute librarian with a name that fitted her oh so right. 

“You got a cute name, y’know. Hope you don’t mind me sayin’ that.” Chuuya placed his hands in his pockets as well, fiddling with the lintballs in the corners of the expensive fabric. 

The silent was quite awkward between the two of you. Chuuya, a secret mafia boss who’s experience with women was tainted with expensive red wine. And yourself, a librarian who was so introverted that the world could end and you’d jump for joy. 

And yet, something brought the two of you out of your own little worlds and into each others? Was it love, perhaps? Unlikely. Chuuya thought that love at first sight was for suckers, and you thought that love at first sight only existed in movies.

No, there was only unspoken desires between you both. Heart rates quickening, blushes forming on your faces. Chuuya’s mind was racing, his thoughts plagued by images of you. He just met you but god were you sexy. That fucking thrifted turtleneck sweater contrasted hard with your expensive designer jeans that were no doubt a Christmas gift from a wealthy relative. You had no idea how to dress and Chuuya thought that was the most precious thing. Were you really that innocent, locked away in your own little world? You probably had no idea that your sweater hugged the curves of your tits perfectly, that your pants showed off your thighs so expertly. God, it drove Chuuya wild.

What did your lips feel like, so plump and perfect? Where they untained, fresh as snow? Or were you just putting on an act, secretly a vixen behind that innocent and soft stare? Chuuya didn’t know, but he just had to find out. The redhead had only just met you but holy fuck, you were simply perfect. He had to get a taste, even if it was the last thing he did. 

“So what’s a pretty thing like you workin’ in a place like this? Do they pay you well or somethin’?” Chuuya asked, leaning against the metal shelving that held the American history collection.

You shook your head and sighed, placing a hand on your hip in frustration. “Unfortunately no, I could really use a raise.” You sighed, running a hand through your comically messy hair. “The only reason I can afford my apartment is that my parents left me quite a bit of money when I said I wanted to live on my own. I’m a lucky person, I guess.” You chuckled at the last bit, flashing Chuuya a smile that drove him crazy. He faked a cough to hide the obvious lump growing in his throat, a tinge of pink dusting his freckled face. 

“Yeah, you really are lucky.” He took a step foreward, placing his thumb on your chin, tilting your head up ever so slightly so his eyes met your own. “And you’re really fucking pretty.” He whispered, taking his hand off your chin. 

“O-oh, thank you.” You stammered, fidgeting with your fingers as you looked down at your feet. The Mary Jane’s you wore wree slightly scuffed, they always have been. It adds a bit of character, one could say. Chuuya smiled softly and adjusted his hat, taking a step back to give you space.

“Listen, I have work that I gotta get back to or else my boss will kill me. Can we meet up at your place after that. Y’know, only if ya want to. I’m no pusher.” He blushed at the last part, rubbing the back of his neck to avoid making direct eye contact with you. It was strange, Chuuya has always been smooth with the women he met in bars. So why were you making him so flustered? Maybe it was because unlike the girls he picked up before, you were innocent. Pure, like fresh snow. 

You were taken aback by his flirtations, though they weren’t unwelcome. You stopped fidgeting with your fingers for a moment, biting down on the plumpness of your lower lip.

“What, cat got your tongue or something?” Chuuya grinned, proud of himself for his little joke.

N-no, well not exactly.” You mumbled, sucking in a deep breath so you could look at the devilishly handsome man in front of you. “I’ve, God this is embarrassing, I haven’t been on a date since college.” Sighing, you stared at the bookshelf next to you. “It’s pathetic, I know. I get if you aren’t interested in me anymore.”

Chuuya frowned and took his hands out of his pockets, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t give a fuck if you’ve been on zero dates or a million of them. That doesn’t matter. I asked if you wanted me to come over so I can fuckin’ cook for you.”

“You can cook?”

“What kind of world are you living in? Of course I cook, what kind of man can’t cook?” Chuuya pinched his temple with his fingers, silently cursing all the worlds incompetent men that drove the standard to decency so low that it was practically in hell. “Sorry, didn’t mean to shout at ya. Old habits.”

“Don’t worry about it, I deal with screaming children all day. You’re fine.” You smile, taking out your phone. “Here, put your number in and I’ll give you my address.”

Chuuya shook his head, a bead of sweat dripping from his brow. “Actually, um, my phone is broken right now. How about you just write it down for me, dollface?” He couldn’t risk putting your information into his phone, what if Mori was going through it? He could deem you a security risk and then only God knows what would happen. Chuuya wouldn’t risk it, he had to make sure you were okay with his…business before he did anything too personal like give you his contact information. 

“Oh, sure. I guess giving you my number is too personal, sorry.” You awkwardly chuckled, leading him to the main library desk. You ripped off a sticky note from the pad and wrote down your address in pretty cursive letters. Chuuya smiled to himself as he saw your handwriting, it was the cutest fucking thing. You were absolutely a librarian, no doubt about it.

“So, see you at seven?” He asked, shoving the sticky note into his jacket pocket.

“Seven’s all right. What will you be making me?” You asked, beginning to type away at the library computer.

“It’s a surprise.” Chuuya winked at you, turning around and walking away. You blushed and resting your cheek on your hand. In your mind you were dancing in happiness, finally having landed a date. And such a good looking one at that. Who the hell cares if he’s short, he’s tall to you. Height doesn’t matter anyways.

Your shift ended and you practically skipped out of the library building, clutching onto the messenger bag that carried your erotic novels. The library didn’t carry anything erotic, you just disguisted the books with false covers about local history and lore. No one would be into that shit, so it was the perfect plan. The stories consisted of fantasy romances with sections that were so arousing that you couldn’t read it without thinking that you were committing some sort of sin. 

Stepping up the stairs to your apartment, you opened the door and shut it quickly as to not attract any unwanted pests. Mostly bugs, they’ve become a real problem. What would Chuuya think if he saw a bug in your apartment? Your mind was speeding, anxiety building up in your belly. This was your first date in a while, what if you fuck it up somehow? Or worse, what if it goes too well and he wanted to have his way with you. Chuuya was too handsome to refuse sure, but what about you? You couldn’t even remember the last time you had sex, let alone kissed somebody? Oh God, what if that turned him off and he never spoke to you again?

“Dammit, snap out of it!” You slapped yourself across the face, hissing slightly at the pain. Putting yourself together, you strode over to your bedroom and pulled out a dress from way back in your closet. It was a decent length dress with spaghetti straps, your fanciest piece of clothing. The rest of your wardrobe consisted of sweatpants, tank tops with cartoon characters on it, the occasional designer jean, and several thrifted sweaters that had absolutely been worn by a grandfather. 

The dress slipped onto you no problem, like a glove. You didn’t bother wearing any tights or stockings, the dress covered your legs up nicely. You decided to just leave your hair as it was, draped nicely around your shoulders. Light makeup here and there, if you could count mascara and lipgloss as makeup.

Exiting your bedroom, your hands dropped to their sids as you sat down on your living room sofa. There wasn’t anything good on the TV, and reading an erotic novel before Chuuya got there would have probably ruined the mood for you. Was getting ready too early a mistake? Maybe.

Your eyes watched the clock, your pupils going in circles as the second hand made its rotation over and over again until it was about 6:55PM. A knock was heard at your door, snapping you out of the cycle of clock-looking. 

Squealing quietly, you speed-walked over to your door. Taking a deep breath in, you opened the door and there Chuuya stood, holding a bag of groceries in one hand and a singular red rose in the other. “Hey there pretty girl, mind if I come in?”

“O-of course, Chuuya. Uh, sorry.” You stammered, shutting the door as he let himself inside. Chuuya stood in the foyer of your apartment for a moment, quickly noticiny the hundreds of books the lined the shelves. “I don’t know why I’m so surprised doll, shoulda known you’re a huge nerd.” He chuckled, handing you the rose. His outfit was not too different from that afternoon, only the hat and the jacket were missing.

“Thank you, it’s really pretty.” You blushed, placing the rose in a nearby empty vase. “So, um, what are you making me tonight? I’m starving.” You led him into the kitchen, helping him set down the groceries on the counter.

“Kobe beef,” Chuuya said nonchalantly, looking around the kitchen. “Where are your knives? Don’t see em anywhere.”

“In that drawer right there- did you saya kobe beef?” You gasped, taking a step back. “B-but that’s really expensive! This is just a first date y’know, I would have accepted take out!” You stammered, not used to the treatment. Did he really just buy kobe beef for you? How much does he get paid?

“Yeah, what about it? You a vegetarian or something?” Chuuya raised an eyebrow, opening the beef from its luxurious packaging and placing it on the simple wooden cutting board. 

“No, it’s just that…well kobe is really expensive and this is a first date! It’s not even at the nice restaurant or anything, it’s my fucking house!” You whisper-yelled at him, walking foreward so your face was inches away from your own. Your shyness was replaced with anxiety, anxiety that you really had no excuse to have.

Chuuya smiled and patted you on the head, rubbing on your hair with his gloved hand. “Don’t worry about that princess, just have a seat and let me cook for you, yeah?” He assured you, gesturing to your kitchen table. “And besides, you’re dressed up like a five course meal, so shouldn’t you be treated to one?” He smirked, finishing up the chopping of the beef. He figured out how to work your stove pretty quickly, placing the beef in a pan with a little bit of truffle oil. The stove roared to life as the beef began to quickly sizzle, a wonderful aroma that smelled like luxury filled your apartment.

You blushed at Chuuya’s comment, sitting yourself down in the chair. You watched him cook, his brows furrowed in concentration.

The beef was done cooking after a bit, being carefully plated with an array of incredibly looking vegetables. Chuuya sat across from you and took your hand in his own, kissing the back of yours tenderly.

“Bon appetit, princess.” He grinned at you, his eyes hiding a lust that was so extreme Asmodeous himself was jealous. He observed how you ate the beef so carefully, so tenderly. You savored each and every bite, sighing occasionally as the flavors hit your tongue over and over again. Chuuya bit his lip as he watched you eat, barely touching his own dinner. You looked absoltuely succulent in front of him, oblivious to how you were making him feel. Chuuya wanted to shove everything off the table and fuck you right then and there, but he decided to be a gentlemen about it. Dine you, maybe wine you, and only touch your pretty body if you wanted him too. 

You finished your meal quickly, frowning to yourself at Chuuya’s full plate. “Are you not hungry or something?” You asked, ignoring the bits of beef resting at the corner of your mouth. 

“I’m hungry for…something else.” Chuuya smirked, grabbing your dirty plate and placing it in the sink. He stepped over to you and took your hand, hoisting you up from your chair. Carefully, his arm wrapped around your waist so he could pull you in closer to his own form, his fingers running up and down your hip bone. “If you know what I mean.”

You blushed and slowly nodded your head, noticing how his perfect blue eyes seemed to have fireballs igniting within the azure pools. “I…I do. I just…I haven’t had sex in a while. Kind of goes hand-in-hand with the whole dating thing.” You awkwardly laughed to yourself, hoping a joke would lighten the tension.

“I could change that for you dollface, if you want me to.” Chuuya purred, tilting your chin up to his lips were just hovering above yours. “Just say the word sweetheart, and I’ll make you see stars.” He whispered, his hot breath touching your trembling lips.

You thought for a moment, your mouth still agape at Chuuya’s boldness. “...okay.” You breathed against his lips, mere centimeters away.

With your consent, Chuuya crashed his lips against yours. With one hand clutching ont your waist, the other cupped your face quite gently. His kiss was rough and passionate, groaning into your mouth at the sensation that he had so long been craving.

Your hands flew to grab onto his hair, tugging at the longer part. Chuuya moaned slightly at the sensation, squeezing the fabric of your dress. He pulled himself away slowly, choosing to instead attack the delicate flesh of your neck. His lips found your sweetspot and sucked harshly, your lips producing the cutest little moans which only made his cock harder. A bright purple hickey formed in no time at all, definitely going to last a few days. 

“You wear turtlenecks, right? Shouldn’t be a fuckin’ problem then.” He growled against your neck, trialing molten kissed down until he reached your collarbone, playfully licking it.

“M-maybe we should go to the bedroom? Comfier.” You managed to squeak out, softly moaning as Chuuya continued to nip and kiss at your collarbone. He pulled away, grumbling at the loss of contact.

“Good idea dollface, smart.” He lifted you up bridal style, chuckling as you squealed. “You’re so fuckin’ adorable baby, y’know that?” He asked, kicking open the door to your bedroom. He practically threw you onto the bed and pounced, pinning your wrists above your head quickly. Chuuya slammed his lips against yours once more, shoving his tongue down your throat as your teeth clashed for dominance. 

Taking a break from the onslaught of tongue-on-tongue, Chuuya gently stroked your face with his still-gloved hand. “Fucking good mouth you got, sweetheart.” He purred, shifting himself so he was looking at your hips. “Now tell me,” His hand reached to his mouth, peeling off his gloves with his teeth. “Do you want my fingers or my tongue first, princess?”

You gulped nervously, your face feeling like it was going to explode at any moment from how fucking horny you were for this man. Your legs were practically shaking under him, how was it possible that one man could make you feel euphoria without fucking you?

“B-both, please…” You whispered, not daring to look into his aflamed blue eyes that burned for you. Your aroused pooled in your belly, just waiting to be taken care of.

Chuuya nodded approvingly, lifting your dress up to reveal your panties that were soaked in your arousal. “Fuckin’ dirty girl, so perfect for me.” He whispered, hastily removing your panties and tossing them into some corner of your bedroom. He shivered at the sight of your glistening core, admiring how otherworldly it looked in the dim lights of your bedroom.

“Shit,” Chuuya groaned, gathering some of your slick on his fingertips before carefully inserting his index and middle finger inside of your sobbing cunt. He wasted no time in curling his fingers inside of you, thrusting them back and forth swiftly.

“Oh fuck, oh my God!” You cried out, throwing your head back even further into the soft pillows beneath you. Your legs wanted so badly to wrap around his hand, trapping him there for a while. 

“That’s it baby, scream for me. Fuckin’ scream for me princess.” He growled, his lips sucking on your clit roughly. His tongue lapped and sucked at your desperate folds, fingers pumping in and out of you like he was in a competition. He could feel your walls sucking him in, knowing your orgasm was close. 

“Fucking cum for me baby, lemem hear those pretty moans of yours!” Chuuya demanded, eating you out like a starved man.

“Oh fuck, Chuuya!” You screamed out his name as your orgasm finally hit, the knot in your belly becoming undone too fast for your own liking. You wish that moment could last forever instead of mere moments. 

Gasping and panting, you propped yourself up by your elbows to be greeted with a chuckling Chuuya, licking off your cum with his expert tongue. “You taste so much better than anything I’ve ever fucking had before princess.” He spoke, his voice low and sultry.

Chuuya briefly got off the bed to take off his pants and boxers, gasping as the air of your bedroom hit his throbbing cock. He relished in your shocked expression, your mouth left hanging wide open at the sight of him.

“What, never seen a big dick before?” He chuckled, getting on top of you once more. He lifted your legs up so they rested on his shoulders, giving him the most perfect angle to fuck you seneless. 

“Not in a while, no.” You retorted, offering Chuuya a smirk of your own. That one simple movement of your facial muscle was all it took for him to align his cock with your entrance, slamming it inside of you.

“That was so fucking hot babe, do it again.” He demanded, pounding himself into your core without giving you any time to adjust to his length or girth. His hands gripped the undersides of your thighs, occasionally smacking the subble skin.

“Ngh, h-holy fuck! Chuuya, shit! So fucking big, oh my fucking God!” You cried out, your hands making desperate motions to grab onto anything. Chuuya bent down, pushing you into a mating press so he could better hold your hand.

“Shit, fucking scream my name babygirl. Fuck, you’re squeezing on to me so damn tight!” He groaned into your ear, his balls snapping against your ass over and over again. Your cheeks were flushed, mouth gaping open. All that left your lips were wanton moans and cries of pleasure as Chuuya’s cock hit your G-spot over and over again, the pleasure once again pooling in your belly.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, I’m close! Chuuya, fuck!” You screamed, slamming your lips upwards onto his own. He happily accepted the kiss, biting down onto your lower lip as he felt your cunt contract around his soaked cock.

“Fuck, can you hold out just a little longer baby? Wan’ cum with you, yeah?” He whined against your lips, furiously meeting his hips with your own as the scent of sex and longing filled the bedroom. 

“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!” You cried into his ear, not sure how much longer you could stand to not fall into your orgasm.

He growled against your neck, his thrusts becoming staggered and desperate in a relentless tempo as Chuuya’s own orgasm approached him. “Shit, gonna fucking cum. Cum with me yeah, please fucking come with me!”

A silent scream left your lips as euphoria enveloped your body, wave after wave of ecstasy hitting you as your orgasm finally came. Your arousal squeezed and coated Chuuya’s cock, sending him over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my God! Fuck…” He gapsed into your neck, his ministrations slowing down until they came to a complete stop. He collapsed onto you, lazily kissing your neck and the hickeys that covered it. 

You smiled, peeling the sweaty hairs away from your face as you embraced Chuuya in your arms. “That was…just like the books I read.” You chuckled, running your fingers through his mess of red hair. “Almost exactly like those books, actually.”

Chuuya looked up from your breast and raised an eyebrow, flipping you around so you were now embraced in his arms. “You read porn?”

You nodded, gesturing to your nightstand. “Yeah, I try to keep it a secret though. My coworkers would never let me live it down if they knew the truth.” You gave him a crooked smile, curling further into his chest. 

He nodded in understanding, kissing your forehead. “Well, we gotta do this again princess. Because that was…well it was fuckin’ amazing. Who knew the cute little librarian was so dirty?” He joked, poking your cheek teasingly.

“I literally just let you finish inside of me and you’re making jokes?”

“Hey, I’m allowed to be funny. I’m a fuckin’ sex god.”

You sighed and kissed his lips, feeling your eyes grow heavy with sleep. “Y’know, I don’t have work tomorrow if you wanted to stay the night…” You yawned, embracing the feeling of coziness and warmth.

Chuuya was a bit shocked by your words at first, smacking his lips together. He smiled down at you, ruffling up your nest of a hair that was no doubt caused by his body moving against yours for a good twenty minutes. “I’d really like that, princess.” He assured you, grabbing his phone from your nightstand to type something in. “Just lettin’ my boss know I’ll be late for my assignment tomorrow.”

“What if he gets mad at you?” You asked, your sleepy voice filled with just a pinch of concern. 

“Well, he can suck my dick for all I care. Although, I’d much rather have you do that.” He winked, throwing the covers above your sweaty forms. “So, are you going to get changed or are we sleeping in our date night clothes?”

“Mm, date night clothes. I don’t think I’ll be able to fucking walk after what you did to me.” You laughed, pulling Chuuya closer. You rested your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the expensive shirt he wore. “Have sweet dreams, okay? And…pleae be here when I wake up tomorrow.” You whispered the last part before drifting off, the cutest little snore escaping from your parted lips.

Chuuya sighed and kissed the top of your head, admiring how innocent you looked in your slumber. “I promise beautiful, I’m not going anywhere.”

[quickiesgirl]

Dirty Little Secret - Eddie Munson

Paring: Perv!Eddie Munson x Innocent Fem!Reader

Warning: 18+, Smut, Dom/Sub, Perv!Eddie, Soft Innocent!Reader, Mirror Sex, Sex Toys, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, My Shitty Writing.

Kinktober 7 - Sex Toys/Mirror Sex

Your roommate laid across your pink duvet, a stuffed animal tucked behind his arm while he sat back into the neatly placed pillows, repeatedly glancing between you and the book resting between his fingers. Unable to focus his attention on anything other than the gorgeous woman who was getting ready in front of him.

As you walked past, eyes glancing into the reflection of your standing bedroom mirror, you spot the ribbon on your white stocking untied and bend down, lacing up the thin material into a small bow, not thinking anything about the mini skirt that was riding up on your ass, revealing those adorable, cherry-colored panties you had on and the plush outline of your pussy against the thin fabric.

Eddie groaned, shifting his weight slightly against the mattress as he reached his hand down and blatantly palmed himself through his black jeans, lowering his book down over his crotch to hide his perversion.

“Ed's? Would you pretty please check to see if my necklace is in my drawer?” You requested sweetly, forcing him to remove his gaze from you with a small sigh.

“Y-yeah. I’ll check for you, babydoll.”

He set his book aside and sat up, reaching down to pull open the bedside drawer, looking down with wide eyes when he spotted the bullet vibrator on top of a couple of neatly stacked romance novels.

Eddie would have never suspected an innocent woman like you owning such a device. It seemed like you were naughtier than he had imagined.

He swung his feet from the mattress, planting them on the ground as he took a quick peek at the romance novels before eventually picking up the vibrator and inspecting the toy that looked so incredibly small in his hands.

“Oh my, look at what we have here…”

You glance over your shoulder, your entire facial expression falling, changing to a look of embarrassment when you recognize what exactly he held in his hands, making you flustered, “I uh, I-I’m so sorry. I completely forgot I left it in there.”

“No need to apologize, sweetheart,” Eddie said, shaking his head with a mischievous smirk.

The handsome man stood from the edge of the bed and stepped towards you, his boots prominent against the floor, practically echoing through the silent room as he dragged his thumb over the silicon.

You feel your body tense, chest rising and falling faster than before as he moves closer. With his body inches away from yours, you look up into those chocolate brown eyes and down to his plush lips that look so sweet to taste. You can smell his strong scent of cigarettes and cologne. It was fucking intoxicating.

“You’re not weirded out or anything?” You ask, fingers nervously playing with the seam of your skirt.

“You know I am not one to judge,” He expressed sincerely, hand laying over his chest to punctuate his sentence, “Everyone experiences the same urges, and it's important to have your needs fulfilled- especially when you don't have someone to assist you.”

A chill rolled through your body as you looked up at your handsome roommate, who was practically towered over you. His shaggy brown hair fell into the sides of his face, cheeks tinted with a slight shade of red, and tongue gliding along his bottom lip while he eyes you lecherously through his darkened gaze. He was everything you yearn for, and that was a fact he was very aware of.

“You know, I’ve always found that the most innocent girls like you always have the dirtiest fantasies. Am I right?”

You drew a sharp breath, brain becoming foggy as your legs pressed themselves together, putting pressure on the throbbing ache that was becoming harder to handle, “M-maybe.”

“Is this one of ‘em? Is it your desperate fantasy to get fucked by your metalhead roommate?”

His lips are mere inches away yet seem so out of reach from your own.

“Eddie, please.”

His head tilt to the side with a grin creeping across his face, loving that adorable, pathetic whine that just came out of your mouth. “Please, what? Tell me exactly what you want?”

You huff softly, frustrated with these yearnful aches, heat reading from your thighs, and embarrassed to say what you need in such a moment, “Please, k-kiss me?…”

“mhm, that’s better baby,”

Eddie moved forward, hungrily pressing into your lips, sharing an intimate kiss that was just as perfect as you imagined. You move in sync while his bottom lip cradles yours.

He holds the back of your neck while the other roams your body. Teeth gently pulling at your lip between breaths before moving back in. Your hand lays upon his chest as you stand on the tips of your toes to further deepen the kiss, pushing your tongue past his bottom lip. Noses brushing against each other as you do so.

You slowly slid the thin straps down your shoulders, leaving the fabric of your tank top bunched around your lower waist, overlapping the start of your skirt. You reached back, unclipping your bra, allowing your breasts to spill out of the cups and fall to the floor.

Eddie presses you back into the steady mirror, his hand snaking up your torso to fondle your tits while he skims your bullet vibrator beneath your skirt and slides along your slit, making warmth pool in your panties.

You ball his shirt into your fists and nibble on your bottom lip, muffling your moans when you feel the sensation of the vibrations start unexpectedly, watching him teasingly raise your skirt and ogle your clothed cunt.

“Cherry red panties, naughty fucking baby…” Eddie purrs before sliding your panties down, dropping them to the floor with your other undergarments, “Spin around and place your hands on the walls.”

You did as told, turning around and watching his reflection with wide eyes. He ogled your pretty ass and caressed his large hand over the skin before slapping it harshly, earning a sensitive jolt from your body, shoving your ass into the comforting space against his crotch.

“Your gonna watch in the mirror while I fucking ruin you, understand?”

You nod your head and spread your legs apart, feeling his hand slowly slide up your inner thighs, heat radiating from your cunt as he gently swipes his thumb across your puffy lips, down to your drenched little hole.

With his dominant hand, he swiftly undid his cuffed belt and dropped his jeans around his ankles. Eddie pulled out his hard, heavy cock from his boxers and wrapped his hand around his member, pumping it a few strokes before lining it to your entrance, thrusting inside your tightness with a drawn-out sigh, “Christ, princess, you feel fucking incredible-”

All your nerves were set to fire in an instant. You have only ever read about this in romance novels, even imagined a scene like this on a lonely night, craving his touch while he's in the next room, wanting to be manhandled by Eddie Fucking Munson.

A moan fell from your parted lips, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you felt your inner walls stretch apart like you have never experienced before.

He snakes his arm around your waist and holds your mini vibrator up to your swollen clitoral hood at the lowest setting, allowing the vibrations to rumble throughout your body.

"Mm, Eddie~"

A string of breathy moans and whimpers leave your lips before your teeth bury into your bottom lip, your nails digging into the textured wall.

“That's it, princess, don't hold back on me… I wanna hear all those pretty - little - noises - I’ve been dying to hear…” Eddie grunts, continuously striking your a-spot, making your knees buckle where you stand, your pussy contracts around him tighter than before, “Let all the neighbors listen to how good you feel.”

The vibrations of your toy increase in speed on your twitching clit. His hips retract back, removing a couple of inches, leaving the head of his dick in your entrance, and stroking the thick base as he slides himself in and out ever so teasingly, massaging your g-spot in the mist, coaxing more loud, pathetic moans out of you.

You were high off the pleasure, cock drunk from only a few strokes to your upper wall. You loved this vulnerability, being on full display for Eddie, breasts out, and your panties discarded to the floor. The soft material of your skirt was being held up by his hand, exposing your swollen lips parted around that little vibrator.

Eddie pushes back in with one swift thrust, beginning to pound you from behind while his heavy balls slap into your labia. An animalistic look filled his eyes as he fixated his gaze on your reflection, deeply enjoying those cute little reactions. You loved this roughness and how he was desperately fucking you like he'd been longing for this moment all his life, chasing his much-desired release.

“This pussy, this fucking body, it’s all mine- from now on, - you’re mine to fuck as I please, and mine to always - pleasure. You understand?”

You nod instantly, looking widely into those piercing eyes as he fucks you from behind, skin slapping together, sweat collecting on your bodies as the scent of sex scents the air.

“I can tell your close, pretty baby, so we’re gonna cum together. Where do you want me?”

“Inside, please, cum inside my pussy!”

You could barely finish your sentence before your long-awaited orgasm rushed over you, dissolving into pure euphoria. Unable to keep your bucking hips from staying still as you move back from the vibrator lying over your sensitive, overstimulated nerves.

Your cunt pulsates rhythmically around his member, feeling his stuttering hips give one last powerful thrust before letting go of his built-up tension, moaning as he empties his hot load deep inside you.

Eddie pulls the toy from your clitoris and shuts it off completely, lacing his arms around your waist while you lay your back into his chest out of pure exhaustion, “I got you, babydoll, just lean against me.”

He kissed your inner neck sweetly and slowly retracted his hips back, pulling out of your cunt, leaving your hole stretched open with a mixture of his and your cum drooling out. The sight was fucking sinful.

You whine needily from the loss of contact and glance up at him with a pout, a deep chuckle rumbling from Eddie's chest, “Oh, you just love being full of my cock, don’t you?”

“Mhm hm…”

“Well, how about we relax in bed and cuddle-fuck before we have to head out?” He suggested, burying his face in your inner neck and pressing small kisses on the sensitive spots of your skin, “We can even check out those smutty novels while we're at it…”

Eddie Munson Smut Taglist: @sunflowerharrington @madmax-thewise @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rottenstyx @cantthinkofauserlololol @natashamacimoff69 @zestychili @luna-munson83 @chaoticcancer @ruinedbythehobbit

Taglist Form | Message if you want to be removed <3

[wannabehockeygf]

Feels Like - Quinn Hughes

“We almost got away, we cut it close,

The city’s getting loud, if I choke,

It’s only ‘cause I’m scared to be alone,

Been trying to work it out you should know,

I would do whatever you wanted.”

***

part 2 // quinn hughes x gracie abrams albums fic trilogy

part 1 part 3

***

Summary: Quinn’s been up to no good, and it’s about time you find out.

Word count: 6.8k

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

Warnings: cheating, alcohol

Notes:

- me saying I’m so busy and won’t have time then I crank this out in a day !!

- this was so heart wrenching to write …

- not proof read as always

***

Quinn Hughes had a good head on his shoulders. At least, that’s what everyone always told him. Coaches, family, even the media—they all saw Quinn as the level-headed one, the smart one, the kid who knew what he wanted and went after it.

Except when it came to you. When it came to you, Quinn's head was anything but good. It was a mess—confused, conflicted, weighed down by the guilt that had been gnawing at him since last night.

Quinn ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He sat on the edge of his hotel bed in Boston, staring at his phone like it was some kind of bomb he had to defuse. Your name was still at the top of his recent calls, your last text a blue bubble of worry and reassurance.

“Heading your way, Q. On a train. Didn’t book a flight because it was too much, but I’ll be there in the morning. I love you.”

He swiped out of the messages and into Instagram, his thumb hovering over the search bar. His heart pounded against his ribs, each thud a reminder of just how much he had screwed up. He was still in last night’s clothes, a blue Hawaiian shirt that Jack had bought him as a joke and black slacks that clung to him uncomfortably. He hadn’t slept; instead, he’d gone out, did so much more than emotionally cheat on you, and then spent the night pacing his room, trying to figure out how to make this right—how to fix something that might be beyond fixing.

His phone buzzed in his hand, a new message from you: “Quinn, are you awake? Call me when you see this.”

Quinn's stomach twisted. He could picture you right now, curled up on that train seat with your eyes heavy from lack of sleep, your hair mussed from running your hands through it too many times. You were coming all this way for him, despite everything. You were coming to see him even after he’d hung up on you. He felt a pang of guilt so sharp it made his chest ache. You deserved so much better.

He knew that. God, did he know it. But knowing it didn’t make things any easier. If anything, it made things worse, because he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop needing you. And yet, he was too weak to stop what he was doing—the other thing he couldn’t seem to stop needing.

His fingers hesitated over the search bar for just a moment longer before he typed in the name, quick and almost subconscious, like he was on autopilot. The profile came up instantly: smiling photos of her on some beach, her hair wild in the wind, sunglasses perched on her nose. She looked carefree, happy. The last photo was from a week ago, captioned with a simple heart emoji.

Quinn’s heart clenched. God, she was beautiful. And she made him feel things—things he didn’t feel when he was with you, his girlfriend, things that scared him as much as they thrilled him. She was everything you weren't: spontaneous, wild, a bit reckless. She didn’t make him feel like he had to be perfect all the time.

Which was probably why he’d ended up here in the first place.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to quell the guilt that surged up his throat like bile. He thought back to last night—the way she’d looked at him across the bar, her eyes dark and knowing, the way she’d smiled like she knew every secret he was trying so hard to hide. The way her lips felt against his, the heat of her breath, the sound of her voice when she whispered in his ear.

And then he thought about you. About your laugh, your smile, the way you looked at him like he was the most important person in the world. How you never hesitated to drop everything for him, even when it meant putting your own life on hold. Like right now. Like this very moment, when you were probably sitting on some cold, uncomfortable train seat to get to him because you thought he needed you.

He was such an asshole.

Quinn tossed his phone onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. He felt like he was being torn in two—one part of him screaming at him to get his shit together, to be the guy everyone thought he was, the good guy, the guy who didn’t screw over the people he cared about. And then there was the other part—the part that was scared, insecure, the part that wanted so desperately to feel something real that he didn’t care if it meant hurting the one person who had always been there for him.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the word barely more than a sigh. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t know. He was in too deep, caught between two worlds that couldn’t coexist, caught between two versions of himself that he couldn’t reconcile.

He stood up, pacing the small hotel room, the carpet rough under his bare feet. His mind raced, thoughts bouncing around like ping-pong balls in his head. He couldn’t keep doing this. He had to make a choice. He had to choose.

But how do you choose between the girl who makes you feel safe and the one who makes you feel alive?

His phone buzzed again, and this time he couldn’t ignore it. He snatched it up, expecting another message from you, another plea for him to call, but instead, it was from the other girl. A simple text: “Had fun last night. When can I see you again?”

Quinn stared at the message, his heart hammering against his ribs. What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? He wanted to smash the phone against the wall, to shatter it into a million pieces, to shatter himself along with it. But instead, he just stood there, staring at the screen, torn between guilt and desire, between what he wanted and what he knew he should do.

“Quinn?” A voice called from outside his door, sharp and insistent. It was Petey, knocking lightly. “You in there, man? We gotta head out to practice soon.”

Quinn stood frozen in the middle of his hotel room, his phone buzzing persistently in his hand. The screen glowed with the picture of you he had made his lockscreen, and every time he looked at it his heart dropped. His stomach churned, a sickening mix of guilt and anxiety that had been gnawing at him for the good part of twelve hours. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the mess of curls that he hadn’t bothered to tame since last night.

Last night. God, what a disaster.

He could still taste the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, still feel the phantom touch of her lips against his. She had been all over him, pulling him in with that damn magnetic smile of hers. And Quinn, the idiot that he was, hadn’t done a damn thing to stop it. Now, standing here, he felt like he was drowning in the aftermath.

“Huggy?” Elias’ voice came through the door again, more insistent this time. “You good?”

Quinn glanced at the clock—barely enough time to get his shit together before practice. Not that it mattered. His head was so scrambled, he doubted he’d be of any use on the ice today.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to move. One foot in front of the other, like he was on autopilot. He tossed his phone on the bed and headed for the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face in a vain attempt to shock some sense into himself. The water dripped down his cheeks, and he stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for some sign of the guy everyone thought he was. The guy who had it all together.

But all he saw was a mess. A guy who couldn’t make up his mind, who was screwing over the one person who had always been there for him. The guy who, deep down, was terrified that he was going to lose everything if he didn’t get his shit together.

He grabbed a towel and dried his face, then ran a hand through his hair again, trying to make himself look halfway presentable. But no amount of water or towels could wash away the guilt that clung to him like a second skin. He was stuck with it, like a tattoo he couldn’t scrub off no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word slipping out before he could stop it. He shook his head, running his hands through his hair once again, feeling the strands tug against his fingers. He needed to get it together. He needed to get out of this room before he went completely insane.

He grabbed his practice gear from the chair by the window, where he’d tossed it last night when he’d stumbled in. The memory made his stomach twist: the way he’d pressed the button to hang up on you, the way his thumb had hovered over it like it weighed a hundred pounds. And then the other girl’s laugh, soft and sweet in his ear, her fingers trailing down his arm as she whispered something he couldn’t quite remember anymore but knew had made him feel like he was floating.

Quinn pulled off his clothes, replacing them with a questionable smelling sweatshirt and gym shorts, his movements jerky and stiff like his body was protesting every step. He glanced at the mirror on his way to the door, catching sight of himself—his face pale and drawn, his eyes shadowed with fatigue. He looked like hell. He felt like it, too.

With a sigh, he opened the door to find Elias leaning against the wall, one brow raised. “Dude, you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Feel like it too,” Quinn muttered, stepping out into the hallway. The bright lights made his eyes sting, and he squinted, wishing he’d grabbed his sunglasses. Or maybe he just wanted to hide behind them.

Elias clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a once-over. “Rough night?”

Quinn forced a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Something like that.”

“Yeah, well, better shake it off. Coach is on one today, and he’s not in the mood for anyone dragging ass.” Elias started down the hall, and Quinn followed, trying to push everything to the back of his mind. Practice. Focus on practice.

But his thoughts wouldn’t settle. They kept bouncing back and forth like a damn tennis match: his girlfriend’s face, her worried messages, the way she always seemed to know when he needed her without him even having to say it. And then the other girl—the way she made him feel like he could breathe, like he could forget everything for just a little while.

He clenched his fists as they reached the elevator, trying to steady his breathing. Elias was rambling about something, but Quinn couldn’t focus on the words. His mind was a blur, a mess of emotions that he couldn’t untangle.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside, the metal walls reflecting their distorted images. Quinn caught sight of himself again and grimaced. “I look like shit, don’t I?”

Elias snorted. “You said it, not me.” He glanced at Quinn, his expression shifting to something more serious. “But seriously, man, you okay? You’ve been off for a while now.”

Quinn swallowed hard, his throat dry. How could he even begin to explain what he was feeling? How could he tell Elias that he was standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering between falling and flying, and he didn’t know which one he wanted more?

“I’m fine,” he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. “Just tired.”

Elias didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he just nodded, letting the subject drop as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to the lobby.

They walked out into the warm Boston morning, the humid air biting at Quinn’s skin through his clothes. He shivered, shoving his hands into his pockets as they made their way to the team bus. He tried to lose himself in the routine, in the familiar motions of getting on the bus, finding his seat, putting in his headphones. But even the music couldn’t drown out his thoughts, couldn’t silence the nagging voice in his head that kept telling him he was screwing up.

He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, willing himself to focus on the day ahead. Practice. Game plan. Not on the texts waiting on his phone, not on the girl he was supposed to love and the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about.

But his mind wouldn’t cooperate. It kept circling back, like a dog chasing its tail, never quite catching it but never stopping either. He thought about you, about the way she made him feel grounded, like he had a purpose. And then he thought about the other girl, about the way she made him feel alive, like he was on fire.

God, he was an idiot. A selfish, stupid idiot who didn’t deserve either of them.

He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the seat in front of him. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to choose between two things that felt like they were pulling him in opposite directions, like they were tearing him apart?

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out without thinking, his heart lurching in his chest. It was a text from you, and his stomach twisted as he read it:

“I’m here. Just got to the station. Can’t wait to see you.”

Quinn closed his eyes, a wave of guilt washing over him. You were here. You were here for him, because you thought he needed you. And maybe he did. Maybe he needed you more than he’d ever realized.

Quinn’s mind was spinning as the team bus rumbled through the streets of Boston, the city waking up around them in a blur of brick buildings and early morning light. He stared out the window, his reflection a pale, drawn ghost in the glass, looking back at him with tired eyes. The weight of his phone in his pocket felt like a lead ball, dragging him down deeper into the mess he’d made for himself.

He glanced around the bus, his teammates absorbed in their own routines—some with headphones on, nodding along to whatever music was blasting in their ears, others chatting quietly, their voices low and relaxed. Elias was beside him, scrolling through his phone, occasionally chuckling at something he saw. Quinn tried to mimic that ease, but his stomach was tied in knots, and every breath felt like it caught in his throat.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make him feel like he was about to crawl out of his own skin. But no matter how he twisted or turned, the guilt was there, gnawing at him, a constant reminder that he’d messed up in a way that couldn’t be easily fixed.

His phone buzzed again, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip, his hand twitching towards his pocket before he stopped himself. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—look at it. Not yet. The last thing he needed was to see another text from you, filled with love and concern, when all he could think about was how he didn’t deserve any of it.

But of course, his brain wouldn’t let him rest. As much as he wanted to ignore it, your last message played on a loop in his mind: “I’m here. Just got to the station. Can’t wait to see you.” He could picture you standing there, suitcase in hand, maybe looking around for him, your eyes bright with anticipation. The thought made his chest tighten, a painful squeeze that sent a ripple of nausea through his gut.

He thought about how you’d always been there for him, how you never hesitated to drop everything and come running when he needed you. And now, here you were, doing it again, without knowing that he’d spent the night with someone else, that he’d betrayed the trust you’d placed in him so completely.

God, he was a piece of work.

Quinn shifted again, his knee bouncing nervously as he tried to focus on anything else—the pattern of the bus seat, the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, the hum of the engine beneath his feet. But everything came back to you, and the way he was going to have to face you in a few hours, knowing what he’d done.

A part of him—the rational, level-headed part that everyone always said he had—knew that he should come clean, that he should tell you everything and deal with the consequences. But the other part, the part that was scared and ashamed and desperate to keep you in his life, was louder, drowning out the voice of reason with a hundred excuses and justifications.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to look you in the eye and pretend that everything was okay, when he knew it wasn’t? But then again, how could he tell you the truth and risk losing you forever?

He pressed his head against the cool glass of the bus window, staring out at the passing streets of Boston. The city looked bright and sunny, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his mind. It was the kind of day that would normally have him in good spirits, maybe even cracking jokes with the guys. But not today. Today, he felt like he was carrying a mountain on his back.

The bus jolted as it hit a pothole, and Quinn’s head banged against the glass. “Ow, fuck,” he muttered, rubbing the sore spot. Elias glanced over from the seat next to him, eyebrows raised.

“You good, man?” he asked again, his tone a mix of concern and exasperation. Quinn knew Elias was just trying to help, but right now, all he wanted was to be left alone with his own stupidity.

“Yeah, just...headache,” Quinn lied, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. He didn’t know how to explain the real problem without sounding like the world’s biggest jerk. He wasn’t ready for the questions that would follow, the judgment, the inevitable “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Elias nodded, turning back to his phone, but Quinn could feel his eyes lingering, like he was trying to solve some kind of puzzle. Quinn wished he could give him the answer, wished he knew it himself. But all he had were a bunch of jumbled pieces that didn’t seem to fit together.

As the bus pulled up to the arena, Quinn grabbed his gear and followed the rest of the team inside. The familiar smell of a rink—ice, rubber, sweat—usually calmed his nerves, but today it just made him feel queasy. He trudged to the locker room, his legs feeling like lead, and sat down on the bench, staring at his skates like they might somehow offer him some guidance.

“Hey, Huggy,” Brock called from across the room, already halfway into his gear. “You gonna put those on, or are you just gonna stare at them all day?”

Quinn blinked, realizing he’d been sitting there for way too long. “Right, yeah,” he mumbled, pulling off his shoes and shoving his feet into his skates. The process felt mechanical, like he was going through the motions without really being there. He tied the laces tight, almost too tight, like he was trying to squeeze out the guilt that sat heavy in his chest.

As he laced up, his mind wandered back to last night. He remembered the way her fingers had grazed his wrist, the light touch sending sparks through his skin. He remembered the look in her eyes, that dangerous mix of desire and something else—something that made him feel like he was balancing on a razor’s edge. And then he remembered your text, the way your voice had sounded over the phone, so soft, so worried. The contrast made him feel like he was being split down the middle, two halves of a person who didn’t know how to be whole anymore.

Quinn dragged his skates across the locker room floor, the sharp blades scraping against the concrete as he walked to the bench. His hands moved on autopilot, grabbing pads, buckling straps, all while his mind replayed the same scene over and over again: your smile, your eyes, the sound of your voice. The guilt gnawed at him, relentless, like a dog with a bone it refused to let go.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Brock sidling up next to him until the guy was practically in his lap.

“You look like someone ran over your puppy,” Brock quipped, pulling on his jersey with a grunt. “What’s up with you today?”

Quinn forced a laugh, but it came out more like a wheeze. “Just didn’t sleep well, I guess,” he lied, his stomach twisting into another knot. Brock, bless his soul, nodded, accepting the excuse without question.

“Yeah, well, try to pull it together, man. You’ve got that ‘I just accidentally liked my ex’s Instagram post from 2017’ face.”

Quinn blinked, momentarily pulled out of his spiraling thoughts. “Is that...a thing?”

“Definitely. Don’t ask me how I know.”

Quinn couldn’t help but chuckle, a real one this time, and for a moment, he felt a little bit lighter. But the moment passed quickly, like a cloud drifting over the sun, and the heaviness settled back in.

He needed to tell someone. He really did, and he thought about telling Brock, someone a little older, with a little more experience, but he knew it wouldn’t go well. The man had a wife and kid, and admitting to him that he’s a cheater couldn’t go any way but sideways.

He finished gearing up, the ritual of it providing some small comfort, like if he could just get everything on right, he’d be okay. But as he stepped onto the ice, the cool air hitting his face, he knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

The practice rink the Bruins had given them was buzzing with activity, the sound of skates cutting into the ice, pucks clattering against the boards, the low hum of voices. Normally, this was his sanctuary, the place where he could clear his mind and focus on nothing but the game. But today, the rink felt like a prison, every noise amplified, every movement too sharp.

Quinn skated a few laps, trying to shake the feeling, but it clung to him like a second skin. He saw you in every reflection, heard your voice in the echoes of the arena. And every time, it was like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

“Quinn! Heads up!”

He barely had time to react before the puck came flying toward him, and he fumbled to catch it, the black rubber slipping off the tip of his stick and skidding across the ice. A chorus of laughter erupted from the other guys, and Quinn forced a grin, trying to play it off.

“Nice hands, Huggy,” one of them called out, and Quinn gave a mock salute, his heart pounding in his chest.

As practice dragged on, Quinn found it harder and harder to focus. His mind kept wandering, and every time it did, it went straight back to you. He thought about the last time you’d visited him, how you’d spent the weekend curled up together on the couch, watching movies and talking about everything and nothing. He thought about the way you’d looked at him, like he was the only person in the world, and how he’d felt like the biggest fraud alive.

He thought about a few mornings ago, when he’d kissed you goodbye before heading to the rink, your sleepy smile still lingering in his mind. He hadn’t known then what he was going to do later, hadn’t known how everything would spiral out of control. But now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop replaying the night in his head, wondering how he’d let it happen.

The worst part was, he knew he didn’t deserve you. Not after what he’d done. But he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. And so, he found himself trapped, caught between his guilt and his fear, unable to move in either direction.

When practice finally ended, Quinn was the first off the ice, practically sprinting to the locker room. He needed a moment to breathe, to think, to figure out what the hell he was going to do. But as soon as he sat down on the bench, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he knew without looking that it was you.

He stared at it, his heart in his throat, his fingers trembling as he reached for it. The screen lit up with your name, and for a split second, he considered ignoring it. But he couldn’t do that, couldn’t just pretend you weren’t there, waiting for him, loving him, trusting him.

With a deep breath, Quinn swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

Quinn swallowed hard, his heart racing as he heard your voice on the other end of the line. It was like a balm and a burn at the same time, soothing yet searing into him with the heat of his own guilt.

“Hey! I’m here at the station,” you said, sounding bright and cheery, completely unaware of the emotional storm that was tearing him apart. “I was just wondering if you’re on your way or if I should grab a coffee or something?”

Your words were so casual, so normal, that they felt almost surreal to him. He closed his eyes, the images of last night flashing like a movie reel against the backs of his eyelids—her laughter, the way she’d leaned in close, her lips brushing his neck in a way that had sent shivers down his spine. And then he’d see your face, smiling up at him with that same soft look you always gave him, the one that made him feel like he was exactly where he needed to be.

He forced a laugh, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, I’m, uh, just finishing up at practice. I’ll be there soon.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he didn’t know what else to say. How could he tell you the truth? How could he explain that he’d been weak, that he’d betrayed you, that he didn’t deserve to have you waiting for him?

“Great! I can’t wait to see you.” Your voice was so full of warmth and excitement that it made his stomach twist. He could picture you standing there, probably wearing that old Canucks jacket of his that you loved, the one that was two sizes too big but somehow looked perfect on you. The thought made his chest tighten with an ache that he couldn’t shake.

“Yeah, me too,” he managed to say, his voice cracking just a little. “See you soon.”

As he hung up, Quinn let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The guilt felt like a heavy stone lodged in his gut, pressing down with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. He dropped his head into his hands, fingers tangling in his hair as he tried to make sense of his own stupidity.

He should have never gone out last night. He should have stayed in, watched TV, gone to bed early—anything other than what he did. But instead, he’d let himself get swept up in the moment, let himself be led astray by a smile and a soft touch, and now he was paying the price for it.

Why couldn’t he just have said no? Why couldn’t he have just kept his distance, like a rational human being?

But no, Quinn Hughes had to be an idiot. A complete, utter, monumental idiot.

He glanced around the locker room, hoping for some kind of distraction. Most of the guys were still milling around, showering, changing, talking about the upcoming game, like it was just another day. Like his whole world wasn’t collapsing around him.

Quinn stared at the locker room ceiling, the fluorescent lights casting harsh, white beams that felt like an interrogation spotlight. The thought of meeting you at the station had his stomach in knots, guilt gnawing at him like a relentless beast. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to find some semblance of calm, but the images of last night wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Why did I do that? Why am I like this?” Quinn muttered to himself, rubbing his temples as if he could erase the memory with enough pressure. The smell of sweat and damp gear filled his nostrils, a stark contrast to the sweet perfume that had lingered on his skin just hours ago. He grimaced, suddenly aware of how sick it made him feel.

His phone buzzed again. Without even looking, he knew it was another message from you, probably asking how long he’d be. He couldn’t ignore you forever, but he also wasn’t ready to face you. He needed more time—time to figure out what the hell he was going to say, time to gather the pieces of his shattered conscience.

With a groan, Quinn grabbed his phone and quickly ordered an Uber. The bus to the station was out of the question; the last thing he needed was more time to wallow in his guilt with nothing but his own thoughts for company. As soon as the confirmation buzzed through, he grabbed his gear, barely acknowledging his teammates as he rushed out of the locker room.

Within minutes, a car pulled up, and Quinn slid into the backseat, barely managing a greeting to the driver. He stared out the window as the city blurred by, the buildings and people blending into a haze of colors and motion. His reflection in the glass looked haunted, a man on the brink of losing everything.

His mind kept replaying the events of last night, a relentless loop of regret and self-loathing. He thought about the way he’d let himself be drawn in, the way he’d ignored that little voice in his head telling him to stop, to walk away. But he hadn’t listened. He’d let his guard down, let himself be led by his desires instead of his brain, and now he was stuck in a mess of his own making.

Quinn squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images, but they kept coming—her smile, her touch, the way she’d looked at him like he was the only man in the room. It had been intoxicating, a rush he hadn’t felt in a long time. But now, it felt like poison, spreading through him with every thought, every memory.

He opened his eyes, staring down at his hands, noticing the way they shook. He felt sick, his stomach churning with a mix of fear and guilt. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thrown away everything he had with you for a moment of weakness?

The driver made a comment about the weather, but Quinn barely heard him, his thoughts too loud, too chaotic. He just nodded absently, his mind a million miles away. He couldn’t focus on anything but you, waiting for him at the station, completely unaware of the storm raging inside his head.

The car finally pulled up to the station, and Quinn could see the throngs of people milling about, all of them blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil raging inside him. He thanked the driver and stepped out, his legs feeling like they might give out beneath him. With every step towards the entrance, his resolve weakened, the weight of his guilt dragging him down like an anchor.

There you were, standing near the entrance with your suitcase by your side, your face lighting up as soon as you spotted him. Quinn’s heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sight of your smile—so warm, so genuine, so undeserved. He forced a smile in return, even though it felt like a mask, a flimsy attempt to cover up the disaster he’d become.

“Hey, you,” you greeted him, your voice as bright and cheerful as ever. “I missed you.”

Quinn swallowed hard, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. “Missed you too,” he replied, his voice cracking just slightly. He leaned in to hug you, his arms wrapping around you with a desperation that he hoped you wouldn’t notice. But even as he held you close, the guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the mess he’d made.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with those eyes that always seemed to see right through him. “You okay? You seem…off.”

“Yeah, just tired,” Quinn lied, his smile faltering for a moment. “It’s been a long morning.”

Quinn watched your expression as you searched his face, and he felt a pang of anxiety strike deep in his gut. He couldn’t remember a time when lying to you had felt so awful. You were the one stable thing in his chaotic life, the person who always knew him better than he knew himself. And now, all he could do was lie to you, feeding you half-truths like they were the easiest thing in the world. The guilt twisted in his stomach like a knife.

“I get it,” you said, giving him a small, understanding smile that made him feel even worse. “Traveling always wears you out.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said, trying to muster a laugh that sounded more like a cough. He reached for your suitcase, needing something to do with his hands. “Here, let me grab that for you.”

As he lifted the bag, he could feel your eyes on him, studying him. He turned his head slightly, avoiding your gaze, afraid that if he looked at you for too long, he might break down right there in the middle of the station.

The two of you walked toward the exit, and Quinn’s mind raced, trying to find a way to change the subject, to steer the conversation away from any topic that might reveal just how messed up he was feeling inside. He felt like he was standing on a tightrope, trying to balance between the truth and the lies, between who he was and who he pretended to be.

“So, how was your trip?” he asked, hoping to sound casual, but his voice came out a little too high-pitched, like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. “Everything go okay?”

“It was fine,” you replied, glancing at him sideways, deciding not to tell him about the woman with the accent who preached how much men sucked. “Kind of boring, actually. I kept thinking about you.”

Quinn’s heart sank. Of course, you were thinking about him. You always were. And here he was, thinking about someone else. His stomach twisted with a fresh wave of nausea.

“Yeah?” He forced a grin, trying to keep the mood light. “You didn’t have too much fun without me, did you?”

You laughed, the sound like a melody he didn’t deserve to hear. “Not a chance. You’re the fun one, remember?”

Quinn managed a weak chuckle. “Yeah, right. Me, fun. That’s a good one.”

As you two stepped outside, the warm air hit him, and he took a deep breath, hoping to clear his head. The sunlight was blinding, making him squint as he tried to navigate through the crowds. He was grateful for the distraction, for anything that would keep him from focusing on the dark cloud hanging over his head.

Quinn tried to focus on the city around him, on the way the skyscrapers loomed overhead, their glass windows reflecting the blazing sun. He tried to lose himself in the noise of the traffic, the blaring horns and the distant chatter of people passing by. Anything to distract him from the overwhelming guilt clawing at his chest. He wished he could just disappear, sink into the pavement, and let the earth swallow him whole.

As you reached the hotel, Quinn fumbled with his key card, his hands shaking so badly he could barely swipe it. You gave him a puzzled look, and he managed a weak smile, hoping you couldn’t see the panic in his eyes. The door finally clicked open, and he hurried inside, dropping your suitcase by the bed.

“Home sweet home,” he said, trying to sound cheerful, but his voice cracked, betraying him. He turned away, pretending to adjust the air conditioning, but really just needing a moment to collect himself. The room felt stifling, the walls closing in on him, each breath a struggle.

You wandered over to the window, gazing out at the city below. “It’s a nice view,” you said softly, and Quinn’s chest ached at the sound of your voice. You were always so kind, so thoughtful, and here he was, lying to you every step of the way. He hated himself for it.

“Yeah, it’s… something,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the tension coil up his spine. He knew he needed to tell you, to come clean about everything, but the words felt like lead in his throat, heavy and impossible to get out. How could he explain something like this? How could he make you understand when he didn’t even understand it himself?

He took a step closer to you, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. He hesitated, his hand hovering over your shoulder, before finally giving in and wrapping his arms around you from behind. You leaned back into him, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, breathing in your scent, feeling the familiar warmth of your body against his. It was almost enough to make him forget, to pretend that everything was okay, that he hadn’t completely screwed up the best thing in his life.

Almost.

“Quinn, are you sure you’re okay?” you asked again, turning in his arms to face him, your brows furrowed in concern. Your eyes searched his face, and he felt like you could see right through him, like you knew every dirty secret he was trying to hide.

“I…” He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “I need to tell you something.” His voice was barely a whisper, the words sticking to his throat like glue.

“What is it?” You tilted your head, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and he felt like the worst person in the world. How could he do this to you? How could he destroy everything you had together?

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you, hard and desperate, like a drowning man grasping for air. You gasped in surprise, your hands coming up to cup his face, and for a moment, he lost himself in the kiss, in the feel of your lips against his, soft and familiar and everything he didn’t deserve.

When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You blinked, confusion etched across your features. “Quinn, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

“I messed up,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I messed up so bad, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know if I can.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and Quinn felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He wanted to hold you, to comfort you, but he knew he had no right. Not after what he had done.

“I need you to know that I love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I love you so much, and I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“What did you do?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Quinn took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he tried to steady himself. He knew he couldn’t keep lying, couldn’t keep hiding the truth from you.

You deserved better than that.

You deserved so much more than he could ever give you.

[toruro]

— ✧ bark (like a dog)

a part of new rules ... a svt performance unit x mafia au series !

description. kwon soonyoung is hot. he's fucking smoking, but also painfully out of your reach—being your father's main hitman assistant means that, by the books, he's pretty much off limits. but then again, when did silly stuff like rules ever stop you?

genre. smut (18+), brief angst, mafia au

warnings/tags: PLEASE READ! mentions of murder & death bc hoshi is a hitman, descriptions of blood, reader is daughter of mafia boss, mean dom hoshi, gun play (unloaded), or4l (m receiving), jealousy, sp4nking, breath control, praise kink, blindfolds, th1gh r1iding, pet names (princess, angel, good girl), consent is SEXY

w/c: 7.3k

a/n: thank u @gyuswhore for proofreading hehe ... anyways this is like smut w a hint of plot. sorry not sorry my head's been so full of him

You don’t get nervous.

Not when you overhear your father talking about some risky new plans and not when you go out and know there’s a target on your back.

Not when you snuck out your apartment tonight without your bodyguard to just pop into the galleria that you heard some of your father’s men talking about. Which, by the way, you totally didn’t do because one of them mentioned Kwon Soonyoung being there. Yeah. Totally not.

You weren’t nervous when you waltz into the galleria, in some pretty dress pants and a cute black t-shirt that may or may not have been showing a lot more skin than your father likes. The night was going great, honestly. Fantastic, even.

Until your eyes landed on the very reason you even decided to come here. Kwon Soonyoung.

Again, you don’t get nervous. It’s simply not in your DNA.

So why does having this man next to you make your vision bleary and heart heavy?

“Did you like it?” you murmur, toeing at the grass beneath you with bare feet. You’re at your father’s house now. Soonyoung caught sight of you after you caught sight of him laughing with another woman, which totally shouldn’t have bothered you but you felt green boil in your stomach anyways.

And you watched her lead him into some other hallway with a man and then Soonyoung was gone. He was doing whatever he does, you know? You don’t want to pry into his work, but seeing as he’s your father’s favorite man, it’s kind of hard to avoid the truth.

Soonyoung was definitely just doing his job. Talked to the woman, peppered a few kisses on her cheek to butter her up, got her to introduce to a man who was maybe probably definitely his target, and then he walked out again, fixing his coat over his shoulders as he returned alone. He took you home after that.

You squirm just at the thought. Nightly zephyrs pinch at your skin as you stand in the backyard, but as you feel Soonyoung’s gaze burn into the back of your head, your body warms nonetheless.

Even turned away from him, you can practically feel the way his eyebrow cocks up. “Like what?”

You scoff and roll your eyes even though you know he can’t see you. Oh well, he probably knows anyway. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not sure I do, angel,” he replies without hesitation. Your mind races at the nickname, not because you think it’s a term of endearment, but because you’re almost sure that he’s mocking you. Angel. Fuck, everyone knows you’re anything but a damn angel, and you’d be an idiot to think Soonyoung meant anything other than to belittle you right now.

“Sure,” you mutter dryly, running one hand down your face, before turning around to face him. Kwon Soonyoung is hot, as always, with his dark messy hair falling right over his eyebrows, one of which has a little slit carved into the edge, his plump lips and sharp eyes that watch you carefully.

Even under the dim light of the night sky, he seems to glow beneath the moon.

“Are you going to be all pouty like this for the rest of the night?” When you don’t respond, he huffs loudly. You don’t want him to be annoyed with you, but you cross your arms over your chest and press your feet into the soil stubbornly anyways. “Am I going to have to call Taehyun to drive you home?”

“What, you don’t want to bother doing that yourself?” you snap. Fuck, you don’t even know why you said that. It isn’t Soonyoung’s job to take care of you in any way. Sure he indirectly does that by heeding your father’s order—by killing off any threats when they pop up, but nowhere in his title’s description does it say he needs to take you home, to coddle you, to watch over you.

“You want me to take you home?” he asks, and you want to fucking strangle him because if it wasn’t painfully obvious, then to make it clear once more, yeah you want him to take you home. You want him to pull you to his car and press a hand on your thigh and then creep it up your legs until your squirming under his touch and—

You need to stop getting ahead of yourself. Your relationship is—god, you want to say it’s professional, but you can’t even call it that. You and Kwon Soonyoung, your relationship is somehow both less and more than professional.

It’s so intimate—he’s your father’s most loyal worker, he’d go to any lengths to keep your family, to keep you, safe. And yet, even after you’ve seen the blood on his clothes and the imprint of his gun in his pants, he’s a stranger.

Not because you don’t know his favorite color, or because he doesn’t know what kind of food you like, but because even as a million thoughts run through your head, you’re pretty sure he can’t figure out a single one of them.

Finally, you speak up, reverting the topic without answering his question. “Do you really not know what I’m talking about?” Your voice is smaller this time.

“Are you trying to play a guessing game with me?”

Your glare hardens on him. “Fuck you,” you spit out, and Soonyoung puts his hands up in a surrendering motion. “The galleria—did you have fun? Did you like it?”

“Well angel, I hate to break it to you but I was just doing my job. Not that you would know, since you’ve never had to work a damn day in your life, but I don’t necessarily love my job. So if that’s what you want to know, then I guess you have your answer.”

“And with her? Did you—”

“What are you talking about?” he cuts you off harshly, and you’re slightly taken aback by the way his voice booms louder.

“Didn’t know kissing pretty women was a part of your job,” you murmur gruffly before finally making your way to the door that leads back into the house.

“Where’re you going?”

“I also didn’t know that keeping track of where I’m going was a part of your job.”

“You’re not making any damn sense right now, I hope you know that.”

Slipping on some socks, you go on, “Is listening to me a part of your job too? If not, I suggest you just leave me alone and—”

“God, what the hell are you goin’ on about, with all this job shit? Since when did you care about what I do to get a job done?”

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” you conclude, going to open the door before Soonyoung’s hand stops you.

“Stop being a brat,” he hisses, causing you to press your lips together tightly.

“I am not being a brat,” you scoff, ripping your arm away from him. “If anything, you’re the attention seeker who—”

“Excuse me? I’m sorry, attention seeker?”

“Well you were basically throwing yourself at that woman and—” Your breath hitches when you realize what you’ve just said, and you slap a hand over your mouth as you look down.

Soonyoung clicks his tongue, but it’s not as disappointed as you except … if anything, he sounds … sorry. “What do you want from me? You know it’s my job.”

You scoff, shoving your head in your hands out of humiliation. “I think you know exactly what I want from you,” you mutter. Now you’re not really sure what you’re expecting from Soonyoung but it’s definitely not his strong hand on your wrists, forcing you to look up at him.

“Do you want me to take you home or not?”

You look at him, mortified at the bluntness of his suggestion.

“I—what?”

“Look, you’re not very discreet and—”

“Oh my god, stop talking. I need to go and—”

Soonyoung grabs your face. It’s gentle, but his touch is firm and his eyes don’t break away from yours for a moment. His fingers press into the plush of your cheeks, and there’s a both nerve-wracking and alluring aura to it.

“Let’s take you home, or I tell your father where you were last night. How you left your cozy little apartment without your dear Mr. Choi who, if I recall, is supposed to accompany you wherever you go.”

You gape at him—there is no way he’s threatening you right now. You blink once, and then twice, and Soonyoung’s gaze remains unwavering.

Fuck.

Which is how you find yourself seated patiently on Soonyoung’s couch, thighs pressed together and hands on your knees cutely as you watch him fill up a glass of water. You wonder if he can hear the beating of your heart.

If he can, he doesn’t comment on it, instead breaking the silence when he walks over to you, “I hope you know what you’re signing yourself up for.”

You grin immediately. “Some fun, of course,” you reply, mentally marveling at your own wit.

Soonyoung fucking laughs at you. His eyes are peering down at you carefully as he juts the glass of water to you, and he doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that you should just take the damn glass and drink.

His gaze doesn’t waver when you bring the glass up to your lips, slowly but surely downing all its contents and letting the cool water attempt to put out the flames that burn in your stomach. “Good job,” he murmurs, smoothing one hand over your head when you place the glass on his coffee table, the simple but impactful words sending shivers down your spine.

Making the risky decision to test your luck once more, you bat your lashes and bring your arms closer together in front of you so that your tits bunch up, giving Soonyoung a perfect view from above. “So? When’s the fun gonna start?”

Something in his eyes darkens, but you choose to ignore it as Soonyoung slips his dark work coat off, letting it fall behind him on the coffee table. What follows is a heavy thud and clank and your stomach churns at the thought of what caused such a sound.

“Listen,” Soonyoung says, his voice firm but not as demeaning as before. “I need to know where your head is at.” he pauses.

You pout and then raise a challenging brow. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

Soonyoung chuckles, and reaches back for his coat, rummaging through the inner pockets for a moment as your blood runs cold in realization. He unsheathes a heavy black gun from the dark fabric, holding it close to his dress shirt as he smooths a finger over the barrel.

You try to move your fingers but they’re frozen in place as he watches the look on your face contort into some odd look of awe.

“Let me rephrase that,” Soonyoung murmurs. “I need to know how far you’re willing to go.”

The air is stuck in your throat and your lungs squeeze and writhe for some semblance of sanity, but the way his thick fingers caress the heavy metal of the gun has your vision going blurry. He’s tracing over all the dips, the curves, the crevices, and you can only imagine what it’ll feel like if you had the cool, heavy, pistol pressed against your skin while Soonyoung’s fingers are all over you.

Your eyes are clouded, and he stills for a moment, subtly sliding the gun past his side and hiding it behind his back with one hand, using the other to grab your chin and tilt your head so you’re craning your neck to look up at him.

“So be honest with me right now.”

He doesn’t say it, but you know what he’s asking for. You don’t have to think about your answer, not one bit, and that’s because through everything, you trust Soonyoung. You trust him with your life, and you trust him with more.

“I’m willing to do whatever you want,” you tell him almost immediately. There’s no hesitation, no apprehension—Soonyoung knows when he looks you in the eye and he swears he feels his heart grow ten times in his chest when your pupils dilate.

Slowly, he brings his hand from his back to the front, the grip of the gun pressing back against his lower abdomen as he squeezes your cheeks together with his other hand. Your lips bunch together in a pucker and he pinches the bottom lip for a moment, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the drool that slides down his chin.

“That’s a pretty bold statement, princess,” he finally says, a sharp clicking sound resonating through the room when he shifts the gun in his hand.

“I can take it,” you insist through squished lips, looking up at Soonyoung with some kind of determination that boils his blood with pure passion.

“You’re confident …” he mutters, holding the gun close to your cheek, pressing the cold metal against your warm skin. You can’t be sure if action helps you cool down or only heats you up anymore, but a wanton whimper escapes your lips and suddenly you have your answer.

Soonyoung watches how you swallow at the contact, fingers quivering by your side and he lets his hand relax for a second, holding the gun by his side. “It’s unloaded.”

“I-I wouldn’t care either way,” you mumble, slightly annoyed that Soonyoung dropped his hand. “I trust you.”

Soonyoung smiles, letting go of your cheeks and instead gripping the back of your neck, running his thumb up and down your collarbone. “It’s okay to be scared, angel. Two taps to stop,” he tells you, pointing at his wrist.

You roll your eyes tentatively, unsure if it’s the right move. When Soonyoung quickly presses the muzzle against your lips, you deduct that rolling your eyes was, in fact, the best thing you could have done.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he mutters, feigning discontent as he tries to ignore the way his dick twitches in his work pants when you part your mouth and let the gun sink further into your mouth.

The taste of metal on your tongue is unfamiliar, and frankly the hardness of the gun is quite uncomfortable but when you press your tongue against the base of the barrel, and swirl it over the sides, you imagine it’s Soonyoung’s cock in your mouth instead.

He’s steadying you with his hand pressed at your neck, holding the gun at an angle above you without moving it. The sight of you sucking and struggling, drool dripping down your chin and skin flushing—he’s in heaven he swears.

Cute eyes looking up at him with such desperation, pleading with him silently because you can’t speak—not with the way his gun is stuffed between your pretty lips. “Fuck, how does it feel princess?” he groans at just the image alone.

You’re silent, because of course, how could you say a thing. The only sounds that bounce off the walls are the filthy slurping of your tongue and the hollowing of your cheeks, tears peeking from your waterline as Soonyoung presses the gun further down your mouth, the now slick barrel sliding easily past your teeth.

Your jaw aches and you gag as you adjust to the feeling, but the reality of it all starts to hit you, and it’s dizzying. Soonyoung—fuck, he’s here in front of you with his gun shoved down your throat and you’re looking up at him like he has all the answers to the universe and more.

And more is exactly what you want, and Soonyoung can tell because even as squeaks erupt from your throat and your fingers tremble when they fly up and grip at his thigh, you don’t pull away and you don’t tap out.

It’s worrying for a moment, because here you are with tears streaming down your cheeks but he can hear your silent pleas of don’t stop, please, please, please, don’t stop, and he feels he might go insane at the thought that you’re just as deranged as him.

“So pretty,” he praises, and you press your lips down and whine at the way the words have your cunt throbbing. Slowly, Soonyoung starts to pull the gun out of your mouth, your jaw going slack at the feeling of your tongue being free, but your face is on fire and you just need to do more.

You continue to lap against the gun, swirling it over the circular muzzle when he’s just about pulled it out all the way, not breaking eye contact with Soonyoung for even a moment. It’s addicting, the way he watches you—bottom lip lodged between his own teeth and jaw clenched tight as he imagines it’s his cock inside your mouth instead.

“God fuck, you’re insane,” he says when you kiss the side of the barrel one last time before he carefully places the pistol behind him. For the first time tonight (and ever, for that matter), Soonyoung kisses you. He grabs your warm face and leans down to smash his lips against your swollen, tired mouth.

You’re fatigued already, he can tell, and takes this as his chance to press his tongue against yours and explore the very mouth that sucked against his gun just moments earlier. He can still taste the metal on your tongue, letting your lips melt together as one for just a moment before pulling away.

He can tell there’s a complaint threatening to leave your lips, but he makes sure it shrivels when he shoots you a knowing look. “You deserve a reward, don’t you think? Did s’good for me …”

You nod eagerly, and Soonyoung is thoroughly surprised by how quickly you’ve bounced back, trailing his fingers down from your face to your waist, pulling you up to stand on your feet. Your legs are wobbly and for a moment, you stumble forward but Soonyoung catches you, his arm steadily belted around your hips.

“Already done?” he asks, but it’s more of a tease than anything. Still, you take it as a challenge and shake your head as he leads you to his bedroom. It’s dimly lit, only the moon through the window and its reflection against a mirror leading you the way to his bed as he hops on, laying back as you stand by the foot of the bed.

He raises a brow. “What are you waiting for? Strip.”

“W-what?”

Soonyoung is still fully clothed, legs spread slightly as he hikes one knee up and watches you expectantly. “Princess,” he coos, “I said strip.”

You shudder at the request when it finally sinks in, and you quickly follow by pushing your pants down and pulling your shirt off your head, leaving you completely topless, your lower half donned with nothing but a set of black satin panties.

Soonyoung swears his heart stops at the sight, and just as you’re about to push them down, he holds his hand out. “Leave them on, come here.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice this time, and you crawl onto the foot of the bed before making your way in between his legs, only stopping when Soonyoung places his heavy hands on your shoulders and smoothes them down your bare arms.

You sigh contently at the contact, instinctively shooting one hand between your legs to rub at the growing ache. You hardly make it though, Soonyoung’s hand shooting out and stopping your wrist halfway. “Thought you wanted a reward? Getting ahead of yourself, huh …”

You shake your head vehemently. “N-no—I jus’—need something, need you, Soonyoung,” you confess, leaning forward in hopes that he’ll meet you halfway for a kiss.

He doesn’t, opting to watch you amusedly as you squirm on all fours in front of him. “Show me how much you need me,” Soonyoung rasps out, helping you settle over yourself over his thigh before placing his arms behind his head and leaning back against the headboard casually.

Your eyebrows knit together, and you place your hands on his chest for hardly a second before he swats them away. “W-what?”

“Did you not hear me the first time?” he asks, and he’s definitely mocking you with his tone. “And keep your hands to yourself—you only get to touch me if you can prove to me you want this.”

“I want it, Soonyoung, so bad! So, so, so bad, you don’t understand!” you whine, bouncing yourself up and down to punctuate your word but gasps leaving your lips at the friction it leaves behind.

“Yeah well,” he sighs, adjusting his body so he’s laying even further back down. “Make me understand. Make yourself cum.” Your plush lips part, agape at his proposition. Why he can’t just fuck you into the sheets right here and right now is beyond you, but Soonyoung’s eyes light like a flame and you aren’t sure if you want to add fuel to the fire or put out.

Tentatively, you rut your core against the hard muscle of his thigh, the friction of his dark dress pants shooting pleasure through your flimsy panties. You have half a mind to rip the damn fabric off, but the rubbing of cloth that bunches around your clit is more pleasurable than anything.

“See,” Soonyoung murmurs, as you repeat the motion of rocking yours forward and back in a slow rhythm. “Pretty angel does know how to work for something. Let’s see if you can keep it up,” he hums, and you glower down at him.

“I-I know how to work,” you huff, grinding down extra hard as a means to prove your point, but your argument falls flat when you whimper, hands falling forward on his chest as your body lurches forward. Soonyoung’s own firm grip lands on your wrists, yanking them off of him.

“Do you, now?” he scoffs. “Can’t follow simple fuckin’ directions,” he says under his breath, and instead of glaring, your eyebrows furrow as you hold your arms close to your chest, massaging your tits yourself to keep your hands occupied.

“‘m sorry Soonyoungie,” you say softly, losing the attitude that held your head up and replacing it with a wave of compliance as you cling onto the friction against your cunt, desperate to not let your far-away orgasm to ebb away.

“Soonyoungie, huh?” he mutters, watching the way your tits bounce when you work your body in a harsher up and down motion, letting the soiled fabric of your panties to stain his own pants. “Cute name, but you’re gonna have to work a bit harder,” he comments, and he’s true to his word because Soonyoung does think it’s cute. He thinks you’re cute, and hot, and pretty, and the only person he wants to stick his dick into, but fuck, if he doesn’t want to make you beg, make you sob for it …

Fervently, you start to find a pace that’s steadily increasing, thighs burning and twitching at every brush of your sopping pussy over him. You’re wet—so wet—and you know Soonyoung can feel it through his pants. How he’s so still and composed is beyond you, and while you try to think about what’s running through his mind, your brain goes empty the second you feel one of his hands on your hips.

“So spoiled,” he chides, and you want to shake your head and protest, ‘cause no! You’re not spoiled! But you know damn well that’d be a lie, and as you feel Soonyoung flex his muscle beneath you and use his hand to help swivel your hips, it’s only confirmed.

“Hnggff—S-Soony—”

“S’okay,” he groans, when the knee that’s wedged between his legs brushes against his crotch that holds his undeniably hard cock. You both shudder at the feeling—Soonyoung because of the small but relieving stimulation, and you because of the anticipation of feeling him inside of you. “Go on, baby, can tell you’re close. Fuck yourself like this—I know you can do it.”

“Hurts,” you sigh softly as your legs begin to tremble and give into the fatigue. “Soonie, I can’t, I—” you cut yourself off with your own high pitched moan when he hikes his leg up a little higher, causing you ro shift forward and arch your back so that your clit was pressed perfectly against his thigh. “God, fuck.”

“What do you mean you can’t, angel?” he coos in that both infuriating and pulsing tone of his. “You’re doin’ it for me right now …”

“I—I …” the words dry right on your throat when your orgasm crashes into you, the ghost of Soonyoung’s name on your tongue as you fall forward. You know he told you no touching, no holding, none of that, but fuck, even he can’t be mad when you press your face into his chest with low mewls bubbling up in your throat.

Securing an arm around your waist, he bounces his thigh upwards to push you through your fall, squeezing out every last bit of pleasure you’ll allow him until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation but too exhausted to pull away.

“‘m tired,” you whine through broken gasps, as you pull away and look up blankly at the ceiling. Soonyoung watches the way your tits shift with every inhale and exhale, and before he knows it he’s fumbling at the buckle of his belt and shoving his pants and boxers down so his dripping cock can finally breathe.

The sound of his length slapping against his firm abdomen has you blinking into reality quicker than you can think, and you glance at Soonyoung who sits in front of you. His cock is standing up, pulsing tall and proud, adorning a pretty, angry tip that smears precum over his defined abs.

“Too tired?” he piques, but with the way that drool dribbles at the corner of your lips, he knows he already has an answer. Grinning when you shake your head vigorously, he shifts himself so his bare legs hang over the edge of the bed, his hands placed behind him as he leans back. “Get on the ground.”

Two hours ago, you would have shut down the proposition immediately. Getting on the ground for a man? Completely out of your scope. Unfathomable, honestly.

But Soonyoung’s voice is so … it’s—he isn’t proposing, or suggesting, or asking, no … Soonyoung is demanding and you’d be damned to let him think you’re anything less than obedient. Quickly, you push yourself up and crawl over to where he’s sitting before slipping off the bed and slotting yourself between his legs.

As you sit back on your heels, the wetness of your core slides down your thighs and as your legs press together, the arousal smears against your supple skin, undoubtedly making a mess. It feels so dirty and lewd but as Soonyoung watches you with dark eyes, you feel like the most beautiful person on the planet.

Gentler than you were expecting, he uses one hand to hold your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Angel got a smart mouth, huh,” he says, as if he’s talking to himself as he runs a thumb over your lips, starting from the top then circling down to the bottom. He scoops up some of the drool that you hadn’t wiped away and then pushes it all back into your mouth from the corner of your lips. “You think you can put it to good use?”

“‘course I can,” you say a bit more proudly than Soonyoung enjoys. You’re cute, yeah—fuck yeah—but you look up at him like it’s some sort of challenge and he just needs to remind you of who’s really in charge.

And so he holds you by the crown of your head, guiding your mouth close to his cock which dons a dribble of precum. You stick your tongue out at the sight, eyes wide in anticipation as he uses his other hand to guide your own fingers to your thigh. “Same thing,” he tells you, “two taps and I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” you agree, verbally this time with a nod before pushing your tongue back out in hopes that he’ll speed it all out because fuck, you haven’t ever wanted to feel a cock in your mouth this badly. But who can blame you? It’s so long and thick and—god, it’s so heavy when he taps that tip against your tongue.

You open your mouth wider, anticipating him to push it down further like he did with the gun, but you should’ve known better. Should’ve known that Soonyoung likes toying around with you.

Soonyoung lets you lap precum off his shiny tip, swirling over the slit for just a second before he’s lifting his cock and then slapping it back down on your tongue this time. The contact is light, but the thickness of it all and the ache in your core has you pleading for more.

When a desperate whimper rips through your throat, Soonyoung grins. And so he does it again. And again. And again. Slapping his cock on your tongue until he can’t handle it anymore, cock throbbing at just the thought of you sucking against him like you did his pistol, and slides his length into your mouth without warning.

“Fuck,” he moans, and you vaguely wonder if there could be anything that sounds more melodic. You press your tongue against the length, hardening the tip and tracing it over the curves, the veins—anything and everything you can feel—as if you were trying to memorize him bit by bit.

Soonyoung basks in it, the image of you stuffed with his cock in your mouth, lips puffy but eyes somehow begging for more. He loves it, he tells himself in his head. Such a spoiled girl, but then again, his spoiled girl.

“Ready?” he asks, stiffening his hold on your hair and giving you a knowing look. Meekly, you nod with his cock still spreading your lips, and with nothing more than a nod, Soonyoung pushes you down his full length, nose pressed against his pelvis as you struggle to breathe through your nose.

And it hurts so good—your jaw is sore and you’re on the verge of gagging because he’s so big but something about the way your lungs burn and throat tightens has your mind set on not stopping.

Soonyoung is watching you intently when he finally lets go, pulling you off of his length and allowing you a moment to breathe. He wonders how far is too far with you, but when you just pant heavily, looking up at him with your tongue stuck out once more, inching closer to him, he figures he’s still got a long way to go.

So Soonyoung does it again; softly murmurs, “Take a deep breath,” and then yanks your head down until all you can feel is his cock bullying its way through your lips, your hollowed out cheeks, your throat. His loud moans egg you on, and you nearly start to tremble at the way you start to feel light-headed. He holds you down for longer this time, and this time, tears are gushing down your face but no, you won’t relent.

Its enthralling for the both of you, and it doesn’t stop. Soonyoung starts a pattern. Push down, hold, release, repeat. Push down, hold, release, repeat. And he does it until he feels his cock twitch in your warm mouth and has to almost push you back to hold off from cumming.

He just can’t do it, not yet. Not until he’s felt you flush against his skin, bodies intertwined as he fucks into you.

So when he pulls you off this time, you know it’s the last (for now, at least). You breathe steadily, in through your nose and out through your mouth as you recuperate, staring at the floor. Gingerly, Soonyoung hooks his hands under your arms and pulls you up so you’re sitting next to him on the bed.

“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly when he catches the clouded look on your face. When you slowly look at him and nod with a dazed smile, Soonyoung just knows he’s in love. You look so happy, so eager to submit and he loves the way you trust him, loves the way you know he’s going to treasure you.

“Sit here,” he instructs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your puffy lips as he stands up and walks over in front of the bed where his dresser is.

You frown at the idea of him being away from you. “Need it no-o-ow, Soonie,” you drawl out, standing up and making your way to Soonyoung, reaching out to place your palm against the hard muscle of his back. You run your hand over him, and for a few moments, he lets you.

You can feel the twitch of each hard earned, firm muscle as he moves around through his desk space, and you silently wonder what it’ll feel like to dig your nails into his back in another heated moment. Fuck, you’re so down bad.

“You’re so greedy,” Soonyoung mutters, finally turning around to grab your wrists. On one side, you feel something cool and soft press against your skin, and glancing down, you recognize it as the feeling of black satin against your arm. “I told you to sit down, didn’t I?”

You frown, but oblige anyways, shuffling over to the middle of the bed, sitting down neatly on your knees as Soonyoung stands in front of you by the edge. He’s holding the ribbon in both hands now, the silk taut as he holds it up to your head.

“You okay with this?” he asks, pressing the silk right up against your eyes that have since fluttered shut, but he doesn’t quite tie it just yet. You inhale deeply for a second and then nod. “Words princess. I need words.”

“Yes,” you comply. “I’m okay.”

As soon as you’ve given him the green light, he’s bringing the two ends of the silk behind your head and tying it into a tight knot. “Is it comfortable?” he asks sincerely, waving a hand in front of your face. “D’you see that?”

“Uhh, yes and no,” you respond, slightly confused and still getting used to not being able to see anything.

“Good,” he says to himself, and you feel the mattress dip, causing you to lose a bit of your balance, jutting your hands out to grab onto anything. Immediately, you feel Soonyoung’s hands on you, and your muscles lose their tension. “Relax. I’m right here.”

Those seem to be just the words you need to hear, because you’re sitting back down, sitting a bit more comfortably this time as you feel Soonyoung shift around on the mattress. This is Soonyoung, this is Soonyoung, you remind yourself, and he’ll always keep you safe.

“C’mere,” his thick voice breaks through your thoughts, and you flail around for a moment trying to trace his voice. There’s a hand on your shoulder soon, guiding you toward the direction of the headboard and you tentatively crawl over, yelling out in surprise when you quickly feel two hands wrap under your thighs and lift you up.

Your shock is soon replaced with a burning desire when Soonyoung finally places you on his lap, and you can feel his rock hard length pressing against your inner leg as you settle over his thighs. All you can hear for a moment is your sharp breaths, but then there’s a hard smack against your ass.

“Go on angel … you know what you want to do—what’re you waiting for?”

You want to curse Soonyoung right now, because how the hell d’he know? But then again, you don’t really care because here he is, egging you on.

So gingerly, you lift your hips over him and shuffle forward so that your stomach is pressed against his chest. You feel one of his hands find purchase on your waist while the other reaches between the dripping mess that starts to splay between your cores and positions his cock against your soaked folds.

And then he’s presses rough kisses into your neck and sliding his tongue over your collarbone, murmuring, “Go on princess, go on,” and you can fucking hear the own want in his strained voice. Soonyoung is just as far gone as you, but you don’t have the liberty to linger on that fact for more than a moment before your cunt takes hold of all your senses and you instinctively sink down on him.

The moan Soonyoung let’s out is deep, gruff, guttural, and has your walls instinctively clenching around him and your hazed frenzy. “Good girl,” he grunts as you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

Your head swings around for a few moments as your eyes well up with tears from the initial stretch, but soon Soonyoung’s soft words of praise are pulling you down to reality and reminding you that he’s right here, that this is happening, whispering sweet and filthy nothings into your ear as you adjust to having him inside you.

“See,” he croons, stroking your chin with his thumb as you slowly grind down on him, both of you letting out soft gasps at the feeling. “Being so good for me, princess,” he hums, and you can’t even see the expression on his face but you know he’s not finished. “Wonder what the boss is gonna think of this,” he chuckles under his breath.

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders at his words, hugging his head close as you anticipate what he’s about to say next, trying your best to keep your soft mewls to yourself. It’s hard—really hard—because Soonyoung is big and he’s jutting his hips upwards sharply but sporadically, making it impossible to tell when he’s going to be punching moans straight out of your lungs.

“So good. Being so good for me, but so bad for everyone else,” he whispers into your neck as you start to bounce your hips to meet his thrusts halfway.

“Fuck,” you moan, both from the way he’s battering your inside, reaching so deep you don’t even know how he’s fit.

And Soonyoung doesn’t stop there, at least not with his words. “Sneaking out—” He snaps up harshly, his fat tip pressing against spots inside your cunt that have you writhing into him. “—Lying to your dad—” He continues to punctuate himself with more rough, emphasizing thrusts. “—Going out unattended—Breaking the rules—” He grunts out especially loudly at the last one, burying his head into your beck from the pleasure that radiates you both. “But you won’t do that to me, right princess? G’na be my good girl, right?”

“A-always,” you stutter out through strangled gasps for air as your body lurches around from the deep pounding of his hips. You’re so close—fuck it, you’re nearly there, and you pulse around him, digging your face into his hair from above as you try your best to swivel your hips but then, it all comes to a halt.

“Wha—what?!” you nearly shriek when he grips your hips so tightly that you both still, and suddenly the knot that’s been tying so carefully at the base of your stomach is unraveling and not in the way that you’d like. Your orgasm ebbs away into some far distance that you can’t reach, especially not in the frantic state you’re in after having lost just what might have been the best high of your life. “Why would you do that?”

Soonyoung watches your pained expression from below with the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, quirking an eyebrow at your accusing questions. He presses a hand down on your stomach when you try to buck upwards for some—any—sort of relief. “You already came once. You didn’t think you’d get the second that easily, did you?”

Any snarky remark you’d be able to come up with withers away and all you’re left with is a big fat frown. “I—” you stutter in short breaths before huffing out, “I was s’close.”

“I know princess. But you can be good, right? Good for me?” he mutters, caressing the side of your face with the back of his hand before tugging at the silk, letting the blindfold fall from your eyes and land on his abdomen. Your eyebrows are furrowed in a way that Soonyoung can only describe as cute, and from beneath you, he brings his palm down on your ass harshly, the sound of the smack resonating through his room.

As you blink your eyes into comfort, adjusting to the dim light, Soonyoung lifts his hip, causing his length to shift deeper inside of you, and you lurch forward at the sensation of him kissing your cervix.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, eyes pressed closed tightly as he steadies your hips with his hands and in one swift movement, flips you both over so your back is to the mattress and he hovers on top of you.

You’re overwhelmed with it all—being deprived of your vision for so long and now you get to take it all in—the beads of sweat rolling down Soonyoung’s pretty peaks and valleys of abs, his dark hair splayed all over the face, flush cheeks and furrowed eyebrows as he focuses his vision on where his cock meets your cunt—fuck.

“You wanna cum?” he grunts in your ear, grabbing your face and forcing you to look him in the eye as he draws his hips back, slamming back into your sloppy cunt. Then he brings his lips right by the shell of your ear and in a hoarse, mangled whisper, he demands, “Beg for it.”

And beg you do.

You wrap your legs around Soonyoung’s waist and dig crescent moons into his shoulders, draw pretty red lines into his back and you sob into the sheets, into his shoulder. And your walls hug him in again and again and let him whisper filthy words into your ears until you can’t even comprehend the depraved images he’s drawing into your head.

Ecstasy courses through your veins and your body knows nothing other than the enigma that is Kwon Soonyoung who pushes you so far, until you’re breaking beneath him—a wailing mess as you tell him how good it all feels, how his fat cock batters your cunt so well that you can do nothing other than choke out sweet ‘thank you’s and hoarse, ‘please’s.

And he makes you work for it, just like he promised, urging you to beg just a little more, swiveling his thrusts so that each stroke hits all your sweet spots, finally giving in when he mutters into your neck, “Let go princess, let go.”

And when you finally feel every string that’s been so meticulously woven together, teetering at the edge of breaking for ages, you let it all snap. Crying into his skin as you let him fuck you into an orgasm, hitting you harder than you could even imagine as every muscle goes limp and all you know is Kwon Soonyoung is here next to you, and he here to stay, because after a few more pumps his hot cum is filling you to the brim and more.

Soonyoung kisses you like he could swallow you whole. Like he could bathe in nothing but your arms and be the happiest man alive.

It’s the realization that hits you when he collapses over you, the smell of sweat and sex consuming you as your mouths connect in a maniac passion. More. It’s always more with Soonyoiung. He’ll protect you and more. He’ll hold you and more.Stroking the curve of your hips gently, you know—he’s going to love you and more.

a/n. first part of new rules is done, three more to go! chan will most likely be next, so stay tuned hehe! i hope u all enjoyed :3

tags. @synthetickitsune @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @todorokiskitten @98-0603 @whippedforjihoon @xiaoting999  @hipsdofangirl @valenhui @nikkixpenguin @minnie-mouser22 @minhui896 @seokchannieworld @yunjinified @dnylwoo @nishloves @woozarts @etherealyoungk (strikethrough could not be tagged) join here!

[discordantwritings]

Rock Hard (Rock Band! Cross Guild x Reader)

Pt. 3 The Guitarist

Prelude // The Vocalist // The Guitarist // The Drummer

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, semi-public sex, Buggy is a Problem, possessive Mihawk, fingering, oral sex, no Crocodile yet but soon

WC: 2.4k

Summary: So, you slept with the main singer of Cross Guild, who is also your boss. It’s fine. No one will know.

Except Mihawk, Mihawk finds out pretty fast.

Notes: I got distracted for (checks calendar) 2 months but I swear I’m not abandoning anything

Tagging: @keiva1000

“And then you have the meeting with possible collaborators at the end of your day.”

“And why am I doing that instead of Crocodile?” Mihawk asks from behind his desk.

“Because he is busy scouting concert venues.” You explain, clipboard held to your chest.

“And Buggy?”

“I think why we know Buggy isn’t doing it.”

He pauses, rolling his eyes. “We do. Fine. But make sure I have the recording studio booked for Friday and nothing interrupting it.”

“Of course. Any other schedule requests?” You ask, jotting down his demands.

“No just that.” He waves a dismissive hand and you politely nod and head to the door.

“Oh- one more question.” His words stop you and you turn on your heels back to him.

“Are you fucking the clown?”

You nearly drop your clipboard in shock, brain trying to process the absurd question before it quickly turns into a sharp embarrassment. There isn’t time to get out any words before Mihawk is speaking again.

“That answers that then.” His voice is flat but you can hear the slight edge of disappointment.

“It was only once and I swear it will never happen again.” It was the truth- since your moment with him in his office a few weeks ago nothing has happened. Sure he would grab your ass when no one was looking but there hasn’t been a spare moment where the two of you could do anything more.

“Look, I don’t care who you sleep with. As long as you don’t let it interfere with your work it’s fine.” You would feel relieved if you still weren’t drowning in embarrassment. “I’m just surprised.”

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can manage, unable to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t be. It’s unbecoming.”

You can only nod as you slip out of his office in shame.

The next few days everything is normal, and neither you nor Mihawk acknowledge the brief conversation that had happened. You felt the information prickling at the back of your brain every time you were in the vicinity of Mihawk though, knowing how much he was judging you for you indiscretion.

But true to his word he didn’t seem to care as long as it didn’t affect your work. You treated Buggy the same as everyone else, even if his hands and gaze wandered constantly. So, while you remained professional, Buggy didn’t. It wasn’t a surprise to you but an annoyance as he grew bolder and bolder with each passing day.

Like now right now, while you’re sitting down for a meeting with all of The Cross Guild and some investors. You and the band are all sitting on one side of a long table while three business men sit across from you. Today you’re a glorified note taker as Crocodile handles most of the business, sitting and writing between Buggy and Mihawk. You don’t mind it too much- at least until Buggy starts to fool around.

You wanted to stab him with your pencil the instant you felt his hand creep onto your thigh. Restraining yourself you instead shoot him a glare which falls painfully short of your intended effect. The clown just smiles at you as his hand creeps further up your leg. Your hand tightly clasps on top of his to stop his movements but he’s more nimble than you give him credit for, easily sliding out of your hold and darting to what he can manage to grab of your ass.

You’ve missed a minute or so of conversation so despite the hand on you, you try to focus back in on the conversation- only to find Mihawk staring at you. There’s a long moment of eye contact before his gaze darts down to where Buggy’s hand is and back up to you. You’re mortified and try your best to silently convey to Mihawk that you’re sorry and it’s all Buggy’s fault.

There must be something he understands because you feel him look slightly beyond you to where Buggy is sitting and glare- hard. The hand quickly retracts and you’re able to relax slightly and focus back in on your work. You manage to figure out most of what you missed and the meeting is quickly finished much to your relief. You need to go scream in an empty room.

After politely shaking hands with everyone and handing over your notes to Crocodile you dart out into the hallway to go back to your office- only to be stopped by a hand grabbing your wrist. You turn around and see Buggy with a shit eating grin plastered on his painted face.

“We running off somewhere?” He uses his hold on you to pull you in close.

“Buggy I swear to god-“ You look around, making sure no one else has come out of the room yet. “If anyone sees us-“

“Then what?” He moves and you back up, your back hitting the wall. “You’re good at your job- you won’t get fired. Besides, everyone will blame me.”

It’s true- everyone will blame him- but that doesn’t stop you from distinctly remembering Mihawk’s words only a few days ago. He would kill both of you if-

“Clown.”

Suddenly Mihawk is looming over Buggy and you watch as his face pales to the same white shade as his makeup accents. He slowly releases his hold on your wrist before sliding out between you and Mihawk so he can turn and face him.

“Mihawk, buddy, great meeting today. I was just checking in with our manager on the- uh- the-“

“Don’t pretend you know what the meeting was about.” Mihawk then looks at you and you fight the urge to meld with the wall. “Come with me.”

You hang your head and follow Mihawk, not looking at Buggy as you pass him. You go down a few hallways, brain trying to find some kind of excuse to save you. Caught up in those thoughts you almost run into his back when he stops abruptly and flings open a door you’ve never seen before.

Mihawk’s hand pushes lightly against your back and you’re ushered into the newly opened room. It’s dark and small and you realize as he shuts the door behind him your in a storage closet. You’re not fired. Mihawk’s going to just kill you.

“What was the one thing I asked?” He asks, body pressing against you in the narrow space.

“That I didn’t let my relationship with Buggy affect my work.” You admit, pressing your back against the wall to try and not be as close to him.

“Is it a relationship?” He asks, voice low.

That wasn’t where you thought this discussion was going, but it was a fair ask. “I’m not sure. I don’t think anything is ever serious with Buggy.”

“No, nothing ever is.” You’re suddenly very aware of how close Mihawk is, how he’s bending over you slightly and caging you in. One of his arms is bracing against the wall next to you and his other brushes up against your hip. “He’s immature. Unfocused. Did he even make you cum?”

“He did.” You confess, fighting every urge to press against him.

“Surprising.” He hums, hand now fully gripping your waist. “Well if you’re not in a relationship with him you should have no problems seeing what other people could offer you. The pleasure other people could give you.”

“What other people?” You ask breathlessly, still searching for confirmation that this is somehow real.

“I think you know.” Deft fingers undo the clasps of your pants and slip past your waistband.

“Yeah- I think I do.” Your head falls back against the wall as Mihawk’s knees push your thighs apart.

His hand is slow as it moves down, pushing past fabric and gently skirting over your folds. Mihawk hums into your ear when he finds the wetness seeping out of you. “I wonder… is this for me or for him?”

“You!” You answer quickly, desperate as you fight the urge to move your hips down closer to his fingers. “Started when you dragged me away from him.”

“Really now?” That must have been a good answer as one of his fingers rubs along your clit.

His mouth moves to your neck and you tilt your head to give him better access. You whine as he sucks a bruise into your neck, determined to mark you. The possessive act has you melting even further into his touch, relying on his strength to keep you upright against the wall.

One long finger presses into your entrance as his thumb stays firmly on your clit. Your hands are balled in fists at your sides as you fight the urge to touch Mihawk- afraid of ruining the tense moment. That doesn’t stop you from moaning when a second finger quickly joins the first and skillfully curves inside you.

“So noisy… do you want someone to hear you?” His words make you suddenly very aware that you’re still just in a closet in a hallway anyone could be walking down right now.

One of your hands flies up and covers your mouth as his fingers curl again, muffling another moan. Mihawk chuckles as his fingers somehow find spots you could never hope to hit with your own digits. You resort to biting down on your hand when he finally hits that delicate spot deep inside you.

You had watched his fingers move over his guitar, effortlessly playing rhythms your mind couldn’t even keep up with, but you never let your mind think of the other uses those skilled fingers could have. He plays you just like his favored instrument, strumming inside you to get you to sing for him. Now you don’t think you can ever watch him play without these feelings washing over you again.

You’re so close to your orgasm as his fingers make a mess of you but right as you’re about to fly over the edge his fingers still completely and you almost scream. Your eyes find his in the dark and you can barely see any gold in them.

“Say you want me, not him.” He says, voice barely above a whisper.

So close to your edge, you probably would have said anything to get his fingers moving again.

“Mihawk- please I need you- I can’t even think about him when you’re- fuck your fingers are so good please Mihawk-“ You plead and beg, voice pathetic in the small space.

“That’s right.” His fingers move again and your knees give out as he massages the spot deep inside you while pressing against your clit.

If you were in your right mind you’d be embarrassed at the wetness soaking Mihawk’s fingers and your underwear but in the throws of your orgasm you couldn’t give a damn. His fingers work you gently through it, pulling out only when your own legs can hold you up.

“Open.” You obey his command without a second thought and fingers covered in your juices slip onto your tongue.

You leave your mouth hanging open as your tongue swirls around his fingers, making sure to clean every last drop of you off. He’s fixated on the way your tongue moves and you try not to let it get to your head that you have a man like Mihawk captivated. When you’re done you slowly pull away and stare into his eyes, patiently waiting for his next command. You don’t have to wait long.

“Knees.” You drop to the floor so fast you’re sure your knees are going to be bruised but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Your hands quickly work at his belt and shove down his pants, letting his hard, red cock spring free. Bringing his tip to your mouth you let pooled spit drip down, coating his length. One of your hands moves to pump his length as your spit eases the way as your tongue swirls around his tip. You take him into your mouth and hear him groan above you.

Looking up you see him almost doubled over you, one arm holding him up against the wall as his head hangs down to look at you. When you finally catch his gaze his free hand runs through your hair, surprisingly delicate.

“Just like that love.” His hand holds your head but doesn’t force you down further, allowing you to keep your own pace.

You work slowly, forgetting the fact that at any point in time someone could walk in on the two of you. The feeling of him sitting on your tongue is intoxicating as you take him into your mouth inch by inch. Breathing in through your nose you push him into your throat, eventually getting his whole length inside.

You feel his hand grip you tighter as he moans above you. “Fuck you’re good. Can you- just hold right there-“

You listen and don’t move, swallowing around his length and feeling the way his cock throbs in response. You hold like this for what feels like forever until your throat starts to get tired and you slowly push back against Mihawk’s hand. He lets you pull off and you gasp for breath, thick lines of spit still connecting you.

Mihawk’s hand guides you to tilt your head back and he brings his other hand off the wall to furiously pump his own length. You let your mouth fall open as his guides his tip to your tongue. You make sure to look at him as hot ropes of cum fall onto your tongue, making sure not to swallow.

“Let me see.” He crouches down to your level, hand holding your jaw so he can find the perfect angle to see his cum pooling in your mouth. “That’s right- now swallow for me.”

You do so- glad to get the salty taste from your mouth and also glad to see how much Mihawk likes your obedience. He watches your face for a few seconds before pushing forward and capturing your mouth in a needy, sloppy kiss. Despite it only lasting a few seconds, you’re breathless when he pulls away and stands up.

He quickly tucks himself back into his pants and zips himself up before reaching a hand down to you to help you up. He takes care of your pants as well, pressing one last kiss to your neck as he does so.

“See you tomorrow.” He says, a slight smile on his face as he slinks out the door of the closet, leaving you alone in the dark.

You’re seriously fucked.

[bingwriterxo]

stressed

pairing: jenna ortega x reader

summary: in which jenna takes her recent stress out on you

warnings: none

word count: 1500+

It was a fine summer night, with the air outside just cool enough for it to be worthwhile to open your windows, and the moon and stars were already hanging high in the sky, illuminating the areas that were otherwise dark. 

You found yourself sitting on the couch in your apartment, your knees pulled up to your chest and your chin resting atop the blanket that covered them. Your eyes were trained on the glowing television that was situated in front of you, but your mind was elsewhere, thinking of a certain brunette that should’ve walked through the front door hours ago. 

Jenna had, it seemed, been coming home later and later each day, to the point in which you hadn’t spoken to her for the past week because she had been slipping through the door in the early hours of the morning. Some nights, you’d be woken up by the feel of the mattress dipping beneath her weight or the sound of her in the bathroom, but you were never conscious for long enough to hold a conversation; always just awake enough to know that she was home safe. 

That morning, you had made the decision to wait up for her, no matter how long it took, because she was your girlfriend and you missed her desperately. Before she turned into America’s ‘it’ girl, the two of you would spend long nights together, doing whatever came to mind: date nights, movies, wine and painting. However, with her change in status, everyone wanted her to star in their projects, and her schedule was booked to the very last moment. You were left straggling in the background and hoping that she would look your way sometimes. 

Your thoughts were thrown out the window the moment you heard the jingling of keys on the other side of the front door, and a smile pulled at your lips as you turned your head to watch Jenna walk through. You giggled softly at the sight of her: hair a mess from the long day, posture poor from the stress, a sigh falling from her lips. 

After kicking her shoes off and relocking the door, she turned around, freezing at the sight of you. “You’re still awake,” she said, placing her purse on the table beside the door. 

You nodded. “I was hoping that we could spend some time together,” you admitted, watching as she strode into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water. “It’s been a while since—”

She sighed and uncapped the water. “I’m tired, Y/N,” she said before taking a sip.

Disappointment started to bloom in your chest, and you glanced away, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “We could just watch a movie or something. It doesn’t have to be extravagant,” you suggested, looking at her again. 

“I don’t think so,” she said, an edge to her voice. Jenna offered you a tight-lipped smile, but you could tell it was fake from the way it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m gonna head to bed.” 

You frowned. “Jenna, please,” you pleaded, voice soft.

“Not. Tonight,” was her sharp response, and a wave of tears began to build in your eyes. She stared at you without an ounce of emotion, like she didn’t even faintly regret the way that she was acting toward you. 

“I just miss you,” you confessed in a whisper. 

“God, you are so fucking annoying!” Jenna groaned, running a hand down her face, and it felt like she had stabbed you directly in the chest. You swallowed hard to keep your sobs at bay and blinked quickly to do the same with your tears. “Could you not be a stage-five clinger for once? I’m tired, okay? Can’t I just go to fucking bed?” 

“I—” You inhaled sharply, the breath shaky. “Okay,” you conceded. “Goodnight.”

“Great. Night.” She disappeared down the hall, barely sparing you another glance, and left you out on the couch with silent cries slipping past your lips and your body trembling where you sat. 

* * *

When Jenna woke up, she reached out for you, hand swiping along the mattress where your body would normally be, but upon finding nothing she peeked an eye open. You weren’t there; in fact, it looked like your side of the bed hadn’t been touched at all, like you had never gone to bed the night before. 

“Y/N?” she mumbled, sitting up with a groan. She looked around the bedroom, as though a hint about your whereabouts would be standing to attention, but didn’t see a thing. She slipped out of bed quickly and quietly, and then padded out into the hallway, eyes scanning for you.

You weren’t in the living room, or the kitchen, and seeing as the bathroom door was wide open, Jenna knew you weren’t in there either. The last place you could’ve been was in the guest bedroom, unless you had left the apartment, but your keys were still hanging by the front door, so she knew that wasn’t the case. 

She stood in front of the closed door to the spare bedroom, tilting her head at it. Then, she tried the doorknob only to find it locked. “Huh?” She knocked softly on the wood. “Y/N? Are you in there?”

There were a few moments of silence before your quiet voice came, rough and groggy. “What do you want, Jenna?” you asked harshly, and your tone made her flinch. 

“Can I come in?”

She could hear you scoff on the other side of the door faintly, like you were lying in the spare bed. “Are you sure I’m not too fucking annoying today?” 

It was like a shock of electricity as the memories of the previous night came rushing back to her: her harsh words, the way she had brushed you off so easily, the fact that she had left you alone in the living room at the end of all of it even though you were clearly upset. 

She cursed beneath her breath and pressed her forehead against the door. “I am so sorry, baby. I—I didn’t mean what I said last night. I’ve just…I’ve been so stressed, and it feels like all I have time for is work and sleep, and—and I’ve been brushing you off, and you don’t deserve that. And you didn’t deserve the way I treated you last night, and I am so fucking sorry, Y/N.”

Jenna stood there, holding her breath as she waited for your response, but it never came. She exhaled softly as a swell of regret surged through her, and tears pricked at her eyes—the price she had to pay for hurting you. She bit at the inside of her cheek and clenched her eyes shut. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wish I could take it all back. I didn’t mean any of it, and I miss you too, and I’m sorry.” Tears slipped past her waterline and she let them fall. “God, I don’t even—I just…I love you, okay?” She sniffled. “Come out whenever you’re ready to talk. Please.”

She had only made it a few steps with her blurred vision when the distinct sound of the door unlocking reached her ears. When Jenna turned around, you were standing in the doorway, looking smaller than she had ever seen you with your arms crossed over your chest and a hoodie drowning your figure. She clenched her jaw at the sight of your bloodshot eyes and rubbed-raw nose, a fresh sting of tears burning her eyes because she knew that she was the cause. 

“Y/N,” she breathed out softly. 

You tilted your head up and inhaled deeply. “You can’t…do that to me, Jenna,” you said. “You can’t take your stress out on me, okay? I know you’ve been dealing with a lot recently, and I understand that you’re really busy now, but you can’t…you can’t get mad at me when I miss you. It makes me feel like I’m wrong for having a normal reaction to my girlfriend being gone every single day and barely speaking to me, and that’s not fair.” You let your arms fall to your sides, and Jenna took a step forward. “I can’t help but miss you,” you murmured. 

“I know,” she rushed out, taking one of your hands in her own. She counted it as a good sign that you didn’t pull away. “And I miss you, too, so much. You’re right: I can’t take my stress out on you, but that’s what I did last night, and I’m sorry. The things that I said, I didn’t mean them, okay? I don’t want you to think that I meant them, because I didn’t.” She shook her head. “I love you, more than anything, and I don’t think you’re annoying, and I don’t think you’re clingy.” She sniffled. “Can you forgive me?” she asked softly, watching you carefully. 

There was a moment of silence, and Jenna was ready to burst into tears, but you nodded and tugged her closer to you. “Of course, I can. But, you can’t do that again, okay? Because I won’t be so quick to forgive you next time,” you told her. 

She nodded fervently. “It’ll never happen,” she whispered. She rested her forehead against yours. “I promise.”

[j23r23]

Getaway Heart

Tangerine x Reader - angst & fluff

Warnings: blood & vomit

You’ve been a getaway driver since you got your license at 18, maneuvering through the streets with audacity and precision that caught the eye of all the right, and wrong, people. For the past ten years, you worked alone in the shadows, carving out a reputation as the go-to driver for high-stake jobs.

On a rainy evening, the twins handler, a no-nonsense woman with a penchant for dark sunglasses and cryptic instructions, invited you to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Madrid. The place smelled of oil and rubber. There she introduced you to the two men known only by their code names: Tangerine and Lemon. They were looking for a reliable driver, and their handler thought you fit the bill. You knew the Fruits were renowned in the industry for being very good at what they do but were slightly unhinged.

Tangerine was the first to step forward. He was tall and lean, with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes that seemed to dissect you with a single glance. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that contrasted starkly with the grime of the warehouse, he exuded an air of sophistication and control. His voice was smooth, almost velvety, “So, you’re the driver everyone’s talking about,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

Lemon, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Shorter and more muscular, he had a rugged look about him, with bleached hair and an unpredictable glare. His attire was casual— black jeans and a denim jacket—giving off a more approachable vibe. In his hand, he toyed with a small sticker book, flicking it absentmindedly as he watched you.

The initial meeting didn’t go smoothly. Tangerine’s aloof demeanor and Lemon’s staring put you on edge. Tangerine scrutinized your every word and movement, as if searching for a weakness, while Lemon tested your patience with his relentless talk about trains.

“Look, love” Tangerine finally said, crossing his arms, “we don’t have time for screw-ups. We need someone who can handle the heat and think on their feet. Can you do that?”

You met his gaze, your jaw set in determination. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know that hesitation can get you killed. I can handle the heat. Question is, can you keep up? Oh, and the names Orange, love.”

There was a moment of silence before Lemon burst into laughter. “I like this one,” he said, clapping Tangerine on the shoulder. “Got some fire in her.”

Tangerine’s lips curled into a faint smile, the first sign of approval. “Alright Orange,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The memory made you grin.

Right after meeting the twins you had your first job together and it was utter chaos—shit hit the fan, sirens blaring, guns a blazing and the scent of burnt rubber hanging heavy in the air. You were behind the wheel, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you navigated the streets of Madrid with precision.

"Tangerine, we've got company!" Lemon's tone was annoyed.

Tangerine, cool and collected, leaned out of the window, firing off shots with deadly accuracy. "I can see that, Lemon! Im not blind!"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, as the banter between the twins was getting on your nerves. "Would you two save the chatter for later? I'm trying to concentrate here!"

Lemon laughed. "Relax, Orange, we've got this under control."

You just sighed in annoyance and literally put your foot down, pushing the pedal to the metal.

Tangerine, sitting in the seat behind you, clung to the door handle, as hes being pushed back by the force of the speeding car. "Bloody hell, Orange? " he shouted, his voice a mix of panic and irritation.

Lemon, in the backseat, looked even worse. His face was pale, and he was gripping the headrest in front of him for dear life. "For the love of all that's holy, slow down!”

You smirked, your eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror. "Relax, boys. Let me do my job and i let you do yours" you said, narrowly missing a pedestrian who decided now was the perfect time to jaywalk.

"Relax? Relax?!" Tangerine's voice went up an octave. "We’ve got the entire Mafia of Madrid after us, how in hell am i supposed to work when you’re driving like a maniac!"

You took a sharp turn, the tires screeching in protest. The car tilted dangerously, but you managed to keep it from flipping. Lemon made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a growl. "If we die, I’m haunting your ass!"

"Hold on to something!" you yelled, spotting a narrow alleyway ahead. Without hesitation, you swerved into it, the car barely fitting between the buildings. The side mirrors scraped against the brick walls, sending sparks flying.

Tangerine’s knuckles were white from gripping the door handle. "Jesus Christ, woman!"

You chuckled, adrenaline pumping through your veins. "I got hired for my driving skills, remember?"

Lemon let out a strangled laugh. "Skills? More like suicidal tendencies!"

As you burst out of the alley and back onto a busy street, a car tried to cut you off. With a quick flick of the wheel, you sideswiped it, sending it crashing into a parked truck. "One down, a few dozen to go," you quipped, glancing at your handiwork in the mirror.

"Just keep us in one piece!" Tangerine barked, looking both impressed and terrified.

You sped towards an upcoming construction site, an idea forming in your mind. "Hold tight," you warned, accelerating even more.

"Oh hell no!" Lemon groaned, clearly dreading your next move.

You aimed for a ramp leading up to a half-built overpass. As the car launched into the air, all three of you screamed—though in your case, it was more of a whoop of excitement. The car soared over the gap, landing with a bone-jarring thud on the other side. The cars that are chasing you weren’t so lucky; the first few smashed into the gap, creating a massive pileup.

Tangerine looked at you with wide eyes, his breath coming in short gasps. "You’re absolutely mad, you know that?"

Lemon, still clutching the headrest, nodded fervently. "Completely off your rocker."

You gave them a cheeky grin. "But i got rid of them, no?"

As the car sped away from the chaos behind, Tangerines eyes still held a hint of disbelief. "You’re a bloody lunatic!"

Lemon slumped back in his seat, finally letting go of the headrest. "Next time, I’m driving."

You laughed, the thrill of the chase still coursing through you. "Sure."

After a few more sharp turns you finally pull into a secluded garage. You killed the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening after the chaos.

"You two okay back there?" you had asked, trying to suppress a smirk.

Lemon had groaned, his face pale as a sheet. "I think I'm gonna be sick, now that we stopped," he had mumbled, clutching his stomach.

Tangerine had shot him a glare before leaning out of the window, retching onto the pavement. "Yeah, and somehow we made it out alive!” he had grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You turn in your seat looking at the boys smiling. Tangerine shook his head, laughing despite himself. “But remind me never to question your driving skills again.”

“Deal” you replied with a grin.

After that night, the three of you went through countless jobs together, facing danger with unwavering trust in one another. As time passed, your feelings toward Tangerine began to change. Working alongside him, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the way your heart fluttered whenever he flashed a rare smile or the way your pulse quickened at his touch.

The more jobs you pulled, the deeper your affection for him grew, and the harder it became to suppress your emotions.

And now, something feels off. As you sit in the driver's seat of your idling car, the engine's purr does little to calm your anxious nerves. The night is heavy with tension, the rearview mirror becoming your only solace. You glance back repeatedly, your mind racing through every possible outcome of tonight's job.

Tonight's mission was supposed to be a straightforward smash and grab. The target: a high-end jewelry store fronting as a money laundering operation for one of the city's major crime syndicates in London. Intelligence indicated minimal security—just a couple of guards, easily neutralized. Tangerine and Lemon were tasked with infiltrating, grabbing the goods, and getting out before anyone noticed. Simple, clean, efficient.

You were parked in the back alley of the building, engine running, ready for the signal. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an hour. Something gnawed at your gut, a premonition that things weren't going according to plan. You'd run through every escape route, every contingency, but no amount of planning could shake the unease that had settled over you.

The longer you waited, the more your thoughts drifted back to Tangerine. His smile, his confidence, the way he always seemed to know what to say to calm you down. You remember the first time he took a bullet for you. He had laughed it off, calling you a softie for worrying. That was Tangerine—fearless, almost reckless, but with a heart that beat fiercely for those he cared about.

You trusted them both with your life, but tonight, that trust felt more like a lifeline, taut and fraying with each passing second.

The rearview mirror offers no new insights, just the darkened street and the distant sounds of the city. You grip the steering wheel tighter. You can almost hear Tangerine’s voice, telling you to stay calm, to trust the plan. But the plan is starting to feel like a distant memory, overshadowed by a growing fear that this time, things won’t go as smoothly as they always have.

And then, like a thunderclap, the back door of the building bursts open.

Suddenly, Lemon charges through the back door of the building, supporting a hunched over Tangerine. It's clear that this simple job has gone terribly wrong. As they stagger closer, you see the blood—Tangerine is losing a lot of it. You reverse the car and drive towards them. Lemon yanks open the back door, practically shoving Tangerine inside before he climbs in himself.

"Go, go, go!" Lemon shouts, urgency in his voice.

You change immediately into first and slam the gas pedal to the floor, the tires screeching as the car lurches forward. The doors are barely closed, but you don’t have time to worry about that. In the rearview mirror, you see Lemon struggling to put pressure on one of Tangerines wounds, while the latter squirms in pain.

"What the fuck happened?" you demand, weaving through traffic with precision.

"Tangerine underestimated the Job, didn't wear his west and got shot," Lemon replies, his voice strained. Tangerine just groans, clearly in too much pain to speak.

"You didn't wear your fucking west?" you scoff, your hands gripping the wheel tightly. "You always chastise us when we're not wearing one, what the fuck were you thinking!"

"Yeah, well," Tangerine mutters in pain, "we all make mistakes."

You maneuver through the city's maze-like streets, dodging late-night traffic and running red lights. The city's neon lights cast eerie reflections inside the car, illuminating the tense scene. The smell of blood fills the air, and you can hear Tangerine's labored breathing from the back seat.

"You better not die on me, Tangerine," you say, your voice tight with a mixture of fear and anger. "I’m not dealing with your expensive funeral."

Tangerine tries to laugh, but it turns into a pained groan. "Always… so considerate," he manages to say between gasps.

"Save your strength, mate," Lemon says, pressing another wad of cloth against Tangerine's bleeding abdomen. "We need you to stay awake."

The car roars down a narrow alleyway, the tires barely gripping the slick pavement as you take a sharp turn. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. Every second counts, and the safehouse feels a million miles away.

"I swear, if we make it out of this alive, you're going to owe me one pristine car cleaning," you assert firmly, your voice tinged with worry.

"Deal," Tangerine replies, his eyes closing. Lemon looks at you through the rearview mirror "Just get us there in one piece."

You weave through the final stretch of city streets, your knuckles white on the steering wheel. The safehouse looms ahead, a nondescript building that has become your haven in times of crisis. You screech to a halt after driving into the garage, the car barely stopping before you pull the handbrake.

"Help me get him inside," Lemon says, rushing out and opening the back door. Together, you and Lemon half-carry, half-drag Tangerine towards the entrance, his blood leaving a grim trail behind you.

"Hang on, Tan," you whisper, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "We're almost there."

Inside the safehouse, the familiar surroundings offer little comfort. You clear the kitchen table with a sweep of your arm, sending everything crashing to the floor.

"Lay him down here," you instruct. "I need to see how bad it is."

Tangerine's eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you with a weak smile. "You always did know how to make things dramatic, love" he jokes, his voice barely a whisper.

"Shut up," you say, your throat tight. "Just let me fix you up."

As you rip open his shirt, revealing the extent of his injuries, the reality of the situation hits you like a punch to the gut. Four bullet wounds, two in his left shoulder one in his right arm and the worst is stuck in the right side of his abdomen.

This isn't just another job gone wrong. This is a fight for survival. And in this moment, all you can think about is keeping Tangerine alive.

"You ruined my Burberry suit," Tangerine complains weakly, attempting a half-hearted smirk.

"I said, shut up," you snap, your voice tight with worry. Your hands move quickly, working to stop the bleeding. Tears blur your vision, but you force yourself to focus, ignoring the emotional storm brewing inside you.

Lemon stands by, trying to keep pressure on the wounds. He looks at you, concern etched on his face. "You alright?" he asks, noticing your tears.

You nod, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on your shoulders. Each bullet you extract from Tangerine's flesh elicits an excruciating scream from him that reverberates through the room and it slices through you like a knife. But you steel yourself against the anguish, focusing solely on the task at hand. With each bullet removed, Tangerine's body relaxes a fraction, but his agony remains palpable.

Exhaustion settles over him like a heavy shroud, and he slumps back, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. You work quickly, stitching him up as best you can with trembling hands, the urgency of the situation lending you a sense of clarity.

Once Tangerine is bandaged and relatively stable, you turn your attention to the smaller cuts and abrasions littering his body. With gentle care, you clean away the blood, your movements deliberate and precise as you tend to his wounds.

When you finally finish, you look to Lemon, concern etched into your features. "You got any injuries?" you ask, your voice laced with worry.

He shakes his head, his gaze unwavering as he grabs a blanket and pillow, arranging them to make Tangerine's makeshift bed on the kitchen table a little more comfortable.

You look at your blood covered hands and your mind starts to race,

The reality of the situation sinking in. Despite your years of experience you can't shake the feeling of helplessness that washes over you. You've faced danger countless times before, but this time feels different.

As you turn to wash the blood away in the sink, Lemon appears at your side. His eyes hold a depth of understanding that cuts through the turmoil in your soul.

"Not exactly the night we planned, huh?" Lemon tries to joke, but his voice wavers.

"Yeah…" you reply, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"You love him, don't you?" Lemon's voice breaks the silence, gentle but insistent.

You pause, the question hanging in the air. Tears spill over, and you nod, holding in a sob. "Yes," you whisper, your voice cracking. "I do."

Wordlessly, he reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. His touch is grounding.

With a steadying breath, you push aside the tumult of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

You look back at your shaking hands seeing the sink run red as you rinse the rest of Tans blood away, the water swirling slowly like the tension in your chest. The room feels both too small and too vast, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Lemon's eyes soften with understanding. "Does he know?" he asks gently.

You shake your head, tears now flowing freely. "No," you manage to choke out.

Lemon gives you a sad smile and pats your back. "It's gonna be okay. He's tough. He'll pull through. He's Tangerine, after all."

You look over at Tangerine, his face pale and his breathing shallow. The sight of him like this, so vulnerable, breaks something inside you. You sink to your knees beside the table, clutching his hand in yours, your tears falling onto his bloodstained shirt.

"I should have told him, “ You whisper, your voice breaking. "I should have told him every day."

Lemon kneels beside you, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He knows," he says softly. "Somehow, he knows. And he’s fighting.”

The room is silent except for the faint, labored breathing of Tangerine. You press your forehead to Tangerine's hand, your sobs shaking your entire body.

"Please, don't leave me," you whisper, your voice raw with pain. "I can't do this without you."

"He's going to make it," Lemon murmurs, more to himself than to you. "He has to."

You cling to those words, praying that they're true. Because the thought of a world without Tangerine is too much to bear.

When the morning sun shines through the kitchen window, you stir, the warm light nudging you awake. You jolt up, immediately checking on Tangerine and finding him still breathing, albeit slowly. His chest rises and falls steadily, and a wave of relief washes over you.

Your body aches from the uncomfortable sleeping position, but you ignore it, stretching briefly before moving around the kitchen to make some coffee, the familiar routine grounding you.

Suddenly, you hear a faint sound. Turning around, you see Tangerine, though barely conscious, calling out for you, reaching out weakly.

"Hey, " he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed but a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You rush to his side, your heart heavy yet light with relief. “don't go too far" he whispers, his hand finding yours.

"Lemon!" you call out, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions. "Lemon, get in here!"

Lemon appears in the doorway, eyes widening as he takes in the scene. "What's going on? Is he—?"

"He's awake," you say, unable to contain the sob that escapes your lips. "He's going to be okay."

Lemon's face softens with a mixture of relief and joy. He steps forward, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I told you he's tough," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Tan doesn't go down that easily."

You nod, unable to speak, the relief washing over you in waves. You stay by Tangerines side, his hand still clasped in yours, feeling the weight of the nights fear and uncertainty lift just a little.

Lemon places a gentle hand on your back, his voice soft but firm. "You need to rest. Take a shower, change into some fresh clothes. I'll keep an eye on him."

You hesitate, glancing back at Tangerine "Are you sure?" you ask, your voice wavering with concern.

"I'm sure," Lemon reassures you, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Lem." you shake your head at his compliment and make your way to the bathroom. The hot water cascading over you feels like a much-needed cleanse, washing away the grime and the fear of the night. You change into fresh clothes, feeling a bit more human, and take a moment to steady yourself before heading back to the kitchen.

When you return, you see Lemon leaning close to Tangerine, their voices low as Tangerine attempts to sit up, wincing with every movement. Lemon supports him, and you quickly move to their side, slipping an arm around Tangerine to help. Together, you guide him into one of the bedrooms, easing him onto the bed so he can rest more comfortably.

"Thanks," Tangerine murmurs, his face still pale but his eyes more focused.

"You need to rest," you say, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "We'll be right outside." As you and Lemon turn to leave, Tangerine's voice stops you.

"Wait." His hand reaches out, grabbing yours weakly. You look at Lemon, who gives you a knowing nod.

"I'll give you two some privacy," he says softly. "Call if you need anything." You nod at Lemon before turning back to Tangerine.

"You scared the living daylight out of me last night," you admit, your voice trembling slightly as you sit on the edge of the bed, Tangerine's hand still clasped in yours.

"I didn't mean to," he replies, a weak smile playing on his lips. "But I guess I did give that Burberry suit a run for its money."

You manage a small laugh, tears of relief filling your eyes. "I guess I owe you a new shirt," you say, your voice breaking with emotion as you remember ripping it off him to stop the bleeding.

"And i owe you a pristine car cleaning," he replies, squeezing your hand tightly, his smile widening.

Your laughter fades and you sit in silence for a moment, gathering your courage. You know that now is the time to speak your heart. “Tan I—” you begin, but Tangerine interrupts, his expression soft.

"Thank you." He looks down for a second, watching his hand play with yours. “Sorry, you were saying,” he looks back up into your eyes.

You blink in confusion, feeling your cheeks flush. "Oh, erm… you don’t have to thank me. It’s... it’s part of the job." you mumble.

Tangerine’s grip on your hand tightens, his eyes never leaving yours. "It’s more than just a job to you, isn’t it?"

You swallow hard, the truth pressing against your lips. "Yes," you whisper, barely able to hold back the tears. "It’s more. So much more."

He nods, a bittersweet smile on his face. "Lemon might have hinted at it before, but I’ve suspected for a while."

A mixture of relief and embaressement washes over you. "Lemon and his big mouth," you mutter, a weak laugh escaping your lips.

Tangerine chuckles, but winces in pain. You scold him lightly. "Don’t laugh, you idiot. You need to rest."

He grins despite the pain, bringing his hand to your cheek. "Will you stay?"

You lean into his hand, feeling his touch. "I'll stay." you whisper, tears falling freely now.

Tangerine’s eyes soften, and he reaches out to brush a tear from your cheek. "I’ve been feeling the same way you know. For a while actually."

Your heart races, and you struggle to find your voice. "What?" Tangerine’s eyes flick between your eyes and your lips before he closes the gap, kissing you softly. The kiss is tender, filled with all the unspoken emotions you’ve both been holding back.

Its a clusterfuck, but someone might like it...

[stormz369]

The King of Hell and Me: Ch 4 - The Contract

Chapter Guide Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

Summary: A witch summons Lucifer to earth to make a deal. Warnings: none I can think of? This is a generally sweet, fluffy chapter Word Count: 2.3k

Summoning the devil wasn't part of the plan. A demonic creature, yes, but the actual devil? The book didn't say anything about him. I was expecting to be dealing with an imp or some other kind of lower level Hellion. Someone with the power to do what I wanted, but not to completely fuck me over. Someone who'd take something I could spare. Not my soul.

The devil was also far less intimidating than I expected. He was a little on the short side, and far more human than I might have thought. Aside from the six glorious wings at his back, the least human things about him were his teeth and eyes; red and yellow, swirling with confusion and housing an ancient sorrow that seemed buried just below the surface. An unamused, but surprised look finally landed on me, knelt by the edge of the summoning circle. He made to move toward me, but was held in place by the ring of black salt. With a huff, he leaned back against the barrier, crossing his arms and observing me.

“... No one's summoned me to the mortal world in a long time. … You must be desperate.”

“I … I'll be honest, that wasn't supposed to happen, Sir … the book doesn't say anything about …” I fumbled through the book, rereading the spell. There was nothing to indicate who it called upon.

“Sir?” He chuckled, “well, that’s refreshing. Last time I was pulled into a summoning circle, the wretch had the nerve to call me ‘Dark Prince’ the whole time.”

I chuckled a bit awkwardly. “... Well, that's kind of a mouthful. If you don't mind, I think I'll stick with Mr. Morningstar?”

“Lucifer, please … but how did you know?”

“Aside from the snake and apple motifs you've got going on? You have six, very large, feathered wings. I might not be Christian, but I do know what angels are supposed to look like. … Sir.”

After a moment he let out a bark of a laugh, holding his sides. “Oh golly, you're entertaining! Alright, little witch. Whoever you were trying to summon, you've got me. So what deal were you trying to make?”

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. Now or never, I guess. “My best friend is ill, and the doctors have given up hope. …”

“You want to trade your soul for your friend's life?” He smiled gently.

“... Does it have to be my soul?”

A strange look passed over his beautiful face, and he considered me for a moment. “... Maybe we can come to another arrangement. … There is something I can't get in Hell, and you did bring me here.”

I nodded slowly, curious what Lucifer himself could possibly want from earth. “Yes?”

“... Only sinners end up in hell. I … I gave Eve that apple for her own benefit. To help her, and her children. So they could be better, be more … more. Not just animals, consumed by their instincts. But I’ve never seen any good come of it …”

“Oh … well that's not at all fair …” I frowned, looking up at him. “Especially considering how much good there is …’’

He cleared his throat, nodding a bit. “Right, so … if you show me some of that good, I'll heal your friend. Do we have a deal?”

“Huh? N- no, I don't just want my friend healed. I want a cure.”

“... Same thing?”

“No, Sir,-”

“Lucifer.”

“... Lucifer, … the doctors don't know how to help her. Which means they don't know how to help anyone else with this illness either. I want my friend healed, but I also want there to be a cure for everyone else.”

A small smile slid across his lips. “... That amount of power will cost quite a bit more … but something tells me you're more than capable of paying the price.”

A crisp white scroll unfurled from his hand, gold ink scrawling across it before my eyes. I carefully took the paper in my hands, reading it carefully.

“... This says you decide when I've held up my side of the deal. How do I know you'll ever decide to pay up?”

He smirked a bit, sharp teeth glinting in the light. “You're a clever one. … Alright, as a show of good faith, I will heal your friend up front. … You earned that much at least.”

With a wave of his hand, the text changed. I reread the document and nodded. “... Thank you. Ok, where do I sign?”

A white feather quill appeared, and Lucifer took it. He tapped the end to his finger, and pulled away a trail of … liquid gold? He signed the bottom with a flourish, then offered me the quill.

“Touch it to the ring finger of your non-dominant hand, it will draw up a small amount of your blood to sign with.” He tapped the paper where I was to sign. 

I nodded, taking the quill, and placed it against my finger like he said. There was a brief, sharp, pain and when I pulled the quill away a trail of red followed. My finger appeared uninjured, but hurt like I had pricked it with a sewing needle. I signed where he indicated, and the summoning circle went up in flames, leaving no trace.

Lucifer smiled brightly, rolling up the scroll before he handed it to me. “Your contract, my lady.”

I took it, standing slowly. “... Thank you …”

He snapped his fingers, creating a crackle of energy throughout the room, and grinned. “There’s my side done, for now. So, how shall we start?”

///////////////

It took me all afternoon to think on what to start with. While I made tea and thought about it, he entertained himself by looking through my books and movies. His wings disappeared as he sat on my couch, reading the back cover of a book.

“... Is this for entertainment, or documentation?” He held the book up to show me the cover.

“That’s historical fiction, so entertainment based loosely on fact. It's about the wives of Henry the Eighth. … Do you know about them? How much do you know about human history?”

He chuckled. “I do keep apprised of the major headlines up here, but I don't typically bother with anything more. … You derive entertainment out of the suffering of those women?”

I chuckled a bit, setting a teacup in front of him, and sitting on the other side of the couch. “I think most people who read stories about horrible events do so because they don't understand how such things happen. We have a certain … morbid fascination with cruelty. … But I think it's usually also about honoring the dead. … They suffered so horribly, but we remember them. We don't let the bad things that happened to them get swept under the rug.”

He took the tea, watching me. “... I see …. Well, what good is there in that?”

“Ever heard the phrase ‘those who don't learn history are doomed to repeat it'?”

“You think remembering their pain will keep it at bay?”

“Something like that … can't avoid pain if you don't know what you're looking out for. Can't protect your loved ones unless you know what you're defending them against.”

He chuckled, sipping his tea. “I see…” He watched me, a curious look on his face. “So, any ideas yet?”

“Well, I was thinking we could start around town. You said it's been a while since you've been on earth?” He nodded, giving me a curious expression. “Then I think we ought to start with a little tour around town, so you can get acclimated. Maybe something will strike your fancy, yeah?”

“... You don't have to do that, you know.” A small frown slid across his face.

“Do what?”

“The tea, taking me on a tour … it's cute, but unnecessary.”

I set my teacup down, raising an eyebrow. “... Cute?”

“Trying to curry favor.” He frowned more.

A sharp laugh ripped out of me, and I covered my mouth. “... I'm sorry. … I'm not trying to ‘curry favor' with you, Lucifer. You're a guest in my home, you should be able to expect some basic hospitality. My grandma always said we should be hospitable to others, cause you never know when it'll make all the difference in their lives.”

He watched me for a moment and chuckled softly. “I don't think your grandmother meant you to be hospitable to the devil, little witch.”

“If my grandma were here right now, she would ask why I haven't set out any cookies. Sadly, I have none to offer you. But I was thinking we could stop for ice cream on our tour. There's a really cute local ice cream parlor, I'd say it definitely counts as something good people have done with free will.”

He blinked slowly. “... You are … not at all what I expected.”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

After a brief moment he smirked, standing up. “Where's this ice cream parlor?”

//////////////

So I showed Lucifer around my little town. I took him to a playground where he could see happy families together. To a riverbank where my coven picked up litter and people went tubing and swimming. The ice cream parlor, and some other local businesses I liked. I bought him an ice cream cone, and a duck plushie he seemed particularly drawn to. He was hesitant to accept it, but once it was in his hands he held it to his chest, periodically stroking the tuft of fur on its head.

We walked in the sunshine, past schools and libraries. We watched a guitar player in a park, and got tacos from a food truck. And all day, I told him stories of kindness and generosity, big and small. Everything I could think of, from the Christmas truce in World War 1 to my brother's boss giving me free coffees when I pick him up from work. Any act of kindness I had experienced, seen, or heard of became an example of good things that happen because people have free will. 

When it started to get late I took him to my favorite place to watch the sunset. He sat beside me, still hugging the duck plushie, and watched the sun dip lower and lower, the sky turning brilliant shades of purple and red.

“So? Any thoughts?” I watched him think for a minute.

“... They're good stories. But there's one problem.”

“What's that?”

“... Most of it wouldn't be necessary if evil weren't so prevalent in the world.”

“... Well, … you can't have good without bad.”

“What?” He frowned, turning to me.

“Without knowing about bad, you wouldn't know about good either. You'd just have … middle. In order to know you like something you have to be able to compare it to something you don't like. Otherwise it would all just be. … Plus, when everything’s going worst is when we notice good things the most. Smaller kindnesses mean more when we're hurting.”

Lucifer looked back at the sunset, thinking. “... Why did you give me the duck?”

I chuckled softly. “You seemed to like it, and I could afford to get it for you. Everyone should get a souvenir when they take a trip.”

“So you weren't trying to get in good with the boss of Hell?”

“Nope.”

“... Even though, by making a deal with me, you have condemned your soul to my realm when you die?”

“Anyone who thinks a duck plushie is going to buy them preferential treatment in hell is an idiot.” He gave me a skeptical look at that. “Lucifer, I swear, I only bought it for you because you seemed to like it.”

He thought for a minute, petting it absentmindedly again. “... You've held up your end of the bargain…”

“... But?”

“... When I finish my end, I go home. I can only be on earth for the time it takes to complete a deal. … I … I really enjoyed today.” As it got dark, his body started to glow with faint gold light. He looked up at the silver stars, and in that moment he seemed so sad, so delicate.

“... You know, I am asking for quite a lot … a cure for everyone with this disease, and all you get in return is some examples of kindness and an afternoon running around my town? … Maybe we could rework the contract.”

His eyes went wide as he turned to look at me. “... What did you have in mind?”

“... Well, you're not bad company. And I had a good day today too. We could do it again, if you wanted.”

Lucifer slowly grinned, and the contract was suddenly floating in front of me. An addendum was added to the bottom. Lucifer would send the necessary information to a doctor for the cure tonight, and once a month for the rest of my life, Lucifer would visit me wherever I was on earth. I would tell him more stories that showed what good has come of free will, and show him the good parts of life on earth.

I grinned, taking the quill that floated next to the scroll, and held it to my ring finger. A sharp pain later, I was signing at the bottom. Lucifer signed next to my name, his hand slightly shaking. “Alright … I'll see you again in one month then.”

I nodded. “I'm free on the third, if that works for you?”

He nodded. “The third. It's a date.”

With a snap of his fingers he was gone, and I knew some medical researcher somewhere was having the epiphany that would lead to the cure. In the meantime, I had a date with the devil to plan.

[familyvideostevie]

ok but meeting remus lupin during the end of nov and admitting how melancholy this time of year makes u feel and that's it ur invited to all the marauders events over the holidays and spend new years together

my first attempt at remus! this really ran away from me, but i hope you like it! i am still finding my footing with him but this was great fun. | fem!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, nye kiss, 3.3k

You meet Remus at a local book club, of all places.

A flyer on the bookshop notice board tells you the group meets every other week -- a bit frequently, in your opinion, but you've got the time to read so you figure you'll give it ago. Moving to a new place means you haven't got many, or any, really, friends, and you could do with getting out of the house more. The days are getting shorter and you find yourself a bit more lonely with each passing day.

The group, when you go for the first time, consists of eight elderly women (though, they are sure to inform you, sometimes numbers swell to as many as 15), you, and Remus. They ask for your name and your age, which they all titter at.

"I, uh," you say, crossing your legs and shifting in your folding chair. "I'm really happy to be here," you say. "Thank you for letting me join." That seems to soften them, and they all are a bit more smiley as they introduce themselves.

It is clear right away that they adore Remus. It's not surprising -- he's handsome in a tired way, a ragged way. His face is a mash-up of sharp edges and tight scars that slash across his nose, but his eyes are soft and warm. You want to inspect every inch of him, so naturally you look away. 

It takes three meetings for you to say much. After four, you see Remus at the grocery store twice in one week. You wonder if he lives around here. By the fifth meeting, you're fairly sure you've got your footing. You chime in more often than not, and they're going to let you pick a book next month. It's the last meeting before you all break for the holidays and you are quite sad to not have these to look forward to for the next few weeks. But you push it down and instead focus on your impassioned defense of the unlikable narrator in this week's novel.

"It's the edge that makes the story so compelling," you say. "We get to judge her because we recognize her, but we don't know why until too late. It's because she's normal, and we're meant to see ourselves in her." You've gone on for too long, and after you finish, you don't know where to look. Remus is smiling at you, as he always does.

"Brilliant," says Florence, the bookstore owner and facilitator "What a way to end! I can't wait to see what you come up with in the new year, dear." She hands out the plates of cookies that she made for everyone and the ladies begin to go their separate ways. You're juggling your book, bag, and the plate while you try to shove an arm through your coat. A hand appears in your vision to grab the items in your grip.

"You alright?" It's Remus. He smells like chocolate and something earthier. You've spoken a few times, but not much apart from a hello here and there. He complimented your sweater last meeting and the words burned in your brain for days. You nod, quickly sliding into your coat before taking your things back. His fingers are warm where they brush yours.

"Thanks," you say. The bookshop is almost empty.

"I agree with you, by the way," he says. You've noticed that when Remus talks to you, even if he's responding to something you've said in the group, he looks at you the whole time. His attention does not waver. It's both warming and unnerving.  "What you were saying about the narrator. I hadn't been able to put it into words like that, but I think you were spot on."

You start for the door and he follows. "I just think it's easy to fall into the trap of putting every character on one side of morality or the other," you say.

"Exactly!" He nods emphatically. "With a writer of this caliber the text encourages you to read about her with nuance and to consider that she's not just one thing." He holds the door for you and you both spill out into the chilly night air. The town has wrapped every lamppost and tree in lights that cast everything in a warm glow.

"Listen," Remus says. He looks especially lovely out here. You hug your plate of cookies close to your chest before you reach out to push away the lock of hair that's fallen across his forehead. "I know this is probably not going to come out well, so feel free to tell me to shove it."

You blink at him. What?

"I've seen you at the supermarket around the corner a few times," he continues. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he's being shy. "And I figure you live around here?" You nod. You've no reason to believe he's anything but a nice guy, but you know nothing about him. Even if you have also noticed him at the same store.

"Well," he keeps going. His smile is tight, the creases at the corner of his eyes deep in a way that screams nerves. "I was wondering, if you don't have plans that is, if you wanted to come to the pub with me? I'm meeting a few of my mates and I--." He runs a hand through his hair, fixing the piece you can't stop looking at. "Well, we don't get to talk much during club and I'd uh, like to get to know you?"

"Are you asking me to be friends?" you blurt out. Probably not the best thing to lead with, but he's really so handsome and he seems nice and you haven't got much to look forward to in your empty apartment and this is just a little bit overwhelming. His shoulders creep back down away from his ears and he grins.

"Yeah," he says. "I am."

"Okay," you say. "Lead the way." Remus doesn't strike you as someone who wears his emotions plainly, but his grin softens into something lighter and you think that you want to figure out how to read him.

You fall into step beside him. "It's not far," he says. "I do want to apologize in advance for my friends, though," he says.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, they're great. Don't get me wrong. I love them to pieces." He sighs. "But they're also a bloody pain."

You laugh loudly and suddenly. It feels nice. "Well, that's a ringing endorsement. It's alright though, I could use some friends."

Remus looks over at you and tugs on your elbow just once to tell you to turn with him. "You just moved here, yeah?"

"Well, a few months ago now, but I haven't had much luck with people." Between working and trying to keep your head above water, you haven't figure out how to add socializing into that yet. "And I don't really like...all this." You wave your hands in the air, gesturing at the lights and ribbons adorning the street.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," you say. "It all makes me feel a bit sad." You start to feel embarrassed. "Oh Remus, I'm sorry. We've barely spoken and I'm being all melancholy." He knocks his shoulder with yours and you look over at him to see he's still got a small smile on his face.

"Darling," he says. "I am as melancholy as they come. You're speaking my language."

---

The pub is crowded and noisy and you like it immediately. Remus takes your hand and leads you through the throng to a back corner where two guys are taking up an entire round booth with what seems to be an arm wrestling match.

"Surrender, Potter," one of them says. He's got a knot of dark hair tied into a bun and tiny hoops in each ear and one nostril.

"Fuck off," growls the other. You can tell right away that he's tall, maybe as tall as Remus. He's got messy hair and round spectacles. He is not winning the match.

"Idiots," Remus mutters. He lets go of your hand and places his palm on your lower back. "Hey, knock it off!" This distracts the boy with glasses, allowing the other one to slam his arm down on the table.

"Shove it," he cries. Remus rubs the bridge of his nose. You don't think they've noticed you yet.

"Where are the girls?" he asks. More friends? you think.

"They're coming," says the boy who lost. Potter, you think. His eyebrows climb up his forehead once he notices you standing next to Remus.

"Marlene called and said they had to stop at home first," adds the other one. His eyes find you and his gaze is sharp. "And who is this?" he says, eyeing you.

"Uh," you say. Remus's hand presses a little harder into your back. "Remus and I do book club together?" You put the plate of cookies down on the table like a peace offering.

"Merlin's beard," glasses boy whistles. "She's real."

The one with piecing looks delighted. "James, you owe me a fiver." He holds out his hand.

"Fuck off, Sirius," says...James. "Wait are those cookies?"

"As you can see," Remus sighs, "these gits are James and Sirius. Are you two about finished?" You look at him and his cheeks are a little pink but he's doing his best to look bored. James and Sirius break into roars of laughter as they scoot to make room for you both. Remus ushers you into the booth. "I'm going to get drinks," he says. "What would you like?"

"Whatever you're having," you tell him. You tug off your coat and don't know what to do with your hands.

"I want a stout, Remus," James says.

Remus doesn't even look at him. "I wasn't asking you, dear." He winks at you and turns on his heel, heading for the bar. You feel a bit strange to be left with two guys you just met, but this is how you make friends, right?

"So what's this about me not being real?" you ask. Sirius raps a tattooed knuckle on the table before reaching for a sugar cookie.

"Well," he drawls. "Lupin told us about his book club when he started going earlier this year but we don't hear much else about it. And then a little while ago, he comes to drinks and he says there's a new girl."

James says your name in a poor imitation of Remus's accent. You twist your fingers in your lap. "And he says a few things about this new girl," Sirius continues, until James elbows him.

"Keep your limbs to yourself, Potter," he grumbles.

James leans in, elbows on the table. "Remus hasn't made a new friend since like, grammar school. So naturally we thought he was having us on when he said you two were friendly."

"Oh," you say. He's been telling his friends that you're friendly? It makes your chest tight in a nice way, like you're being hugged. "Well, thank you for letting me crash your pub night," you say.

"Are you kidding?" Sirius deadpans. "We've been begging him to invite you for weeks." Remus returns before you can reply with two pale-looking pints. He sets them down and slides in next to you, close enough that it's clear you know him the most, even if that's barely true, but far enough that you're not touching except for your knees knocking under the table. He stretches an arm across the top of the booth behind you. You hope you're not staring.

"So how were the books this time?" James asks. His eyes say mischief but he seems to be willing to let you off the hook for now. You and Remus recount the drama from today's meeting. The boys ask you basic questions like what you do for work and how you like the city and what club you support, but none of it feels stale or disingenuous. In fact, it really feels like they want to get to know you.

"Well, surely you've been to the skating rink in the park." Sirius is interrogating you on what neighborhoods you've visited. You shake your head and he gasps like you've slapped him. "What about the market?"

"I don't really do the holidays very well," you say, a bit softly. He raps his knuckles on the table again and Remus presses his thigh into yours on purpose. "I just haven't got my footing yet. I haven't been here that long and I don't have a guide."

"Well that won't do," James says.

"You do now," Remus says. You turn to him and find that he's closer than you realized. His eyes bore into yours and he looks rather serious. "Have a guide, I mean. You'll just do everything with us." You blink. Is it really this easy? Making friends? A handsome boy wants to facilitate your holiday season and you don't really know what to say.

"Brilliant idea, Lupin," Sirius says happily. "I always say you're the smartest of us."

Remus kicks him. "Okay," you say. "That sounds nice."

"I'm sure Remus has your phone number," James says cheekily. "He'll sort it." Remus does not, in fact, have your phone number, but you remedy that by passing him your mobile. He taps away at it with one hand, the other still hovering just over your shoulders.

"Where the bloody fuck are the girls?" Sirius grumbles. It seems he can change moods from one moment to the next faster than anyone you've met before. "Marlene has my nice suede jacket from last week."

"And we need Lily here so James stops looking so put out," Remus says, not looking up from your phone. "Lily is his girlfriend," he adds for your benefit. "Are we not good enough for you, Jamie?"

James ignores him.

"More friends?" you say quietly. Remus nods.

"You'll like them. And they'll adore you." You've been friends with him for all of one night, but his tone is sincere. The pub lighting makes his scars softer and you fight against leaning into him as he talks.

"How do you know?"

His mouth curls up at one end in a smile that makes you shiver a little. "I just do."

__

It wouldn't do to develop a crush on your first real friend in town, so you try your best not to over the next few weeks. You fail miserably. How could you not like Remus? He carts you around the city with his friends -- your friends too, he insists -- going ice skating and drinking mulled cider and market shopping and every time you are struck by how lovely he is. He holds your hand a lot and sends you photos he manages to take of you without you noticing. You meet the rest of the group -- Lily and Marlene and Dorcus -- and you love them, too. You see lights all over the city and laugh a lot and smile so much your cheeks ache. His friends tease you and you end up in multiple group chats and things start to feel good. Even when you go back to your apartment alone, you feel warm. You are just excited for whatever you're going to do next.

And then it's New Year's Eve.

The pub you've become a regular at is having a party and Lily was timely enough to book your regular table for the whole crew. You're running a little late because you could not decide what to wear, but you make it, shoving yourself through the crowd to the back booth.

Someone -- you're not sure who -- spots you and screams your name. You recognize a lot of the people here, but it's not until James enters your field of vision that you relax.

"There she is!" he cries, looking over his shoulder. "Remus, she's here!" Remus emerges from the crowd and scoops you up, pressing his lips to your cheek in a quick hello as he grabs your coat and pulls you in for a hug. He's warm and smells like beer and something spicy.

"You look lovely," he says. He's had at least one drink judging by the color of his cheeks and his general handsy-ness.

"So do you," you say. He wrinkles his nose at you.

"Go sit in my seat and I'll get you a drink. The usual?" You nod. He gently pushes you towards the table and disappears into the crowd. You slide into a space Remus has clearly vacated next to Sirius. He's got some sparkles on his lower lids and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth as he shuffles a deck of cards. Everyone at the table is flushed and ready.

"Hey, you," he says. "You in?" You've no idea what they're playing.

"Next round, Sirius." He shrugs and you watch something that looks like Hearts happen in front of you.

Remus returns before the round wraps up and you stand to give him his seat. He looks at it and then at you and then back at the bench before he slides in, setting your pints on the table before wrapping his long, slender fingers around your wrist and tugging just enough so that you stumble towards him and end up in his lap. Everyone at the table is fighting smiles and Sirius wraps up the round and turns to you both. He puts the cigarette behind his ear and manages to look extremely bored with your antics.

"Now are you playing?" You nod, breathless. Remus's arm wraps around your back, hand settling on your hip so that you won't fall off of him.

A hand moves your hair off of your shoulder and you feel lips on your earlobe. "What are we playing?" You turn and all of a sudden Remus's face is incredibly close to yours. He does not move away.

"No idea," you say, forgetting that you do know what you're playing. Your brain is a little fuzzy right now. Which is probably why you lose horribly, Remus laughing underneath you as you desperately try to shove aside thoughts of kissing him so you can focus for just one second.

And then it's almost midnight. The energy in the pub changes to something a bit more exuberant and someone passes out champagne in classes of all kinds. You end up holding a whiskey tumblr of fizz and the booth around you empties as everyone gets to their feet, ready to chant in the new year. Remus maneuvers you gently so that you're no longer totally in his lap, just next to him with your legs across it. His arm is a warm band around your shoulders to keep you close. The pub increases in volume as people start to sing.

"Have you got anyone to kiss at midnight?" he yells into your ear, lips brushing your skin again.

You pull back to look at him. He's flushed, but his eyes are clear. "I think so," you say. His eyes crinkle at the corners and he sets down his own glass and grabs your jaw. His thumb rubs over your lower lip.

"Lucky bloke," he says. The countdown chanting starts around you. You cup his jaw for the first time and run a gentle finger along one of the scars on his jaw. He shudders.

You can't wait a second more so you lean in, pressing your lips to his. He gasps just a little bit before responding, tongue tracing the seam of your mouth. His fingertips dig into your party dress and you kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and everyone is cheering and you think some of it might be for you two.

You have a feeling that this year isn't going to be so bad.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Please may I have a Blue exorcist scenario of when you (FEMALE reader *she is a highly skilled Paladin and Rin's childhood friend and everything and she is his girlfriend and the same age as Rin*) basically defended Rin when you made an excuse to talk to Bon alone in his home. You understood his pain considering how you lost your older sister in the blue night when you were a baby at the time but it caused a lot of pain for your family which was understandable considering that they lost a daughter. Your tone generally was serious when you remarked; "Only jerks judge books by their covers man.." Bon didn't appreciate that you called him a jerk when you said that..but you only proved your point when he basically grabbed you by the collar when he asked in a dangerous voice of what exactly you were implying. You told him that you thought that he was a good friend but obviously regarding how Rin had been treated recently..you thought wrong. You basically forced him to apologise to Rin the next day

Kinda angsty but not exactly..it's just the reader teaching someone a good lesson about not judging a book by its cover.

Hi! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took so long. I hope you like the scenario!

Fandom: Blue Exorcist

Character: Bon Suguro x gn! Reader (platonic, Reader is in a relationship with Rin)

Work Count: 1.1k (1,118 words)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You've had enough of Bon badmouthing your boyfriend Rin so you decide to have some strong words with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well it’s not my fault I have to share a classroom with this lazy slob.”

“Oh yeah, well it’s not my fault I have to share a classroom with this perfect grade A student who always does well in exams.”

“Uh, Rin, that’s not really an insult…”

“And as if it’s not bad enough that I have to look at your ugly face all the time, you’re the son of Satan. Literally the spawn of the one creature I hate most in this world.”

The classroom fell silent. The longer it went on, the less anyone seemed to know how to break it. Finally your teacher, Rin’s older brother, Yukio, cleared his throat.

Your relationship with Yukio was strange. On one hand, he was your boyfriend’s brother, who loved him dearly but was delighted you were there to help keep him in line. On the other, he was your teacher who you had a healthy amount of both fear and respect for.

You were grateful for his intervention now as both of these roles.

“Well, if you don’t mind, we’ll get back to the class shall we?”

Rin and Bon were still glaring at each other but at Yukio’s words Bon exhaled loudly through his nose and looked away, sitting back down.

Rin scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Although the words were muttered under his breath, you saw Bons eyes light up in anger again and he raised his hands as if to slam them down on the table.

“Mr Suguro, Mr Okumura, that is enough.” There was a sharp edge to Yukio’s voice now, “You will remain in your seats and, unless you’re answering a question, I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you. Am I understood?”

Silence.

“Am. I. Understood.” It wasn’t a question anymore.

“Yes sir.”

“Yeah.”

Yukio let out a deep breath. “Alright then, back to the topic at hand.”

~ After class had finished, everyone began filing out of the classroom. Yukio called out to Rin as he tried to sneak out and, as they turned into the hallways together, you could hear Yukio berating his brother for making such a ruckus in class.

You stood up from your desk, turning to where Bon was still packing away his supplies. Usually, he was much faster with this, but today you suspected he was trying to put some distance between himself and Rin.

You walked over to him. Shima and Konekomaru were standing next to him, discussing lunch.

“Hey, Bon?”

He looked up from his bag. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you could help me out with some of the homework. There’s a bit I’m not sure I understand.”

The corner of Bon’s mouth twitched. “Not going to ask your boyfriend for help?” You could hear the jeering tone in his voice but knew it wasn’t directed at you.

“Rin’s great and all but when it comes to study, I’d rather get advice from someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Bon smiled. “Yeah, I guess I can’t blame you there. Sure, I’ll help.” He turned to his friends, “You guys go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Shima and Konekomaru waved their goodbyes as they left the room. You waited until you couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore before turning back to Bon.

“So, what homework did you need help with?”

You shook your head. “No homework sorry. That was a lie. I just needed an excuse to talk to you alone.”

A frown creased his brow. “About what?”

You took a breath. You’d been waiting for this opportunity for a while and now that it was here, you had to make sure you got what you wanted to say right. “It’s about Rin. And the way you treat him.”

Bon rolled his eyes and stood as if to leave. You stepped in front of him to block his way. Frustration glimmered in his eyes as his frown deepened.

“I know I’m his partner and you might think this is just me looking out for my boyfriend but even if we weren’t a couple, I’d still feel the same way. It’s not cool the way you treat him. Only jerks judge books by their covers man.”

Bon lunged forward, grabbing you by the collar of your uniform and pulling you close. “What exactly are you implying? You don’t know me! You don’t know what I’ve been through because of his father. I lost everything! You could never know what that’s like. And don’t call me a jerk.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Now you could feel the anger rising in your own chest, “So you’re saying I didn’t lose my older sister in the Blue Night? I didn’t have to grow up, knowing my entire life that there was someone so close to me that I would never get the chance to meet?”

You saw realisation hit Bon but you weren’t finished. “I do know Bon. I know better than anyone. And you know what? I still care about him. Because he’s not his father. Oh, and by the way?” You lifted a hand to tap at his, where they were still bunched up in the fabric of your collar, “You are a jerk. If you aren’t, why did you grab me like that just now?”

Bon released your uniform abruptly, as if he’d just realised he was still holding it. “Sorry.”

You smoothed down the fabric. “Yeah, you should be. I’m going to have to iron this now.”

“No, I mean I’m sorry about your sister. And grabbing you. I shouldn’t have said those things. You’re right, I was being a jerk.”

“You shouldn’t be apologising to me. You should be apologising to Rin. He hates Satan as much as you do. He’s not his father.” You sighed. “I thought you were a good friend to him, but I guess I was wrong. If you were really his friend, you’d know that.”

Bon let out a long, deep breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. He just has a way of rubbing me the wrong way, you know?”

You laughed. “Oh boy, do I. He’s been an irritation since the day I met him. But he’s a good person. And that’s all that matters.”

Bon nodded, clearly deep in thought.

You picked up your bag and swung it over your shoulder. “Come on. We should get to lunch before it’s finished.”

Bon shouldered his own bag and walked to the door with you. The tension in the room had dissipated, leaving only an understanding between you and Bon.

Before you left, you lightly punched his shoulder. “By the way, you’re apologising to Rin tomorrow okay?”

Bon smiled, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[tanishark]

Okay, this is how I think Tanisha would be venting to Aizen about her emotional detachment issue and lack of emotions. Fluffy material ahead! 👀

𝙉𝙤 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙁𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - 𝙖𝙣 𝘼𝙞𝙏𝙖𝙣𝙞 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩

Tanisha Chōdhori was never one to shy away from expressing her feelings, especially when it came to the topic of turmoil and jealousy.

For someone as powerful and controlled as she was, it was odd to find herself feeling frustrated over something so trivial—or so she initially thought.

Sitting in the expansive, luxurious living room of the Hidden Estate, Tanisha found herself pacing back and forth, her thoughts swirling like a tempest.

Aizen, lounging comfortably on the couch with a book in hand, glanced up occasionally to observe his wife’s erratic movements. His usually calm demeanor was touched with an edge of curiosity as Tanisha's agitation became more pronounced.

“You’re fidgeting again,” Aizen said, his voice smooth and untroubled. “What’s the matter this time?”

Tanisha stopped abruptly, her dark eyes flashing with exasperation. “It’s this ridiculous feeling, Aizen. Or rather, the lack of it.”

Aizen raised an eyebrow, setting the book aside with a soft thud. “Go on.”

“I’ve been trying to feel jealous,” Tanisha began, her tone both baffled and irritated. “You know, like a normal person. I want to feel that prickly sensation of jealousy, but it just won’t come.”

Aizen’s lips curved into a bemused smile. “Jealous? And why would you want to feel that?”

Tanisha threw her hands up in frustration. “Because it’s supposed to be a normal, human emotion! Everyone else feels it, so why can’t I? I should be able to feel something, anything. But no, all I get is this strange, detached calm.”

Aizen’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Are you suggesting that you’re envious of people who are envious?”

Tanisha’s expression shifted between frustration and disbelief. “It’s not just about being envious. It’s about experiencing the full range of emotions. I want to understand what it’s like to feel jealous, to let it drive me a little, to have that raw, intense feeling that others talk about.”

Aizen leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “I see. So, you’re yearning for turmoil in your life?”

“Exactly!” Tanisha exclaimed. “But it’s like trying to grasp smoke with my bare hands. I want to be thrown into the chaotic whirlpool of emotions, and instead, I’m just standing on the sidelines, perfectly composed.”

Aizen chuckled softly. “You know, you could just ask for more challenges. Maybe that would stir something within you.”

Tanisha shot him a sharp look. “I’m not asking for more battles or conflicts. I’m asking for genuine, visceral emotions. But it seems like every time I try to feel them, my own nature just swallows them up.”

Aizen’s amusement deepened. “Are you telling me that you’re envious of my ability to stir up chaos?”

Tanisha snorted, rolling her eyes. “You’re not helping. And besides, it’s not about envying you. It’s about understanding the human experience better.”

“Ah, I see.” Aizen tilted his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. “And here I was thinking you were just bored.”

Tanisha huffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not bored, Aizen. I’m frustrated. I want to experience the spectrum of human emotions, but all I get is this unshakeable calm. It’s infuriating.”

Aizen stood up, walking over to her with a smirk. “Well, if you’re so keen on experiencing emotions like jealousy, perhaps you should take it up with someone who’s more prone to it. I’m sure there are plenty of people who could help you with that.”

Tanisha raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And who would that be?”

Aizen’s smirk widened. “I’m sure the Soul Society has no shortage of individuals who would be more than happy to show you what jealousy feels like. Maybe even some of your old colleagues.”

Tanisha frowned, shaking her head. “It’s not about external sources. It’s about my own capacity to feel these things. I want to understand myself better.”

Aizen’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe you’re expecting too much from yourself. Not everyone experiences emotions in the same way. Perhaps what you’re feeling is more than enough.”

Tanisha looked at him, her frustration easing slightly. “You might be right. But it’s still frustrating to know that something so basic seems to be out of reach for me.”

Aizen chuckled, his hand still resting on her shoulder. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you’re not alone in this. I’m sure there are many who would envy your ability to remain so composed. Even if you can’t feel jealousy, you still possess something others desire.”

Tanisha sighed, leaning into his touch. “I suppose. But it doesn’t make it any less irritating.”

Aizen’s smile was warm and understanding. “Then maybe it’s time to embrace what you have rather than what you’re missing. Sometimes, the best way to understand something is to accept it as it is.”

Tanisha looked at him thoughtfully. “You might be right. I suppose I should try to appreciate the calm rather than wishing for something I can’t grasp.”

Aizen nodded, his gaze affectionate. “Exactly. Besides, you’ve already managed to make your life interesting in ways few others could. Maybe you’re just experiencing a different kind of emotional spectrum.”

Tanisha chuckled, a hint of her former frustration lingering but giving way to a more reflective mood. “I suppose so. Maybe I should just accept that my emotional landscape is a bit different from others.”

Aizen pulled her into a gentle embrace, his voice low and soothing. “And that’s perfectly okay. We all have our own unique ways of experiencing life. Just remember that whatever emotions you do feel are yours to explore and understand.”

Tanisha relaxed against him, her frustration fading into a softer acceptance. “Thank you, Aizen. I suppose I needed to hear that.”

Aizen kissed the top of her head, his voice gentle. “Anytime. Now, how about we leave the pursuit of jealousy to others and focus on enjoying the calm and chaos we already have?”

Tanisha smiled, her mood lifting. “That sounds like a plan.”

As they stood together, the tensions of the day seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a sense of tranquility and understanding. Tanisha’s frustration had given way to a newfound acceptance, and Aizen’s support had helped her see her own emotions in a new light. It wasn’t about chasing after emotions that felt out of reach; it was about embracing the unique emotional landscape she already possessed.

oh, i can totally imagine this happening post-tcaclom—after aizen and tanisha formed their alliance and got closer over time 🤭

[givemea-dam-break]

that funny feeling (locklyle)

a/n: this is my first locklyle fic please by kind lmfao. convinced to write this by the amazing @neewtmas and @waitingforthesunrise, so i hope you all enjoy this - it was inspired by the locklyle angst playlist a bunch of us have going so be warned :) this also brings holly munro into the story, but don't worry if you haven't read the books because i don't mention her too much. it isn't too long since i'm just testing the waters for my locklyle stuff lol

warnings: big sad taglist: @wellgoslowly @galactidiot

part 2

The days were beginning to melt together.

How long had he been lying here, hoping, praying, for Lucy to come back? For her to walk through the front door, bags in hand, declaring that she was coming back? That she never meant to leave? A few weeks, maybe. Or was it months? He had lost track of time.

Her absence was a tangible thing, something that he could reach out and feel so acutely that its sharp, jagged edges sliced his fingertips and cut deep into his heart. But, even still, sometimes he'd forget. He'd make her a cup of tea in the morning, just how she liked it - more milk than he or George would take, sometimes with a spoonful of honey if she wanted a little sweetness - only for it to sit atop the counter, growing cold. Neither he nor George had the heart to empty it into the sink. Holly would arrive, expecting it, and dump it out, but Lockwood knew that it pained her to do so too.

Waiting was useless. There were things that needed to get done. Cases for Lockwood and Co were piling up after the antics of last November, and they were steadily gaining a reputation. He needed to focus on that. On the thing he had always wanted.

But what was it worth when the one person he wanted most wasn't there, right by his side?

Part of him hoped that Lucy would see his pictures in the newspaper. Maybe she'd miss him as much as he did her, maybe it would be the thing that made her realise that she didn't need to leave. That she could come back.

He still couldn't make sense of her sudden resignation. She was worried that she couldn't control her Talents well enough, that she'd put them all in danger. But how could she? When she was the very thing that had saved Lockwood time and time again?

So, there he lay, sprawled on the attic's bed. The bed she once lay in night after night for years now. It still smelled like her; of lavender and some nice soap he couldn't distinguish. His excuse? This room was once his, and he was feeling reminiscent. He missed looking out of the window onto the street behind Portland Row, down into the back garden where the apple trees stood tall. He missed the warmth that flooded the room during the day, and the calm, soothing cool at night.

Everyone knew better, and he knew that, too.

Sometimes he'd just lie there, thoughtless and quiet. Other times, he would talk as if Lucy was there in the room with him. He'd practice his speech, the one he'd use to finally get her back, gazing at the picture he kept on her nightstand - one of the two of them and George she'd taken on an old camera she'd found stuffed in the wardrobe. She'd run down the stairs excitedly, demanding a picture, and George was forced into it, which his half-smiling expression showed. If Lockwood looked close enough, he could see the faint green glow on the lower right side of all of their faces from Skull, who had been pulling horrid faces at them.

He loved that picture with his whole heart. Her smile, so radiant, was completely and entirely entrancing, and she just seemed so, so happy with her face pressed up against his. So what went wrong?

Heaving a sigh, he released the pillow he so often clung to desperately like a child, and sat up. There were things that needed to be done. Research for a case. Make some new salt bombs. Have a shower. Had he already had one? He couldn't very well remember.

He could hear George clattering around downstairs doing God knows what - he wasn't too fond of the idea of finding out, petrified at the thought of finding his best friend half-naked doing some sort of yoga again - and there was Holly just down the stairs, muttering something or other. She did that often now. He could never tell what it was she was saying, but he recognised the lost look in her eyes. She and Lucy may not have been on the best of terms, but she missed her. Badly.

This was always the worst part. Starting the day.

Without Lucy, the whole routine felt empty. Where was her smile, or her snarky comments directed at Skull, the same ones he often worried were actually for him? Where were those bright eyes that would look at him with such happiness when he paid her a - supposedly - mindless compliment? Or the moments where she'd put him in his place with just a few words? Oh, how he missed those dearly.

It always left a funny feeling in his chest, thinking about those times. A mixture of a strange grief, a mourning for someone who had not died but rather had left of their own volition, and of horrible loss, almost like losing a limb. Like losing a crucial part of himself. Because, really, that's what Lucy was to him. She was everything.

Even still, he dragged himself from her bed, lingering for a moment in the doorway of the bedroom like he always did, before trudging down, down, down to the kitchen.

Relieved to find George not in the midst of a horrific yoga demonstration, but rather shoving pots and pans into the cupboards, he brewed himself some tea.

He tried to ignore the way his hand hovered in front of Lucy's mug, which was stained from the tea they never seemed to be able to fully scrub away, and sat at the table, staring into the murky brown of his brew. Lucy always made it look so much more appealing.

No matter how hard he tried to disregard the little things, she seemed to be everywhere he looked. There was a sketch on the thinking cloth of Inspector Barnes as an elephant, tooting his trunk. And, there, the vase of flowers she'd set during their last meal together, a bundle of long-since-wilted lilacs she'd picked from the back garden. Over on the counter, there was a large circular ring where Skull would often reside, covered by a teatowel, and it was as if his evil had seeped from the silverglass and into the countertop, never to be removed.

Lockwood wondered if Skull, as crude as he was, was at least keeping Lucy company. He'd hate for her to be on her own.

"I don't know how Holly does this," George grumbled. He shoved another pan into the cupboard haphazardly. "It's impossible."

As if on cue, the pans toppled, crashing down around George and onto the floor. Holly appeared seconds later, scolding him as she easily slotted them in and shut the door.

Like every other day, there was a certain tension in the air that none of them seemed to be able to shake, no matter how hard they tried. Holly could bring all the almond-iced doughnuts she could carry; George could make the most absurd comments to ever have graced this earth to make them laugh; hell, Lockwood could smile and charm all he wanted, but it never amounted to anything. Not without Lucy.

He had been searching for a reason to get her back since the day he'd left her at that café, too frustrated and dejected to even try and continue the conversation. Were there any cases he could hire her for now that she was an independent agent? That seemed like the only logically sound way to get her to be with them again. To be with him. He couldn't just turn up to her new flat, so far away from Portland Row, and beg her to come home. No matter how badly he wished he could.

So, he picked up his newspaper and flicked through it, hoping to forget about her for just a moment.

But it was impossible. How could one simply forget about Lucy Carlyle? Lucy Carlyle and her jibes; Lucy Carlyle and her beautiful smile and eyes; Lucy Carlyle and the warmth she provided Lockwood with. Especially when her adverts were in the paper.

Lockwood could not forget about her for even a moment, something he had come to realise every single day since she'd left. Not after she'd allowed him to feel. To feel pure joy and humour and wonderful frustration and love.

That's perhaps what hurt the most about it all. Not her reasoning. Not the suddenness of it. Rather, the things she'd arisen inside of him, feelings he hadn't truly allowed since the deaths of his family. Letting people in was far too real, and he didn't want to permit them to the same fates as the other people he had loved and lost. But Lucy, oh, Lucy. She was supposed to be different. She was supposed to stay.

But she left, and he missed her more than should ever be possible. He knew he should've expected it, but he had allowed himself to hope. Lucy had sparked that hope inside of him, and even now it still lingered, waiting for her to return.

He was stupid for it, he knew. It was the only thing that kept him going - the notion that she may decide that she was wrong and come back to him. But it was unlikely to happen. So he had to come to terms with it, as would Holly and George.

And, so, her seat would stay vacant. Her mug would remain stained. Lockwood would creep into her room at night, falling asleep under the watchful eye of her photograph. All the while, she would sleep beneath a different roof, under the same sky, so, so far from him.

[a-world-in-grey]

You might not need another au but do you want it?

Think of how much fun it would be, Sola and Ardyn snarking at each other in the middle of the throne room and before the entire court.

The resemblance is uncanny.

You can track which of the nobles noticed it by how much they pale, their polite masks turning a little bit tense.

You. Are an enabling gremlin.

Plopping this in the Combined Retinue Nox/Sola au, because this is what my brain finally decided to spit out at 2 in the morning.

@secret-engima have an early Christmas present, I guess?

.

“If I have to dress up, Uncle,” his niece tells him fiercely, “then so do you.”

Ardyn raises a brow from the bench he’s languidly lounging on, watching his Tailor circle Sola with sharp eyes as she tugs on the black fabric of the dress she’s wrangled Sola into wearing for her upcoming Coming of Age, unfazed by the equally black scowl on the princess’ face.

Beside him, Nox is firmly pretending to nap on his Shield’s shoulder. Axis has his gaze glued to the book in his hand.

It seems he’ll have no allies from that quarter.

Admittedly, Ardyn had perhaps been enjoying Sola’s irritation too much, and hadn’t bothered to smother his growing amusement with every dark mutter Sola had made about protocol and where the court could shove said protocol.

He gives Sola an indulgent smirk. “I highly doubt I’m on the guest list, my dear. Given the current state of international politics.”

Not that he’d let the lack of an invitation stop him from attending his niece and nephew’s birthday party.

From the glare Sola levels at the mirror, and the minute stiffening of Nox’s spine, Ardyn has the feeling his niblings will ensure he is invited, regardless of anyone else’s feelings on the matter.

Nox’s eyes actually open a sliver when Sola’s magic abruptly curls, all mischievous glee with an edge of bared teeth. His nephew warily eyes his twin and the grin growing on her face.

Ardyn does not share Nox’s apprehension. He rather thinks his niece should smile like that more often.

“A suit for your Uncle, then?” Penelopeia asks archly.

“If you would be so kind.” Sola replies before Ardyn can protest. Sola’s blue eyes narrow on him through the mirror. “Black for the shirt, instead of the suit, I think. Gold as an accent color, but otherwise I have full faith in your judgment.”

To Penelopeia’s credit, his Tailor pauses for but a moment. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Ardyn gives Sola a long look. His niece knows very well protocol prohibits him from wearing black. He is neither a (known) member of the royal family nor in sworn service to them. Sola cares little for protocol and tradition, especially when it gets in her way, but even she can’t get away with flouting such an old and respected tradition. Not like this. “Niece.” He warns.

Sola raises her chin, defiant. “Do you trust me?”

Ardyn sighs. Smiles reassuringly at the fierce girl who’s been Nox and Ardyn’s staunchest supporter these past near three years. “Yes.”

Sola nods, and that is that.

.

Copia Egestas adores her Queen.

Sola’s last minute changes to the twins’ Coming of Age gave her a solid week of extra work to do - with help from Ignis, who volunteered on account of her being nearly six months pregnant - hunting through the Archives and preparing her arguments before she and Sola sat down in front of the King and finally told him exactly who would be presenting his daughter at her Coming of Age. Presenting both his children, in fact.

Unsurprisingly, Regis was not pleased. But between Sola’s staunch refusal to change her mind and Copia’s presented precedents, he reluctantly conceded.

Now, eyeing everyone as they wait to enter the ballroom, Copia can only feel a vicious anticipation.

Nox and Sola make a striking pair in black and gold. Both of them have their hair carefully pulled back, decorated further with gold. Nox still wears his usual earrings, the only silver on him as he’d declined the offer for golden versions, and Sola has mirrored him with a set of earrings arranged in the opposite ears. Not the same earrings, but the studs and climber are similar enough in shape to achieve the desired effect.

Copia’s sleeveless black dress is cut to flatter her pregnant figure, a gold shawl for her shoulders because six months pregnant and she gets uncomfortably warm now that the summer months are upon them, which also why she’s elected for an updo instead of letting her thick curls tumble loose. Unlike Sola, Copia is in comfortable flats instead of heels, again on account of being pregnant.

Axis is in a black suit jacket with gold details, and his Clan’s purple and green tartan. His hair’s been styled back from his face, but otherwise remains free.

Axis isn’t the only one wearing purple and green. Nox has the shifting purple-green galahdite in his ears, hair, and decorating his cufflinks. Sola’s chosen a selection of amethysts and emeralds to decorate her gold jewelry, while Copia had been gifted a pair of ebony hair sticks topped with amethyst and emerald carved cabochons.

(Copia knows just enough about Galahdian culture to know to tell Penny the goal, and follow the woman’s instructions on how to support Axis without overstepping cultural boundaries. The result, she is told, is a careful blend of Lucian and Galahdian color codes, but Copia has never seen Axis struck speechless before so she makes a mental note to commend Penny and her recommended jewelers for their hard work.)

With Ardyn, however, Penny has evidently decided to take refuge in audacity.

The suit is a lovely shade of dark purple, decorated with an intricate pattern of - much to Copia’s amusement - peacock feathers. At a glance they could be mistaken for phoenix feathers, certainly, but Copia knows her birds, and those feathers belong to the phoenix’s non-magical dramatic cousins. Studded at the eye of each feather are small galahdite stones to match Nox and Axis.

Under the suit, Ardyn’s shirt is black, which will no doubt give the Court conniptions and the press a field day, despite them following protocol to a T. Instead of a traditional tie, Ardyn’s kept his usual scarf, but in a rich green. How it doesn’t clash with the purple, Copia doesn’t know, but she knows Ardyn’s vest is a matching shade of green. Ardyn has a gold and galahdite lapel pin, linked by a fine gold chain to a paired piece on the front of his breast pocket.

The master of ceremonies glances over at them, expression half-expectant, half-despairing.

It turns to resignation when Ardyn and Sola gift him identical smirks.

Nox sighs.

Copia hides a grin behind her hand. Oh yes, tonight is going to be so very entertaining, with uncle and niece actively working together.

She wonders how many people will notice the family resemblance before the end of the night?