#wanna get rug burn from rubbing my face in his chest hair

[loveshotzz]

Can we talk about the photo where Joe’s wearing those extra large pants and that turtle neck…. his chest is so toned…. I want him to squish me so bad….I wish he could give me one chance ☹️☹️☹️ I want his **** so bad

i’ve never felt an anon on such a deep level.

[thorin-baby-bear]

Play Day

A Dead Poet’s Society agere fic :3 

Word count: 1619 

CW: Crying, Rug Burns 

Requested: No 

On Saturday morning, Charlie was awoken early by a knock on his door. He blinked groggily, propping himself up and yawning as Cameron groaned from across the room. “Get the door, Charlie.” He mumbled into his pillow. Charlie sighed and hoisted himself out of bed, stumbling towards the door as the knocking continued. “Yeah, hold your horses I’m coming!” He called. Opening the door, Charlie squinted tiredly at the two boys in front of him. Neil looked back at him with equally tired eyes as he carried the other boy (who Charlie assumed was Todd) like a koala. 

“Hey.” Neil said. 

“Hi?” Charlie said, very confused. 

Todd whined and Neil bounced him up and down gently. Charlie mouthed a quiet oh and stepped out of his room, making sure to shut the door quietly behind him. “What’s up?” He whispered, checking his watch. 6:30. “I promised Todd we could have a little day today, but my dad called last night to say he was picking me up to meet some ‘work friends’” Neil sighed, rubbing Todd’s back. Charlie nodded, leaning against the door in anticipation. “So… You want me to watch him?” Neil nodded. “If it’s not too much trouble, that’d be great!” 

Charlie bit his lip in consideration. He had already told Meeks and Pitts that he would take care of them while they have a little day, could he really take care of another kiddo? But then he looked at Todd, whose face was pressed into Neil’s shoulder, and knew that he could. He smiled at Neil and nodded, chuckling at his sigh of relief. After a moment of fussing, Neil was able to put Neil down in front of Charlie. “Alright bub, Uncle Charlie’s going to take care of you today, so I need you to be extra good, okay?” He said gently. Todd sniffled and nodded, rubbing his runny nose with his sleeve. “Be back soon?” Todd whispered, looking nervously towards Charlie. Neil hesitated before pulling Todd into a big hug. “I will be back as soon as I can, baby.” 

“Promise?” Todd sniffles. 

“I promise.” Neil said, ruffling his baby’s hair. 

After getting everything situated (they decided to use Neil and Todd’s room so as not to disturb Cameron), Charlie pulled Neil to the side. “Would it be alright if Meeks and Pitts joined us? I kind of told them we could have a regression day as well.” Neil tilted his head thoughtfully. “I don’t have an issue with it, but let Todd know first, he doesn’t do well when plans change so suddenly.” Charlie made a noise of understanding and walked over to sit next to Todd, who was currently playing with a red stuffed dragon on the floor. “Hey bud,” he said gently, “that’s a pretty neat stuffy!” Todd nodded shyly, making the dragon fly up and down between him and Charlie. “His name’s Bart.” He mumbled. Charlie nodded, reaching out to pat the dragon. 

“Hey, Todd? How would you feel about having a playdate with Meeks and Pittsy today? I know it’s a bit short notice, but I’m sure they would love to play with ya!” Charlie said, smiling as Todd perked up and looked at Neil.” It’s okay buddy, whatever you choose.” Neil said. Todd looked back down at his dragon quietly. “Ummm… they wanna?” He asked, looking slightly skeptical. Charlie chuckled. “Of course, bud, they love playing with others!” Todd gave a small smile, rocking and forth while he thought. “Mmm, okay!” He said. Charlie ruffled his hair and Neil smiled down at him. “Thank you bud.” Charlie said. “I am so proud of you honey.” Neil chuckled, kneeling down and holding his arms out for a hug, which Todd gratefully gave. 

“Well, I think my dad should be getting here soon.” Neil sighed, giving Todd one last squeeze. Charlie nodded and stood up. “You want us to walk you out?” He asked. Neil shook his head, frowning at his watch. “Naw, it’s probably for the best only I go, I don't want my dad to ask questions.” Todd huffed, folding his arms over his chest and frowning. “Hey, that’s alright,” Charlie said, patting Todd’s shoulder softly, “we can watch from the window, right Todd?” 

Todd shrugged, looking down at the floor and shuffling his feet. 

Then a horn sounded outside, and Neil cringed. “That would be my dad. You guys got everything you need? Toys? Clothes? Snacks?” Charlie nodded, looking at the bin at the end of Todd’s bed. “I think so, you go have as fun a time as you can with the old man and we’ll see you tonight, yeah?” Neil smiled at Charlie and ruffled Todd’s hair before heading out the door. Immediately, Todd was at the window, watching the car speed off with Neil in it. 

Charlie sighed, going to the window and pretending not to notice Todd’s tears. “Hey, we’re going to have a great day today, alright?” Todd nodded quickly, wiping his eyes and leaning against Charlie, who wrapped a protective arm around his shoulder. “Da best day…” He whispered. 

Soon, Charlie took Todd to wake up Meeks and Pitts, who were more than happy to let Todd tag along on their little day. Meeks even offered some of his animal crackers to Todd, who had been hiding quietly behind Charlie ever since Neil left. At the mention of animal crackers however, his eye lit up and he creeped out from behind Charlie reaching his hand out carefully and taking the treat. After that, the two were fast friends. Pitts however was a different story. Since both boys were so shy, getting the two to play with each other proved a difficult task, one that Charlie wasn’t sure he was going to be able to accomplish until they ended up solving it on their own. 

It was early afternoon. They had all had some lunch and were playing quietly in Todd’s room, Meeks and Todd with their stuffys and Pitts toddling about with his stuffed bear as Charlie finished up some homework. Suddenly, Pitts tripped over a wooden block, tumbling roughly across the carpeted floor and hitting his head against one of the beds. All went quiet. Then Pitts started crying, quietly at first but then louder, sobbing into the floor as Charlie rushed to his side and helped him sit up. Meeks was by his side almost as fast as Charlie, watching as Pitts tried to sign something (he usually went nonverbal when regressed) and then giving him a big hug.  

“ S’okay, Pit, s’okay.” Meeks said. Todd stood back awkwardly, watching as Charlie checked the boo boos and tried to make sure his head was okay. Pitts wrapped tightly to Meeks, just like Todd had wrapped around Neil earlier, and Todd started to worry his bottom lip in concern. What could he do? Pitts was crying, and at this rate Meeks would soon follow. Charlie was looking around for the band aids and trying to keep everyone calm at the same time, but it was pretty clear that he was struggling, and if they didn’t stop the crying soon someone would be sure to come check on them. So Todd made up his mind, walked towards his bin, and pulled out a small lunch box. Carefully, with his dragon and lunch box in hand, he walked over to the others. He tugged on Charlie’s sleeve and offered up the lunch box, smiling at Charlie’s sigh of relief when he opened it to see an assortment of first aid items. Then, he walked over to Pitts and Meeks and tapped the crying boy on the shoulder. Pitts looked up in confusion, his eyes red and puffy as he stared at the other boy. 

Slowly, Todd held out his dragon. Pitts looked between the stuffy and Todd, his sobs changing to small snuffles as the dragon “flew” closer to him. After a moment's hesitation, Pitts unwrapped himself from Meeks, reached out and grabbed the dragon, holding it close and looking into its face as Charlie began to patch up his knees. The older boy looked over to Todd and smiled. “Thanks Toddy, that was really cool of you.” Todd smiled bashfully and went back to his bin, pulling out a different dragon, this one green with purple spots, and sitting down. 

After Pitts was all fixed up, he and Meeks toddled back over to where Todd was sitting, and Pitts handed Meeks the dragon so that he could sign. Play together? He asked. Todd nodded excitedly and pulled out one more dragon, all golden, and offered it up to the others. Charlie chuckled and watched for a moment before going back to his homework and listening to the boy’s roar and make flying sounds. 

As the day turned to night, and the little ones got sleepier and sleepier, Neil returned from his day out, thoroughly burnt out. As he made his way to his room, he heard the sound of laughter and roaring coming from inside and smiled, pushing open the door and stifling a laugh at what he saw. There was Charlie, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like wings and a cone of paper on his head, chasing the boys, who all had little sticks Neil assumed were swords, around the room. As soon as the door opened, they all froze, turning to stare at Neil, before Todd squealed and ran to him. “Dada!” He shouted, hugging him tightly as Meeks and Pitts turned back to fight the “dragon”. “HI baby!” Neil laughed, kissing the top of Todd’s head gently. “Did you have a good day?” 

“Ya!” Todd said, turning to look at his friends with a smile, “Da best!”

A/N: Was there any demand for this? No. Was it so so much fun? Yup!!

[inkykeiji]

do i make you scared? baby won’t you take me back

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, shigaraki tomura

genre: smut with a bit of angst sprinkled over it

notes: the second part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back. i’m really not kidding when i say this is almost entirely smut. uhhh virgin!tomura is a nasty nasty boy, please please please heed the warnings and stay safe! <3 | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), non-consensual branding (yes, branding in the sense that something is being burned into the skin), noncon/dubcon, dacryphilia, cheating, degradation/dumbification, emotional manipulation, cumplay/snowballing, cockwarming, size difference, generally toxic relationships

words: 7.1k

synopsis:

“Was it good?” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. You think you might be able to detect a hint of distress sown into his voice, but you have no time to meditate on the thought as he yanks again, pulling your head back further. “Was it worth it?”

Glistening tears stream down your cheeks and you exhale harshly through your nose, teeth gritted as you urgently try to stop crying.

“Fucking answer me,” he growls out the words, but he sounds almost…desperate? You’ve never heard his voice like this before, and it’s then that it finally dawns on you.

You got him back.

      ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

To your surprise, you spend the rest of your night the day after the party texting Tomura, and every time your screen lights up with a message from him, it sends a whole flock of butterflies fluttering in your tummy. You should feel guilty, really, but you’ve never been in a situation like this before and it’s…exhilarating.

It’s risky, answering these texts when Touya’s a mere few feet from you, but it sends sparks shooting up your spine, the idea of getting caught doing something you’re definitely not supposed to, the very thought of how upset he’d be if he knew, making you feel giddy.

You guard your phone closely for the rest of the week, deleting messages exactly after you send them—Touya has taken it and gone through it in the past, so it wasn’t far-fetched to think he may try to do the same thing again. It wasn’t like he didn’t notice your nose in your phone, little giggles bubbling up from your chest as you responded to whatever was on the screen. You can see it in his eyes, the frustration building each and every time a soft laugh escapes your lips, eyes glimmering as you tap out a response.

You plan your impending visit strategically, in tandem with Tomura. He knows Touya’s unpredictable and seemingly ever-changing schedule better than you do, and you both know that there’s absolutely no way in hell Touya would ever willingly let you hang out with each other—he barely leaves the two of you alone when Tomura comes over to your house, so you can only imagine how livid he’d be if you even asked to go spend some time with him, just the two of you.

You wear your prettiest dress—Touya’s favourite dress, a deep, satiny crimson—two inches too short to be considered proper, the hem brushing your midthigh. It hides a pair of baby pink cotton panties you’re sure Tomura will like.

Your veins thrum with the combined mix of terror and anticipation as he lets you in, and the heady combination has your entire body trembling. Tomura gives you a look as you kick your shoes off, eyes narrowed as they scan your body.

“You comin’ down or something?”

“I-I’m not allowed drugs,” you admit meekly, eyes falling to your feet, toes wiggling a bit.

Tomura snorts, an amused little smirk on his lips as he mutters, “No, of course not,”

Long, slender fingers wrap around your wrist, his cold touch making you jump, giving a slight yank as he begins leading you. He lives alone, in an apartment his father pays for—which is surprisingly much tidier than you expected—and you can’t help but look around curiously, eager to learn more about him, glazed eyes searching for hints in the empty takeout containers littering the counter, in the few articles of clothing strewn around the place.

Brows knit together when he bypasses his bedroom completely—the door wide open to reveal a large bed with blue sheets tangled at the bottom—and leads you to a living room with plush couches and an ornate rug you’re positive he didn’t pick out by himself. His fingers release, and he plops down on the floor, hands curling around a gaming controller. Scarlet eyes drift to you, up your legs and to your face, and you resist the urge to shiver under his intense gaze—you’re sure he can see straight up your dress from this angle.

But he does nothing except look at you expectantly, not breaking his stare until you finally sit down next to him, daintily tucking your knees under yourself.

Then he’s shoving an extra controller at you almost aggressively, the sudden motion pulling a gasp from your throat, making you flinch away.

“Relax,” he rolls his eyes, pushing the controller at you again and shaking it a little in his hand, trying to entice you to take it. “I’m not gonna hurt you, or anything,”

“You…You’re—what?”

Tomura observes you carefully, scrutinizing now, eyes narrowing a little as they scan your face. You stare back at him dumbly, lips slightly parted. “What?” he snaps.

“But I thought—I mean, I want you to—”

“What?”

“That came out wrong,” you rush to say, shutting your eyes tightly in embarrassment. “What I mean is…Um, didn’t I come over so we can like, fuck?” your cheeks burn as you force the words out, ears ringing as blood rushes to your face, so loud you almost miss his sharp intake of breath.

Tomura’s eyes widen and he stares at you for a long moment before he checks his phone, scrolling through your messages. “You said…You wanted to play video games?”

You look at him, blinking in astonishment. “And you believed that?”

Tomura frowns a little, eyebrows knitting, slightly defensive. “Well, yeah?”

You’re at a loss for words as you stare back at the man sitting cross-legged in front of you, watching you closely. This is the guy Touya so desperately didn’t want you to be around?

Powerless to stop the little giggle that bubbles up in your throat, you inch towards him on your knees. “You’re kinda cute, y’know?”

Soft notes of tiger orchid and sweet sticky toffee waft over him, your body heat clinging to his skin as you settle beside him, thigh touching his knee. He seethes at you, and his fingers twitch around the controller, a hand moving to rake his nails against his neck.

You reach out, little fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling it away from his flesh.

“Do you want to?” you ask softly, gazing at him through your lashes, bringing his palm to rest over your breast.

“Are you stupid?” he spits, fingers instantly tightening the moment they meet satin, the strength of his grip making you gasp. “Of course I fucking want to. Do you know how many times I’ve jerked off to you? Christ,”

Warmth blossoms in your chest at the confession, sparking a dull heat that begins to spread deep in the pit of your stomach. You’re flattered, even though you can hear Touya’s voice in the back of your mind, sharp and condescending, reprimanding you for being so easy.

“Yeah? What did you think about?” Your voice quivers a little as you ask the question, but that doesn’t stop his ruby eyes from darkening, his free hand dropping the controller to shamelessly rub at the bulge in his jeans.

“How cute your little cunt must be, how sweet it’d taste, how good those lips would feel wrapped around my cock as I fuck your throat,” his voice drops an octave as he speaks, low and dangerous as he kneads your breast hard—too hard, but adrenaline keeps the pain from registering.

He’s reaching for you now, pale hands pawing at your hips and dragging you over, forcing you to straddle his lap. A soft whimper falls from your lips as he instantly begins rolling his hips up, like he can’t bear to wait, fingers digging into your flesh as they hold you in place.

Neither can you, apparently, because you begin wiggling a little in his grasp, trying in vain to rut against him.

“You’re a little whore, huh? Even with a virgin, you can’t help but grind on a hard cock,” he smirks, lips at your ear. “A hard cock’s a hard cock I guess, makes no difference to you, greedy little slut,”

A mewl escapes your throat as you nod, hips pushing forcefully against his, grinding your little cunt against rough denim.

Wait, virgin?

“A v-virgin?”

“Yeah, lucky you,”

His words taper off into a growl, vibrating in his chest, hands leaving your waist to cup your jaw and roughly pull your face to his, lips crashing into yours. You emit a soft, startled noise into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily, tongue forcing its way through your parted lips and into your mouth, commanding your own tongue into submission almost instantaneously.

It’s nothing like kissing Touya. Your body follows your tongue, melting into him. Fingers grip your jaw, pressing crescent indents into the skin as he guides your head to exactly where he wants it to go.

It isn’t romantic. It’s harsh, and desperate, a mess of teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. A hand tangles in your hair and pulls, forcing your head back and revealing your arched neck to him. His lips trail down the column of your throat, leaving wet, sloppy kisses in their wake.

“I wanna fuck you already,” he whines a little, aggressively thrusting against your clothed core. You moan out an affirmative noise, nodding.

“One rule,” you breathe out.

“Hmm? And what’s that?” his lips are against your neck, tongue painting it in glistening saliva with slow, languid strokes.

“No marks,” you yelp out just as his teeth sink into your skin. It stings, Tomura keeping his mouth latched onto your neck for a few seconds, teeth buried in the soft flesh. His tongue laves over the mark before pulling away completely, and a shiver crawls up your spine as the bite is exposed to the cool air.

He’s giggling into your shoulder, nipping at the skin superficially. “Oops,”  

“Tomura!” you whine, making no effort to pull his lips from your neck. “Touya’s going to murder me,”

He laughs again, pulling back and rolling his eyes. “And, what? He isn’t already going to kill you for fucking someone else?”

There isn’t a moment to respond, though, not a second to try and explain how weird Touya gets about marks in particular, because then he’s crushing his lips to yours again, hard, fervent, bruising.

“Gonna cum soon if you don’t fucking do something,” he practically snarls into your mouth.

The very thought of Tomura cumming in his pants just from a few minutes of dry humping makes your entire stomach flutter, a flash of pure confidence surging in your chest as involuntary words tumble from your mouth.

“Oh?” you murmur, breath hot against his lips. “Something? Like this?” you begin gyrating your hips in tiny, quick circles, giggling at the groan you rip from his throat.

And Tomura hates how fucking innocent you sound, gazing at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips and a sinful little smile.

“Stop,” it’s supposed to be a command, an order, but it comes out as a broken whine, his hands latching onto your hips again as he forces you to move even faster, rocking into you.

“Doesn’t feel like you want me to stop,” you pout a little and he huffs out a curse.

It’s intoxicating, to be in a position of power like this. It isn’t your favourite—you’re much too shy and indecisive to be in a role like this all the time—but the novelty of it excites you nonetheless. Touya never lets you do anything like this, hates being teased with a passion, but Tomura seems to enjoy it, like it’s some sort of game to him.

“Little bitch,” he breathes out, though his forehead is resting against yours, eyes shut, soft grunts spilling from his throat.

“C’mon, Tomura,” you whimper, and now it sounds like you’re the one begging. “Make a mess in your pants for me? P-Pretty please?”

That’s all it takes to have his hips stilling, fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he grips you tightly, holding you in place and forcing you to grind against him ever-so-slightly as his cock throbs and twitches in his jeans.

You expect him to push you off immediately after, to shout and berate you for such behaviour, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back against the bottom of the couch, arms encircling your waist and bringing you with him.

It must be uncomfortable, to sit in those soiled jeans filled with cum, but he doesn’t seem to care, more interested in exploring your mouth with his tongue as you kiss lazily. You don’t mind, although your clit is aching and swollen, pussy fluttering around nothing every so often as his fingers explore your body, kneading your ass and tweaking nipples, your panties soaked all the way through and sticking to you unpleasantly.

And it’s due to this that your hips still manage to rock against his in minuscule movements that are more teasing than anything else, little micro-circles that have your drenched cunt grinding gently against wet denim.

It seems he has an impossibly short refraction period because, before long, his cock’s hard again, pressing up into your clothed hole. You whimper his name into his mouth and he breaks the kiss, lips red and puffy, shining with saliva.  

“Take my cock out,” he instructs, voice stern despite his slight breathlessness. You crawl off his lap and do as your told, popping the button, tugging the zipper down and pulling at the waistband of his jeans. He lifts his hips just enough to aid you in dragging them down to his thighs, cock springing free.

“Clean it up,”

It’s covered in cum, so much cum—too much cum, more than is normal—glistening in the low light of the living room. It twitches a little under your gaze, as if to say get on with it already, so you wrap a hand around the base and bring the head to your lips.

You start with kitten licks, tongue tracing around the head and playing with the slit, pulling a deep, throaty moan from him.

“Don’t—Don’t swallow it,” he rasps. “Clean me up and keep all my cum in your mouth,”

It’s difficult—his cum is much more bitter than Touya’s, and you gag a few times as it settles on your tongue, marinating in your mouth. You try your best to hold it in your cheeks and away from your tastebuds, working as quickly as possible as you lap it up, gazing up at him with teary eyes when you’re finished.

“What a good girl,” he spits in a patronizing tone, like it’s an insult. “Kiss me,”

It’s a demand you have no choice but to obey, a hand rooting in your hair and yanking you up to face him.

He all but smashes your lips together, fingers still wrapped tightly in your hair, holding you in place. His tongue forces its way through your lips and you greet it eagerly, desperate to get his cum out of your mouth.

Except he doesn’t let you pull away after you’ve passed the majority of his cum to him, the bitter taste still stinging your tongue. No, he uses the fist tangled in your hair to keep you still as he shoves his tongue into your mouth again, transferring the cum—now watered down a little with his saliva—into the warm cavern yet again.

You whine, and he chuckles, lips spreading into a grin against yours.

“Swallow it,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to watch your expression as you force it down your throat, face souring, eyes squeezed shut as your lips pucker just a little. “Open, lemme see,”

Your mouth falls open obediently, little droplets of water clinging to your lashes as you gaze up at him, waiting for approval.

“Good,” he practically purrs, eyes darkening as his fingers caress your face. “Now I want to fuck you,”

You’re nodding, but he doesn’t give you a moment to respond, beginning to manhandle you into the position he wants before he’s even finished speaking. The oriental rug is soft against your cheek as he presses your face to the ground, hands curling around your hips as he hoists them up.

“What cute little panties,” he breathes, dragging a finger along your clothed slit before yanking the material down to your knees.

It stings a little as he practically shoves his cock into your sopping cunt, not bothering to stretch you out—you’re not even sure if he knows he’s supposed to—but you’re wet enough that the breach is relatively easy, and the burning fades quickly as your little hole adjusts to the girth of his cock.

He begins thrusting immediately, and he’s rough, overeager, uncoordinated, the vicious snaps of his hips uneven and sloppy.

Truthfully, he’s only using you as a hole the first time, but you don’t mind—not really, anyway. Blazing sapphire sears through your mind, and you think about how furious Touya would be if he knew, if he could see the way you’re degrading yourself, letting yourself be reduced to nothing but a fucktoy for a nasty virgin to desperately hump away at, sacrificing your own pleasure for his.

Touya would never.

To Touya, making you cum is half the fun. He gets a rush from it, gets high off the way you go absolutely fucking stupid from his fingers and cock, how quickly he can turn your brain to soup, rendering you a dumb little blabbering mess only capable of whining out the words niichan and Touya-nii. It feeds his ever-growing ego.

But Tomura is eager to please in a different way. He’s more selfish than Touya, sure, but he’s keen to learn all he can, curious and committed.

And, once he finally gets the hang of it, confident, too.

His thrusts gain more finesse as he fucks you, but he’s unable to keep up any steady rhythm, the tight fluttering of your pussy every time he grazes a specific spot inside of you making his hips stutter, forcing needy, guttural groans from his throat.

He cums quick—not that you expect any less from a virgin—with a deep growl of your name that has your stomach swooping, cunt throbbing around him again as he fills you with thick, burning cum.

You’re exhausted by the end of it, abused body melting into the lush carpet as your cunt throbs desperately, his cum slowly oozing out of it. Tomura snorts as he looks down at you, gentle hands tugging your panties down the rest of your legs and removing them completely, discarding them a few feet away.

“Up you go,” he’s murmuring as hands snake under your armpits and haul you up. You mumble his name and he hushes you, collapsing heavily on the couch with you still in his arms. Strong hands manhandle you into straddling his lap again, leaking pussy pressed against his softening cock.

The television hums to life, quiet main menu music floating through the room as the soft clicking of buttons sounds behind you.

You should go home now. You know you should. You’ve done what you came here to do, and now you should be leaving.

Should, should, should.

But Tomura’s so warm, and you’re so tired, muscles aching despite the fact that he did most of the work.

“Rest,” he instructs quietly when you begin to whine into his neck, fingers preoccupied with unwrapping a piece of watermelon bubblegum.

He’s so much softer than you expected—disgusting, but soft—and you can’t believe you spent months being terrified of him. You know this is probably the last time you’ll be able to see him in a long time—a fact that produces an inexplicable ache deep in your chest—so you allow yourself bask in the moment, just for a little, you promise yourself.

You obey his gentle command, snuggling up against him and permitting yourself to drift in and out of consciousness to the sound of aliens being killed and aggressive button smashing.

But then something hard is poking you—you aren’t sure how long you’ve been sitting here for now, long enough for Tomura to power through a few matches, at least—and that blistering heat flares again, beginning to coil tight in your tummy.

You shift a little, an involuntary whine slipping from your lips.

“What is it?” Tomura asks, eyes never straying from the screen, fingers never pausing. “You wanna sit on my cock, baby?”

Christ, yes. You mumble into his shoulder, nodding and rolling your hips in response.

He chuckles—a low, quiet sound rattling around in his chest—and allows you to sink down on him again, captivated by the soft moan you emit as you do so, crimson eyes gleaming and breathing slightly laboured.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters when his avatar on the screen gets shot, redirecting his attention.

And it’s…it’s nice. Surprisingly nice. He’s cozy, and comfy, his breathing slow and even with every rise of his chest, despite the alien shrieks coming from the TV behind you. He smells like cheap cigarettes and artificial watermelon with just a hint of cedarwood, and you inhale deeply, letting the scent fill your lungs.

Touya rarely lets you cockwarm him; Touya doesn’t have the patience, Touya doesn’t have the time. You fall into a state halfway between asleep and awake, hips rocking against Tomura just enough to keep him hard, just enough to have you whimpering into his neck.

He could get used to this, he tells you. The confession is soft, a private little thought that just kinda slips out, mindlessly falling from his lips, but you could, too, you think.

It’s intimate, which is odd, considering you barely know him, used to be frightened of him. But it’s such a refreshing contrast to Touya’s intense, scalding flame.

Eventually, though, it isn’t enough, the teasing’s too much, and you need more.

Gazing up at him with glittering eyes, you begin to trail your lips up his neck, over his self-inflicted scars, slowly, hesitantly.

He inhales sharply, jumping a little in surprise, and you freeze, terrified you might’ve overstepped some invisible boundary you were not previously aware of.

“Keep going,” he whines, a little petulantly, hips wiggling against yours.

Lips resuming their ministrations, you place gentle, chaste kisses up the column of his throat and along his jaw, delighting in each soft sigh you manage to pull from him. The game playing on the TV suddenly halts, Tomura throwing the controller on the couch cushion next to you before large hands cup your face in a tender way you did not think him capable of.

Your mouths slot together, kissing messily, saliva glistening on your chins as you pass his watermelon gum back and forth between yourselves. It’s kinda gross, kinda filthy, juvenile and sloppy, but it’s fun, has the two of you giggling into each other’s mouths, a little breathless from it all.

“Wanna ride you,” you murmur, almost shyly, against his slippery lips.

“Yeah?” he rasps, just barely bouncing you in his lap. “You wanna use my cock to get off?”

“Yes, please,” the plead comes out as a pathetic whimper, and you squirm impatiently.

Finally, finally you get to cum. In this position, you have leverage over the angle of your hips, able to situate yourself just right, so his cockhead nudges exactly where you want it to.

He does nothing this time, just leans back and watches you with those dark, half-lidded scarlet eyes, hands idly exploring your thighs, occasionally raking his nails down them. He’s in a trance as he gazes at you, mesmerized by the way your eyes are starting to roll back, by the way each drag of his cock against that spot has you keening, by the way his name leaves your lips in broken little whines that have him gasping in response.

Your hips speed up, and you’re desperate, so desperate to cum, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders through his thin t-shirt.

“Gonna—” he starts, breathless. “Gonna cum?”

You nod a little frantically as eager hips rock against him, his hands finally finding your waist and helping you move.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Wanna feel you,”

And it’s his begging that does it, that finally sends you over the edge, pussy clenching around him, convulsing almost painfully and gushing on his cock with a sharp cry of his name. He follows immediately after, painting your insides with hot cum as a curse hitches in his chest.

Your body collapses against him, going pliant and boneless as you both pant. Everything feels heavy—you haven’t had an orgasm that intense in a while—and the absolute last thing you want to do is get up and walk home.

Tomura can sense it. He can feel it in the way your fingers are knotting in his t-shirt, in the way your hips try to scoot forward, chest pressed against his tightly, and he wraps an arm around you, trying to keep you close for just a minute more.

Silence blankets the room as the two of you calm your breathing. You’ve been anticipating a certain sense of awkwardness to finally wash over you all night, but it never comes. Instead, it’s pleasant, and you hum a little, nuzzling your face into Tomura’s shoulder as skinny fingers brush through your hair.

“I don’t wanna go,” you say, and it’s so quiet, muffled by the material of his shirt, that he barely hears it. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to.

“Just stay,” he mumbles, resting his chin atop your head. “Text your dad some bullshit, or whatever,”

You want to. You’re surprised at how much you desperately want to.

“Touya will kill me,”

“Touya’s gonna kill ya either way, sweetheart,”

You suppose that’s true. Neither of you tricked yourselves into thinking that you’d actually get away with this. Touya will know the moment he sees you, will probably be able to smell Tomura all over you, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care, not in that moment, not when Tomura’s so comfy and you’re so sleepy and it’s all just nice.

Good, you think. It’s about time he gets a taste of how much stuff like this hurts.

And so you find yourself crawling into his bed, in one of his t-shirts, with bruises in the shape of his fingertips rapidly blossoming, heat seeping into your cheeks when he tells you he thinks you look cute in his clothes.

He latches onto you the moment you’ve settled into his mattress, long arms encircling your waist and dragging you towards him. One of your legs slots between his, and you have to stifle a giggle.

“Hard again, Tomura?”

“Shut up,” he says, no heat to his voice. “Can’t help it,”

His words echo your own, three simple words you’ve said so many times to Touya, and you feel a pang in your chest.

“Not my fault you’re too hot,” he continues, grumbling into your neck.

Honestly, you didn’t peg him as a cuddler, and maybe he isn’t—maybe he just wants to grind and hump against your thigh—but you welcome the warmth of his body nonetheless.

It doesn’t bother you, although it probably should, as he ruts against you, tiny broken moans and high, breathy whines being exhaled against your neck. But it’s so new, all of this is so new to you, and curiosity clouds your better judgement. While you’re pretty sure you should be shoving him away, reprimanding him for such behaviour, positive that’s what any normal person would do, you don’t. Little fingers thread in his hair instead, carding through silvery-blue fluffy tufts, reveling in the groan it pulls from him.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum, thick and sticky in his boxers, the material wet against your thigh. You’re impressed, both by how easily he cums, and how much he cums. You want to tell him, want to tease him about it a little, let him know you think it’s cute, but heavy, hazy fatigue begins to wash over you, and you fall asleep to Tomura’s soft breaths mingled with the sound of you phone buzzing, over and over and over again.

       ✰          ✰          ✰  

Your phone’s dead when you wake sometime in the early afternoon, and for that, you’re thankful. Anxiety floods your stomach, bubbling up in your chest acidly as you think about what’ll be waiting for you when you recharge it.

Tomura walks you to the door, which you find to be very odd behaviour, but sweet nonetheless, and watches carefully as you slip on your shoes.

“Uh, text me later, okay?” He sounds unsure for the first time since you’ve been with him, and your expression softens.

“I will, if Touya doesn’t take my phone away,”

And you pretend to miss the look on his face, the way his eyebrows knit as a hand comes to scratch idly at his neck, the way he looks almost worried. It’s fine. You’ll be fine.

       ✰          ✰          ✰  

He knows. The moment you step foot through the front door, he knows.

You knew he would, but it doesn’t make the glare scathing your skin any less terrifying.

He’s on you in an instant—you didn’t even know humans could move that fast—pinning you to the drywall, large hands wrapped around your wrists and forcing them above your head, keeping you trapped.

“You little slut,”

Unexpected anger flares in your chest, even though tears are already beginning to collect in your eyes, and you squirm in his grasp.

“I fuck one other person, and I’m the slut?”

You gasp the moment the words leave your lips, wide eyes searching his face and shaking your head frantically, would slap your hands over your mouth if they weren’t currently secured in his bruising grip against the wall.

The look he gives you is absolutely petrifying, blue eyes darker than the ocean—so dark they almost look black—his stare cold and hard as stone, sending sharp spikes of ice up your spine.

“You fucking reek of him,” he spits, face screwing up in disgust. You’re sure you do, too, after spending a good twelve hours in his bed, almost positive you can smell him in your hair, the remnants of cheap cigarettes and artificial watermelon clinging to you.

Patronizing eyes rake over you, zeroing in on the violet that’s bloomed on your neck. His nostrils flare as he stares at it, breath beginning to come in rapid, uneven huffs. His eyes slowly drift back to yours, an unreadable expression settling on his face.

It’s shock, and disbelief, and rage, and…and sadness? It passes too quickly for you to even tell, and then he’s pulling your wrists down callously, still gathered in his hand, and dragging you towards his room.

He all but throws you on his bed face first, breathing harsh and erratic as he exhales forcefully through his nose and climbs on top of you, knees on either side of your thighs. A large hand wraps itself in your hair and tugs, forcing your upper body to arch.

“Was it good?” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. You think you might be able to detect a hint of distress sown into his voice, but you have no time to meditate on the thought as he yanks again, pulling your head back further. “Was it worth it?”

Glistening tears stream down your cheeks and you exhale harshly through your nose, teeth gritted as you urgently try to stop crying.

“Fucking answer me,” he growls out the words, but he sounds almost…desperate? You’ve never heard his voice like this before, and it’s then that it finally dawns on you.

You got him back. Sure, he’s furious beyond belief, looks like he could kill you right here, right now, with his bare fucking hands—but he’s also extremely upset, if the slight quiver present in his voice is any indication.

“Yes,” you wheeze out. If it made him feel even an ounce of the emotional turmoil he’s put you through with his whores, then yes, it was absolutely worth it.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” his voice is low, threatening, calm. It’s disturbing, how quickly he can switch, and a chill of unease settles deep in your bones—once Touya stops with his growls and snarls, once his voice becomes monotonous and almost serene in a way, that’s when you know he’s really angry.

Shoving your head down into the mattress, he tells you to stay fucking put as he gets up and wanders over to his desk. He returns to the bed moments later with a tool that vaguely resembles a pen, hand tangling in your hair again as he pulls you up.

“You know what this is?”

You shake your head as best you can.

“It’s a soldering iron,” his voice is still composed and collected, sounding almost as if he’s explaining something to a child, but there’s a malevolent glint in his eye, a look you’ve never seen before. “It gets really, really hot. I just so happened to be warming one on my desk,”

He says it so nonchalantly, as if this is an object one would regularly keep in their bedroom or on their desk.

“It’s not supposed to be used on skin,” he shrugs a little, twirling the tool between his fingers. “But today, I think we’ll make an exception,”

“What?”

“Head down, ass up,” he instructs sternly, pushing your head into his pillows.

“Touya, wait—” you start, the rest of your sentence muffled by the sheets. His hand gives one firm shove—a warning to stay down—and then he begins shuffling around on the bed.

Careful to keep your cheek pressed hard against the pillow, you turn your head just enough to speak.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Your voice is trembling, thick with tears, dense anxiety building in your chest.

“I’m going to burn my name into your pretty little ass,” he responds simply as he positions himself behind you, yanking your panties midway down your thighs and sitting back on his heels. “A nice, pretty, permanent mark so you, and everyone else, never forget who you fucking belong to,”

“No!” you gasp, beginning to lift your head only to have him force it back into the pillow with a snarl. “No, Tou—niichan, I-I’ll do anything, please—”

“No, no, no, baby,” he says over your senseless babbling, voice almost gentle, thumb caressing your silky skin. “Don’t squirm, now,” he chides. “If you squirm, my hand might slip, and I might burn other parts of your body. We don’t want that, do we? Be a good girl for niichan and sit still,”

And so you do. You should feel ashamed, pathetic, revolted that he’s able to manipulate you so easily, that he knows exactly how to turn you into putty to be molded and shaped as he pleases, even when he’s about to sear his name into your skin.

It burns unlike anything you’ve ever felt before as he carefully carves his name into the supple flesh, saying the letters out loud as he does so. It’s a unique, stinging-stabbing type of pure agony, one that sends sharp pain radiating up to your lower back and down your thigh.  

Fingers curl in his dark sheets as you sob into his bed—chest-wracking sobs that have your entire body trembling, chest-wracking sobs that you so desperately try to hold back and swallow, to stay still, to be good for your niichan. Touya tells you to be happy, be grateful, that the temperature of his iron goes up so high.

“Otherwise, I would’ve had to go over it several times in order to make it really stick,”

It’s over quickly, though, a mere fifteen minutes later and he’s cleaning it with rubbing alcohol and gently taping thick gauze over it and uses this opportunity to take your panties off entirely.

“Good girl,” he praises as he hoists you up, manhandling you to straddle his spread thighs, careful of your now very sensitive bottom. “You did so good for niichan,”

And you can’t stand the way your heart weakly flutters at his praise. You can’t stand the way you instinctually bury your head in his chest, tiny fists forming in the material of his t-shirt as you wail, can’t stand the way he is still the only one you want comforting you.

His cock is hard through his jeans, and you can feel it pressing into your core as he shifts a little under you. It’s humiliating, but you’re powerless to stop your hips from moving in subtle little circles, grinding your cunt against the rough denim. And he lets you do it for a little, too, tender fingers petting your hair as he soothes your sobs, taming them to little sniffles and hiccups.

“Niichan’s gonna fuck you now, okay?” he asks softly, murmuring against your scalp, voice almost sickly sweet.

It takes you a moment to respond, eventually nodding your head.

A smirk spreads across his lips and he instructs you to get up, tapping the side of your thigh.

You lift yourself, walking back on your knees and giving him enough room to free his aching cock from the confines of his jeans before his hands find your hips again, dragging you back.

“Baby,” he breathes as his fingers spread your folds, his eyes darkening in a manner much different than before. “Already wet for me?”

Cheeks burning with shame, you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, whimpering a little as he pushes a finger into you.

“Don’t tell me,” he gasps tauntingly, voice dripping with artificial surprise. “You didn’t like being branded, did you?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head quickly. No, it wasn’t the branding that did it—not really, anyway. It was the aftercare. It was Touya’s cold hands gently tending to your injured bottom, Touya pulling you into his lap as he praised you and dropped kisses to the crown of your head, Touya getting hard from the punishment, from permanently searing his name into your flesh.

You should be disgusted with yourself, with how eager you are, hips wiggling a little only a few moments later as you whine out softly, “Niichan, cock,”

“Impatient,” he huffs. “Don’t get bratty with me now, you were doing so well,”

A pout forms on your face, still hidden in his shoulder.

“Jus’ want it so bad,” you mumble against him, beginning to slur your words. “Please, Touya-nii?”

He hums to himself, makes you beg just a little bit more, reveling in the way your voice begins to get desperate, all high and needy as you try to fuck yourself on his fingers, whimpering and begging with pathetic little please, niichan?’s.

“Is this how you want it? Huh? Wanna ride niichan?”

Mewling a little, you nod, rolling your hips into his palm.

“Words, sweetheart,”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “W-Wanna ride you,”

Finally, he gives it to you, lets you sink down on his cock, watching the way you wince as it stretches you, expression contradicted by your soft moans.

He forces you to begin bouncing immediately, doesn’t allow you to set the pace—he never does—smirking at those little pained cries spilling from your throat, though whether they’re because his cock or the five letters freshly burned into your skin, he isn’t sure. Maybe both; probably both.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, tone condescending. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, the threat of tears stinging your eyes.

“Yeah? Yeah?” his voice mimics yours, pitched high and whiny. “I bet it fucking does,”

A hand travels down to grope your ass—specifically, the cheek with the brand—squeezing hard as fingers dig into your skin. You cry out, tears finally leaking from your eyes, chest hitching as you sob out, “Touya-nii,”

“Don’t ever do something like that again,” he says in your ear, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you ever go fuck another man because you’re mad at me, do you understand?”

Heat begins to coil tightly in your stomach at his smooth, dark voice. “Y-Yes,”

“Promise me,” he growls, grip tightening on your ass.

“I promise,” you’re weeping as he gives one more harsh squeeze, pain scorching through your backside, a loud yelp escaping your lips.

“Bet his cock didn’t feel as good as mine,” he sneers in your ear, panting a little. “Wasn’t as big as mine, didn’t fill you up the way mine does,”

“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in time with his thrusts, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Probably could—” a low groan cuts him off as your pussy flutters around him. “Could never make you cum the way I do,”

A loud whine rips from your throat, your head nodding as he continues his relentless thrusts up into you, never once faltering. Adrenaline and endorphins rush through your veins, high off the heady mixture of pleasure and pain.

“N-Niichan,” you gasp, nails digging into his flesh through the material of his thin t-shirt. “Niichan,”

“Gonna cum? Hmm? Gonna make a mess all over niichan’s cock?” he’s asking breathlessly, slamming into you at a rapid pace and using his thighs for more leverage, hands gripping your hips.

“Uh-huh,”

“Do it, then,” he commands hoarsely. “Cum on your niichan’s cock,”

And you do, helplessly, incapable of disobeying a direct order, creaming so hard your vision blanks for a second, overwhelmed by the extreme, potent mix of pain and pleasure crashing over you.

“Who do you belong to?” Touya’s nearly keening now, hips jackhammering, making your body twitch and shudder with every sharp thrust into your sensitive pussy.

“You,”

“Tell me again,”

“I belong to you, niichan,”

And those five simple words—those five simple words have him cumming hard, hips stilling and cockhead pressed firmly against your cervix, filling your cute little cunt with his seed as broken curses fall from his lips.

You’re both panting, covered in a thin, sheen layer of sweat, your hair sticking to your face and little droplets of tears still glistening on your lash line. He all but collapses back against the bed, taking you with him, cock still buried inside of you.

“And I’m yours,” he whispers into your hair, hugging you tightly—too tightly—to his heaving chest. “I’m yours,”

Laying in his arms, in his bed, with his name burned into your ass, you wonder if you’re destined to play this game for the rest of your lives.

He’s yours.

Are you stuck with him now, forever?

He’s yours.

Will you every get married? Ever get the chance to date someone else?

He’s yours.

Do you even want to?

Laying in his arms, in his bed, with his name burned into your ass, knowing he’s yours, do you even want any of that?

No. With your head resting against his chest, rising and falling with his gentle breaths, slender fingers combing through your sweaty hair, you realize that this is all you want.

He’s yours, and you’re his, and that is enough.

[for-fucks-sake-h]

At My Weakest - one

rated: m, mature | word count: 3.2k | story page  

...tangled up in heartbeats and bite marks and body heat. 

   - butterflies rising 

When Gianna was young, she used to have elaborate daydreams of what her life would look like in the future.  Where would she live? What would she be doing? She thought about it in the way that a lot of kids wish away their youth, wanting to be independent and take care of herself, not have her parents constantly on her case telling her what to do. She worked hard through school, was a straight A student, followed the rules, graduated at the top of her class, had a good job, had her shit together.  

Seemingly, her life looked pretty good from the outside.  But that was the thing about looking from the outside in. You never truly know what goes on behind closed doors.  

She slammed the door so hard the walls shuddered, the trim cracking the tiniest bit around the framing. Fuck, she wished she could slam it harder. Take out all her aggressions and just slam it, over and over and over again.  

She didn’t though. She took off towards her car instead, the sound of her name being called a distant echo as her heart hammered in her chest. Her blood was boiling, her hand shaking as she reached for the chrome door handle so that she could lock herself inside. Her breathing was erratic, her chest rising and falling harshly as she pressed her head back against the leather headrest.  Her throat burned with emotion as her pulse beat wildly, the threat of tears ready and waiting at her lash line.  Deep breaths; one, two, three.  Not without slamming her palm down on the top steering wheel in frustration; one, two, three.  

She released one more deep exhale, her body practically sinking into the seat with it.  She couldn’t help but glance at herself in the rearview mirror, her eyes noticeably dark and soulless.  

How did she get here?  

That was the question running through her mind as she reversed out of the parking spot, as she drove down the highway, as she circled around her town in an attempt to clear her head. She wasn’t even sure how she ended up at Gemma’s, but all of a sudden she was parked outside her building.  

It only took one buzz and a soft “it’s me” into the intercom for the latch to open.   

“Hiya babe, you okay?”  The concern was written all over her friend's face, a telltale sign that Gianna looked even worse for wear than she thought.  

“Is it okay if I stay here for a bit?”  

It wasn’t even a question, Gianna knew that. She’d known Gemma nearly her whole life. They grew up across the street from each other, Gemma’s family moving for her mum’s job. One bike accident and two scraped knees when they were six made them inseparable. Their families became so close that they even started vacationing together. They all got older, but it never changed.    

Gemma nodded, not pressing the issue. “Come on, I’ll make you coffee.”  

That was all Gianna needed, just the comfort from someone who truly knew her. She thought Steve knew her. Shit, she thought she knew him too. They had plans - nothing concrete, but talked about enough that Gianna felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her. She could feel the ache of it in her chest with every breath, and it was excruciating.  

“What am I gonna do?” Gianna asked after a while, two coffees and a half a box of pound cake later.  

“I don’t think you need to figure that out just yet, babe.”  Gemma’s tone was soft, gentle - comfort was something that came naturally to her.  

“All my stuff is there. I don’t even want to look at him,” Gianna shook her head with a frown, eyes cast down to her half empty mug.  

“I’ll have Harry call him,” Gemma devised. “We’ll figure out a time for you to go over when he isn’t there for you to collect your shit.”    

A frustrated growl came from the back of Gianna’s throat as she looked up to the ceiling. “What about tomorrow? How am I supposed to tell my parents?”

Gianna desperately didn’t want to go through this.  They were not engaged, but they might have well been.  Five years was a long time to be with someone just to have things not work out. Their lives were so intertwined, her parents loved him, Gianna knew her mum was counting down until she could start wedding planning. Fuck, Gianna was ready to start wedding planning. She was ready for the next step in her life, a family of her own. She wanted it with Steve. And poof, all that was gone in the blink of an eye.  

“G,” Gemma sighed, a sympathetic look on her face. “Tell them when you’re ready. You don’t owe anything to anyone except yourself.”  

Gianna didn’t say anything else. What more could she say? She didn’t even want to acknowledge that this was her new reality. Years of being in a perfectly content bubble popped so quickly it made her head spin.  So she nodded as she toyed with the handle of her mug.  

“Come on,” Gemma nodded towards the hallway. “You wanna change into some sweats?”  

It didn’t even register that she was still dressed in her work attire, which was a feat in and of itself since she usually changed as soon as she got home. Her “home” closing in on her seemed to be enough of a distraction to the now overly prominent tightness of her skirt cinching into her waist.

So Gianna followed Gemma into her room at the end of the hall, and exhaled a sigh of relief as she unzipped the mid length silk skirt that made her feel pretty and complimented her skin tone. The sheer, black dress shirt that she had tucked into it fell away from her skin once the skirt loosened, and she was quick to tug on the joggers and exceptionally soft lavender sweater that Gemma left on her bed for her.  It smelled like vanilla and detergent, and somehow that gave Gianna just enough comfort to not stay in Gemma’s bed for the foreseeable future.  

It wasn’t until later that evening, with a pitch black sky above her and the cool September air biting at her cheeks as she sat on the rooftop that it really started to feel like everything around her was crumbling. She didn’t let herself cry until then - until she knew she was alone and could let it out without an audience.  She hated crying in front of people, and as much as she loved Gemma, she just didn’t have the energy to let herself go there. But now? Now, it was coming full force whether she wanted it or not.    

The sound of the metal storm door opening startled Gianna enough to make her jump, her sweater paw immediately going to her face to cover the tear that had just fallen.  

She peaked over her shoulder after a moment only to find Harry pouting in the doorway, seemingly deciding if he should trudge forward or not. Gianna turned away from him, back toward the city lights as she pulled the bottom of her sweater down over her knees. She wrapped her hands in the sleeves even more as the wind blew a strip of hair across her face, and let her head fall to peer down at her knees when she heard the door slam closed.

The silence was deafening as he appeared at her side, moving to sit next to her on the picnic table situated at the corner of the roof.  His ripped jean clad knee knocked against hers once he was seated on the table top, the side of his boot pressing against her socked foot where it rested on the bench seat, his palm finding its way to her shoulder blade.

Gianna leaned into him as her chin wobbled. Soothing circles were rubbed into her back, but the gesture only expedited the tear from slipping down her cheek. 

“Gems told me. ‘M sorry, love.” His voice was gentle despite the deep timbre of it vibrating near her ear as he pressed his jaw against the top of her head.  

It felt like too much time had passed before Gianna spoke up, her voice low and broken. “How do you just… fall out of love with someone?”  

Harry shook his head against her temple, his arm wrapping around her to pull her closer into his side - an attempt to shield her from the onslaught of disappointment coursing through her veins.    

“I don’t know, G.”  

She sighed heavily. “I was supposed to marry him, and he just... broke up with me. Like it was nothing.”  

“Did he say anything?”  

Gianna pulled away from Harry’s side, wiping the sleeves of her sweater under her eyes in an attempt to collect herself.  “Said he ‘couldn’t do this anymore’, whatever the fuck that means.”  

Harry released a deep breath as he shook his head in disgust. For as long as Gianna and Gemma had been friends, Gianna and Harry were friends too. They weren’t super close, not the way the girls were, but they were friends nonetheless, and he hated seeing her hurt like that.

“Makes me think he didn’t love me at all,” Gianna continued. “How did I not see that?”

“If that’s true, he fooled all of us, love.”

Gianna didn’t say anything for a bit, just looked up to the dark sky as tears burned at her lower lash line. Harry stayed quiet as he watched her with a deep crease etched between his brows.

“I feel so fucking worthless,” she whispered eventually, her voice so solemn it ripped right through him.

“Hey,” he practically called, but she didn’t look at him. “You are not worthless.” Gianna shook her head, disagreeing. “Gianna. Stop it.” Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “His fucking loss. If he doesn’t know a good thing when he has it, fuck him.”  

“It’s not that simple.” Gianna leaned into his side once more, finding comfort in the way his fingers gripped her shoulder.

He hummed as he squeezed her shoulder once more. “It is. You’re too good for him anyway.”  

Gianna snorted a soft laugh as she shook her head with a gentle jab of her elbow into his side. “Easy for you to say.”    

“‘M serious. Way out of his league. In every sense.”    

Harry gave the compliment with as much ease as he would with a stranger at a bar in the hopes of taking them home at the end of the night. He was charming that way, a smug sort of confidence wafting around him without any actual effort on his part.

Gianna wasn’t sure why, or how, but the compliment gave her just enough of a boost of confidence to make her feel a bit better.  

Maybe Harry was right. Hell, maybe he was right about everything he’s been saying over the years. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a serious relationship. He avoided the mess. He avoided the drama. For as long as Gianna had busted his chops for it, maybe he knew something she didn’t all along.  

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” Harry commented when Gianna went quiet in her thoughts.  

“No, I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.”

“Course I am,” he nodded surely. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”  

She gave him a pointed look, which simply received a chuckle in response and nothing else.  They both went quiet as they looked out over the city.  Despite it being the middle of the night, it still seemed alive with the buildings roof top lights spreading out in the distance.  

If there was one thing Gianna knew after the day she had, it was that she hated feeling the way she did. It had been a while since she felt so down on herself, let alone being let down by someone who she thought she could count on… forever.  It put a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she hated it.    

Harry spoke up after a while, the tone of his voice just enough of a tease to make Gianna’s skin prickle. “You know what they say, G.”  

“What’s that?” she turned to him, watching as he kept his eyes focused on the city ahead of him.  

“The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”  

She held her breath without even realizing she was doing it, before slowly exhaling as she watched Harry turn ever so slowly to catch her eyes. She literally couldn’t help it, her reaction was immediate, the most subtle tingle crawling across her skin.

They teased and joked with each other plenty over the years. But somehow, in some way, Harry’s words felt different.  The way he was looking at her felt different. Like he was dying to see her reaction but refusing to give in. His eyes were dark on the dimly lit roof, but completely focused on her.  

Harry didn’t dare move, just stared back into her curious brown eyes, his mouth forming around the words faster than his brain could catch us. “Sounds to me like you just need a distraction.”  

“Are you offering?” Gianna’s response was so quick it made a shudder fall down Harry’s back.  And although Harry’s face was completely at ease, his eyes were fixated on the curve of her Cupid’s bow.  

Harry’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Do you want me to be?”

That was enough to have Gianna’s body lean in on its own accord, her mouth catching his in a slow lingering kiss.

He tasted like the faintest bit of tequila and whatever his choice of spearmint gum was that evening, and it was intoxicating. His lips were soft but reacted immediately, suctioning to her bottom lip in an attempt to keep her there.

Just as quickly as it happened, Gianna was pulling away, the sound of their lips parting reverberating off of thin air.

She closed her eyes and turned back towards the city. “I’m sorry I don’t know what—”

But just as quickly, Harry’s hand reached for her jaw to pull her back to him, immediately interrupting her apology in favor of slanting their lips together once more.

This time, his fingers gently cupped her jaw as his mouth reeled her in further. It was like a knee jerk reaction, or when you haven’t had your favorite chocolate for a while and then can’t get enough of it.

He couldn’t get enough of her.

Gianna’s hand gripped his wrist, her mouth melting into his, head fuzzy and buzzing. And when Harry’s tongue teased, she found her own mouth opening more to let him in.

God, she welcomed him in, her tongue smoothing over his in a way that pulled the most toe curling chill up her spine. The kind that makes your skin erupt in goosebumps and your belly twist with something; need, desire, lust. Whatever it was, it had Gianna’s cheeks warming and her back arching closer to Harry.

And Harry, he was so far gone he felt like his head might explode. She was so warm, and she curved into him perfectly when he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer, fingers still clenched softly at her neck to keep her still. The softness of her breasts against his chest was enough to light a fire in his stomach, desperate to be as close to her as physically possible. The flesh of her hip was pliant under his palm, fingers digging into her skin, subconsciously not wanting her to slip away. But maybe not so subconsciously after all.

His lips smoothed down her chin and across her jaw, nipping softly as a breathy moan slipped past Gianna’s lips. The sound had Harry sucking eagerly into the warm skin of her neck, kiss after sucking kiss being planted upon her soft skin. He could feel her pulse thrumming against his mouth, his own heart beat matching methodically.

“God, what are we doing?” Gianna whispered up into the open sky as her hands squeezed his shoulders.

Harry pulled away from her neck just then to check her face. “Do you wanna stop?”

“No,” she breathed, her mouth finding his waiting lips with a hum.

He kissed her hard, his mouth so insistent on sucking and pulling on her lips that Gianna felt like he was taking her breath with him. His mouth was soft exactly the way it should be, but strong all in the same. Demanding, urgent, salacious. Kissing him was almost too enjoyable.

Gianna’s hand smoothed down the strong expanse of Harry’s shoulder, nails scratching against the hard muscle beneath the soft skin of his bicep. The goosebumps there could have been attributed to the cool evening air, but Gianna knew better.

Especially when her fingers trailed the rest of the way down his side and across the top of his thigh, her palm resting on the center seam of his jeans.

Her eyes were closed despite her head tilting down, pulling her lips from his as their foreheads met softly.

“You’re hard.”  Her words were just above a whisper. It was obvious, but she couldn’t help commenting on it. She could feel the firmness of his cock beneath his jeans, hot and full against her palm.

“You made me hard,” he leaned in to kiss her cheek gently. “You’re so fucking sexy. And beautiful. Y’smell like heaven. Fuck.” His words traveled down her neck, his mouth finding the edge of her sweater to suck a new kiss on a new piece of skin. He wanted to uncover every piece of skin to leave traces of his mouth on.

“It’s my perfume.” Gianna’s rebuttal was soft as she tilted her head back to grant him more space; more skin for him to suck tiny kisses into.

She palmed him over his jeans, the twitch of his hard length making her swallow thickly with desire.

“Think it’s just you,” Harry commented wistfully.

Gianna’s fingers toyed with the button of his jeans, his zipper lowering ever so slowly as Harry’s tongue smoothed over her skin before sucking gently.

“Is this okay?” she asked softly as her hand smoothed into his snug jeans, feeling the hardness of his length over his briefs.

His head tilted back with a soft moan while his fingers squeezed her waist tighter, as if her gentle touch was too much for him.

“You tell me,” he breathed as his cock twitched against her palm, his body begging for more from her. “Are you okay?”

That was the age old question, wasn’t it? Was she okay?

Gianna wasn’t sure. She knew she would be, eventually at least. But in that moment, all she knew was that Harry made her... feel. For as long as she’d been numb, he was making her feel alive in that moment. And he made her forget, and that was what she wanted.

“We don’t have to—” Harry began, but was quickly cut off by Gianna pushing forward to press her lips to his jaw, her tongue smooth out over the sharp indent before her lips sucked softly.

His moan was addictive. The firmness of his length was impressive to say the least. His hands felt like molten lava where he gripped her waist. And Gianna’s skin burned with intrigue.

“Let’s go to your room.”

A/N: Ha! Can you believe we’re doing this again??? After I said no more series for a while?? Well, here we are... I really hope you liked it! Lots of people to thank for helping me get my ass in gear - so huge thank you to @oh-honey-styles @andwhenshesays @real-work-of-art​ @harrytheehottie​ @all-things-fic​ @haute-romance-quotidienne​ for all the hand holding and support and hyping and encouragement and just being overall wonderful humans... you guys have my heart, seriously. And if you’ve read this far - thank you! I would love to hear your thoughts! Lots more to come xx 

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[alpacaparkaseok]

The Pact - Date #7

Pairing/Genre: OT7 BTS x reader (not poly), idol!BTS, best friend BTS

Word Count: 7.2k

Premise: The truth about the pact the boys have about you has been revealed. What happens when you agree to go on a single date with each of them?

Warnings: a bit of talking down on yourself, the confusion continues, general fluff with a touch of angst 

a/n: this is the final date. guys...how is this going by so fast?? please let me know your thoughts on the date, on everything else overall...and I’ll see you soon? Next Saturday is the finale!

Date #7

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Note from the creator of this stupid idea:

I loved her first.

 “Who do you think it was? Any ideas?”

           “I…” you shrug. “No?”

           Gina arches a brow, staring you down from across your kitchen table. “So, that was a lie.”

           You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up from your chest, Gina also chuckling. It’s a relief, the fact that she doesn’t hesitate to call you out. You’re grateful that you finagled her number from Jin, shooting him a text that looked a lot like this:

Me: Burn this after reading

Me: We can’t have any evidence !!

Kim Seokjinnie: ok, hi. I’m not burning my phone weirdo. I’ll just keep it away from Jungkook. What’s up??

Me: Hi. You know what I meant.

Me: Can you give me Gina’s number?

Kim Seokjinnie: Sure, I’ll send you the contact in a second. You two gonna hang out or something?

Me: Hopefully…do you think it’s weird if I just ask her out of the blue? Will she not wanna come?

Kim Seokjinnie: Nah, she’s pretty chill. I bet she’ll come

Kim Seokjinnie: *Kim Seokjinnie shared a contact with you*

Kim Seokjinnie: do you need anything before I burn my phone?

Me: no, thank you!! I owe you one. I’m short on friends rn, hopefully she’ll come over

Kim Seokjinnie: I’m sorry  miss you. We’ll all get to hang out once this is all over, I promise.

“Yah! I really don’t know. I mean they’ve all be so…”

“So what?”

You sigh, sounding like some kid in a dreamy teen movie. “Perfect?”

“There’s no such thing,” Gina huffs, leaning back in her chair. It’s a bit rickety, you’d found it at a yard sale with Namjoon and Jimin. You had just moved into your apartment, and realized that you were a little low on furniture. Together, you’d managed to find three mismatching chairs that made you grin each time you saw them.

It was a little odd at the time, you didn’t want to buy three chairs. Two seemed like plenty. They convinced you though, and looking back you understand why they were so adamant.

Wasn’t it rule #3? “Limit one-on-one interaction”? Three chairs made it so that there was always space for at least two of them.

Suddenly you look at the most average things in your house with different eyes.

Groaning, you rub your hands over your face. You’ve probably smudged your makeup, but you don’t care. It’s Friday night, you can do whatever you want.

“Unfortunately, I really think that there might be.” You let out a dry chuckle. “Seven dates with the world’s most perfect men. I knew I was screwed from the beginning, but this, I mean, I didn’t expect it to go this far.”

“On the bright side, you only have one more to go.” Gina gets up, stretching before moving to put her plate in the sink. She’d picked up some takeout on her way to your house, proving to you that you two are going to be friends for a long, long time.

“I’m terrified because of that. What happens after tomorrow’s date? I know it’s up to me, but I feel like I’m waiting for someone to come tell me the next step.”

Gina hums in agreement, shooting you an apologetic look. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pointed out how flirty they were at the haunted house. You never would have gotten into this mess.”

“No,” you wave her off. “It’s not your fault. Jungkook let it slip anyway, after the door closed on us in the basement. Ugh, I still get freaked out thinking about that. Has that happened since?”

Gina pauses over the sink, back turned to you as she runs her plate under the hot water. After a moment she shuts it off, turning around to wipe her hands off on a dish towel before leaning up against the counter.

“Erm…”

Your stomach drops. “What.”

“It’s just…” she crosses her arms and uncrosses them, unsure of what to do with her hands. “The door is connected to a little button on every employee’s key fob. You know, just for some extra scare factor.”

You meet her sheepish gaze with a blank stare. “So you’re telling me…”

“It’s just a part of the tour,” Gina shrugs. “Wait, what happened? He told you about the pact when the door closed? That’s…that’s honestly not the most romantic setting-”

“No no, we had a little moment after the door closed, and we almost kissed. But he stopped himself and said the I didn’t have to worry about him making a move. When we got out, I asked him why, and that’s when he mentioned the pact.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“So tomorrow is the last date, correct?”

           “Yup.”

           “Look,” Gina notices your worried expression. “Do yourself a favor. Let go. Don’t waste tomorrow thinking about what’s gonna happen next. Focus on the moment, ok? Then how about we get together next week sometime to talk everything over? If you feel like that might help, that is.”

           You definitely made the right choice in inviting Gina over. You can already feel your stress levels going down.

           “Ok.”

           You’re up early the next morning, earlier than you’d like. You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on your sofa, basking in the golden morning sun and watching the little dust motes float in the air, but it’s certainly been a while.

           For once, it’s quiet in your mind. You’re not sure why now, why today. There’s no doubt you’ll be your typical bumbling mess once Yoongi picks you up, but for now all is peaceful.

           It’s the last date. Somehow, despite how much you’ve enjoyed these little escapades, you feel relief at the thought. Knowing that you’ve made it nearly to the end without doing anything remarkably stupid (you’re still mortified that you and Jimin got kicked out of that basilica but oh well), and now you’re so close.  

           For now, you slide your worries under the rug, to be left there for the weekend. You curl your legs under you and lean your head back against the cushions to drink in the sunlight. It warms your skin, leaving you feeling even better than before.

           Yoongi is supposed to be here around four. Jungkook had sent you a quick text earlier in the week checking that you didn’t have any plans for Saturday afternoon and night. You didn’t bother to tell him that you always had all day open for them.

           While the exchange had been short, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was blushing just as much as you when his contact popped up on your screen. In an instant you were plunged into the memory of clinging to him just outside your front door, Jungkook’s shaky breaths the only thing keeping you planted in reality.

           Either way, it was safe to say that you were a blushing mess despite the simplicity of the text. He kept it strictly professional, not once alluding to the events of last Saturday. But you could still hear those words he uttered when he asked if you ever thought about what might have happened if he’d kissed you in the haunted house when he had the chance.

           “I do. Every day.”

           Of course you thought about it. You let out an amused huff on the couch, laughing to yourself. Who wouldn’t? But the only thing was the fact that you were thinking about a lot of things. Not just Jungkook.

           Or his lips, for that matter.

           The couch rustles as you get up, deciding to change out of your red sweatshirt for a green one. You’d been instructed to dress warm, which made you wonder what was planned for today. Outside everything looks warm and pleasant, certainly no need for anything too heavy.

           By the time afternoon rolls around, you’re tempted to call up Gina for a late lunch or something. To say you’re antsy is an understatement; you’re positively losing it. The clock on the wall has decided to try its hand at stopping time altogether, and you think it’s doing a pretty good job of it. Every time you glace over, seemingly no time has passed.

           This time, you really start to wonder if no time has passed. You swear it’s been stuck at 3 o’clock for a while-

           The sound of someone knocking on your door has you nearly tipping over from where you perch trying to grab the clock.

           For some stupid reason, you’re frozen to your spot at the far end of your living room. Holding the clock in your hands, you jump a little as a second tentative knock sounds.

           To your utter mortification, your mouth opens and you yell out, “Come in!”

           You’re still frozen in place when the door opens and Yoongi pokes his head in. His eyes immediately land on you, a sheepish smile that he has a hard time containing immediately breaking out.

           “You’re not planning on throwing that at me, right?” He asks, making you glare down at the clock you cling to.

           “Oh.” Your knuckles have turned white, and somehow your heart has decided to try its hand at sprinting a marathon. “No. I- it’s broken. I think.”

           Yoongi shuffles inside, closing the door gently behind him before wandering over to you. His pale complexion makes the pink on his cheeks easy to spot. Somehow the fact that he’s blushing makes you blush.

           “Do you have batteries around here?” He asks quietly, hiding his amusement.

           “Maybe in the kitchen?” You brush past him, handing off the clock. “Would you mind getting the old batteries out?”

           He mumbles out a sure, plopping down on your sofa while he gets to work on the clock. He’s wearing a similar outfit to you, which makes you smile. It’s not very often these days that he sports a bandana and you wonder if he somehow knew that you love the way he looks in it. His hair looks particularly fluffy as it kisses his forehead, the dark bandana giving him an air of coolness you know you could never pull off.

           Rummaging around your kitchen drawers, you pause when you realize what you’re doing. Are you stalling? What’s the rush to fix a clock when you have Min Yoongi in the other room waiting to take you out?

           Closing the drawer, you take a deep breath and shake your head.

           “Sorry Yoongi,” you call out, trudging back into the living room. “I’m an idiot.”

           He looks at you over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s your reasoning?”

           “Ouch.”

           Yoongi chuckles, setting the clock down on the coffee table before getting to his feet. “Wow, is it just me or…”

           You wince. “This got off to a bad start, huh.”

           “Yeah.”

           Looking at each other from across the room, you realize just how much you’ve missed him. His witty sarcastic remarks, his honesty.

           Him.

           “Can we start over? Go knock on the door again.”

           Yoongi’s already on his way, huffing out a laugh as he steps outside. “Alright, see you in a second.” The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re suddenly left with the silence of your house.

           As Yoongi timidly knocks on the door, the same sense of calm you experienced this morning settles over you.

           The seventh date. No more guessing who’s on the other side of the door, no more anxious glances in the mirror to check that everything looks flawless. It’s just you, Yoongi, and the door between you.

           There’s already a smile on your face as you open that door, finding Yoongi standing with his hands in his pocket. He returns your grin, feeling like a fellow conspirator in a heist that has yet to be planned.

           “I’m here,” he announces, then adds with a chuckle, “finally.”

           “Took you long enough,” you tease, reaching out to grab his jacket and pull him inside. He feigns a horrified expression at your flirty nature, but you just roll your eyes. You’re not sure who wraps their arms around the other first, but the next thing you know, you’re wrapped up in a tight embrace.

           I missed you, is what you want to say, but the words get caught in your throat. The lump that’s formed there only grows thicker with emotion as Yoongi’s gravelly voice rumbles against your hair.

           “How’re you holding up?”

           Your arms fall around his waist, ever aware of his shoulder. Even though he says he’s completely healed now, you aren’t taking any chances. It’s quiet for a long moment as you struggle to find an answer.

           “I…fine. I’m fine.” You pull away and arch an eyebrow at him, pleased to see that is cheeks are still rosy despite the serious look in his eye. “How are you holding up?”

           He lets out a breathy laugh, dropping your gaze. “Fine.” Then, when he catches your disbelieving stare, he states as innocently as possible, “What? Aren’t we lying to each other tonight?”

           “You suck.”

           “See!” He exclaims as you step out of his grasp to grab your things. “You always do that when you’ve been caught in a lie!”

           “Ugh, yah! I wasn’t lying,” you turn around to face him, walking backward toward your room. “I’m fine, really.”

           He shrugs. “And so am I.”

           You stifle your laughter as you enter your room, grabbing your things and wondering if you should grab a coat. “Do I really need a coat?” You call down the hall.

           “Yes!”

           Pursing your lips, you snatch the puffy monstrosity from your closet before turning to head out. Double checking that you have everything you need; your eyes can’t help but glance at the item sitting atop your dresser.

           You stick your tongue out at it. A few seconds later it’s tucked safely away in your top drawer and you’re heading out into the hallway. Your stomach does an uneasy flip as you recall the words that are practically burned in the backs of your eyelids now.

           I loved her first.

           Yoongi gets up from off the couch, waiting for you beside the door. His dark eyes survey you as you walk toward him. “Good to go?” He asks quietly. Clutching your coat a little tighter to your chest, you nod.

           The two of you head out, locking up your apartment and settling in the car that Yoongi drove over. Before long, you’re out on the highway, speeding toward your destination.

           Which, you’ve just realized, is still a mystery to you.

           “Sooo…” You begin, smiling lazily at Yoongi. You take a moment to admire his hands that are wrapped around the steering wheel. “Where are we going?”

           A smile tugs at his lips, but he manages to contain it as he adopts a serious expression. He glances over at you. “We’re going to see the sea.”

           “We’re…” you stutter, furrowing your brows. “We’re going to see the sea?”

           A breathy chuckle escapes him. “Yeah. But it’s a long drive, so are you down to listen to a murder-mystery with me?”

           “YES.”

            You’re still pretty sure that it was the nosy maid that did it by the time you arrive at your destination. Two hours, one murder-mystery short audiobook, and several snacks later, the sun is well on its way to the horizon when Yoongi pulls off to a sandy parking lot filled to the brim with cars.

           There’s tons of people mulling about, several of them appear to be young families who smile fondly as their children laugh and play in the sand. There’s a couple of food-trucks that have popped up on the beach, which sport long lines. Yoongi observes them woefully, seeming to come to some sort of understanding with himself before moving to get out of the car.

           “Woah, what’s with all the people? Is this beach always this busy?”

           It’s a beach you’ve never been to before, the pristine sand glowing as the sun makes its way across the sky.

           “Today’s a special occasion,” Yoongi explains, popping the trunk and rummaging around. “We should probably pick out a spot now before all the good ones are taken.”

           You come around to the back of the car to meet him, taking the blanket he extends out to you. Leaving your big coat in the backseat, you hope he doesn’t scold you and tell you to put it on. Right now it’s windy, but fairly warm. No need to look like a living marshmallow just yet.

           Before you can inquire after what the special occasion is, Yoongi passes you a couple of water bottles and begins rattling off instructions.

           “How about I jump in line to buy us some dinner,” the way he says it so casually has your heart skipping a beat for some reason, “and you head down the beach to scout out a decent spot?”

           “But what kind of spot do you mean? Is there a show or something?”

           Yoongi pauses, closing the trunk and running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, something like that. A show. Just find a spot that you like, I’ll come find you with our food, ok?”

           “Ay ay, captain.” You trudge away, hoisting the blanket up higher in your arms as you begin to look for an empty space. The immediate surrounding beach area appears to be pretty packed, which has you marching farther and farther away from the parking lot.

           You grin as a couple of children race past you, giggling as they fly their kites. It’s looks like it’s a little boy and with his younger sister, trying their best to keep their kites afloat in wind. Waving at them, your smile only grows as the boy sheepishly turns away and the girl cheerfully waves back.

           It feels like you walk for years before finding a clearing. You were definitely looking for a semi-secluded spot, not too keen on spending your long-awaited date with Yoongi surrounded by strangers. It doesn’t even occur to you to ask someone what the big deal is about today before you’re laying the blanket out. Not wanting to leave anything unattended just for it to blow away, you decide to just be patient until Yoongi finds you.

           The sand is warm beneath the blanket as you plop down, resting with your face turned toward the sun as you let out a content sigh. Despite the chill of the wind, the sun warms you right up.

           “Why are you alone?”

           Peeking one eye open at the little voice, you’re delighted to see the same little girl from earlier standing a little ways away. She watches you with a meek expression, her kite forgotten at her feet.

           “Oh, I’m not alone,” you explain. “I’m just waiting for my friend to come find me. He went to go get food.”

           “Oh.” The young girl shuffles her feet. “My mommy says that I need to get all my wiggles out before the show.”

           You chuckle. “Really? What show are we watching tonight? Is it Disney?” That would certainly make sense for all of the young families here tonight. Did Yoongi bring you to a beach-front outdoor movie?

           “No, silly!” The girl giggles at your questions. “The sky’s coming to say hello!”

           “What?”

           “That’s what my mommy said. She said, ‘Young-mi get your wiggles out, the sky is coming to say hello soon!’”

           You blink, a little amused by Young-mi’s earnest response. “I see…I didn’t know that the sky was coming to say hello tonight.”

           “Then why are you here?”

           “Oh,” you crane your neck toward the parking lot, but it’s too far away to see Yoongi. “My friend brought me, as a surprise.”

           “Wow,” Young-mi utters in a reverent tone. “Can I meet your friend?”

           “I don’t see why not.”

           With a gleeful shout, Young-mi takes off running, her kite skipping along the ground behind her. She runs toward her family, her mother grinning at the sight before reaching out to pull her into her arms. You watch on with a forgotten smile, wondering for a split second what that would be like.

           If you squint, that could be Yoongi sitting beside Young-mi’s mother, throwing his head back with laughter at something his daughter says to him. Their son crouches in the sand nearby, digging around as though searching for gold.

           Laying down with a soft sigh, you close your eyes and let the little daydream take over. Here, at the beach. Telling your children that this is where you had your first date; laughing as they make disgusted faces when Yoongi plants a loud kiss on your cheek-

           “Did the nosy maid get to you?”

           Yoongi stands above you with arms laden with food. He blocks out the sun, the rays coming around to make him appear like an angel. Judging from the delicious smells radiating from the food he carries, you think he actually might be.

           “Ah, so you agree that you think it was her that murdered Duke Rittington?” Your voice sounds a little croaky, a testament to the fact that you were just dozing a moment ago. Leaning up to ease some of the food from his arms, Yoongi snorts.

           “No. It was obviously the son. Why can’t you see it?”

           Rolling your eyes, you pat a spot next to you on the blankets. Yoongi takes the seat without hesitation. “Because, the son seems like too easy of a suspect. Whereas the maid-”

           The screams of Young-mi as she rushes toward you cut you off. “You have a boyfriend?!”

           “Oh, no.”

           Yoongi leans over, still busy arranging the bags of food – is that a cheeseburger you see? – around the blanket. “Who’s that?” He mumbles.

           “I, uh, made a friend while you were grabbing food,” you explain with a small smile.

           Now Young-mi reaches your blanket, dropping to her knees as she gazes up at Yoongi with wide, innocent eyes. “Hi, my name is Young-mi and I’m four years old. I’m the second tallest in my class.” Young-mi prattles off information, her large eyes never once leaving Yoongi’s face. “Are you her boyfriend? I hope you’re her boyfriend.”

           Yoongi lets out a startled laugh. “You do? Why’s that?”

           “You’re so pretty.”

           Now both of you burst out laughing, Young-mi looking utterly confused at your outburst. Yoongi covers his face with his hands, shaking his head.

           “What? What’s so funny?” Young-mi questions.

           You grin at her. “You think he’s pretty?” The little girl nods enthusiastically. “I do too.”

           Yoongi peers over at you at this comment, an unasked question in his eyes. The pink in his cheeks has intensified, as has your own blush.

           “Aren’t I supposed to be the one complementing you?” He asks under his breath. You shrug.

           “You brought food, so now we’re even.”

           Young-mi lingers a little while longer, asking a few questions and drawing in the sand. Munching down on your cheeseburger, you eye Young-mi’s kite.

           “Do you mind if I try to fly your kite for a second?” The question is out of your mouth before you can fully process it, but Young-mi looks up at you excitedly.

           “Yes!!” She squeals, immediately dragging the little handle over to you. “You have to run really fast, that’s what my mommy told me. Then it’ll fly!”

           Glancing back at Yoongi as you clamber to your feet, you don’t miss the fond smile he wears as he watches the interaction take place. You wave at him, heading off down the beach with Young-mi. Once you’ve walked far enough, you wink down at her.

           “Ok, you run on ahead and I’ll catch up in a few seconds.”

           The girl wastes no time running off, her laughter making you feel lighter than you have in weeks. Once she’s far enough off, you take off after her. She heads straight toward her family, who smile at you as you attempt to get the kite off the ground.

           Sand flies up behind you as you race, and you catch a glimpse of Yoongi with his phone out, recording you with a wide smile on his face. The sun has hit the horizon now, a dizzying array of colors sending your mind into a joyful frenzy. Up ahead, Young-mi has successfully made it to her family and is waiting for you to catch up. She jumps up and down as the kite soars above you, the little pinwheels attached to it spinning around in the wind.

           A bit more energy overtakes you, and you sprint the last few yards toward Young-mi, unable to stop the laugh that jumps out of you. You feel so free, here on the beach. It’s almost like you’re up there flying with the kite-

           “Wait!”

           Someone shouts it, you’re not exactly sure who, but by the time the plea registers in your ears, it’s too late. Foot catching in the hole that Young-mi’s brother had been digging earlier, you feel a twist of pain before tumbling to the ground.

           You cry out, barely managing to catch yourself before faceplanting it. The handle from Young-mi’s kite digs painfully into your hand, but that’s the least of your problems at the moment.

           Young-mi’s family rushes over to you, but before they reach you Yoongi is dropping to your side.

           “Oh,” you pant, “hi Yoongs.”

           “Are you alright?” He’s also panting, and you wonder if he had begun running after you before you even fell, foreseeing your path. “Your foot…”

           “I am so sorry!” Young-mi’s mother stoops down on your other side, her husband right behind her. “We completely forgot that Doyun even dug that hole! Can you move? Are you in pain?”

           From where you’re laying belly-down on the sand, you can’t help but feel the burn of embarrassment in your cheeks. “I…move? Yeah, I can – ah never mind.” You wince as you attempt to get to your feet only for the dull ache in your right foot to flare up to a fiery red pain. Yoongi immediately reaches out for you, unsure of what to do. His hands ghost over your leg, but retract when you hiss in pain.

           “Here, my husband-” Young-mi’s mother points over her shoulder to the man in question. “He’s a nurse. Honey, could you…?”

           “Do you mind if I take a look at your ankle?” The man asks in a gentle voice. “Just to make sure nothing’s broken.”

           With a nod, you allow both him and Yoongi to help you swivel around to sit the correct way, the blush you already have deepening even more when Yoongi takes up a spot at your back. He gently pushes your shoulders back until you’re leaning into his chest, his arms coming to wrap around you in a protective manner.

           When you wince as the man delicately presses down on your already swollen ankle, Yoongi begins talking.

           “So, is it just me, or has this entire night been a disaster?”

           You let out a choked laugh. “No, Yoongs. Well, maybe it has, but it’s all my fault. I can’t believe I fell, how embarrassing…”

           “Oh, are you two out on a date? Er, sorry for prying…”

           Both you and Yoongi awkwardly chuckle. “No, no…um, yeah. We are.”

           “It’s our first date, actually,” Yoongi adds as an afterthought.

           “How exciting! Honey, it’s their first date, did you hear that?”

           The man currently inspecting your ankle spares the two of you a kindly glance. “Good for you two. You make a good looking couple.”

           “But I swear I’ve seen you before,” the mother comments, squinting at Yoongi. “Where do I know you from…”

           You can feel Yoongi tense up behind you, but he doesn’t say anything yet. Instead he takes to finding your hands (which you’ve slipped into your sweatshirt pocket to avoid accidentally punching the man poking and prodding at your foot), eventually curling his hands around yours and steadily unclenching your fists.

           “Oh! I know it! Do you do commercials?”

           Yoongi lets out an audible sigh of relief, which makes you smile for half a second before a particularly hard prod at your ankle sends you into a tailspin.

           “Yeah, I’ve done a few commercials.”

           “I knew it. How’s it looking, honey?”

           Her husband sits back on his heels, giving you a nod. “Nothing appears to be broken, you just twisted it pretty good. Babe, grab that icepack out of the cooler. You should keep ice on it for a while to counter the swelling.”

           A second later you’re handing a little bag of ice. “I don’t wanna take your ice,” you comment lamely. Yoongi chuckles in your ear, pulling back from you and standing.

           “It’s just a disposable pack we used for the cooler,” the mother explains, waving off your concern. “No need to worry. We’ve got plenty more. Now, go enjoy your date!”

           “Yeah, try your best to have fun. And keep ice on that, on and off for the next couple of days. It shouldn’t give you too much trouble after that.” With a wink toward Yoongi, your temporary nurse gives him a little nudge. “You seem like a good man. I think you’re in good hands here, miss.”

           Young-mi bids you a mournful goodbye as you limp away with Yoongi, quickly coming to find that sand isn’t the kindest to people hopping around on one leg. You’ve made it all of four hops while clinging to Yoongi before he stops.

           “Hop on my back,” he commands, stepping directly in front of you.

           You blanch. “But Yoongi…your shoulder.”

           “It’s fine. Just hop on. You don’t need to limp all the way back to where we’re sitting.” When you hesitate another moment, he looks back at you over his shoulder, his dark eyes sparking in the sunset. “Jagiya.”

           Well, the man puts up a convincing argument.

           Yoongi crouches down so you don’t have to jump, and with a bit of careful maneuvering you manage to hop onto his back. His hands grip your thighs, hoisting you up a bit higher which makes you gasp a little. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, careful to avoid putting too much pressure on shoulder.

           Setting off toward your abandoned blanket and food, you can’t help but feel a rise of disappointment in your chest.

           “Yoongi?” You mumble, almost sounding like an embarrassed child.

           “Hmm?”

           Hiding your face in the back of his neck, you groan. “I’m sorry.”

           Yoongi’s steps falter before he continues on, confusion evident in his tone. “Sorry? For what?”

           The calm that you felt earlier has completely shattered at this point, and you grit your teeth against the pain in your ankle and the onslaught of emotions that surface. What happened to picture perfect? Why couldn’t you focus?

           Other than sitting in the car together, you feel as though you’ve hardly touched base with Yoongi. You haven’t seen the man in nearly two months, and yet here you are distracted as ever. Distracted with your dumb broke clock, distracted with the audiobook, distracted with a kite.

           Yoongi stops in his tracks as he feels hot tears against his neck. “Jagiya?”

           “I- I’m so sorry, Yoongi,” you blubber. “I’m an idiot! I c-can’t focus on anything tonight and…and now I’ve made everything fall apart by going and getting h-hurt…Yoongi, it hurts so bad. A-and now I’m complaining, which is making everything worse!”

           You’re surprised when Yoongi doesn’t say a single thing, instead picking up where he left off as he trudges on toward the blanket. In response to his silence, you continue in your repentant monologue.

           “And you waited in line to get us fooood,” you bite down on your lip as you fight the urge to wail. “It’s probably c-cold now, and you waited for s-so long to get it…I feel like such a bad person…if you don’t wanna continue the date, I u-understand. I promise I won’t tell anyone if you want! J-just, I’m so sorry, Yoongi. I’ve completely ruined this, and you drove t-two hours to get me here….” You’ve reached the blanket now, Yoongi gently sets you down, and you hobble on one foot as you half-expect him to grab his keys and set off toward the car. “I just can’t think straight because I read that stupid pact and-”

           “Woah, back up.”

           Swiveling around to face you, Yoongi has a frown etched into his face. It makes you want to turn and run, to crawl into a cave to die from embarrassment, but it’s the fact that you can barely manage to stand on one foot at the moment – let alone run – that has you standing still.

           “You read the pact?” You blink, hopping a little. When Yoongi sees your struggle he reaches out to you, steadying you. “Here, let’s sit.”

           “W-we’re staying?”

           Yoongi gazes down at you, the look in his eyes turning unspeakable soft. “Yes, jagiya. Unless you aren’t feeling up to it anymore?” He looks as though the thought of leaving now pains him, but he waits patiently for your answer.

           “I wanna stay.”

           “Good. Now, what’s this about you reading the pact?”

           Having successfully turned into a sniffling mess, you wipe away your tears with an angry swipe. It’s time to come clean.

           “I found a copy in Jin’s room-”

           “What were you doing in Jin’s room?!” Yoongi whispers frantically, growing more concerned by the second. You wave him off.

           “-and I took it! I knew I shouldn’t, but I just wanted to know, you know? So I stole it but that was stupid because then I saw that thing on the back…the little note.” Your words trail off, unable to even say the word lovewhen Yoongi’s looking at you like he’s unsure of whether he wants to laugh or cry.

           “The little…note?”

           “Yeah, you know…” You shake your head, moving on. “And since I saw that, I’ve been a mess. Like, an actual mess. I finally called Gina help just to get some help, I needed someone to talk to because you know, I can’t talk to you guys right now which is stupid. But I’m still so lost and I screwed everything up and my ankle hurts Min Yoongi!”

           You’ve stunned yourself into silence with your outburst, Yoongi across from you looks a bit lost himself as he sits back on his heels. It’s clear the moment he comes to a realization.

           “The note.”

           It’s all you can do to breathe normally and not burst out into tears again. Yoongi’s expression turns mournful when he sees you.

           “Oh, jagiya…” leaning forward, Yoongi somehow manages to pull you into his lap. Wrapping his arms around you and tucking your head close to his chest, Yoongi pulls you in as close as he can. He sways gently back and forth, a hand coming up to cup your cheek to make you look at him.

           You do so begrudgingly, feeling like nothing more than a large child. However, the moment you meet his eyes, it hits you like a lightning strike.

           “Do you remember,” he begins quietly, “that time when your final paper accidentally got deleted? All you had left to do on it was add the reference page. You were distraught, remember?”

           Of course you do. It’s the stuff of nightmares. Countless hours spent laboring over a final essay for a class you loathed, only to make a stupid mistake and delete it all. All of it, all nineteen pages were gone in a blink. Your hard work along with it.

           “I remember you called me, a sobbing mess. Obviously I thought you’d hurt yourself, the way you were crying about killed me.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, leaving you completely enraptured in his spell as he continues speaking. “I fought with Namjoon because I needed to go see you, but we had a schedule. It was an interview, I don’t even remember for what or with whom, but I was so angry. I seriously thought I was gonna punch him. Then I remembered he goes to the gym a lot more than me, so I didn’t.”

           He manages to make you crack a small grin at that. The sight spurs him on. “But I’ll never forget the sight I saw when I finally made it out to your house later that night. It was like what, two in the morning? No one knew I was even going over, which obviously I did on purpose. I didn’t want to get into another argument. When I walked in your apartment, you were sat at the kitchen table. Remember?”

           The memory is vague, tinged with exhaustion and disappointment, but it’s there. You’d set up camp at your kitchen table all day, missing all other appointments just to try to rewrite your paper. You were half delirious at that point, staring at the screen seemed equal to burning at the stake.

           “I’ve never seen you look more exhausted in my entire life,” Yoongi chuckles. “I remember I was ready to write the paper for you, I was so sad for you. But when I made it over there, I was floored to see that you’d already written it. Not only that, but you’d written twenty-seven pages. Twenty-seven! Who does that?!” He shakes his head at you, looking absolutely shocked.

           “When I asked you why you would do that, you just shrugged and said, ‘why not reach for the stars?’ Then you submitted it, stood up, walked over to me and gave me a hug before going straight to bed. I was so shocked that I just stood there for ages, trying to fathom what had just happened.”

           Yoongi sighs, glancing up at the night sky. You admire his jawline from this angle, nuzzling in a little closer to him for warmth. He notices that you didn’t bring your coat out with you, giving you a playful glare before gently rubbing his hands up and down your arms.

           “Why did you tell me that?”

           You can feel his shrug. “You are more capable, more special than you will ever know. I’ve always kept that in my heart, over the years. Why not reach for the stars? Jagiya…”

           Yoongi shuffles a little bit before cupping your chin and pointing toward the horizon where the sun has slipped down. The night sky is becoming more visible by the second, a few stray stars winking down at you.

           “Look.” He points at a certain spot in the sky just in time for you to see a streak of breathtaking light.

           A falling star.

           In the span of a few minutes, you’re completely speechless as the sky continues to darken and your eyes are glued heavenward. Gradually, more and more falling stars dart across the sky, taking your breath away. As they continue, you recall Young-mi’s words. The sky is coming to say hello.

           Yoongi reaches for your hand, easily enveloping it while tracing the outline of your knuckles.

           “You,” Yoongi breathes out, sending tingles down your spine. “Are the stars I’ve been reaching for ever since that night.”

           Heart thundering against your ribs, you turn to look at him only to find his eyes also trained on the heavens. He speaks the words softly, almost to himself, but you still catch them.

           “You’re a star, all the way up there…and I’m all the way down here. Maybe all I’m meant to do is admire you from afar. But for tonight, just for a moment, I’ll hold you.” His eyes slide down to meet yours, glinting with pure starlight. Cold and beautiful. Hurtling toward you, burning up in your atmosphere and leaving you wondering what would happen if you let him in.

           If it would lead to utter destruction or the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed.

           All words have escaped you at this moment in time, but you don’t feel the need to scramble for some sort of a response. Instead you settle for snuggling in a bit closer, allowing Yoongi to hold you a bit tighter.

           Tonight, he’ll hold you close to his chest while what will later be recorded as the most prominent meteor shower in recent history rains down above you. The dark night sky is set aflame with streaks of silver as falling stars graze the earth, sharing a sweet goodnight kiss as they hurtle through space. You marvel at the seemingly never-ending parade the night sky puts on, relishing the way Yoongi keeps your warm as he also marvels at the wonder above you.

           There’s no words that are exchanged for the entirety of the meteor shower, the only form of communication found in the patterns Yoongi traces out against the back of your hand and the way he gazes down at you from time to time. As though making sure you’re really there.

           It’s a long while before the meteor shower begins to fade, and it’s only when you hear Yoongi softly calling your name that you realized you’ve dozed off.

           “It’s over, jagiya,” he coos, brushing hair away from your eyes. “Let’s get you to the car, then you can sleep the rest of the way home.”

           Somehow you two manage to make it to the car, you yourself being much more coherent by then due to the sharp pains in your ankle. You realize that you two are some of the few people left at the beach, making you wonder when everyone else left.

           Your eyes are half-closed when Yoongi begins to drive away, your hand finding his atop the console.

           “You know you don’t need to worry about us, right?” Yoongi mumbles out, glancing over at you with a worried expression. “We’ll support whatever you decide to do. Remember what I said before? You’re the most capable person I know. You don’t need us, not really. Just…be happy.”

           You mumble out something incoherent, not completely realizing that he’s referring to the aftermath of the pact until you’re already asleep.

           The next thing you know, you’re parked in front of your apartment and Yoongi is grinning down at you from the passenger side door.

           “C’mon,” he urges, helping you out of the car. “Careful with the ankle.”

           “Mmm.”

           It takes a bit of careful maneuvering to get up the stairs to your apartment, but you manage to make it. Leaning up against the door, you fumble for your keys.

           Once you’ve found them, you hand them straight over to Yoongi. You’re far too tired to attempt unlocking your door at the moment. He laughs at your behavior, shooting you a proud gummy smile when he unlocks the door. You don’t even have to ask before he’s assisting you inside, helping you hobble to your room before turning to leave.

           “Thank you, Yoongi. For everything.”

           Yoongi smiles down at his shoes. “We’ll swing by tomorrow to check up on you if that’s ok?”

           We.

           Your stomach flips to remember that you’re over now with these dates. Now what-

           “Or just shoot me a text? I know that might be awkward if we all show up…”

           “Thank you. I’ll text you?” You sigh, running your hands over your face. “Yoongi, I…” You trail off, staring up at him from your bed as your mind and heart races. There’s just no words.

           With a soft smile, he leans down and pecks your nose. The innocent gesture has your ears turning red, which widens his grin.

           “I know.” He whispers back.

           And then he’s gone.

           And you’re left here, suddenly colder than ever.

main masterlist

the dates are DONE. please let me know your thoughts, I love hearing from you! Tomorrow I'll be opening up a poll for your top two dates, so stay tuned for that! 

alsooo stay tuned this week because I may have a lil bonus chapter for you guys 

taglist: @baepsaetay @dreamcatcherjiah @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles @moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi @knjkitten @sacha-cff @vik7797  @eusticenatalie @hesmyphenominiall @miriamxsworld @kayahay @secretlycrazyhummingbird @marianeamine @hqtetsurou @protontippens @beginwithamin @delacyrose224  @luvtaeha @fanfictionreader05 @mininimmy @dreadity  @starlight-night0 @luzaroon @seaoffangirling @prachi05 @fangirl125reader @bluehairedotakugem @hunnibxbe @kayahay @fanfictionreader05 @seokjinmoonfics @littletinyhobi @honeyhalcyon @yoontaethings @herrmionejgranger  @beepbeep11 @extraordinary_reads @vntwishlist @aussiebeachbabes​ @hitsussi @hannah2291 @alwaysasadaesthetic​ 

[luv-eddiediaz]

Oh god. No. Not here. Not now. Not with these people. Eddie can't breathe, but he can't let them know he can't breathe. He loosens his tie just a little bit - the one Ana went back for after Eddie was discharged from the hospital.  His nervous laughter is really a way to suck some oxygen back into his lungs, and when a heavy hand touches his elbow, and the smile on its owner’s face distorts. He's going to pass out if he doesn't move, doesn't flee from this spiraling, spinning disaster.

"Could you, uh, could you excuse me?" He asks and plasters on his best charming smile, hoping his voice isn't as high and squeaky as he thinks it is. 

He catches Ana's eye from across the room as he moves through what feels like a sea of strangers. She's worried, but Eddie doesn't stop to explain anything and continues his way to the bathroom, where he locks himself inside and lets himself fall apart the way his body was begging to. 

His fingers curl tight the porcelain of the sink, and he tries, tries to slow his breathing. Finally, he tells himself to stop it in the mirror, even smacks himself across the cheek, but nothing changes. 

There's a soft knock on the door, and Ana's gentle voice comes through the cracks, "Eddie? Are you okay?"

"Fine," he grits out.

"Are you having another attack?"

"I said I'm fine!" his anger and frustration echo too loud against the tile of the bathroom. , get a grip, Diaz. "Can you just get Chris some cake? I'll be right out." 

Ana's fading footsteps are the only answer he gets, and Eddie focuses back on himself. He tries to remember what the pamphlet from the hospital said, or rather, what Buck said it says the night he found it buried on Eddie's counter and read it to him, but his brain is just a white-hot sear of nothing. Eddie pulls out his phone and dials Buck - no time to look for his name in the phone book. He doesn't answer, and Eddie nearly throws the phone into the sink.

"Damn!"

But it's Sunday, and Buck said something about Taylor coming over on Sunday, so, of course, he isn't answering. Eddie thinks for a second, in desperation, he'll call Bobby, but then his phone vibrates, and he sees Buck's smile fill the screen. He rubs his thumb over it before swiping to answer. 

"Buck?" He answers.

"Hey, you called?" Buck asks on the other end of the line, slightly fuzzy, but Eddie can hear the smile in his voice, and the vice around his heart loosens just a little bit.

"Buck?" He asks again as if he can't process anything else. 

"Uh, yea. Are you okay?" 

"No. Panic attack."

"But aren't you at that christening?"

"Yes."

"Shit."

"Buck, help.” He hates how desperate he must sound, but Buck’s already seen him at his most desperate, trying to hold onto his life and knowing, instinctively, that Buck would help him. He would save him.

Buck always saves him. 

" What have you tried?" Buck asks.

"Not much. Nothing. I just, I called you.”

"That’s good. Where are you?"

"Bathroom."

"You need to focus on something besides the panic. So, find me four things you see, Eddie. Try to be specific."

"Okay,” Eddie looks around the bathroom. He sees a million times too many things, and it takes him a second to focus in on something, “Uh, a pink shower curtain,” like your pink sweater that you say is salmon, but Buck, it’s pink. “white rugs,” dazzling white like your teeth when you smile, and that patch of skin that sometimes peeks through under your waistband. “a bristly hairbrush,” god, you’re hair is always so perfect, “and, and curtains on the window. They’re sheer; pink too,” just like that sweater.

"Good,” Buck soothes, “now, three things you can smell."

"Umm, vanilla soap,” sometimes you smell like vanilla, and sugar - like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day, “cinnamon toothpaste,” like in your bathroom, crumpled up in the corner, “my cologne,” you bought me this bottle for Christmas.

"That’s good, Eddie. Two things you can hear." 

"I hear people - outside the door."

"Not them,” Buck tells him, “Two other things. Ignore that sound."

"I hear - I hear crickets outside the open window, and I hear...you. Your voice in my ear, your breath,” I always hear you, even when I don’t want to.

"One thing you can touch," Buck says quietly, and Eddie takes a shaking breath, presses his hand over his chest.

"My heartbeat."

"Is it slower than before?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do you think you're okay?"

“Yea. I um, I’m probably just going to go home, sleep it off.”

“Good idea.”

“Thank you, Buck.”

“Of course.” 

Eddie hangs up and slips his phone back into his pocket. He isn’t panicking anymore, but he doesn’t feel great. He splashes his face with water and tries to smooth down all the places he’s rumpled before he opens the bathroom door and finds Ana on the other side, Christopher sitting next to her on the floor with a plate of cake in his lap.

“Are you okay?” she asks, putting a hand to his cheek, and it burns where there was just cold air against the drying water.

Eddie nods, “I’m okay. But I think I’m probably gonna go. In case it happens again.”

“Let me get my purse.”

“No, you stay. It’s your family. Just tell them I got sick.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yea,” he leans down and kisses her cheek before helping Chris up. 

Neither says much to the other in the car, but Eddie chuckles when Chris rips his suit jacket off the moment the door is closed. He sees the silhouette on the front steps against the fading sun before he gets the truck parked and shakes his head at the realization it’s Buck. 

"What are you doing here?" he asks when Buck jogs up to him.

"I didn't want you to be alone when you got home,” Buck answers quietly and then turns his attention to Christopher once the back door is open, and he’s climbing out, “Hey, buddy, did you have a good time? You look pretty handsome in that suit."

Chris rolls his eyes, "that's what everyone kept telling me. But then they said I would have looked better if I cut my hair.

“Well, you know what? I like this long, floppy look,” Buck ruffles his hand through Chris’s hair. It had definitely gotten long, and maybe a little out of control, but he didn’t want to cut it, and Eddie only remembered being dragged to the barbershop every five weeks to have his hair clipped, no matter how much he begged to keep it just a little bit longer. 

Chris smiles, “thanks, Buck.”

“Do you think you could give me a minute with your dad?” Buck asks when they all get inside the house. Eddie flips on the lamp by the door, and Christopher nods and leaves for his room, closing the door behind him.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Eddie says, walking further into the house, turning on lights as he goes. 

“Okay, but do you wanna talk about what happened?”

“No.”

“Was it too many people?” 

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “I’m half Mexican, Buck; I grew up going to huge parties, family and friends always over on the weekend. That wasn’t it.”

“What was it, then?”

“Why does it matter?” he doesn’t mean to sound as exasperated as he does, but sometimes Buck just brings it out of him. 

“Because if you can figure out what’s triggering you, you can figure out how to control the panic better.”

“I don’t panic.”

“You didn’t, but now you are. So let’s try and figure out why.”

Eddie sighs, “can I have a beer while we do it, at least?”

“If I get one too.”

They go into the kitchen, and Eddie takes two beers from the fridge and cracks one open before handing it to Buck. He watches him take a long, slow sip. Eddie’s hands start to shake around the glass, and he forces himself to look away, down at the shine of his shoes to keep whatever is trying to rise pushed down.

“Was there like some kind of a loud noise?” Buck asks. 

“No. It isn’t - loud noises have never bothered me.”

“Things have changed a little bit, though.”

“I don’t think they have anything to do with being shot. I know no one wants to believe me, but I’m fine about that.”

“Maybe no one wants to believe you because you were shot. That doesn’t happen to most people even once, and it’s happened to you twice.”

“I know, but I swear to you, I’m okay. I don’t think that’ what this about.”

“If you say so. Let’s recount the night then. What happened right before it started?”

“Ana’s great aunt, she - she said I was perfect for Ana -  a good addition to their family.”

Buck takes another swig from the bottle; his eyebrows are knitted in thought. If Chim or Hen were there, they’d make a joke about him not straining himself, and they’d only be kidding, but Eddie knows Buck has a lot of thoughts, a lot of good, deep ones, that maybe Eddie is the only one to have ever heard, “And didn’t you say the first time was after the salesman referred to Ana as Chris’s mom?”

“Yea,” Eddie says quietly.

“Do you think maybe you’re just having a hard time with how serious your relationship is getting?”

“It’s not getting that serious.”

“Eddie, she introduced you to like all her family, you went to an important family event, her great-aunt thinks your excellent husband material.”

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, and he coughs, trying to force it out, but it sits there like a bubble trying to choke him, and the kitchen starts to spin, turquoise spiraling into stainless steel, spiraling into Buck. 

“Stop, stop saying things like that,” he sputters out.

“You’re starting to panic again, aren’t you?” Buck asks.

“When the hell did it get so serious? I was just - I don’t know what I was doing. I liked her, but I didn’t mean-”

Eddie backs against the counter next to the sink, he tries to loosen his tie, but he can’t make his fingers work. Then Buck crosses the space between them and replaces Eddie’s hand with his own, pulling down on the knot and unbuttoning Eddie’s collar. “Breathe; breathe,” he whispers to him and puts his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, and he’s so close Eddie has no choice but to look at him. He feels his hand in Buck’s, slowly pressing against the other man’s chest.

“Breathe with it,” Buck says of his heartbeat, and Eddie closes his eyes. It takes a few moments, but soon his breath is in sync with Buck’s heartbeat, and he’s not sure he’s ever felt this kind of calm before.

“Okay?” Buck asks. 

“No, but yes.”

“I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to be honest - not for me, but for yourself.”

“O-okay.”

“Do you want Ana to be in your future? Your far future?”

“No,” he answers quickly, but it’s a question he’s asked himself before and was just too afraid to say out loud,  “but -”

“But what? Chris likes her?”

“Yes!” Eddie shouts.

“Maybe he does, maybe he even loves her a little, but he loves you more, and he wants you to be happy, and he knows you aren’t happy, and he probably knows it’s because of her.”

“He does?”

“Yes,” Buck takes Eddie’s hand away from his heart, but he doesn’t let go of it,  “your heart knows it too, and it’s screaming at you, Eddie, but you aren’t listening.”

“I wanted to be ready, to move on from Shannon, not just after she died, but long before that too.”

“I know.”

“Am I never going to be ready?” He can feel the wet of his eyes as he blinks up at Buck, vulnerable once again in front of him.

“I think you are, but not with Ana, and that’s okay. I mean, she’s the first person you seriously dated besides your wife, Eds. So it’s okay that she isn’t the right fit, and it’s okay if it takes you a little while longer to find who is.”

“Is Taylor your right fit?” Eddie blurts out, and it makes Buck let go of his hand.

“Whoah, we’re talking about you here.”

“Is she? It’s been four months, and you’re still together; she’s still actually here.”

“Yea, she hasn’t run away from me yet, and ya know, we have a good time.”

“She makes you happy?”

“Y-yea. I mean, am I ready to ask her to marry me? No, but I gave her a drawer last week.”

“A drawer?”

“Yea. She’s only got a few things in it; honestly, she lives more in the news van than anything.”

“You gave Taylor a drawer. In your loft?”

“Am I mumbling or something? A drawer, yes. In my loft.”

“That’s uh - that’s cool.” But, damnit, Eddie can’t do this for the third time. He doesn’t have the strength left. He grips the dishtowel hanging from the knife drawer just to ground himself to something.

“You okay?”

“Yep, yep.”

“You’re looking a little panicky. Maybe it’s not just Ana. Maybe you’ve just got a real fear of commitment thing going on. Even if it’s mine.”

“Shit,” his chest hurts this time, and his whole body is hot, but he’s shivering.

“Put your hand back on my heart.”

“No, no! God, that’s going to make this worse.”

“What? Why? It worked last time.”

“Exactly. And in the bathroom, it was you, so much you,” Eddie’s knees are weak now. He isn’t sure how much longer he can stay upright, and suddenly everything, fucking everything, smells like Buck.

“Eddie, you’re not making any sense.”

“I need you to go. Can you go, please?”

“I’m not going to leave you like this.”

And, of course, Eddie knows Buck won’t leave him. Buck will do just about anything Eddie asks, but he won’t do this. He won’t leave Eddie when Eddie needs him so badly. 

“Buck, please, you’re making things worse.”

“How am I making things worse?”

“Because you’re the only one who can make them better!”

“Eddie, Eddie.” Buck wraps Eddie up in his arms before he can fall to the floor, probably hitting his head on the way down. The instant calm he feels with Buck’s body pressed hard against his, his soft breath hitting the curve of Eddie’s neck terrifies him. It isn’t a new fear, but it’s one he’s been feeling so much more lately, one he can’t seem to ignore. He’s so tired from his body trying to run away from everything; his bones ache, his chest is sore. Finally, he closes his eyes and gives in to the fear, stops trying to fight or flee, and just lets Buck hold onto him. His fingers rake through Eddie’s sweat-slicked hair as Eddie’s breathing starts to slow.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Buck whispers into Eddie’s throbbing temple.

“It’s not okay at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” he rushes out in one broken breath, “it isn’t just that Ana feels wrong; it’s that you feel right. You’ve always felt right.”

Buck is quiet for what feels like a hundred moments before he finally seems to have something to say.

“Huh,” he breathes out from the back of his throat.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What would you like me to say?”

“I don’t know. You could say that I’m insane, that you love Taylor, that you’re not into men, not into me.”

“I could say any of that, but then I’d be lying to you.”

“What?”

“Look, Eddie, I-I don’t know if I’m in love with you, but I feel something. Something more than I’ve ever felt with anyone, and I kinda keep thinking it’s going to go away, but it never goes away.”

“Huh.”

Buck laughs and gently sits Eddie up, tangled across Buck’s long legs, still safe in his arms, “are you okay?” he asks.

“I think I am.”

“Good.”

Buck presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose, and Eddie smiles before he tilts his chin, so Buck’s lips fall against his. It’s a slow, quiet kiss that lasts only a few seconds before they both pull away. 

Eddie is so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, so he lets them slip closed, lets Buck hold him closer in the middle of the kitchen floor until he falls asleep. 

[hockeyboysimagines]

All good boys go to Heaven but bad boys bring Heaven to you

Chapter 6

Warnings: language, sex, a fist fight, (tw) stalking, lots of angst, and some fluff.

Sorry it’s taken so long. I’ve been trying to get Say it to me softly out, and now it’s finished so this will be updated more regularly. This is a very appropriate gif for this chapter. Stay tuned💕

“Chucky watch out!” Matt turned just as a puck cracked off the side of his helmet and sent him tumbling to the ice. He hadn’t been paying attention during practice, instead thinking all the ‘not sleeping’ he had done the night before. He could hear Noah and Johnny laughing as they skated over and helped him up. He deserved that one.

“Dude you gotta pay attention. What’s going on in there today space cadet?”

He wanted nothing more than to tell them. He was not only thinking about Hallie, but also about the mysterious flowers that had obviously rattled her. So he went with amended version of the truth.

“We’ll actually.” He turned to Noah and leaned on his stick “Has Hallie ever mentioned like a bad boyfriend or anything?”

Noah looked at the ceiling and chewed on his lip for a moment before he shook his head “I don’t think so, not to me anyway. Why?”

He chose his words carefully, keeping his expression cool “Well I showed up at her place yesterday and made her have dinner with me, and while I was there she said she got flowers and she assumed they were from me. But I didn’t send her any, and she got all fucking weird about it.”

“Was there a card?”

He shook his head “No but she was definitely upset. I offered to stay but she said it was fine.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and gave him a shove “Of course you did.”

“I can ask Carly if you want. They tell eachother everything.”

“No it’s okay. I don’t wanna invade her privacy or anything. Just seemed weird to me.”

They went back to running drills but his mind was still elsewhere. The more he thought about it the more her behavior bothered him. She had seemed upset, anxious, and scared and the whole thing had rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t want to get involved in her business but it was really bothering him.

*******

“Come on Hal we’re going to be late.” Carly complained as Hallie shoved her feet into her shoes. She locked the door behind her and dig around in her bag as they took the elevator and exited her building towards the parking lot.

As they walked through the parking lot, she was still digging for her keys when she felt Carly’s hand on her arm forcing her to stop.

“Hal?”

Hallie looked up and felt the blood feeeze in her veins. Rose petals littered her car, moving very gently in the breeze. She took a step backwards turning her head this way and that but the parking lot was empty. She turned slowly towards Carly who was looking at her alarmed.

She began to shake, eyes filling with tears. She thought when she came here this would be over, that she could finally be free and not live her life looking over her shoulder. But she was wrong.

“He found me.”

**********

“Hal? It’s me open the door.” Matt said knocking. He hadn’t heard from her all day, and was starting to get worried when Carly told him she was sick, but was them confused when she texted him and told him to come over. He heard her shuffle around on the other side of the door before she eased it open, big eyes peering at him through the crack.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, come in. Hurry up.”

She yanked him inside and clicked the lock as she shut the door. He frowned at her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine why?” She breezed past him to pick up her buzzing phone on the counter. As she read the message the color in her face drained.

“Something wrong?”

Hallie stuffed her phone in her pocket and shook her head not meeting his eye.

“No why?”

He shrugged “ you just got super weird when your phone went off that’s all.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did but it’s none of my business.”

“Your right. It’s not.”

“Maybe I should just go.”

“No!” She grabbed his arm holding him in place “I-I mean sorry. I just had a long day is all. Stay please?” She looked uncomfortable asking him, but there was another emotion he couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it was convincing.

“I got your mail by the way.” He said setting several white envelopes and a large Manila one down on the counter, and walking from the kitchen to the bathroom. He needed a shower, and went to rummage through the collection of clothing he had accumulated. He had hoped by pulling his shirt off and walking back past the kitchen he could entice Hallie to come shower with him but he found her standing with her back to him, looking at an article of mail in her hand. He could see her trembling from where he stood.

She had opened the large envelope first, noticing it had no return address, but felt bulky and heavy. She felt goosebumps bloom across her skin as a stack of photos slid out and she looked through them. There were dozens, her walking to work, out with friends, her and Matthew. Each photo got progressively closer and some had foul crude writing on them. Mattys face was crossed out on several of them and a few were ripped in half.

“Hallie?”

Matt was standing in the middle of the room, shirtless looking at her, concerned. She thought for a minute about hiding them but she knew that there would be no point. She held the photos out to him and he took them, frowning. His eyebrows furrowed as he shuffled through them.

“What-what is this?” He looked mad now, eyes burning. His knuckles were white as he gripped them ”Who took these?”

She took a deep breath “ His name is Ryan. I dated him for a few months before I moved here, to get away from him. He started stalking me, saying we were meant to be and he couldn’t live without me. I thought I got away from him but he found me. He left roses on my car this morning. And he texted me just now.”

“How long has this been going on?”

She looked down “A few days. That’s where the flowers came from the other day. And I got a weird phone call at my office last week. -“

“A few days? And your just telling me this now?”

“I’m sorry. I thought he would just go away. I was wrong.”

Yeah I’d say you were. We need to go to the police.”

“I already have. They can’t do anything about it. Besides he’s just trying to scare me.”

“ And what happens when that’s not enough for him anymore? What happens then? If you think this creep is going to be content to watch you forever, your wrong. He’s going to hurt you.”

“I know I’m-I’m sorry.”

“That’s it. I’m moving in here.”

“What?! No!”

“It’s not up for discussion. Till this guy goes away I’m staying here.”

She wanted to be annoyed, but in all honesty she was relieved. She felt safe with him in the apartment, and it felt good to get this off her chest.

“And what are we going to tell our friends?”

“Would it be so bad if they just knew about us? I mean really Hal. Your starting to make me feel like I’m just a good lay and that’s the only reason you keep me around.”

She looked hurt for a minute and her expression softened “Matty. I’m sorry.” She put a hand on his arm and rugged him closer “I never meant to make you feel that way. I’m just scared okay. Of this, of Ryan of everything. We will talk about this, but give me some time.”

He pursed his lips for a minute before he nodded.

“Okay. That’s fair.”

She squeezed his arm before wrapping her own around him, her head resting on his chest near his heart. He was so big and safe, any worry she had about Ryan out the window, as she stood listen to his heart beating through his shirt.

She had lived by herself for so long it was weird having a roommate. Especially one who walked around mostly shirtless and slept in her bed. She learned a lot about him in the following days. She learned how incredibly sweet he was, and how much he loved his mom and his sister. She learned he slept on the left side of the bed, that he never had a dog growing up, and that he was not the pest that everyone saw on the ice. She learned that he loved to dance, and they had spent much time slow dancing in her kitchen, and that he could talk about everything and anything late at night. His voice, which had annoyed the hell out of her just a few months ago, now soothed her every time she heard it. She liked seeing him smile at her across the table, or next to her while they brushed teeth, and his presence had become a comfort that she never knew she needed. She had fallen hard for Matthew Tkachuk, just like she knew she would.

One particular rainy Sunday morning she had woken up to his big rough hands barely brushing the bare skin of her back. She rolled over eyes still closed, lips immediately finding his in the dim light of her bedroom. He kissed her deeply, lips moving slowly, tongue pushing inside her mouth. There was already minimal clothing on, so it didn’t take long before he was pushing inside her. She let out a breath, eyes closing slowly. Each time was more enthralling than the last time. He moved slowly, lazily hot breath on her neck. She reached up, running her fingers through his hair. She could her the dull pounding of rain hitting her window, the thick grey clouds making the room dim. But she could see those eyes burning into her own, as he moved above her, curls falling into his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her heavily, as his pushes became faster until he let out a ragged breath as she tensed around him, her own high coming with his.

“Can we stay in bed all day and do that again?”

Before she could answer she heard her front door open and then close. Panic rose in her throat as Matt jumped off the bed, yanking a pair of gym shorts on and banged the bedroom door open. He couldn’t believe this creep was bold enough to come into her apartment in broad daylight, but he was going to kill him before he got the chance to ever do it again.

“Matty wait!” She whispered pulling a T-shirt over her head as she hurried out behind him. To her horror it was not Ryan in her kitchen, but Noah and Carly standing there with wide eyes and open mouths.

“What the hell?” Noah said, eyebrows raised so far up his forehead they were in danger of disappearing into his hairline.

Hallies face had bypassed Red and turned Maroon as she shrank down behind him under Carly’s glare.

“Are you two serious right now?” She asked hands on her hips, looking between them.

“How long has this been going on?” Noah asked. He too was frowning, arms crossed. He knew something was up, and they had become even more suspicious when Hallie started being magically busy the past few weeks, coupled with Matthew being notably absent and coming and going at all hours. They had never though thought in a million years they would find them shacked up together in Hallies apartment.

Matthew took a deep breath and turned to look at her before looking back at their friends “Since that weekend at the lake.”

Carly sucked in a loud breath, eyes huge. She sputtered for a few moments, words completely escaping her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked after a few moments. She looked hurt. Hallie had wanted to tell her so bad, but she didn’t want to say it out loud. She was so scared that she had even let him in, but now to tell everyone else? That was terrifying.

“Let’s talk about this another time yeah?” Noah said, giving Carly’s arm a gentle squeeze.

“No.” Matt said “Let’s talk about it now. We didn’t tell you guys because we didn’t really know what to say. I honestly still don’t know what this is.”

“But there’s something else too.” Hallie reached behind her to pick up the envelope full of photos and handed them to Carly. She looked alarmed as she pulled them out, face turning white.

“Hallie.” She whispered.

“What the fuck?” Noah said, grabbing a few photos from Carly’s hand, and looking at both of them clearly confused.

“Sit down.” Matt said, patting the counter and walking to the fridge to pull out the liquor “We’ll tell you everything.”

And they did. They started with the lake house and went from there. Hallie and Carly walked Noah and Matt through the details on what had happened with Ryan and how they had come to Calgary to get away from him. Noah was so angry about the stalking, and the fact that she had kept it from them, he gave her a very stern talking to.

“This creep could have hurt you. Both of you.” He said glaring at Carly as well “We can’t keep you safe if we don’t know what we’re trying to keep you safe from.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Carly said giving his hand a squeeze.

“Now that we’re all in the loop I think we can agree that you two can’t go places alone for right now.” Matt said rubbing his chin “It’s just the way it is. Until this guy goes away or does something to get arrested for it has to be this way. When we have away games you two have some kind of sleepover or something. Have Jay come too.”

Carly giggled “I don’t really see Jay taking down an intruder, but safety in numbers right.” They laughed and the mood seemed to change. They decided to order takeout, and Hallie realized how much better she felt not keeping secrets. To finally have her and Matt out there in the open felt good, and natural.

After Noah and Carly left, it was just them in her apartment. He was smiling at her, a smile she hadn’t seen before. He walked very slowly towards her, eyes burning into her own.

“Thank you.” He said coming to a stop in front of her, hands resting on her shoulders.

“For?”

“For telling our friends. I know it wasn’t easy, and I know you didn’t want to, and I know your not my girlfriend or anything but thank you.”

“You haven’t actually asked me to be your girlfriend.”

He shrugged “I’m not really in the market for a relationship right now so.”

She gaped at him till he burst out laughing and swept her up, carrying her down the hallway towards her bedroom.

“Come on. Let’s go do boyfriend girlfriend stuff.”

********

As news of their new relationship spread, Matthews performance on the ice skyrocketed. He was having a great season, exploding on the ice and making headlines every game. He was still a pest, and that would probably never change, but he found himself playing with a confidence he didn’t know he had.

Plus it was an added bonus to look up and see Hallie sitting in the stands, looking so damn good with his name across her back. She was a steady constant in his life, and he found that having a real relationship was better than any hookup.

After one particularly physical game, Hallie waited nervously in the hallways outside the dressing room. Noah exited followed by Johnny and came over dropping a kiss on Carly’s cheek and turning to Hallie with a smile. Johnny gave her a gentle bump on the shoulder and grinned when he saw her expression.

“He’ll be out in a second.”

She peeked our from behind Him, as the door banged open and Matt came through the doors of the locker room, wet curls falling around his face with a casual elegance, cheeks pink, tie loosened around his neck. His eyes searched around the room till they landed on her and he smiled.

That damn smile.

He accepted a few pats on the back from his teammates as he made his way over to her, and stopped a few feet in front of her. She looked him over not noticing any injuries or blood and he held his arms out wide.

“ I’m fine Hallie. “

She breathed an audible sigh of relief and fell gratefully into his arms. He was so big and warm and she closed her eyes and breathed him in.

Watching Him fight had been a confusing expression to say the least. She had seen videos of it on YouTube but watching it happen live was completely different than through the tv screen. It was horrible because he was her boyfriend and she didn’t want him to get hurt, but it was enthralling to watch him throw his 6”2 frame around with such confidence on the ice. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or smack him and the whole experience had left her emotionally drained.

They made idle chatter as they made their way out of the SaddleDome and into the parking garage, making plans to get together with some other guys from the team the following evening.

Once they were buckled in the car he turned to find her already staring at him.

“What?”

Her eyes were squinted and her head was turned to the side and like a flash of lightning she had hopped from the passenger seat to the back. He wasted no time following her, as they hurriedly pulled at whatever clothing was necessary to come off. She tugged the zipper of his suit pants down, and hiked up her skirt. She was dressed for work, having come to the game right from there with no time to change. She motioned for him to sit but he shook his head and leaned her back against the backseat, coming in between her legs. She settled in, opening her legs. His eyes bugged as he watched her pull the skirt up to reveal she wasn’t wearing stocking, but black thigh highs, and no underwear.

“Hal.” He breathed as she pulled his suit pants down enough and guided him towards her entrance. Her eyes closed and she arched back against the seat at the sensation of him pushing inside of her. He pushed again, adrenaline pumping through him as he quickened his pace, pushing deeper with each thrust.

“Matty.” She breathed, pulling his face to hers so she could kiss him. She fisted his dress shirt in her hands, as she pushed her tongue inside his mouth kissing him sloppily. Her legs began to ache as his pushed became erratic, and she came, him following shortly after. They say breathing heavily for a few minutes before he pulled out of her and sat next to her, situating his suit pants and turning to her. She smiled tiredly at him, eyes closing as he ran his fingers through her hair.

“Take me home.”

********

Hallie felt a twinge of annoyance at the way the girl was so obviously flirting with him and he was doing nothing to stop her. After a long night and a lot of sex, Hallie was overly tired and hadn’t really been in the mood to go out at all. She only had because she promised Carly she would. Matthew had gone to the bar to get a drink and was immediately approached By some bimbo in a short skirt, and that was all it took to bring Hallies mood down even more than it already was.

“Relax Hal.” Carly warned. She could feel an angry heat creep up her neck as she watched him smile at the girl, way to friendly for a guy who had a ‘girlfriend.” She angrily slugged the rest of her drink before setting it down loudly on the table.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” She said stand up and storming towards the ladies room sign, glaring at the back of the girls head who was flirting with her boyfriend.

She burst through the door, startling several girls who were fixing their makeup and blinked away angry tears while she went pee. Who did he think he was? They finally tell their friends the truth and here he was laughing and smiling with some random girl in the bar.

When she exited the bathroom she felt a hand on her arm. She turned ready to chew Matt out, when she realized the hand wasn’t his. She froze. It felt like someone was pouring maple syrup over head, and it was trickling down her body suffocating her as she came face to face with Ryan.

“Hi Hallie. I’ve missed you.”

“Get away from me Ryan.”

“I’m sorry about the photos, it was the only way I knew to get a hold of you after you blocked my phone number.”

“And what about the flowers on my car? How did you find my apartment?”

“I just know that you really love pink roses.”

“How did you find my house?”

He took a step forward and backed her further into the corner. Carly had noticed the exchange from across the bar and stood suddenly knocking her stool back and startling Noah. Matt turned from the conversation he was having to look at her as she jumped over the stool.

“That’s Ryan.”

As Hallie tried to maneuver around Ryan he grabbed her arm.

“Hallie please talk to me.” As she tried to pull away there was a commotion and Ryan’s face went white, a look of terror flashing across it. She turned just in time for a fist to come flying over her shoulder and connect solidly with Ryan’s face.

“Matty no!” She tried to grab on to the back of his T-shirt as he surged forward, punching Ryan again. He was so much bigger than her and she struggled nearly falling forward, until Noah appeared and grabbed Matt around the middle hauling him backwards. Johnny was standing looking at the scene with his mouth open and Carly was attempting to help Noah pull Matt towards towards the entrance. Hallie bit back tears and gave Ryan once last glance before she followed her friends out of the bar.

She burst through the door of her apartment not checking to see if he was behind her or not. She was so angry at him for what he had done she didn’t even want to look at him.

“Look I’m sorry okay?” He said leaning against the doorframe. The cut above his eyebrow had stopped bleeding and he was flexing his fingers, bruises beginning to bloom across his knuckles. “I just. When I saw that guy grab you like that, I don’t know. I just reacted” He looked at his hand and sighed “ it’s cuz I fucking love you okay?”

“You have to stop punching first and asking questions later. You almost punched me in the face!”

“I would never punch you in face Hal-“

“Your fist was two inches from hitting me.”

He looked at his feet embarrassed before she continued.

“And don’t think I didn’t see you flirting with that girl either!”

“What? What girl?”

“The bimbo at the bar who’s chest you couldn’t stop staring at! Thanks for making a complete idiot out of me in front of everyone!”

“This is never gonna change is it? Your never going to trust me.”

“Give me one good reason why I should?! You fill my head with air about wanting to have relationship with me then you flirt with some girl at the bar!”

They were standing ten feet apart, red faced and screaming at each other.

“I don’t need this.” He snapped grabbing his he let and leaving the room. She followed him.

“No you don’t need this and you clearly don’t need me either. Get out!”

“I am. And I won’t be coming back either.” He slammed the door behind him as she stood there, fists balled up at her sides. She listened to him walk angrily down the hallway until his footsteps could no longer be heard.

[starryhyuck]

can i request something with a mean dom haechan and a subby reader? extra points for crying, degradation, or orgasm control :)

you were hyuck’s whore. confirmed.

it wasn’t ever something you were ashamed of. you liked being on your knees, begging hyuck to fuck your mouth until your throat’s raw. you liked being edged until you cry, hearing hyuck call you a dirty slut when you feel your orgasm building. you liked wearing a skirt for him on his birthday just so he could finger fuck you when the other members aren’t looking.

but sometimes, hyuck got really mean with you.

you never minded, especially because on the nights he was extra mean he always brought you incredible orgasms.

something happened to him in practice today and tonight turned into one of those nights.

you were facing the mirror as you sat in hyuck’s lap, his fingers spreading your folds apart. you were completely naked while he was still wearing his clothes from dance practice.

you moan, crying out at his touch as your back arches against his chest. he’s edged you for what seems like hours now, refusing to bring you to an orgasm.

he delivers a slap to your pussy, growling in your ear. “fucking slut. look at yourself. all dripping wet on the floor because you’re so fucking desperate to get fucked. you want that, don’t you?”

you whimper as a form of response, grabbing his hand as you try to get him to move. he laughs and uses one of his arms to pin you down in your spot. your lips part when one of his fingers slide into you, the squelch vibrating throughout the room.

the door is locked and johnny’s gone out for dinner, knowing exactly how long hyuck would take with you. you don’t even know if any of the other members can hear your loud whines.

hyuck thrusts a finger slowly inside you, curling it upwards as you moan against his touch. he uses his thumb to circle your clit and you flinch, already feeling your orgasm build up.

“so responsive,” he mutters, licking a stripe up your neck. “you want to cum?”

“yes, please,” you beg, gripping his wrist. “i’ve been good, hyuck. please let me cum.”

he hums as if he’s thinking about it and you whine frantically when he retracts his finger from your pussy.

“no no no,” you mumble, trying to push him back inside you. he chuckles devilishly at your neediness.

“only good girls get to cum.”

“i’m a good girl,” you insist, thrashing against him. “i’m a good girl. i want to cum so badly, hyuck. please.”

you grind your hips down on his clothed cock and he growls at you, one hand holding you firmly in place.

“good girls don’t disobey.”

“i’m sorry,” you immediately apologize. “i’m sorry. i won’t do it again, i promise.”

his fingers move up to cup your breast, his thumb swirling around your nipple. he smiles at you through the mirror, turning your chin so that you’re no longer facing him. you catch the sight of yourself — spread completely for him on the floor with his hands all over your body.

you watch as his hand moves downwards until he’s cupping your pussy. you’re completely dripping, making a small puddle underneath your legs. johnny wasn’t gonna be happy about this mess.

he enters a finger inside of you again and you moan loudly.

“then cum if you’re such a good girl.”

it only takes mere seconds for you to reach your climax after being edged for hours. you convulse around him, gripping his arm as you experience the biggest mind blowing orgasm of your life.

when you come to, hyuck is licking his fingers, groaning at the taste of your essence.

“is there something else you want?” he asks in a hushed whisper, manhandling your body so that you’re directly pressed against him. the tip of his clothed cock nudges against your entrance. “don’t you think i’ve been too nice with you? i haven’t even gotten to cum yet.”

“i’m sorry,” you apologize again, moving your hand to palm him. he hisses at your touch. “fill me up. use me to cum. i want you so badly, hyuck. please please please.”

he slaps your pussy again and you jolt. “yeah? you wanna be fucked on the floor like a nasty whore? wanna be used as my personal cum dumpster? is that what you want?”

you feel tears brimming at your eyelids, so fucking desperate to feel his cock stretching out your small hole. you cry and nod at his words, chewing on your bottom lip.

he shoves his sweatpants down and his cock springs up, tip red and leaking. he pumps himself a few times and you can feel yourself getting wetter at the sight of him.

“you want this?” he teases, thumb running over his slit to spread the precum that’s oozing out.

“yes yes yes. i’ll do anything, hyuck.”

he laughs at how determined you are to have his cock inside you.

he rubs his cock up and down your entrance, teasing you. you can already imagine how warm he’ll be when he’s finally inside of you. you groan at the thought, so tempted to sink down on him.

“i don’t know,” he muses, eyes on you as you stare at his angry cock. “how do i know you deserve to be fucked?”

“i do, hyuck, you know i do,” you wail. “i’ve been so good for you. i’ll let you use me whenever you want.”

“whenever?” he chuckles. “what about right before i go on stage? fucking you in a storage closet for an adrenaline boost?”

“yes yes,” you agree, turned on by the idea.

“what if someone walks in on us? what are you gonna do then?”

“i’ll take your cock like a good girl and let them watch.”

he grunts. “such a good girl.”

he lines himself up to your entrance and thrusts into you. he feels so warm inside of you and you both groan when he bottoms out.

he wastes no time, throwing you on the floor as he begins thrusting into you. you whine, definitely going to have rug burns in the morning. his fingers grip your hips as he establishes a fast pace, his tip going deep to find your sweet spot.

your cheek is smashed against the floor as he slaps one of your ass cheeks. you cry out, starting to feel some of the tears spilling out.

“fucking slut,” he hisses, grunting as he rams into you. “i could fuck you all night and you would still be hungry for more. and so fucking tight. your pussy’s clenching so hard around me. missed my big cock?”

“yes yes,” you blubber, saliva dripping down your chin. you’re a complete mess, exactly how he likes it. “missed you stretching me out. feel so empty without you.”

“that’s right.”

he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls. the pain topples you into another strong orgasm, eyes rolling back as you clench down on his cock. once your orgasm subsides, hyuck slaps your cheek again.

“don’t cum again until i say so.”

you whimper but you listen, taking his cock as he uses you to cum. your second orgasm builds fast after the first, hyuck’s tip judging against your sweet spot with every single thrust. you’re so close and he knows it, taking all of his power to piston into you.

“please,” you whisper, the pleasure becoming too overwhelming. “i’m a good girl.”

he groans. “then cum for me, good girl.”

you wail when you cum again and hyuck follows soon after you, shooting his thick ropes of cum inside of your tummy. you feel warm and sticky, and completely full of him.

when you’ve both finished, your body goes limp, completely collapsing on the floor. hyuck’s cock slips out of you and you think that this is the end. that he’s finished for the night.

you are so completely wrong.

he fingers you to another two orgasms and eats his cum out of you, juices dripping down your legs by the time johnny comes back from dinner.

[aftokrvteira]

his hands (m)

pairing: eren yaeger/jaeger x fem!reader warnings: nsfw, fingering, weed, vagsex, explicit language. word count: 2.2 k

summary: eren’s your best friend and you’ve been in love with him since you met him. for the first time you agree to smoke weed with him and shit goes down. there’s some fluff too.

You cough, loudly and he bursts into a loud laugh. You try to hit him on the arm but it’s useless. Your eyes tear up while trying to gasp for some clean air.

“Stop laughing” you managed to say, trying to clear your throat. Your mouth tastes like smoke and your lungs feel heavy and burning. It was a bad idea but you just couldn’t say no to him. He was charming and funny and he always knew what to say to convince you. He smiled, taking the smoking pipe from your hand.

“Let me show you how it’s done” Eren placed it between his lips and lit it up, taking a deep breath, making the weed glow while burning. He let out the smoke through his nose after a few seconds. It looked easy... for him. How long he had been smoking? Two years now? “You wanna try again?” he offered the pipe to you once more. It wasn’t a pleasing sensation, to be honest and you could only taste ashes and smoke. You wanted to say no, but his eyes were so convincing...

You took it and placed it between your own lips, thinking about an indirect kiss. He was a gentleman and lit it up for you.

“Okay, so, while it burns, you have to take a deep breath. Hold it and then just breath it out. Easy peasy.” 

This time wasn’t so terrible. You wanted to cough but you managed to keep the smoke inside before letting it out all at once. Eren seemed pleased with the way you did it and patted you on the head, the way he always did, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy.

You’d been in love with him since you met him at that party, a few years ago. You two were freshmen and happened to sit at the same coach at the frat house, not knowing what to do or what to say. Eren asked you about your high school first and you told him the whole story, always oversharing but he didn’t seemed to mind. He was interested enough and you liked that. He talked to you about his last school, his friends and the fact that they were also in that college. He was waiting for them to arrive while you were there alone because you wanted to be more social.

“My face is tingling” you murmured. He poked your cheek and you couldn’t help but smile because it felt good. You noticed the fluffy rug against your skin in a way you never did before, as if your skin got a hundred times more sensitive.

“Thats okay” he said. You were both laying down on the rug of your room at the dorms, looking at the ceiling, with your arm and his brushing skins. “Now all you have to do is relax.”

Your whole body started tingling at once, from the tip of your toes to your face. It all felt...really nice. You could hear laughter and conversations coming from outside the building and it was like music. You brought your hands to your face, noticing the smell of your hand cream and smoke lingering on your fingers. Without thinking, you took his hand and did the same thing. His skin was soft and warm and it felt like silk against yours. His scent was a mixture of weed and laundry detergent, along with Eren’s own aroma. Something that you couldn’t describe but it was unforgettable.

“I always knew you had a hand kink” he said, taking you out of your thoughts. You blushed and let go of his hand. Eren laughed once again. “I’m not shaming you, tho, you can keep going.”

“Shut up” you murmured, placing your hands inside the pocket of your hoodie. You felt his head resting against your shoulder. He always did that and you loved it. You loved the sensation of his closeness to you, the smell of his hair, his warmth... It was the best part of being his best friend. That he was always close. “My mom would kill me if she knew I’m doing drugs with the school’s junkie...”

“Wow, I didn’t know I was the school junkie” he said “What about Connie?”

“He just looks like a junkie but he’s not baked 24/7 like someone I know” Eren shrugged, barely moving his head to look at you. He stared for a few moments “What?”

“Nothing. I just like to look at you. You’re really cute.”

You blushed, biting your lip and looking away. That wasn’t the first time he said something like that and even though you liked it, you knew he didn’t mean it in the way you wanted to and it broke your heart just a little bit. It wasn’t his fault. You were the one having feelings for him, just like those girls in teen movies. The difference was that, in the end, you wouldn’t end up with him. At least you got his friendship and it made everything have a bittersweet taste. You sighed, trying not to think about it and just enjoying the silence between you two. This moments were the ones you loved the most because there was nothing except you two, laying down together, looking at the ceiling of your dorm room.

“I love you”

His voice was soft but it still broke the silence. It sounded peaceful and real. And then, you got it. You sat up straight, looking at him. He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze was lost somewhere else. Did you heard him alright? Or was it just because of the weed? You didn’t dared to ask what he said because you didn’t want to embarrass yourself. Maybe your mind was playing games. You shook your head and hugged your legs against your chest. It sure was your imagination. There was no way he’d...

“Y/N” judging by they way he said your name you knew he wasn’t joking anymore. You looked at him and there was something about his eyes that sent shivers all over your body. Eren was right. Weed made everything feel...so different. You didn’t know what to do. And you froze in your place when you felt his hands on your cheeks, and your heart stopped completely once he leaned in to press his lips against yours.

It was electric. His mouth tasted like chocolate and weed and it was delicious. You didn’t understand what was going on, but the sensation was being so amazing that you just gave in, letting him caress your tongue with his, getting closer. You placed your hands on his chest and felt the fast beating of his heart. His fingers ran down to your lower back and it was as if he was touching your very nerves, going through the layers of fabric and skin. Something in the back of your hazed brain was panicking with the fact that you and Eren were making out but that something was quickly silenced once his mouth traveled down your neck, finding its way on the curve of your throat. A small whimper left your lips and you blushed even more, feeling how the blood rushed all the way to your face. Eren seemed to like that because he got closer, pressing his body against yours. Your knees were melting and your skin was about to catch on fire.

As if he had the same sensation he got rid of your hoodie with a swift movement. You didn’t had to think about it. His lips didn’t left enough room for thinking. He kissed you until you were out of breath. You didn’t even cared that you were only using your bra under the hoodie and a simple pair of shorts. You loved the fact that you could just be comfortable around Eren. You gasped when his hands cupped your breasts over the fabric, squeezing them. You loved the feeling because you’ve been dreaming about that since you met him at that party. Since you saw his hands rolling a joint you wanted him to touch you with the same delicacy and eagerness. He pushed you a little bit so  you could lay down again. You bit your lip to muffle the moan that wanted to escape your lips when he positioned himself all over you. Your eyes met his and it was like everything felt into place. His hair tickled your face when he leaned in closer to your face and you couldn’t help but run your fingers through the brown strands, letting his hair loose from the bun he always had. It felt amazing. Your hands caressed the back of his neck and his broad shoulders, his back and his face as you were admiring everything about him. Being this close was driving you crazy and your heart was pounding inside of your chest.

“Eren...” you whispered his name and the way it sounded felt like a declaration. He kissed you once again and the only reason he would stop was to gasp for air.

It was all being like a dream, like one of those dreams you used to have where he just appeared whispering all sorts of perverted things, things that he would do to you. You always woke up wet and confused and your solution for that was to finger yourself to get rid of the horniness. Just like those times, one of your hands automatically moved down and slid inside your shorts. With your middle and ring fingers you felt how wet you already were and you moaned against his lips, making him realize what you were doing. He stopped for a brief second and then grabbed your wrist, making you stop. You looked at him but he was half-smiling. His hand replaced yours and the way his fingers caressed your clit made you gasp. He collected your juices and slowly introduced one finger inside of you, making you close your legs. Eren let out a chuckle.

“You’re really cute...”

You covered your face with your hands, embarrassed but quickly forgot about it when he started to finger-fuck you, managing to rub your clit with his thumb and thrust his middle fingir in and out of you. Your moans got louder and for a moment you thought that maybe someone could hear you but you didn’t care. This was a fantasy. Maybe you were just hallucinating and you didn’t wanted it to stop. It was all you ever wanted.

“Take off your bra.” he asked and you obeyed, just pulling it up, showing him your breasts and your already hard nipples. He licked his lips before leaning so he could lick one of them, circling his tongue around it, making you a mess of moans and wetness. He sucked on your tits and took his time with them, as if it was something he just wanted to do from a long time.

You sighed when he stopped fingering you. He kneeled between your legs and you saw him pull down his pants and boxers, letting you see his boner. His cock was hard and glistening, with beads of precum covering the tip. You imagined that he was big, but not that big. You gulped and he smiled, noticing the wanting in your eyes. He took off your shorts and opened your legs, running his fingers along your slit, collecting your wetness and making you moan. With that same hand he jerked his dick, up and down, his gaze fixed on your pussy and the position you were. Those seconds felt like an eternity to you.

“Is it okay if we do it like this?” he asked. “I didn’t bring a condom”

You bit your lip for a second but then just nodded.

“As long as you pull out...”

That answer seemed to please him because as soon as you said it, he aligned his cock against your cunt and slowly slid it inside. You arched your back, tensing around his length, making him moan. It was better than you ever imagined. You could feel him inside of you, opening your insides so he could fit in your tight pussy. You wrapped your arms against his neck, closing your eyes and he started to thrust in and out of you, increasing the pace as he got used to the sensation.

“You have no idea of how bad I wanted you...” he said, resting his forehead against yours. “From the moment I...Oh, fuck...I saw you...” Eren’s balls slapped against your skin, making a delicious sound that matched perfectly with the rhythm of your sighs and moans. “I love you, y/n...”

You opened your eyes. His face was so close, covered in sweat, eyes closed shut. He was panting and you couldn’t help but lean in for a kiss, a deep kiss. You moved your hips against his, syncing the movements. This way you felt him go in deeper, stimulating your g-spot, driving you over the edge. You felt him twitch inside of you, just about to get there. You wrapped your legs around his waist and screamed his name when you cum. Just a few seconds after, he pulls out, cumming all over your belly with a husky moan. He’s panting and colapses right next to you. Both of your chests raise up and down, trying to recover your breath.

You feel his arm wrapping around your shoulder, bringing you closer to him until you rest against his chest. You can hear his heart pounding and you feel embarrassed and happy and tender.

“I love you too” you whisper and he hugs you tighter. 

“Can I spend the night?” he asks.

“Only if you take a shower with me.”

“Deal.”

[rainileo]

i really enjoy your writing 😭 can i request make up shower sex w/ wonwoo + fingering ,,,, then cuddly cockwarming right after ,, which leads to another round bcos he’s horny lmao 🥵 u can add whatever im just frustrated bc he’s super hot these days

you lie like a rug (m)

wonwoo x (female reader)

warnings: fingering, orgasm denial, degradation, dom wonwoo yummy,

lmk if i miss anything (not proof read)

a/n: tysm! sorry this took so long to get out lmao. this is a part 1 of 2

you decide to show seventeen your boobs for fun and your boyfriend takes it the wrong way.

11:54 pm

“i’m tired of babysitting you, drink water.” he angrily shoved water to you as you sit on the bathroom counter, legs swinging playfully. “what do you mean, you don’t have to baby sit me.” you reply flatly, opening the bottle and sipping from it. he watches you, leaning on the wall across from you, his arms crossed.

“well it kinda seems like i have have to considering the fact that you can’t even keep your clothes on around them.” he spits, glaring at you in the eyes. “wonwoo it was a harmless joke, no one was offended and i didn’t hurt anyone, what’s the big deal?” you question, angrily putting the cap back into the bottle and placing it beside you on the counter.

“you flashed my best friends!” he throws back, getting off the wall, becoming heated now. “it was a joke! besides they loved it.” you retaliate, smiling to yourself while remembering their priceless reactions; all twelve boys either standing up and clapping, saying ‘holy shit’, ‘wow’ and variations of ‘oh my god’s’, or just staring in shock. they knew it was just your drunken confidence, but they didn’t care, as they loved that you liked to joke around with them like that.

other than your boyfriend obviously. it didn’t matter what he says to you though, it was your body your choice, drunk or not. but you still decided to listen to him anyways, because you know that in the end this fight won’t matter. “it doesn’t matter if they loved it or not, you don’t just go and flash people y/n.” he runs his hands through his hair, now looking visibly upset, and you sigh and begin, “wonwoo, you know them, they would be the last group of people to take that the wrong way.”

you hop off the counter and walk towards him, now chest to chest and wrapping your arms around his neck. he keeps his hands by his side and looks down at you, still wound up of this situation, but you clearly don’t care. “how about we just go home, and just relax, i’m kinda over this anyways.” you said looking at him in the eyes, slightly smiling at the idea of a shower with him. he thinks for a moment, exhales, and places his hands on your hips, pulling you off of him coldly.

“go get your stuff and say goodbye.” he says turning you towards the door and opening it to shove you out and close the door behind you. you roll your eyes and sigh, walking back to where the rest of the boys were.

sometimes he can be so jealous and possessive when it came to you and the boys, always being down your back about what you do around them, worried about what the boys could do.

obviously he knows he can trust you all and knows you mean no harm but he still can’t help worrying. he couldn’t imagine you leaving him for one of his members.

—————————

the car ride home was tense, you just wanted him to give it up already, and you just wanted him to forget about it but he kept quiet and cold.

you guys arrive home and you guys both make your way towards the shower instinctively. you both continue to mindlessly strip and get into the shower.

the water runs over the two of you and you sigh, turning to face him and you speak, “are you done acting like a child?” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “are you done acting like a child?” he bites back, his stare burning holes into you. you scoff in disbelief, “asshole.” you turn around, soaking yourself in the water and he retaliates by roughly gripping your hair and pulling your against his chest roughly. you yelp in pain and your hands instinctively go to his in your hair.

his free hand goes straight to your core to touch you, “god you’re so wet,” he comments, “i bet it made you all wet when you showed the boys your tits huh? i know you like showing off.” he spits in your ear and you whimper in reply as his hand cups your mound, immediately finding your clit and lightly rubs. “answer me.” he grips your hair tighter and you yelp again, fingers digging into his arm that is attached to your head.

“n-no it didn’t, i swear.” you say, squeezing your eyes shut.

“you lie like a fucking rug.” he shoves your face and chest to lean against the cold wall, hands going to rest on the wall beside you for leverage. his fingers begin to roughly rub your core and you moan out, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.

“fffuck.” you spit, one hand going down to hold onto his that stimulates you. he continues his ministrations on your core, quickly bring you to your edge, legs shaking around him.

he could tell that you were close, he always knew, and still moves his fingers against you. “you wanna cum?” he ask into your ear, biting your lobe gently. “y-yes, yes please i do.” you desperately reply, biting your lip to revel in the pleasure, until it was ripped away all at once.

your eyes shoot open and you furrow your brows as anger boils in your chest. “liars and sluts that show off their body don’t get to cum.” you huff and turn your head to face him, still leaning against the wall.

he smirks at you and lets go of your hair, hands moving to your hips to stroke the skin lightly. “i want to hear you say that you’re sorry and you’ll never do that again.” the water still runs between the two of you and you turn your head back to the wall to lean your forehead on it. “i’m sorry and i’ll never do it again.” tou turn to face him as you end up easily giving in, at this point just wanting an orgasm at least.

“good girl.” he says, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other moving down to your core, two fingers immediately sliding into your heat. you gasp and your mouth drops open, making eye contact with him as his fingers begin to slowly move inside you. he leans in to capture your lips in a kiss and your hands go to wrap around his neck.

you guys roughly make out, fighting for dominance until his tongue finds its way into your mouth, exploring inside. his fingers continue to move inside of you, his pace slowly speeding up and his thumb finding your clit to rub it. you moan into his mouth and dig your nails into his shoulder, creating small crescent shapes into his skin. he grunts as your leg comes in contact with his forgotten member.

you pull away and look down to his fully hard dick. “don’t worry about me, i want to do something after.” he breathlessly says, the arm warped around your waist pulling you closer to him as his fingers bring you to your edge quickly. you nod, leaning in to connect your lips again.

he quickly brings you to your edge and you shake around him, grinding and shifting as you dig your nails into his back, moaning into his mouth. he laughs against you and pulls away, “cum baby.” that was all he had to say for you to begin clenching and shaking as your eyes roll back into your head, orgasm washing over you. you go limp in his arms and he holds you tightly against him.

you regain strength and pull yourself back up to stand in front of him. “so what was that thing you wanted to try?” you breathlessly ask and he laughs at you again.

“cock warming.”

[mctherofdragons]

Born to Die | F.W.

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: ANGST/SMUT 18+ only, major character death, toxic relationship dynamic, tattoos, gang activity, motorcycles, domination/submission, daddy kink, possessiveness, praise kink, choking, smoking, drug mention, alludes to criminal activity, blood/wounds/violence, hurt/comfort, police, arrest, gun violence, su*cide by cop. 

Based on: Sons of Anarchy; Lana Del Rey’s Ride and Born to Die music videos 

AN: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! I’m not going to argue about this being ~toxic because I know it is. It’s heavily influenced by Jax and Tara’s dynamic in Sons of Anarchy. It’s also a work of complete fiction and honestly, who doesn’t love a bad boy? I know I do. Thank you to Mya (@wandsandwheezes) and Lanie (@gcdric) for encouraging me to write this! Note about biker subculture: “old lady” is a term of endearment for a wife/girlfriend. If a biker refers to a girl as his “old lady”, this is actually a warning sign to other men to back off. Reader would want Fred to refer to her as such. ​

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

”He’s not good for you,” your mother’s voice echoed as you tossed everything you owned in a duffle bag. “He’s a criminal, y/n.” 

”I don’t care. I love him.” 

With that, you had left everything behind to be with Fred Weasley. He was a boy from the wrong side of town who you had met while tending bar to make ends meet. You had always been a good girl. Sure, your family had no money, but you were a hard worker. In fact, you had began studying to become a nurse - paid for with grants and academic scholarships. All of your dreams faded away when Fred walked into your life. 

Everything about Fred Weasley was stunning. He stood over six feet, broad shoulders clad in leather and tattoos, with a dangerous light behind his eyes. He had scars tattering his soft, pale skin. On his face, freckles danced beneath his eyes light a night sky, and you were enamored with discovering the constellations. He was tough, but soft with you. He wore his long hair gelled back,  adding to his bad boy persona. Fred was the most beautiful man you had ever seen - both inside and out. 

 He had come in one night close to closing, sitting down and whistling at you.  His brown eyes twinkled at you as he ordered a straight whiskey, flirting with you as he drank. “You’re far too pretty to be workin’ here all alone. Girls like you can fall prey easily.”

You had heard about men like him. They would roll up together occasionally, the backs of their leather jackets or vests donning the same symbolic patch. Outlaw motorcycle clubs with all of their criminal enterprising, violence, and danger had been something you would normally have avoided at all costs. However, Fred nearly radiated heat as he sat before you, pushing a tattoo and ring covered hand through his hair. He puffed on his second cigarette of the night, gazing at you in a way that made you want to abandon your good girl ambitions.

“You wanna go for a ride, sweet thing?”

After your shift had ended, you climbed on the back of Fred’s Harley, holding on tight to his waist as he sped down the road. That night he could have taken you anywhere. Even Hell would have been a welcome destination when Fred finally parked outside of a garage, pulling you inside. You were leaned against a different motorcycle with his hands exploring every inch of you. His hand slowly slipped around your throat, the cold of his rings pressing gently into your supple skin. At that moment, you had fallen entranced under Fred Weasley’s spell, unable to ever think about the life you knew before. 

Fred Weasley had bewitched you. Even with the danger that lurked behind every moment with you, the addiction to him had pulled you beneath the waves. It was a dark, deep ocean but you were content to continue being pulled deeper and deeper into the depth. You were his girl. That’s all you ever wanted to be - for eternity. 

+++++++++++++++++

Eventually, you had moved into Fred’s house. It was, like everything else about the man’s persona, not the safest place to be. At night, you’d hear gunshots rattling down the street. More than once, you laid awake, watching Fred in the moonlight, holding his own gun in his hand. You knew better than to ask questions about how the gang made its money. Fred often managed to shut you up with diamonds or kisses, pushing any questions you had to the back of your mind. 

One night, you had been laying on Fred’s chest. You were tracing the lion tattoo on the right side of his chest, your fingers dancing over the cat’s dark mane. “I’m scared for you, Freddie.” 

You gasped slightly as he pulled your hair behind your shoulder, pressing the pad of his pointer finger behind your ear. There you had gotten a small, but meaningful tattoo. The letter ‘F’ was sunk into your skin, marking you permanently as his. Fred was possessive over you. He kept you safe from the other members with a proprietary aura. Fred moved to attach a soft kiss to the tattoo, his warm breath tickling against your earlobe. 

“You know I’ll keep you safe, right, babygirl?” 

“Of course.” 

He slid his hand down your body, strong and calloused hands brushing against the skin of your side. He trailed a finger along the lace of your panties, slowly and painfully running the tip of his pointer finger along your slit. He moved the black material to the side, coasting two of his long fingers into you. He rubbed soft circles on your hood, causing you to gasp slightly. 

“Do you belong to me? Who do you belong to? If someone asks, who do you belong to?” 

He would occasionally beg for confirmation from you. “Fred Weasley,” you breathed, back arching as he attached his open mouth to your neck, sucking a mark into your skin. “Fred Weasley.” 

He fingered you fast, loving the way your wetness coated his fingers. He pulled them out, shoving them into your mouth with a small grin. You gazed into his eyes as you licked them clean, batting your long, mascara coated eyelashes at him. 

“That’s my bitch.” 

You melted at his words, spreading your legs wider and allowing him to climb on top of you. You dug your fingernails into his back as he moved rhythmically inside of you, making tiny scratches along with the tattoos on his shoulders. His rings pressed hard into your skin as he propped your legs up, keeping his eyes burning into yours. 

+++++++++++++++++

You were waiting up one night for Fred, sitting in nothing but his leather vest, donned with the club’s patch on the back. The patch itself had to be earned, and membership in the club was lifelong. The only way out of the club itself was death, and Fred knew that very well. He had another patch on the front breast of his vest - Man of Mayhem - meaning he had undertaken several high-risk tasks for the crew. 

He didn’t tell you much about these tasks, and you didn’t ask questions as you would stand at the sink, scrubbing blood from his shirts. He was gone late again tonight and you had missed him, pulling the vest on since he had worn his jacket instead. You heard the door ratted open. Fred stood before you, cigarette hanging from his ruddy, pink lips. He took a long drag, blowing the smoke up into the air. 

“You like?” You asked, standing up. Your lips curled into a mischievous grin and you ran off toward the bedroom, but he caught you by your arm. He had you pinned against the wall. He smelled like alcohol, cigarettes, and motorcycle exhaust. It was then that you noticed Fred’s lip was busted open, a bit of blood dried over the cut on the top. It was swollen and bruised. His cheek, on the other hand, also had a large blue and yellow bruise forming beneath his eye socket. 

“Take it off.” 

You plucked the smoke from his mouth, pulling it between your own lips for a drag. “Why?” 

He grabbed the cigarette back and stomped it out under his boot. He latched his hands onto the leather of the vest and pulled it off of you, tossing it onto a nearby table. “No one fucking wears that patch besides members. Do you fucking understand that?” 

You had recoiled a bit, leaning away from him. He caught your face gently in his hands, planting a soft kiss on your lips. You sighed, suddenly melting back into his touch. Fred was holding your face tightly as he kissed you. You could feel the rugged cut on his lip against your own. You wished somewhere deep down the kiss itself was magic - able to heal him. His tongue danced along your lower lip before you granted him entry. You had almost forgotten you were completely naked while he was clothed, once again causing you to find your rightful place as his plaything. 

“I’m trying to protect you.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

He stood back for a second, taking in the sight of you naked before him. You giggled loudly as he hoisted you up, tossing you over his shoulder. He brought a hand up to smack your bare ass, a loud crack breaking the silence of the house. When he finally got to the bedroom, he tossed you onto the mattress and you bounced. 

You propped your head upon your hand as he stripped, muscles flexing as he pulled his tee-shirt off. He laid down on the bed and you ran your hands along his bare chest. You were kissing fast and furiously, tongues battling for dominance. He had slid his hand between your legs, rubbing his fingers gently against your sensitive flower. He spat into his hand, bringing it back down to moisten you even more. Fred had an artistic way of touching you as if each point of pressure on your body was something he craved to explore. You were panting loudly, tiny feminine gasps rolling off your tongue. 

“You wanna ride me, princess?” You nodded, moving to place your knees on either side of his hips. Placing your hand around Fred’s shaft, you guided his length into you. You lowered yourself slowly onto him and tossed your head toward the ceiling, feeling your hair fall against the bare skin of your back. The way he filled you up was sinful yet otherworldly. Gently, you gyrated your hips in circles, getting comfortable. Fred placed his hands on your hips, urging you to begin bouncing. It was moments like this that had made Fred claim you as his ‘old lady’ - biker slang for a girl that belonged to him and only him. It was a predatorial move, urging the other men in the MC to back off, lest they deal with his wrath. It made you feel chosen, valued, and deeply cherished. 

Fred locked his eyes onto yours as you ran your hands up and down his chest. He caught your lips for a kiss, pushing his hands up into the tangles of your hair. As you panted, he spoke softly into your shoulder. “I need...I need your help with something. Are you gonna b-be my good girl?”

You continued to bounce on him, staring deeply into his eyes. “Anything for you, daddy.” 

He helped you off of him, moving swiftly to pin you beneath him. He slammed into you again, pinning your hands above your head. You moaned, letting him attach his lips around your nipple. He bit softly before sucking. He lifted your legs to rest on his shoulders, moving quicker and quicker. 

“Would you do anything for me, baby? Would you?” “Yes! Yes, daddy,” you moaned. Fred could feel your walls tightening around him, which signaled him to wrap his hand around your throat. The feeling of his rings on your skin and the loss of control sent you into your ecstasy, crying his name out loudly. He came next, pulling out to cum on your stomach. You watched, stars in your eyes, as he reached next to the bed to grab his tee shirt and wipe you up. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You held the gun in your hand still, shaking as you watched the person in front of you fall to the floor. “C’mon,” Fred said, wrapping his hand around your wrist. You ran along with him, shaking from your fingers to toes. 

“Is-Is...did I kill her?” 

Fred handed you a small, white pill and you took it without question. “It’ll calm you down. C’mon,” he said, starting up his bike. You crawled onto the back, wrapping your arms around his waist. Fred’s shirt was still soaked in blood. You had been his ruse to get into the house, and then he had urged you to shoot. 

He had shot too, leaving the living room full of the corpses of a rival club. As Fred sped, coasting nearly one hundred miles per hour, you saw flashes of red and blue light up in the rearview. Fred was content to rev his engine, but another cop car pulled out in front, causing his wheels to come to a screeching stop. 

Four sets of officers stood behind their doors, crouching, guns drawn. “Get off,” Fred whispered and you listened, hands up in surrender. A male cop immediately grabbed you, locking the handcuffs around your wrist. You were bent over the hood of the cop car, waiting for Fred to make his move. 

“Weasley, put your hands up and drop your weapon.” 

Fred slowly got off of his bike, hands up. He looked you dead in the eyes, saying words you had never heard him speak out loud before. “Remember, I’ve always loved you, baby. I’m not letting them take me.” 

With that, he moved his hand down to his waistband, going for his gun. Before he could get it, a shower of bullets rang out from all angles, bursting through the leather of his jacket and into his torso and head. You screamed, fighting against your cuffs as two male officers held you back. Fred Weasley had gone out the same way he had always wanted - in a blaze of glory. 

“Freddie!” You screamed echoed in the quiet desert night, staring at the blood pooling into the California sand. “Freddie!” 

Fred’s eyes were still open, blood leaking from his mouth. The light behind them was gone, his pupils only illuminated by swirls of red and blue from the sirens. You continued to scream as you were pushed, head down, into the back of a police car. 

The police officer began to read your rights. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?” 

“Fuck you,” you cussed, as one final send off to the man you loved. 

[platypanthewriter]

The Devil Looks After His Own Ch.4

Chapters One | Two | Three

Little Steve Harrington is so lonely he tries summoning a demon with a ritual advertised on TV–but luckily, it doesn’t work, and a  buff, non-human nanny hired by his mom shows up minutes later.  Years  later, they’re best friends, and Steve still doesn’t know the truth.   For @magniloquent-raven​!

Since Steve’s mom and dad had basically stopped doing anything around the house, Steve helped Billy with things like scrubbing the bathroom, and doing laundry, and vacuuming. They listened to music very loud if Steve’s dad wasn’t working, and if he was, they played charades with each other as they worked. That meant Steve sometimes got the parmesan cheese when he wanted the Ajax cleanser, and Billy got Steve yelling and climbing up the furniture, looking for a huge cockroach rat hybrid, when all he wanted Steve to do was move so he could pick up the rug, but it was pretty funny.

“They are paying you, right,” Steve asked one day, as he and Billy laid on the floor of his room, exhausted from scrubbing the entire kitchen after Billy accidentally boiled a pan of chili over the whole stove and proceeded to drop it on the kitchen floor. Steve’s stomach growled—it’d actually smelled pretty good, for something Billy cooked, and he rolled to bury his face in Billy’s shoulder, groaning.

“...I don’t have a lot of use for money,” Billy said thoughtfully. “They’re giving me some, though, yeah.”

“Let’s order pizza,” Steve moaned, stretching. “I mean, if—can you get the money? Do you know how?”

“I have a bank account,” Billy muttered, but from the red his ears had turned, Steve suspected it hadn’t been that easy, at first.

“...do you have a card?” Steve asked, holding his fingers up in a rectangle, and Billy rolled onto his side to tickle him.

“Yes, you little jerk, I have a debit card, and I can get us pizza,” he told Steve, as he giggled and kicked the air.

“You should use it to do things you want,” Steve told him, relaxing into the hug, once he smacked Billy enough times that the tickling stopped. “Buy—things. Things you want. Or—or go somewhere.”

“Where would I wanna go without you?” Billy asked him, laughing, and Steve’s face heated.

He snaked his arms around more of Billy, and squeezed him, sighing contentedly. “...we could go together,” he mumbled. “To—to the, um, like, the water park. Or somewhere. They have slides.”

“Oooo,” Billy said, but it felt like he was laughing.

“They’re really cool,” Steve huffed, and Billy noogied his head.

“What about, like...Disneyland,” he whispered, and Steve’s heart thudded in his chest. “Or like...Hawaii? Is that a thing kids like? Go snorkeling?”

“Holy shit,” Steve muttered, because it seemed like the situation deserved a swear. “C-can you pay for that?! That’s—that’s a plane ticket, Billy—”

“Two of them,” Billy said, and Steve nodded, his heart pounding with excitement, because vacations would be completely different with Billy—Billy wouldn’t leave Steve in the hotel room all day, or expect him to just sit on a bench for hours at the mall.

“I-if you, um, if you want,” he squeaked, and Billy rolled on top of him, squishing him, and being annoying, and saying things like ‘Oh no, gross, did I roll onto a bug?’ “Get off!” Steve yelled, kicking and laughing.

“Too tired,” Billy groaned. “I’m just gonna lay here on this gross bug.”

“I’m not a bug!” Steve yelled back, cackling helplessly, until Billy finally took mercy, scooped him up, and let Steve order pizza with anything he wanted.

It turned out kinda gross, actually, because Steve had ordered everything he hadn’t tried before, but they picked off the fruit and the weird fish.  The fried eggs and sunflower seeds were actually pretty good.

“I didn’t know you were such a good cook,” Billy told him, and Steve kicked his leg, snorting a laugh, as Billy flipped through channels.

He paused on a news show, the news person holding the microphone out to a being that was mostly fire and horns. “What do you think of this talk of requiring a license from both sides to summon demons?”

“It’s ridiculous,” said the guttural voice in flames, and Billy shivered, his face weirdly blank, like he got at the beginning, when Steve ordered him around. “Expecting my people to agree not to tear anyone’s face off, or steal their soul, when they’ve been summoned and enslaved for millenia? Don’t make me laugh.”

Steve slid his hand into Billy’s as the news person interrupted. “Well, it’s supposed to end that—”

“My own son has been missing for nearly a year,” said the harsh voice, and Billy trembled again, lowering his slice of pizza to the plate. “Are you suggesting I report the summoner to the authorities, instead of punishing them for my son’s captivity myself? How would a slap on the wrist help us more?”

“...fuck,” Billy whispered, rubbing his face, and Steve squeezed his hand.

“It stands to reason that if there was oversight on who could summon demons—” the news person persisted, but the fire demon slammed a flaming appendage against the table, and ey jerked back.

“I will burn them from the bones out until their skin cracks off in lumps of char,” said the demon, “—and then I will reclaim my son,” and then the TV clicked off, and Billy was sweating and shaking, tears welling up in his eyes.

Steve dropped his pizza on his plate, sat it aside, and stood up to hug Billy, petting his hair like he was the neighbor’s cat as Billy laughed and shuddered against him. “Billy,” Steve whispered. “Are you a demon?”

“You think I’m like him?” Billy gasped out, his fists tight in Steve’s shirt. “You see him and you—you’re like—that’s Billy,” he choked off, crying, and Steve petted his hair some more, biting his lips, and trying to figure it out.

Before Billy, he’d never thought of teenagers as being just another kind of kid—they’d always seemed basically like grownups—but he was wondering more and more whether teenagers were just children who could drive. Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that idea, it sounded kind of...bad.

“Do—did you used to summon demons,” he asked, cautiously. “Is—is that why you—is that why you’re magic—is—is—do you know a demon,” he tried, wondering what could have made Billy cry.

“Doesn’t matter,” Billy mumbled, and Steve raised his eyebrows.

“It matters,” he said, but then he felt Billy start to pull away, and hugged him tighter. “But, um. You—you don’t have to...tell me. Okay?”

“...are you serious,” Billy whispered, and Steve nodded, running his fingers through Billy’s curls. Billy sighed, squeezing him back.

“If, um, if you don’t...want to talk about it,” Steve told him, “—um, you—you don’t have to...tell me.”

“...sorry,” Billy sighed. He sounded exhausted. “I just...it’s, um. It’s sort of...safer. If you don’t know.”

“Okay,” Steve told him, wondering. Billy was right, he thought—even if he did have horns, the Billy that swung him around in the air, played LEGO, and bought him weird pizza was nothing like the fire demon that had threatened the news person, which he thought he should probably tell Billy. “You’re not like that,” he said quickly. “He was scary. He wanted to be scary. He wanted to hurt somebody. He...I know you’re not like that. I didn’t—I didn’t mean you were like that.”

Billy nodded, sighing. “I don’t want to be like that.”

“Who would,” Steve wondered, making a face. “What a jerk.”

“...yeah,” Billy said, laughing softly.

“Do you...know him...somehow?” Steve couldn’t help asking. “Is—is that why you yelled at me about demons? When you first came?”

“Demons are dangerous,” Billy bit out, “—and they will kill you. Don’t you fucking dare try that summoning shit again—”

“I wasn’t going to,” Steve said, shaking his head, and trying not to smile, because Billy’d turned to glower at him, wiping his eyes. “I mean it, I won’t—”

“You better not,” Billy growled, his mouth quirking as he slid his hand along the back of the couch to tickle Steve’s side, and Steve yelped.

“I won’t! I won’t, I promise, I won’t!” he yelled, squawking and giggling, and Billy yanked him in close for a hug.

“You’ll get eaten,” Billy said quietly, frowning like he was still worried, and Steve flicked his earring.

“I won’t do it,” he said again. “I won’t. I promise.”

“...okay,” Billy sighed, resting his face against Steve’s hair.

It started to get hot and uncomfortable in Billy’s arms—he was squeezing really tight, and they were both sweaty from cleaning, and Steve was hungry— but he waited, petting Billy’s hair until he let go on his own.

“I promise not to kidnap anyone and get eaten,” Steve muttered into Billy’s curls, sighing, and Billy started snickering, and blew a raspberry on his neck with a loud farty noise. Steve’s dad stomped out of his office and yelled at them to be quiet, and they snuck the pizza into Steve’s room, and had a picnic on the floor.

A couple weeks later, Steve and Billy were leaving the LEGO store at the mall—Steve with his head stuffed with ideas and his hands on the Jungle Raider vehicle he’d finally picked up for his Ninjago set, Billy with the new bonsai tree set, because he and Steve had decided to add it to his house—when they heard screams. Steve was still looking at the cover of the box when he registered Billy shoving him behind Billy’s back, and a woman ran by yelling “Run, get out of here, there’s a man with a gun!”

Steve froze, clutching his Ninjago set, and Billy scooped him up, and frowned back atinto the LEGO store, and then down the corridor of the mall. More people were running by, and some of them were making phone calls, which was good, Steve thought dazedly. He should have thought of that, calling 911, like in a movie.

“Kiddo,” Billy said softly, “—those sets you gave me. They really mine?”

“There’s a man with a gun,” Steve said shakily. “Billy.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, sitting him back down. “And I don’t know where he is, or what’s going on, but if you—” he bit his lip, thinking.

“Billy, can you help?” Steve hissed, wide-eyed. “Don’t get hurt—”

“Pick a set to really never play with again,” Billy said, glancing back into the mall. “You have to—to throw it away, or break it, so nobody can use it again. Can you do that?”

“I can’t break it from here,” Steve whimpered, starting to panic. “I can’t—this one’s too small and dumb, isn’t it, it was only ten dollars—” he held up the Jungle Raider vehicle, his eyes blurring with tears.

“That would work,” Billy said. “You’ve never even gotten to play with it. You can’t just buy it again, though.”

“O-okay,” Steve said, nodding. He lowered it slowly towards the ground, and then jumped and dropped it as they heard a gunshot. He stomped on it a few times. There was a crunch, he flinched, and Billy yanked him into a quick hug, kissing his cheek, and then went all... pretty.

He grew, it seemed like, even from the tall horned man he’d been when he’d come to work naked that first day, and he had muscles everywhere, and Steve tried not to giggle nervously, because Billy was naked again, and Steve could see everything.

“Go hide behind the counter, or in the back, as far back and low as you can get,” Billy told him, and Steve nodded, grabbing Billy’s hands.

“Don’t get hurt, Billy,” he whispered, trying to let go, but he’d started to cry, and he couldn’t make his fingers let go of Billy’s.

Billy yanked free to squeeze him close, but they heard another scream, and Steve pushed him away and ran into the store, trying to cry quietly. He found the nice counter person hiding behind the counter, and yanked them into the back like Billy had said, then crouched with his arms over his head like in an earthquake because he didn’t know what else to do.

The counter person had a glittery they/them pin that caught the light from the front of the store as they panted, staring over his shoulder, and Steve watched it, remembering how genius he’d thought it was back when they first started working. One of the centaur twins in his class used ey/em like their art teacher did, but the other one used fae/faer, and they were identical palominos—and Steve had been so grateful when one of them started painting faer hooves and he could get it right.

He hoped he got to see them again. He hoped Billy got to see them again, and started to cry harder, thinking about Billy dead somewhere, full of bullets. The counter person yelped as Steve started to crawl away, asking him where he was going, but Steve couldn’t help it, he scrambled out of the store, and hid under a bench in the corridor, listening.

There were a bunch of gunshots, at least five, and Steve shuddered, covering his mouth so he didn’t make a noise, but then everything went quiet. He waited, tears dripping down his cheeks, until Billy stumbled back around the corner of the corridor, leaning heavily against the wall.

There was blood, smoking as it dripped over his jewelry. Steve scrambled out with a yell and ran to him, gathering him into a hug as Billy slid down the wall to curl up with his head in Steve’s lap. “I-I’ll call 911,” Steve sobbed, wiping his tears away to try and see, and Billy shushed him.

“S’fine,” he mumbled. “S’okay, mmm...m’fixin’ it. Need...need you…”

“What,” Steve asked him, petting his flamey hair, and patting his horns nervously.

“Talk to me,” Billy breathed, with a noise like he had snot or tears in his throat, and Steve realized it was probably blood, the blood soaking into his jeans from Billy’s chest.

Steve bit his lips together to keep from making a noise as his lungs jerked with sobs. “Y-you’re gonna be okay,” he whined unconvincingly, then yelped as he realized Billy was smoking a little all over, and he felt a little smoky, too soft under Steve’s fingers on his shoulder, and not nearly heavy enough leaning against him.

“Tell me about the picture, that first night,” Billy whispered. “How’d it go. Dis-distract me.” He reached out and ran his finger through his blood on the floor, drawing some of a circle, and Steve pulled Billy’s hand back.

“Don’t move,” Billy growled, pretty certain that made things worse. He drew what he could remember—the castle, and the horse—trying not to think about the sticky chill of Billy’s blood on his fingers. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and kept drawing, as Billy asked questions like ‘Wasn’t it in a circle?’ and ‘I thought there were symbols or something.’ Steve would have stopped, but it sounded like it was helping, as Billy got heavier.

His voice sounded stronger. “...what are you drawing?” he asked, sounding like he wanted to laugh, and Steve felt a strong temptation to do something annoying, like lick his ear.

“I don’t remember the symbols!” Steve hissed, guiltily, trying not to sob. “Hearts are good,” he sniffled. “I-it’s the Eu-Eurovision logo! And I love you.”

“...yeah,” Billy whispered, staring at the picture, as Steve added some clouds, trying not to think about how much of Billy’s blood there was on the ground to draw with. “...save me with the Eurovision logo, kiddo.”

Steve sniffled hard, wiping his nose again, and used his clean hand to stroke Billy’s hair at the base of his horns.

“Tell me why you drew that,” Billy whispered, and Steve hugged him, trying not to get snot in his pretty hair. “The—the first time. That first night.”

Steve could hear sirens. “W-wanted a friend,” he whispered, his lungs juddering so he kind of gasped it.

“Wanted me?” Billy asked, whispering, and Steve nodded, hugging him tighter, and drew another circle around the one Billy had started, and wrote some stuff in there, ‘I’ and a heart and ‘Billy’, and Billy snorted a laugh, relaxing into him. He felt more solid, less like Steve’s fingers were going to press through him, and Steve dropped a kiss on his shoulder, his tears coming even faster in relief. Billy’s wound was smoking still, but he pushed himself upright—as Steve waved his hands in panic—and took a deep, slow breath, and shrank a little back into grown-up nanny Billy, in a t-shirt and jeans, still clutching at his stomach. The blood on the ground was smoking away. Billy took another slow breath, closing his eyes, and the blood on his shirt smoked away too.

Steve reached over—gently—and tugged Billy’s shirt up to see smooth unbroken skin, and wondered whether it was real. “Is—is it gone? Or are you hiding it?” he asked, around the lump in his throat, and Billy leaned in to kiss his head.

“I’m okay,” he whispered, as the sounds of shouting got closer.

“How did you get hurt,” Steve asked, rubbing his eyes again as they spilled over. “You’re magic, how—how did you get hurt, Billy, you—you promised—”

“I didn’t promise I’d never get hurt,” Billy laughed, and Steve punched his shoulder, and Billy grunted, wincing.

Steve scrambled closer, patting at him more gently. “It’s still there,” he realized, crying harder. “You’re still hurt, Billy, you’re hurt— we have to go to the hospital—”

“No, no, kiddo,” Billy laughed, gritting his teeth. “I’ll be okay. I’m just...hungry.”

“How did you get hurt,” Steve breathed again, his brain stuck on the memory of blood on the floor, and on his fingers. He clenched them, clean now, but he could still feel the stickiness.

“Well, he was human,” Billy said slowly, trying to push himself to his feet, “—and I’m not, so I was trying not to hurt him.”

“He had a gun,” Steve squeaked, stumbling to his feet to try and help Billy heave himself to his feet. “He had a gun, Billy—”

“But he’s human,” Billy said softly, glancing up with the smile he put on when he didn’t want to smile. “Like you. I can’t go around hurting humans.”

“You can if they have a gun,” Steve growled, steadying Billy as he stood, finally, staggering.

“Naaah,” Billy said, hugging his head. “You might stop and think twice about being my friend, seeing me do something like that.”

“I would not,” Steve insisted, huffing. “Not if they’re shooting at you—”

As they walked out, around the EMTs and a man in cuffs, screaming about demons, Billy flinched. Steve turned on his heel to go yell, because Billy was nice, and pretty, and he’d gotten shot, but Billy grabbed him up around the waist and kept walking, telling everyone that stopped him that they hadn’t seen anything, and they were fine.

“I hope they put him in jail forever,” Steve muttered, squirming to get down, because he was starting to get why parents got mad when they were worried. He wanted to shake Billy for not understanding he was important. Steve couldn’t stop snapping at him, either, even when he tried to be nice, stopping for a milkshake on the way home—Billy asked what kind Steve wanted, and tried to suggest vanilla when Steve paused, and then Steve went and said strawberry, just to prove him wrong, and he didn’t even like strawberry. Billy’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he drove, and Steve tried not to cry over his gross strawberry milkshake, and the remembered feeling of Billy’s blood dripping between his fingers and soaking into his jeans.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to keep quiet about this, okay?” Billy told him, and Steve laughed, wetly, because it wasn’t like he could tell anyone anyway. Steve’s parents would have questions if Steve told them Billy had been naked.

“I won’t tell,” Steve said thickly, and Billy grinned at him, like everything was fine.

It was weird, being really, really mad at Billy. Steve wasn’t used to being so angry at somebody he loved, and it spilled out, everywhere, at his parents, his teacher, at his friends—and particularly at Billy, who glared in confusion as Steve stomped past when he offered a hug, or ignored Billy saving him a seat in the cafeteria, or refused to eat the awful food Billy cooked for dinner.

It was worse that he couldn’t even tell anyone—there was nobody he trusted enough, except Billy. It seemed so obvious, now, that Billy could be hurt— everyone could, Steve told himself, and it had been stupid to think Billy couldn’t be hurt just because he could do magic.

He wanted to scream because Billy would hurt himself to save Steve, or that he almost died, and acted like that was normal, and he yelled into his pillow until he cried.

“Don’t be pissed,” Billy hissed, yanking Steve around the back of the gym during recess, after Steve had picked Tommy first for his soccer team. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” Steve muttered, his eyes stinging, because being angry all the time made him want to cry all the time, which made him angrier.

“You are fine,” Billy whispered, sighing, like Steve was being a brat.

Steve figured he probably was being a brat, if Billy thought so, and kind of wished he could just say thank you, but it stuck in his throat, and he shoved Billy away.

“I protected you, you’re fine, I’ll always protect you,” Billy groaned, like Steve was stupid, and Steve pushed him again.

“What about you,” he yelled back, too loud, and started to cry again. The shouting of three classes at recess pretty much drowned him out, but it was still embarrassing. “Y-you keep saying I’m fine, what about you?!”

“I’m fine too,” Billy told him, rolling his eyes. “I healed, I’m okay, Stevie.”

“Don’t call me Stevie,” Steve said, and Billy blinked, probably because Steve had always kind of liked having nicknames, just like normal kids.

“...Steve,” Billy corrected, watching his face, and Steve realized he’d given Billy an order, and felt worse.

“Y-you keep saying it’s fine and it’s not fine,” Steve shouted at him, and Billy frowned harder. “It’s not fine if you get hurt,” Steve tried to yell, but his throat closed, and he kind of choked it out.

“It’s okay if I’m helping you,” Billy said, smiling like Steve was being funny, and Steve wanted to hit him.

“No,” he rasped out, and Billy cocked his head. “If,” Steve started, not sure how he was going to finish, “—i-if—if you keep saying—if you keep saying you don’t matter,” he forced out, swallowing hard, “—I—I’ll—”

“You’ll what,” Billy laughed, raising his eyebrows, and Steve set his jaw.

“I’ll believe you,” he threatened, lying, and Billy went still. “I—I’ll believe you. That you don’t matter. L-losing you doesn’t matter. M-my best friend doesn’t matter. If I—” he sniffled hard, wiping his face, “—if I don’t like you anymore, it won’t be so scary—”

“No,” Billy interrupted, wide-eyed, grabbing Steve’s arm. “No, no, no— Steve —”

“It’s fine if s-some—if something...happens to you! R-right?!” Steve insisted, crying too hard to pretend he wasn’t, and pushing Billy, who staggered back. “If you’re just gonna die I—” he cut off as his lungs seized at the idea of Billy dead, Billy in a pool of blood, still on the floor, Billy gone. “I-if you’re gonna die,” he started again, miserably, “I don’t wanna be your friend, I—I can’t—”

“Fucking hell,” Billy muttered, his hands twitching towards Steve, and then flinching back. “I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry, please—please don’t—”

“Wh-what if you die and it’s my fault,” Steve moaned, hiccuping sobs, and trying to wipe his face, and Billy stepped in close again, grimacing uncertainly, wiping Steve’s face with his sleeves. He smelled like smoke, a little, like he did when something scary was happening, and the laundry detergent from when Steve helped him out at the laundromat, and Billy had chased him around and tickled him on one of the dryers. “What if you’re gone,” Steve wailed.

“No, no, no, c’mon, no, no—” Billy muttered, pulling him into a hug. Steve tried to pull away again, but Billy held on, warm and strong, and Steve finally just bawled into his shoulder, sobbing so loud everybody came to look, two different teachers, and all three of the classes at recess. Steve buried his face in Billy’s shoulder, and Billy hugged his whole head as Steve’s new favorite teacher squeezed both their shoulders, and whispered that she was glad they’d made up, and then ushered everyone away, even Tommy, who looked torn between triumph and worry.

“I’m s-still mad at y-you,” Steve told Billy, gulping for air. “I-I’m so mad at you—I—I’m so mad—” he wheezed out, his breath gone from crying, and Billy squeezed him tighter.

“Sssh, ssh, ssh, I’m sorry, I was wrong, I was wrong,” he whispered, and Steve relaxed, a tiny bit, wondering if Billy got it, finally.

“You c-can’t do that again,” Steve told him, feeling a sick guilt for ordering Billy around, but pushing on, because it had to be okay to not let Billy get shot.

“I don’t think there’s probably gonna be that many shooters at the mall, kiddo,” Billy whispered back, laughing, and Steve stomped on his foot.

“You have to promise,” he hissed, and Billy laughed again, but when Steve shoved away to glare at him, Billy was crying too, his eyes red and wet. “...you promise?” Steve asked, softening a little, and reaching up to wipe Billy’s tears off his round, freckled cheeks. Billy nodded, smirking a little, and Steve frowned. “You can’t just—get hurt. Not for me.”

“Because I’m so important,” Billy said, his smile widening a little as his eyes spilled over again. “And you’d be super sad.”

“Yeah,” Steve told him, narrowing his eyes, because he wasn’t sure Billy was really getting it, yet. “I’d probably cry for— forever.”

Billy made a weird noise in his throat as he laughed, leaning in and kissing Steve on his cheek, and his ear, clumsily, and squeezing him tight again until his fingers hurt against Steve’s arms and sides, but Steve didn’t care, because he was hugging back just as hard. “I—I’ll be more...careful,” Billy mumbled, sniffling. “Since I’m...important. So you don’t have to get so scared.” He took a shaky breath, burying his face in Steve’s shoulder. “...just...because of me.”

“You’re the most important person I know,” Steve told him, his breath going shaky again. “Just—just you, you have to—you have to be okay—”

“I gotta make sure I’m okay so you’re okay,” Billy whispered, nodding a little, and Steve groaned, but it was close enough, he figured, so he sighed a ‘yeah’. “Because I’m important,” Billy said, laughing a little, like he didn’t believe it, and Steve growled into his neck.

“I’m not lying,” Steve growled.

“No, no, yeah, I know,” Billy told him, giggling, and Steve pulled back to stare at him. He was laughing and crying, pink-cheeked. “I-I know. I’m—I’m important.”

[tothemeadow]

kinktober: Sanemi’s a naughty brat who needs to be put in his place

Day 1: handcuffs / punishment / begging

warnings: NSFW, degradation, dry humping, handjobs, oral sex, cum swallowing

words: 1,587

(a/n): art is not mine

“Pathetic little brat.”

Sanemi’s blood spikes as you step around him, your shiny shoes glistening in the dim light. He swallows the lump in his throat.

The handcuffs dig into his wrist a bit too much for his liking, his skin turning raw and sore. However, he refuses to utter a single word. It’d be against your orders, after all. The rough fabric of the rug rubs his knees; it burns, the fine bristles marking his skin, but he keeps silent. It’s all for you. Everything is for you.

You stop directly before him, a sneer painted on your face. You drop to a crouch, the fabric of your slacks scrunching around your thighs. It takes every ounce of his willpower to not stare directly at it. Instead, Sanemi keeps his eyes trained on the floor.

“Look at me,” you order. Your voice carries that same husky sound, absolutely sweet to Sanemi’s ears and other regions. He does as he’s told and brings his eyes up to meet yours. “You know what you did, don’t you?” You lightly smack the side of his face. “Speak.”

Immediately, Sanemi’s lips pull back in a snarl. “And handcuffing me is going to make things better? Heh. You fucking wish.”

Your hand clamps around his face, effectively squishing his cheeks and pursing his lips out. “It’s this damn mouth of yours,” you mutter. You don’t yell, but Sanemi knows all too well that you’re seething. “Always backtalking me, cursing whenever you feel like. It upsets me, you know?”

Sanemi pulls at the handcuffs pulling his wrists together. The both of you know he can easily break his way out, but where’s the fun in that? Sanemi enjoys his punishments as much as you enjoy dealing them out. His eyes narrow into a glare.

His chest huffs with each heavy breath, the beads of sweat sticking to his skin glowing in the light. He feels like he can’t properly breathe. You release his cheeks, then, and click your tongue. “Goddamn brat.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Sanemi purrs, a wicked smirk spreading on his face. He grunts when you grab a fistful of his hair and give it a sharp tug.

Leaning in, your lips brush against the outer shell of his ear. “That’s because it is, brat. I feel like I should tie you to the bed and shove a vibrator up your ass.”

Sanemi shudders beneath you.

You continue. “Bad boy. You act like a naughty little brat just for my attention, don’t you? It pisses me off.”

“Like you don’t like showering me with affection and shit,” Sanemi snaps. He jerks his head to the side, his nose brushing against yours. You can feel his hot breath against your face. “Personally, I think you like it when I act like a brat. Or am I wrong?”

“There you go again, running your mouth,” you mutter, glancing down at his lips. You could give in and give him what he wants, but that’s not how things play out here. Bad boys get punished for their behavior, and Sanemi’s is long past due.

Sanemi scoffs as you pull away and bring yourself to a stand. Kicking your foot out, you press right up against the prominent bulge in his pants. Sanemi groans under the pressure, his hips instinctually bucking into your touch, seeking out that delicious friction. And you let him do so – he gradually begins to buck wildly, increasing his pace, all the while his face scrunched in pleasure. What a fool. You know for a fact that he’s trying to not moan out loud.

“What, are you ashamed that you’re getting off to my foot? I’m not even touching you, baby boy.” Sanemi growls at the name you address with, but his hips stutter. Hell, you can even see the patch of precum gathering in the front of his pants. You press your foot down harder.

“Fuck,” Sanemi moans, his head falling forward.

“What?” you hum. A devilish smile blooms on your face. “You like that? Such a little bitch for pain, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Sanemi stutters. He groans when you pull your foot away. His chest heaves, a delightful blush creeping all the way up his neck and face. You lick your lips at the sight.

“You wanna cum, baby? Say you’re sorry and I might just help you.”

“Hell no.” Sanemi furiously shakes his head. Seriously, his pride is starting to get rather annoying. “I don’t have anything to apologize for.”

And, as if to piss you off even further, he quickly shuffles around, shifting onto his stomach. The audacity of this guy – his hips jerk against the rug, that wicked smirk of his returning. Anger swirls inside your tummy, grasps onto your heart.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you snap. Crouching down once more, you dig your fingers into his hair and yank his head up. “Humping the floor like some filthy mutt? God, you’re so pathetic.”

You’re met with very little struggle as you force him onto his back. Forcing his pants down, you rip them off from his ankles and toss them somewhere behind you. The front of his boxer briefs is so fucking wet that you can’t hold back your snicker. You quickly rid him of the last article of clothing, leaving him completely naked. Arousal pangs at your insides at the sight of his flushed, sweaty body, the angry red head of his cock as it bobs over his stomach.

“Like what you see?” Sanemi mocks.

“Shut the fuck up,” you tell him.

Grabbing onto his cock, you work him at a furious pace; the amount of precum oozing from the tip is more than enough for an easy slide, the wet sounds of his cock fucking into your fist resonating throughout the room. Sanemi pants, his back arching and chest rising towards the ceiling. His dusty nipples are delightfully red and swollen; you grin at his state, knowing he isn’t going to last very long.

“Oh my fuck-“ he curses. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

Enough.

He promptly whines at the loss of contact, his abdomen rippling with want. He looks at you wildly, the whites of his eyes glowing in the dim light. “Why the fuck did you stop?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you start slowly, your hand clenching onto his muscular thigh. “Maybe it’s because you’re acting like a damn bitch in heat. Where’s my apology, huh?”

Sanemi’s teeth bite down on his bottom lip. You can see the battle in his eyes; he’s debating whether he should continue putting up his pathetic façade or should just give in. He swallows thickly.

Bingo.

“I’m sorry,” he grumbles.

Your nails dig into the flesh of his thigh, making him wince. Another bead of precum swells to the head of his cock. “What was that?”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, although through grit teeth this time. “Would you please make me cum? It feels so fucking good.”

You smirk. “Now, was that so hard?”

Angry tears prick the corners of Sanemi’s eyes. “Fucking Christ-“ He abruptly cuts himself with a loud groan when you duck down and swiftly take the head of his cock in your mouth.

You waste no time; hollowing your cheeks, you suck hard at the bulbous head, flick your tongue at the weeping slit. His cock tastes heady, the heavy weight pressing against your tongue as you lower your mouth on him. His breath catches in his chest and a prominent thunk tells you that he threw his head back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Please, give me more! Your mouth is so fucking hot, oh my god!”

Now, since he asked so nicely, you decide to give in to his pleas. You take his cock further into your mouth, holding your breath as the head reaches your throat. Heat rushes down south as he cries out in pleasure when you swallow around him. Oh, such a lovely baby boy when he’s compliant. You’re absolutely going to wreck him.

You hold his hips down as you continue to suck on him. Pulling back, you lap at the glans, one of your hands reaching down and pumping at the rest of his spit-covered cock. Sanemi keens beneath you, mixtures of your name and curse words filling your ears. Releasing his cock, you quickly duck down, your mouth latching onto one of his balls.

“Fucking shit,” Sanemi hisses. “I’m gonna cum, shit, please keep going.”

You replace your mouth with your hand as you take his cock back into your mouth. You slip the whole way down, a steady stream of air escaping your nostrils. You fight back against your gag reflex as you press your nose into his neatly trimmed pubes. Glancing up, you catch him staring straight at you.

“Oh my god, (y/n)-“ Your name quickly turns into a husky, drawn out moan as his cum shoots straight down your throat. You milk him for what he’s got, fondling his balls and swallowing every single drop of his cum. A good baby only deserves as such, doesn’t he?

When you finally pull off of cock, strings of spit and cum stick to your swollen lips. Sanemi trembles from the force of his orgasm, his face an entirely new shade of red. Licking your lips, you quickly discard your shirt and begin to work at removing your pants.

“It’s my turn, baby boy. Can you do that for me?”

Sanemi eagerly nods his head yes.

[blahkugo]

SUUUUUUNNYYYYYYYYYYY HOLY HELL CONGRATULATIONS!! This is awesome! Your writing is so fucking phenomenal, and you deserve every follower and more!! For the event *cough* TanakaRyū? In an, oof, dangerous professions au? 👀🥊🏹🏂🤺🧗🏎🚀🔫🧨 I’m unsure how many more dangerous emojis there are but lol. Have a wonderful day!! Xxxxxx congrats again!

CLAUDIAAA I LOVE YOU!! your writing is absolutely phenomenal and your compliments make my heart HURT ♡ enjoy your tanaka baby, i had so much fun writing it!!

                                  -ˋˏ ༻ 光 ༺ ˎˊ-

「TANAKA RYŪ」

— street fighter! au

— warnings: 18+ smut, blood kink, tanaka being a merciless tease<3 

⤏ okay, okay: i know this is a ‘dangerous profession au’ and not an underground one, but this just makes the most sense for tanaka

⤏ ryū is all bark and no bite, but it doesn’t stop him from pretending he’s got the muscle to back the mouth

⤏ this is precisely why i think he’d be the perfect fit for an underground street fighter. think, ‘fight club’ mixed with ufc

⤏ he’s the epitome of a shit talker, never stops goading his opponents even when they’ve got him two seconds away from losing consciousness; he doesn’t know how to shut his mouth, even though he’s always losing

⤏ even so, he’s got a knack for being the crowd‘s #1. his grin never wavers, his fists never go down. he fights until his last breath, and that’s why he’s everyone’s favorite underdog

⤏ the fights are illegal, betting pools made in shady abandoned subways and grimy basements, but the man really has no other choice

⤏ see, he was initially better known for brazilian jiu-jitsu; in fact, he was an extremely famous fighter that won the hearts of people around the world

⤏ but he got too cocky; feeling invincible under the shroud of fame, he began to spiral

⤏ and 1 tragic run in with the police later, his public image was destroyed; so, he reluctantly decided to trade in grapples and chokeholds for bruised knuckles and bloody teeth

⤏ though he simply does it to survive, he can’t deny that the thrill of the match sends blood pumping through his veins, keeps him feeling alive and present

⤏ to make some extra cash, you decide to act as impromptu ring girl— and ryū is utterly infatuated upon first sight

⤏ honestly, you were a bit afraid at first. here’s this heavily tattooed, gruff looking man with a shaved head hitting you with an onslaught of attention every time you walk into the room. what are you supposed to think?

⤏ though you quickly realize he’s a sweetheart underneath that tough appearance, it doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes at every dramatic come-on. and trust me, there’s a lot of them

⤏ he flirts relentlessly, will say anything and everything that crosses his mind. it’s sweet, maybe, but mostly embarrassing. you never really take him seriously anyways; every comment is paired with a sly smirk and booming laugh

⤏ one day, he proposes a bet. if he wins, he gets to take you out. of course, he never wins, so why not humor the man?

⤏ yeah, you guessed it: he loses

⤏ but watching him fight this time, you found something in your perception of ryū shift...

As everyone files out of the dingy basement, you find yourself lagging behind, eyes trained of the man crouching in the makeshift ring. You’re unsure what possesses you as you make your way over to him, clean towel in hand. He’s a flirt— a persistent one at that— but watching him fight today, you realize there’s a certain elegance to losing with dignity. His smile, though bloodied, never once wavered, his bandaged knuckles never once dropped. 

When he notices you approaching, he rubs his wounded nose; it does nothing but smudge crimson over his stained bandages, a bright red warning sign begging you to keep away. You never listen. Kneeling next to him, you blurt out the question running through your mind, 

“Why do you fight so hard if you lose every time?” 

Instead of his usual quick retorts or coy banter, he flashes you that same toothy grin and relaxed brows he bares to opponents and friends alike. Carefree, nonchalant, happy— even with the unseemly purple bruises forming on his cheekbones.  

As always, it’s utterly infectious, and before you know it, you’re grinning right back at him. 

“Do you want to hear the deep answer or the honest truth?” His words seem teasing, but they hold a sobriety you’ve never quite witnessed on Tanaka. He shifts his jaw, making room for you to wipe at his injuries with the clean rag.

“Both,” you prod, curiosity overtaking you as you have your first serious conversation with the sly boxer. 

“Would it be completely pathetic if I said it makes me feel alive?” His smile wavers a bit, as though he’s revealed something deeply intimate, a concept he’s grappled a million times over in his head. You simply nod, allowing him to speak freely. “Every bruise is a reminder that I’m not dead,” his voice falters, “like I would be if I was still on the streets.” 

The severity of his confession shakes you, reminds you that most of the members at the underground club don’t come from preppy private schools or trust funds. They’re here to make a living— to survive. 

“And the honest truth?” You don’t bother with consolation, don’t believe pity or faux reassurance would satisfy Tanaka anyways. 

“I think I look pretty damn cool in the ring,” his eyes bore into yours, smirk back in full force as he regains his usual composure. Forever a flirt. Have his eyes always been that stormy gray? 

“Want to hear my honest truth?” He nods, gaze bordering on ravenous as he awaits your admission. “I think you do too.” 

It’s as though the words have a physical effect on the tired boxer; he immediately puffs his chest up, his head is held just a bit higher. The words, quite possibly your first ever compliment towards him, instill a newfound confidence that you’re only used to seeing when he’s poking fun. 

“Ha! Always knew you found me irresistible,” he raises battered fingers towards your jaw, pulling it between them and grazing at your cheeks. He’s probably smearing blood all over you and typically, you’d push him away— but tonight everything feels different. 

Perhaps it’s the low fluorescent lighting or the charged silence filling the empty room. Maybe it’s his attitude. Any which way, there’s a magnetism in the air that pulls you to him, tugs at your heartstrings and urges you to care for the underdog. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” lips puckering, you do your best to remain stoic, to no avail. His eyes bore into yours, darkening by the second. Though the moment becomes infused with tension, you refuse to drop your gaze, instead attempting to shift back into the comfortable banter you and Ryū share. “Who said anything about being irresis—”

He doesn’t allow you a moment to finish your sentence, yanking your face to his. He tongues you with a fervor, lithe fingers wrapping across the back of your head to tug you impossibly closer. Sweat, the sharp tang of metal, and even something a bit minty— the flavor of his mouth spreads through you, clouds your head with greed, and intoxicates you in such a way that your only thought is of wanting more. 

When you finally pull away, flushed and breathless, Ryū notices the kiss has split his wound once again. Deep red drips across his soft lips, down his chin, and dribbles onto his knee. But it seems he’s been stupefied, utterly amazed by this unforeseen turn of events; his thumb inches towards the blood, but he doesn’t seem to care to clean it all up. So, you figure you’ll take matters into your own hands. 

“Let me,” you offer, bringing his rugged fingers towards your mouth. Licking a long stripe from wrist to thumb, you never once break eye contact as you peer up at him through thick lashes. He’s unable to do anything but watch, enchanted by your wet tongue lapping at his digits. 

Gradually, your lips travel upwards, kissing and suckling at bruised knuckles, making sure to soothe over every gash, every groove of pained flesh. The hair on his arms rises, a throaty groan caught in his throat. Heat and heat and so much heat— the warmth in your stomach, across his cheeks and the tips of his ears— flows freely, intertwining. 

It doesn’t matter that the enormous room is empty, or that the air is chilled outside; the ring is filled with a feverish longing, a craving for touch you never even realized was there. Not until you reach his defined collarbones, teeth grazing at his skin. 

As soon as your mouth sucks at the sweet spot on his neck, a switch flips in him. Before you know it, you’re on your back; Ryū’s body looms over yours, his knee pressed between your legs. His hands roam, loosely tied bandages traveling your waist, dashing beneath your top and over your taut stomach. 

Though his touch is gentle, a ghost of a breath, it sends your nerves into a frenzy. Slowly, slowly, ever-so slowly, slender fingers toy at your breasts, squeezing and circling your hardened nipples. A bite at your neck, a wet lick to soothe the burn; he’s teasing, even now, as you mewl and writhe for more. 

And yet again, you’re flipped, this time onto hands and knees. You’re nothing more than a rag doll to the hearty boxer, a feathery thing to the man who lifts almost twice your weight daily. Your back meets solid muscle as he cages you between him and the ring’s chilled floor. 

He wastes no time tugging your shorts and panties down, drifting his palms over the globes of your ass, and squeezing. But still, he never touches your cunny. And God, does it ache for it. 

“You’re still teasing,” you pant, arms reaching behind you to tap at his bicep. 

“Maybe,” a finger slips towards your cunt, brushes across the sopping slit and onto your clit, “Wanna hear you beg for it.” 

His answer stuns you, so unlike the buoyant man that fawns over you day after day. It’s a pleasant change, to say the least.

“Ryū,” your whine echoes through the vacant room, “can’t.” There’s no way in hell you’ll be begging for him. 

“Can’t,” his voice is raspy, teeming with desire, “or won’t?”  He inches a digit in, stopping just short of a second knuckle, while the other rubs at your swollen bundle of nerves. You stifle a groan when he begins nipping the shell of your ear, but as soon as he begins his movements, he stills once again. 

“F-fine,” whimpering, you admit defeat, “fuck, please.”

“You can tap out if it gets too much,” he chuckles under his breath. 

And then, finally, he’s pumping into you again, stretching you once more; one finger, then another, his thumb drawing cruel circles at your clit. It’s shameful, immoral even, the way you plead and moan with every push into you. Curling his fingers, he dips further into your doughy walls, pushing against a spot that you swear has you seeing God. And his name, it leaves your lips like a prayer, over and over— a sinner at confession. 

You search for something, anything, to grasp at. But the floor is smooth, the ring’s ropes just a hair too far for you to pull at. So, you settle for wrapping a hand around the arm that pushes into your lower back, your other rapping, fingernails scratching, at the mat below you. 

“I said you could tap,” another deep pump into you elicits a lengthy mewl, “but I didn’t say I would listen.” 

                          ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ 光 ⚘᠂ ⚘ ᠃

[ill-skillsgard]

is faith dealing w being away from fausty? I miss them so :(,, I hope you’re well love xoxo

Warning: 18+ Mentions of sex/phone sex, mentions of alcohol and drug use, violent threats, non-consensual touching, brief mentions of rape.

Note: I missed writing Faust stuff so much over the holidays. He’s definitely one of my favourite secretly soft boys. I can’t wait to get back into the swing of writing. Thank you to the lovely anons who haven’t given up on this pairing yet! I will try not to go 2 months between posts for these guys.

Summary: Faith starts to miss Faust so much while he’s away on tour that she goes to his apartment to spend the night in his bedroom. However, her plans are interrupted by the people Faust warned her not to hang around.

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

Faith awoke in a sweat, chest pumping hot torrents of blood to her head as the ceiling came into view, the walls containing her after a flight through a nightmare faded into obscurity. She rolled onto her back, her flimsy cotton nightgown sticking to her dewy skin, and tossed the comforter from her top half. Streetlamps and passing cars cast geometric blocks of light on the ceiling, illuminating the dust motes floating by her face. Faith breathed in and out, shaking her head free from the gripping terror of unconsciousness.

She had dreamed of receiving a phone call from Faust in the middle of the night, and when she answered, he explained to her in a laconic, matter-of-fact voice why they shouldn't continue seeing each other. He was too busy to maintain a relationship with a girl who's path would never intersect with his goals. She was too young, too naive, too proper. Too this and too that and in no way matched him. The terrible sinking in her chest returned as it had in the dream, but she dismissed the sensation. It was all a silly dream, a manifestation of her worst fear. Faust loved her and would never break up with her—least of all over a phone call.

The cellphone next to her pillow came to life, vibrating a couple of times before she found it and squinted at the bright screen. Faust. She sat up, and her lungs froze, the cavernous hole opening up under her skin. When she answered, voices and loud music came through like warring radio waves.

"Hello?" She whispered, not wanting to wake her dorm mate.

"Faith? You there?"

"Yes," her voice crawled from her throat, no louder than a rasp. She cleared her airway and said again, "Yes."

"Aw, are you sleeping, babe?"

"No," she whispered.

"Hm? I can't hear you. Hang on, let me find a quieter place."

Faith swung out of bed and left the dorm to go to the shared washrooms where she could speak. She entered a stall, put down the toilet seat and sat atop the cold plastic, waiting for Faust's deep voice to tickle her ear again.

"You there?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"That's better, yeah. I can hear you now."

Faith squeezed her knees together, his voice like warm liquid flowing into her stomach. She sighed, relieved.

"Sorry, I know it's late for you. We had a really late soundcheck, then I was in the green room until we went on. I didn't forget to call."

Faith nodded, smiling, though Faust couldn't see the respite his words gave her after the unpleasant dream that had jarred her awake.

"It's okay. Where are you again?"

"Utah, probably a couple hours behind you. We're out of the venue now."

"How was the show?" Faith asked.

"It was good—big stage. Couple hundred people, but maybe a quarter of them were there for us. We sold a lot of merch, though."

"That's great, babe. I'm glad you're having fun."

"Yeah," Faust sighed. "I miss you, though. Can't believe there's still another three weeks of this."

Faith leaned her head against the stall's metal barrier, reading the scandalous notes engraved in the chipped paint. "I know. Seems like forever."

"You're still good to come to our last show?"

"Yes. I told my parents I'm going to a friend's cottage for the weekend."

"But really, you're getting on a Greyhound and coming to see me."

She closed her eyes and giggled. "That's right."

Faith wondered if she should tell Faust about her bad dream. She knew what he'd say to her: it was just a dumb dream, and he would never break up with her, so she shouldn't let it bother her so much. She accepted this assurance without bringing it up.

"I'm in my bunk now," Faust told her.

"I'm in the bathroom," said Faith.

"Wish you were here, though. It gets so boring sometimes, driving from place to place, listening to these dumbasses argue over the shower."

"It's the same here. I've started taking showers at midnight just to avoid the headache and bargaining. These girls all have the same night routine. There's always a line-up to use the shower."

"Mm," Faust grunted. "Yeah. Stupid."

A moment of silence passed between them. Faith savoured his soft breaths coming over the line, wishing she could feel the warmth behind them. She craved his scent, the smell of his shampoo, the distinct mentholated freshness of his deodorant. She wanted to stroke his face, and touch his biceps, inspect the hair underneath his arms until he told her she was weird for finding such things fascinating. She wanted to feel the twin ruts coming to a peak below his navel, leading down to his groin where he'd snatch her hand and berate her, ultimately relenting and letting her stroke the soft skin underneath the band of his plaid boxers.

"I wanna touch you," she whispered.

"Fuck," he drawled. "Me too, babe."

"I had a bad dream you called me in the middle of the night to break up with me... then you actually called. Do you think that's weird?"

Faust scoffed in that indignant way he always did. She pictured the corner of his mouth snagging, his brows descending at such a silly thing.

"That's kind of weird."

"I hate not being able to sleep next to you."

"Don't worry, babe. I'll be home soon. You can get through the next few weeks."

"Yeah, but... Do you miss sleeping next to me?"

"Oh, definitely. I really miss you hogging the blankets, pushing me to the edge of the bed, punching me in your sleep."

"I don't do that!"

Faust snickered. "Yeah, you do. But it's okay. I'm like way stronger than you. I can move you like nothing."

"Don't remind me," Faith groaned.

"Don't remind you of what? How strong I am?"

Faith made her voice small. "Yes. I can't think of that kind of stuff right now."

"You can't think about me overpowering you?"

"Sh. Quiet."

"What? Don't want to think about me pinning your arms above your head with one hand while I finger you? S'that what you don't want to think about?"

"I hate you," she said.

"Hate it when I pick you up and fuck you against the wall?"

"Yes."

"So...You're definitely not thinking about my cock, then? You haven't been playing with my pussy while I've been away? Pretending your fingers are mine? Or using that toy you bought to fuck yourself in your dorm when your roommate isn't there?"

"Oh my gosh, Faust. Please."

"You don't make yourself cum to the thought of me eating out that pussy? You don't miss my fat cock stretching out that poor little slit? Making you bounce on it? Sucking it until I cum buckets down your throat?"

"Faust," she whispered. "You're bad."

"Answer me. Do you think about riding my cock every night before bed? Rub yourself against a pillow between your legs?"

"Yes, I think about it all the time."

"Can you do me a favour?" Faust asked. Faith agreed before hearing the terms of said agreement. "Tomorrow, I want you to go to all your classes without wearing any panties under your skirt."

Faith's cheeks burned from his request. "What if it's windy and it blows up my skirt?"

"I don't really care," he said. "Know what? Never mind. Scratch that. This isn't a request; it's a command. I want you to take pictures while you're in class to prove you listened."

"I can't! Someone will see."

"Think I give a fuck? Sit in the back if you have to."

"I'll try," said Faith, toying with the sleeves of her nightgown.

"That's my girl."

They spoke for a few more minutes until Faust's bandmates flooded onto the bus, yelling and searching for the drummer who'd stowed away in the bunks. Faust said his goodbyes, made sure Faith understood her instructions for tomorrow, then said goodnight. She heard his friends mocking him in the backroom, calling him pussy-whipped, listened to him threaten their lives and giggled.

"I love you," Faust said, loud enough that anyone around him might hear. His unabashed affection filled her to the brim with warm fuzz.

"I love you, too," Faith replied, then looked at the phone screen until he hung up.

Later in the week, Faith started having trouble sleeping. Even if she filled her days with activities, studied into the night, ate properly and read before bed, her mind swam with anxiety. She told Faust about it, but he had no solution other than to stop by his place to grab one of his hoodies to sleep in, maybe one of his blankets if she missed him so much. Delighted, Faith accepted the suggestion, and Faust texted his roommate to leave the apartment door unlocked for her. She made her way over after dinner one night and walked in on Faust's roommate hosting a party.

The apartment was in disarray—worse than she'd ever seen. Beer bottles and cigarettes overflowing the ashtray was commonplace, but now there were grease-stained pizza boxes open on the floor, salt stains on the rug from people coming in and out from the balcony. The sofa pocked with several more burn marks, the dishes hadn't been washed since Faust left, and the entire living room reeked of stale food and smoke. Not only that, but she'd come in at the precise moment the music transitioned, and every eye in the place went to her.

She recognized half the people in Faust's apartment from other parties—Anika, the most familiar face that turned in her direction. The tall, blond girl smiled and pushed a guy's hand off her shoulder before approaching her. The metal music picked up, drowned out the silence, and Faith relaxed when Anika hugged her.

"Hey! I didn't know you were coming!" Anika exclaimed.

"I wasn't... Well, I didn't know anyone was here. I just came to get some stuff from Faust's room."

"Oh, cool. How is Frosty? I haven't seen you guys since Halloween!"

"He's good," Faith said, voice tapering off when she saw a pair of malicious eyes grilling her from across the room. "You know... Just touring."

"Yeah, I heard. That's awesome. Hey, you want anything to drink? We have beer in the fridge," Anika said.

Faith felt awkward standing in the middle of the front hall, while groups of people occupied her boyfriend's apartment. She realized she had very little dominion and shrank into herself until Anika pulled her into the kitchen. The blond pulled out two cans of domestic beer and handed her one, noticing Faith's unease.

"What's the matter?" Asked Anika.

Faith wondered if Faust knew about all the people in his apartment, if his roommate had asked him if he could have a party and invite all the people Faust talked shit about—the people he warned her not to hang out with.

"Uh, nothing. Just feels weird being here without Faust," said Faith.

"Aw, it's okay, girl. We party here all the time."

Faith questioned the verity of Anika's claim. She couldn't recall them having any big parties there since she started dating Faust eight months ago. Faust didn't like too many people in his space. Whenever they partied, it was always at someone else's house or out in the bush around a fire.

The same pair of blue eyes had Faith in a stranglehold. She cocked her head, and Anika noticed her attention locked on a man with fine blond hair touching his collarbone.

"Is that—?"

"Sven? Yeah. You probably remember him from that time we went camping."

Faith wished to turn in on herself, abandon the can of beer Anika had given her, grab what she needed from Faust's room, and leave. Anika sensed her discomfort and placed her thin hand on Faith's shoulder.

"Don't worry, he won't bother you. He has a girlfriend now."

"He's a creep," Faith muttered.

Anika shot Sven a look over her shoulder, and he turned away, pulling on a beer and wiping his mouth. Faith remembered the stench of his burnt hair in the fire, how Faust had punched him and dragged him through the dirt toward the pit where he held his face in the flames. Sven complained about the scratches and scrapes on his arms and legs from Faust dragging him the entire way home after they cut the trip short. The same tension that pierced the atmosphere in the van while Sven took the front seat and Faust held her hand in the back seat was the same strain she felt now as he stole glances at her. His wispy mustache had grown back along with his eyebrows and pale lashes.

Faith felt a pang of guilt in her stomach but dismissed the feeling with a swig of beer and Anika's encouragement. Faust would get angry with her if he knew she felt even an inch of remorse over what happened. Sven deserved what he got, and that's what she kept telling herself throughout the night as she drank a couple more beers with Anika and took a hit off a joint someone offered her out on the balcony.

A few of Faust's friends asked her about him, and it filled her with pride knowing everyone there knew who she was, who Faust was. She told them where the band was that night, where they were slated to go next, that they had sold out of merchandise and had to place an emergency order and have it shipped to the next venue. After a few hours, Faith felt the tug of exhaustion creeping over her shoulders and told Anika she had to head out, though she'd already missed the last bus and had little money in her bank account for a cab. Faith considered asking someone for a ride back to campus, but nobody seemed sober enough to trust behind the wheel.

Instead, she went to Faust's bedroom and shut the door and all the noises behind her. In his room, she took in a deep breath, and then another, filling her senses with the comforting scent of pine, stale air and the boyish aroma Faust carried with him. She went to his closet and brushed a hand over the black t-shirts and one of his leather coats. Next, Faith opened the third drawer in the lowboy and pulled out a hoodie that had shrunk in the wash and didn't fit Faust anymore. She often wore it when she came over, but he refused to let her take it home until now. She slipped it on over her blouse, smoothed it over her skirt and wrapped her arms around her ribs. The hood still smelled of Faust's hair.

Without thinking much, she arranged the objects on his dresser into an organized system rather than a mess of pens, splintered drumsticks, guitar picks and snack wrappers. She shovelled the waste into the garbage can under his desk, made his bed, fluffed the pillows, cleared the dirty clothes off the floor and kicked it all into the closet. If there wasn't a party going on right outside the door, she'd have done his laundry and took the dirty plates and forks to the kitchen sink. She did what she could without having to set foot outside the bedroom, and by the time she finished folding the clothes in his dresser into neat stacks, it was far too late for her to go anywhere.

Faith took off her panties and skirt, changed into a pair of his pyjama pants and sat on his bed with her hands folded, wondering if Faust would care if she spent the night in his bed. The fluffy pillows called out for her head. His comforter promised visions of them together again. She considered texting him to say she was staying over, but there was a knock on the door as she went for her phone.

She lifted her feet off the carpet and tucked them under her thighs, balled herself as small as she could until whoever knocked got the hint and walked away. The knock came again, and Faith's throat tightened.

"Yes?" She called.

The door opened, and she expected to see Anika's blond head poking in, but it wasn't her. The person was blond, but the face was not smeared with white foundation, nor were the blue eyes overlined with charcoal black. Sven stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked.

"What are you doing in here? This is my boyfriend's room. Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Sorry," said Sven, opening his palms to show he meant no harm. "I wanted to talk to you for a second. Is that okay?"

"I don't see why that's necessary."

"Mmkay, well, you don't have to be a bitch about it. Your boyfriend is the one who almost burnt my face off."

"Well, you were being weird. You're being weird now by coming in here. You should probably go."

"Sucks when he's not around to intimidate everyone that ever wants to start a conversation with you, huh?"

Faith pressed her lips together. Was he threatening her? She wasn't sure. He kept his distance, though his eyes ricocheted off the valuable objects in the room. The Gibson guitar hanging on the wall, the vintage RD bass in its stand just below, the electric drumset next to the desk, Faust's five-thousand-dollar computer, and finally, her. Faust's prized possessions all in one room.

"What do you want to talk about?" Faith broke the silence, sweating.

"I wanted to apologize for acting like an idiot back in the Summer. I was really drunk. I shouldn't have said that shit."

"Okay, well, thanks for the apology."

Sven gestured at her, pale eyebrows high on his freckled forehead. "And?"

"And what?" Faith asked.

"Aren't you going to apologize to me?"

"I have nothing to apologize for."

"You can apologize on behalf of your psycho boyfriend. That’d be a start."

Faith scoffed, heated by the insult. When it came to Faust, she never wanted to hear the negatives. It reminded her of her father's disapproval, filled her with useful venom. "Sorry, if you want an apology from Faust, he’d have to give it to you, and I don’t think that’s happening any time soon."

"Wow," Sven said with a click of his tongue. "And I thought you were a nice girl."

"I am nice, but right now, you're in my personal space, and it's making me uncomfortable."

As she spoke, she noticed Sven's knees wobbling. He was drunk. His beer breath filled the room. Faith shifted closer to the wall, clutching her crossed legs, silently begging for him to leave. He took a step closer, and she gasped.

"Relax, I'm not gonna do anything. Jesus, you chicks watch too much TV, thinkin' every dude is a rapist or something."

"Whatever you say, man. Look, if you're done, I think it's time you leave."

"Why? You going to sleep?"

"You just shouldn't be in here. If Faust were home, you wouldn't set foot in this room or even think about talking to me."

Sven threw his head back and laughed. "Just because he caught me off guard once doesn't mean I'm afraid of him. He can suck my dick, and so can you."

"Get out," Faith said.

"Hey now, hey... It's all good. Christ, I'm just trying to mend bridges, but you're being a total bitch when I'm here apologizing."

"You just told me I could suck your dick. You're literally insulting me to my face. I've asked you to leave, and you're not!"

Sven pushed air through his teeth, teetered closer to her and sat down on the foot of the bed. Faith's body froze, her limbs stiff as boards as the man laid on his back. His face was a foot from her.

"If it weren't for your boyfriend, I'd be on tour right now. I'd be the one selling out venues and merch, signing shit and having people ask me to take pictures."

"It was your fault."

When the words floated from Faith's mouth, his forehead crinkled, and he shot up. She gasped, scrambling against the wall like a cornered rodent.

"Fuck you! Stupid fucking slut! Faust is a way bigger piece of shit than I am. Ask anybody! Everyone knows how much of an asshole he is. Nobody actually likes him. They're just afraid of him because he threatens to kill anyone whoever disagrees with what he says."

The venom roiled in Faith's stomach, blistering up her neck and filling her mind with violent static. Her hands shook as adrenaline pumped into her veins. One more minute alone with Sven and she thought she might lose control of herself.

Sven got off the bed and went for the bass. Faith hissed at him not to touch it, so he leaned over and spat on the finish.

"Get out!" Faith cried. "Get the fuck out right now!"

The music outside the door must have drowned out her yells, for nobody came looking for her. She stood up on the bed, back pressed against a poster. Sven grabbed at her ankle, but she kicked and slapped the top of her foot against his forearm. He laughed and swiped again as she danced away.

"LEAVE!"

"Make me!"

"I'll fucking call the cops on you!"

"Do it, bitch. I'll knock you out and do what I want before anyone even realizes I'm in here."

"Help!" Faith hollered. "Rape! Rape! He's trying to rape me!"

"Woah, woah, calm down. I didn't say that—"

The venom boiled over, shot up through her esophagus and escaped her mouth in panicked screams. Stunned by the banshee shrieks ripping through the air, Sven backed toward the door, feeling around for the doorknob while Faith screamed her face red, blood vessels popping in her eyes, throwing explosions of stars across her vision until he left the room and she dropped onto the bed, crying. Faith felt around the bed for her phone and called Faust.

He answered on the first ring.

"Faust," she blubbered.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm coming home right now."

"W-what?"

"Look over at the computer."

Faith wiped the snot from her nose onto the hoodie's sleeve and glanced at the desk where the computer monitor stood. "Huh? I don't understand."

"See that light right beside the monitor? Wave at it."

Faith lifted her hand. She squinted at the blue dot belonging to a small camera set up between a speaker and the monitor.

"I installed a Bluetooth camera before leaving for tour. Don't trust people to not go into my room and touch my stuff."

"You mean—?"

"I saw everything. Heard everything, too. It's motion-activated."

Faith paled at the thought of Faust watching her cleaning his room, the way she'd caressed his clothes on her face and huffed his scent before Sven came in.

"What should I do, Faust? He's still out there."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"Should I call the cops?"

"No, don't call anyone. Don't say anything. I said I'll take care of it."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Faith, I'm serious. Let me handle this," his voice was stern.

"What're you gonna do?"

Faust went quiet for a moment until she motioned at the camera. He sighed. "I can't tell you right now."

The adrenaline depleted, and Faith let out a sob. "I need you, Faust. I'm scared."

"Don't be scared, babe. I got you. I'll be home as soon as I can, but I need you to be strong. Don't talk to anyone about what happened until I get there, understand? Nobody. Not your friends, not your parents, don't write it in your journal or breath a word. I promise I'll make it better."

[scarletbluebird13]

Under the Christmas Tree

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Title: Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

Pairing: Eisuke x MC

Tags: fluff, drabble

Word count: 2024

A/N: I know I’ve got some requests, and I swear I’ll get to them - this is progress ehehe~ I took a little bit of a break for a few days because I wasn’t feeling well, so to the people who’ve sent me requests; thank you all SO MUCH for your requests (I really do appreciate your requests and all of you <3 - since I’m saying this, I genuinely appreciate and love all of you - those who request, lurk, like, and reblog — thank you all so much xxx), I’ll work on them this week - to get myself back into the swing of uploading stuff onto here/making my brain use creative juices to wRiTe, I wrote this - which has been living inside my head since thanksgiving 😳 anyways, hope this is okays xx

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Autumn came and went. The golden crisp of the leaves left all trees barren, surrendering to snow-covered sidewalks - gone for another year. How many seasons have I seen with Eisuke…? How many times have we been together through another fall, winter, spring, and summer? I’ve lost count - then again, I’m not really counting anymore, since we’ll have forever (and that’s a lot of seasons - not that I mind, anyway).

The chill of the autumn wind has changed to a stinging winter breeze - which has me making Eisuke’s coffee a bit warmer - so he won’t get sick. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been together; I’ll always be worried about him - especially now that the weather’s a lot cooler and he doesn’t do well in the cold heh, that seems to be another thing they have in common...

Below me, Tokyo gleams and glitters - the city lights at night are certainly nothing to scoff at. Especially not from our suite. Content at how my life’s been, I sigh a bit, gripping the mug in my hands a bit tighter - searching for the warmth, letting it seep into my hands - and letting the coffee I made for myself slide down my throat, coming to rest in my stomach. As I look out into the world surrounding me, the smell of the freshly brewed coffee keeps me grounded, it’s tempting smell wafting into my nose, slightly fogging up the window when I lean too close. Everything in the world couldn’t be more perfect.

My eyes growing softer at the serene, graceful landscape below, I lean my head gently against the grand window, letting my eyes gloss over the scene below as I think about the text Eisuke sent me about four hours ago;

“I’m going to be late today. Don’t wait up for me.”

Christmas will be in one hour, and I wanted all of us to be together when the clock strikes midnight. I hope he comes home soon-

Before I can finish that thought, an ear piercing wail snaps me out of my thoughts

Poor darling, probably had a nightmare - that’s his scared cry.

Putting the cup of coffee down, I walk over to the cream painted crib situated next to the Christmas tree.

“Shhhh, shhh… It’s okay, Eito. I’m here. I’m here, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

I coo into our delicate seven-month-old baby’s ear as I pick him up and start rubbing his back.

“I promise I’ll protect you from anything and everything that ever tries to hurt you - whether it be the monsters in your dreams, the ones you’ll think hide under your bed or in your closet, and the ones disguised as ‘good people.’” I make that promise to him as I gently place a kiss on his head, adjusting him in my arms so that his head is no longer resting on my left shoulder, rather, that his head is resting in the crook of my left arm. His eyes are still shut, tears streaming from his little red eyes, but he’s calmed down a bit - the crying got a bit quieter.

“I promise I’ll always be here for you, Eito.” I whisper, kissing his tears away.

He looks just like his father - I bet Eisuke looked just like Eito when he was a baby. Eito tends to cry a lot - come to think of it, hasn’t Eiji said Eisuke was always fussy and cried a lot when he was a little kid? At least before his sister was born. I smile to myself, cradling our baby in my arms, knowing I’m probably the only person in the world who knows how similar Eisuke and Eito are. Not that Eisuke’d ever admit it, at least. ...Eiji’s really only met Eito once - when I gave birth to Eito, and even then, he looked at Eito like he was the only thing in the world that mattered - but I’m positive if Eiji were to ever visit and spend one day with Eito, he’d realize Eisuke and Eito’s similarities don’t just stop at their looks.

The crying’s stopped, and for now, Eito looks at me with those wide, beautiful brown eyes of his, and he smiles, reaching up to touch me.

“Hey, feeling better? You certainly don’t look sleepy anymore - wanna stay up with me and see your first Christmas?”

To this, he laughs - smiling myself, I decide to take that as a ‘yes.’

“I thought I told you not to wait up for me.”

The voice slightly startling me, I turn around, clutching Eito a bit tighter to my chest in the process.

“I wanted the three of us to be together - you know, for Eito’s first Christmas. And he had another nightmare, the poor baby - so I’ve been cradling him to cheer him up.” I respond, bouncing Eito in my arms, a natural smile gracing my lips as I look up at Eisuke - who responds by placing a kiss upon my lips.

“...If that’s what you want.” He says with a sigh, looking down at Eito with soft eyes and lifting his index finger to gently caress the baby’s cheek - who, in reply to his father’s tender touch, laughs and wraps his tiny fingers around Eisuke’s large one. Eisuke’s really changed since Eito was born…for starters; he gets that soft look in his eyes and smiles a lot more - especially around Eito.

With a smile, I ask Eisuke if he’d hold Eito for a bit while I make him some coffee.

When I return with Eisuke’s overly sweet coffee in tow, I find Eisuke sitting on the couch, rocking Eito back-and-forth, a warm look on his face.

“Here you go - I can hold him while you drink it.”

“I want to hold him for a bit longer.”

“Okay.” I say in agreement, inwardly screaming and trying to engrave this adorable moment in my mind forever - Eisuke rejected my coffee to hold his son

It’s 11:45 pm now, and Eisuke went to the bedroom to change into something more comfortable - I wouldn’t blame him, seems like he’s had a taxing day at work I wonder how Chisato and Sakiko are doing...I’ll stop by sometime soon and set up a date to catch up with them.

Eito’s squirming around in my arms, so I set him down on the grand, amber tainted floor - he’s been crawling recently, and I find myself eager to see which corner of the suite he travels to. This time, Eito makes a beeline for the Christmas tree, completely disappearing under it. I’m not too concerned about him going under the tree - I know it’s something I loved doing when I was a kid (it’s magical - laying under there and looking up - feeling like you’re looking at a completely different world, giving it an ethereal glow - the view of the christmas lights lighting up the tree from the inside is certainly a simple, nostalgic view worthy of competing with Tokyo’s midnight skyline) - so for the fun of it, I decide to follow him under the tree.

Mildly surprised I fit under the tree, I see Eito laughing - he’s sitting perfectly by the base of the tree, looking straight at me. Finding him adorable, I bring him towards me, carefully, taking special care not to accidentally whack him in the face with a stray branch, and not give him rug burn - even though it would be nigh impossible, considering he’s wearing his white and blue dinosaur print footsies. I bring him around to my left and tickle him a bit, laughing with him and enjoying this moment of peace.

Seconds later, Eisuke enters the room, and I stop tickling Eito - suddenly turning this into a game of hide-and-seek. Luckily, Eito seems to catch on, blissfully looking up at me, silently flapping his little arms in the air.

“Where are they…?” Eisuke asks himself, his feet coming to a stop in front of my face. I try not to look up - else he’d find us, and wanting to keep the game going for a bit, I bring one hand up to stifle my laughs. Unfortunately, Eito gives us up with a little giggle.

In no time at all, Eisuke bends down and we’re face-to-face. He wastes no time in scolding me or for that matter, doesn’t bother to ask why I’m under the tree with Eito - he just sighs.

“What are you doing under there?” He asks, looking painfully exhausted.

“Get under here with us!” I exclaim, laughing with Eito, who, giggling, reaches out towards his father.

“Why would I do that?” He asks, giving me a hard time while he gives Eito his index finger to play with (and, as Eito planned, to suck on).

“Just come on!” I insist.

“...fine.” he grumbles, trying his best to get under the tree without knocking it down.

He’s decided to go on the other side of the tree, keeping Eito between us.

“You know you’re a handful, right?” He asks, trying his best to sound annoyed with me; but deep down, I know he’s not really annoyed - he likes it. It’s because I can be a “handful” that he’s not “bored,” as he would have said, once upon a time.

“You love it.” I retort, my eyes glued to little Eito, as he laughs and reaches up towards a red ornament hanging on one of the lower parts of the tree.

We remain like that under the tree for a while, the smell of pine weaving its way into my hair, the christmas lights twinkling softly above us, the effect being amplified only after the lights in the living room were shut off. Eisuke’s eyes remain content, and soft - resting on Eito and his innocent antics. My heart set at peace, knowing my husband is by my side, our baby is nestled safely between us, and has seen the transition from Christmas eve to his first Christmas. In that moment, we seem untouchable - and it feels like nothing in the world could harm us, take our joy away, or tarnish this harmony we’ve found at last. For a moment, it feels like the warm lights above our heads are enough to keep us safe, protected.

Bonus:

After a while of laying under the Christmas tree with Eisuke and Eito, Eito decides he wants to explore some other part of the suit. Eisuke and I spend a few more minutes under the rich forest green tree, gazing at each other - and share a secret kiss beneath the chorus of the gleaming lights above us.

“Thank you.” He whispers, holding my head close to his.

Curious as to what he means, I merely tilt my head to the side and give him a quizzical look, to which he explains;

“For never giving up on me. For staying by my side. For giving me Eito.” I smile despite myself, and in response, decide to cup his face and softly kiss him.

Then he whispers into the kiss, “I love you.”

Smiling, I say it back, and slide out from under the tree.

Once I’m out, I take the mugs of coffee out of the living room - both mine that’s still half full, and Eisuke’s, which is completely empty.

After I spend a few minutes in the kitchen cleaning the mugs, I return to the living room, my heart swelling at the sight before me;

Eisuke’s fallen asleep in a sitting position on the couch, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his eyelids heavy with the pull of sleep holding them down. And resting atop his chest is none other than Eito, tranquility the scene on his face as he sleeps on Eisuke’s chest - his little mind free of nightmares Eito never has nightmares when Eisuke’s around. Even in sleep Eisuke finds a way to keep Eito safe and secure; he has his right arm holding onto Eito, guarding him even while he rests (Eisuke’s way of saying he’ll forever protect Eito no matter what - I’m sure of it).

I love the both of you. And I’d give my life to protect the little family we’ve got. Merry Christmas, my loves.