#was like ‘why the hell aren’t you rehearsing’

[experiencingpenguinshockey]

:/

[ohtobeleah]

Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin

Chapter One: [Mermaids Don’t Exist]

Summary: Jake continues to plays your knight in shining armour when tensions rise between you and an overly intoxicated patron. Bob brings up a mutual memory.

Warnings: Jake Seresin x F!reader. Witness Protection F!reader. Sexually degrading comments made towards reader. Sexual tension, trauma. Mentions of death & violence.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author Note: Still not writing as much as I once was but I’m getting back into the swing of things. Any comments, thoughts or concepts are welcome!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dreams mainly occur when the body falls into a stage of sleep referred to as R.E.M. Rapid eye movement occurs when the brain and body are finally able to completely rest. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that when your body is able to rest, it allows you to do so. 

“We’ll find you, Y/n!” 

Nightmares are typically thought to be an evolutionary conserved trait. Some researchers believe that nightmares provide a rehearsal for life-or-death situations. Before you lived one? You would have said something along the lines of ‘that checks out.’

“No no no no please, Patrick, stay with me—“ 

Some researchers believe nightmares to be a practical experience for many people as it allows the brain to run through multiple different algorithms to find the most desirable strategies, and solutions to often critical and complex situations. 

From a procedural standpoint, simply imagining doing an action can improve your performance.  

“I love you—take Charlie.”

This applies when we simply imagine doing an action such as playing the piano or running for your life after being run off the road, it activates something called a mirror neuron. 

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with here, girly.” 

In theory, the more nightmares you have, the more of those algorithms your brain is able to run, and the more prepared you’re likely to be for the daily struggle of survival. 

But evolution herself is seen by the scientific community more so as a tinkerer than as an inventor. 

“Oh god—please, not my baby, please! Someone! Help us!” 

So, that’s probably why you have the same nightmare over and over and over again every single night. 

Every morning you wake in the same way, with your face pressed into your pillow and your chest sinking into your mattress. Secretly, every morning you wished that your pillow would have suffocated you in your sleep so that today would forever be unobtainable. But you couldn’t do that, no. Not when the only way to bring a sense of worth to your life was to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

With a groan and a look that spoke volumes to your lack of self-esteem, you rolled onto your back and let out a heavy sigh. Your hands were quick to shield your eyes from the mid-afternoon rays beaming into your bedroom via the slightly cracked windows. 

“Your name is Y/n Y/l/n, you are doing the right thing.”

Guilt and grief aren’t linear emotions. They don’t have a perception of how much time has passed. Realistically it had been three years, six months, and two days since your entire world had been flipped upside down. But every morning, after seeing your husband bleeding to death as he sat pressed against the steering wheel, and having held your five-year-old son in your arms while he took his last breath, the wound was reopened.

And the clock always resets.

“Ah, there she is.” You couldn’t help but hang your head in shame almost. Penny’s glare from behind the bar was as piercing and sharp as it was endearing and playful. Like a woman who took no shit from no one. “You know, you’d think management would be here on time more frequently than whatever the hell this is.” All you could do was take the semi-serious scattering from the owner of the bar you’d been lucky enough to be set up with a pretty good gig at. “Get over here and give me a hand will ya?” 

“Sorry, Penny—” There wasn’t much more you could say to justify yourself. You woke up late, got ready slowly, and got lost in the steam of your mid-afternoon shower as you fought off the existential dread that was your current situation. “Flat tyre,” You shrugged like it wasn’t that big of a deal that you were currently twenty-three minutes late for your shift, “I’ll make it up to you.” 

“Yeah well, you can start by clearing off the table by the piano,” Penny smiled as she nudged her head in the direction of the unruly table of patrons that had surely had far too much to drink. “Think Rick’s had a little more than his liver would care to admit.” 

“Yeah righto,” you sighed as you came behind the bar, doing up your apron as you looked around at the utter mess that had become the place. “I’ll sort him out.” 

North Island wasn’t somewhere you ever saw yourself living, but that was the real kicker in all of this. You didn’t mind the picturesque town with clear blue skies and water that mirrored it. But being the outsider, being the new resident, being the Hard Deck’s newest manager was all some of these people saw you as. Six months in a small Naval town was barely a dint in the years some of these families had been living here. 

“Aw hello, Brewer!” Rick Spencer, the resident rioter, cooed as he beamed your way. For someone in their mid-sixties, he surely went alright. “What brings you in on this fine Saturday afternoon?”

Typical - If you could have, you would have rolled your eyes so far into the back of your head you would have fallen over. Instead, you chose to smile and settle into the nightlife festivities with a can-do attitude and a rather cheeky smile. 

“Came to check on you, Spence? How’s everything over here boys?” It wasn’t uncommon for you to entertain the banter most of the patrons would give you. Most of the locals had caught on quickly that you enjoyed a good laugh every now and again but also knew how to handle your own. 

But there's always one in every group, isn’t there? 

“Would be a hell of a lot better if the barmaid was a little more topless! Right boys!?” A man you hadn’t seen before interrupted before a roar of ‘yeahs’ and agreements were made. Fists and beer bottles along with spirits alike slammed against the tabletop. “Come on girly—” The man continued as you stood there holding the empty bar tray, ready and waiting to collect the empties that littered the table. “Get your kit off.” 

“I don’t think so, boys,” You politely declined the offer of public indecency. “Perhaps in another lifetime.” 

“Sorry about him, Brewer,” Rick explained as he shook his head and stood from his seat at the booth. “My nephew’s here for a few days.”  

“Yeah well, so long as he remembers I run the joint and can have him tossed any time,” You replied sternly. “Keep him in line, Rick.” 

“Oh come on now, sweetheart, I was only joking!” The man you only knew as the nephew chuckled as he overheard your comment. “It’s slim pickings around here anyway, you just look like the best of a bad bunch is all.” 

“Hey!” That voice, that far too familiar voice echoed through the crowd. “You speak to her, or any woman for that matter, like that again? So help me god I’ll punch your teeth right through the back of your skull.” Jake snarled as he came to stand in front of you with his back nearly pressed right into your chest. “Got it!?” The close proximity, the overwhelming aroma of the familiar cologne, and the notes of burnt orange and bourbon made your heart warm. It all had your heart beating against your chest with a force so intense you thought it might break through. 

“Yeah right,” the man only known as the nephew agreed. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’ll get on the waters for a while.” 

“That and a pretty big tip should call us even,” you added with envy conviction laced in your voice that you even had yourself fooled that everything was alright. “Let me just grab these empties for you fellas.” 

You didn’t mess around with it, you simply let the group fall back into their regular chatter as you filled your tray. 

Jake stood with crossed arms a little off to the side, eyeing off all the men who sat idly. Fucking pricks. 

“Been here all of five fucking minutes—” Jake could sense your frustration as you turned into him. At first, he didn’t move, he simply stood there drinking you in as you held the now full tray of dirty glassware. 

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” was all you said. 

With wandering eyes, Jake didn’t miss a single inch of you. 

“I know,” Jake smiled softly as he reached around to lead you back to the bar for a moment to decompress. His hand gently fell to the small of your back as you walked side by side, “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but just because you’re capable? Doesn’t mean you have to go it alone.” 

Alone, that’s all you’d ever been for the last three years. 

“Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right,” the sigh that left your body allowed your shoulders to relax as you placed the tray onto the bar and slid it over for Penny to take. “Thanks, Jake, I owe you one.” 

Jake Seresin had never been the kind of guy who saw himself settling down. But when he first saw you, that thought hadn’t left his mind. 

“Name a time and place,” Jake teased as he sent you a wink. It didn’t take Jake long to find himself at home up by the bar, perched on one of the bar stools as he entertained his favourite bartender. “I’ve always wondered what our first date would be like.” 

“Do I look like I came down in the last shower, Seresin?” You knew Jake had a thing for you, it wasn’t all that hard to put together. But it could never work, not in a million years. Not when you were playing pretend on a professional basis.

“What’s that even mean?” Jake asked as he leaned his elbows on top of the bar, grinning ear to ear as he pressed your buttons more. 

“It means—“ You cooed as you leaned into his space, making it known that the flirting was welcome, but the end goal wasn’t in sight. “I know you’re just trying to get in my pants.” 

“Pretty good-looking set of pants if I do say so myself,” Jake teased as his eyes trailed down the expanse of your body, then back up. Those emerald cities of his were full of complex wonder and undoubtable loyalty. Something you could never give back. “But despite the fact I think you’re pants would look a hell of a lot better in a pile on my bedroom floor, I’m not just doing any of this for a chance to, well, you know what I mean.” 

You did know what Jake meant, and for all intents and purposes you could admit to yourself that it sounded very tempting. But you knew what the repercussions would be.

“Jake, that’s all very sweet of you,” you felt as if you had this very conversation every week. The gentle let down. The kind-ish conversation where you reminded the overly-confident and somewhat self-assured Aviator that you weren’t looking for love or lust, or anything. Besides, there were already too many people looking for you. “But you know, as much as I think you’re a good guy and friend, I’m not interested.” 

Jake stood silently before you, drinking in all that was you. From the lines etched into your forehead to the small scar that ran through your left eyebrow. He wasn’t listening, there was just something about you. Something so intriguing that he couldn’t stop trying to win you over. He couldn’t stop trying to get you to give him just one chance. One chance was all Jake wanted to convince you he wasn’t everything he knew people had told you he was. 

“What would you say if I asked you to–” Before Jake had a chance to finish his question, the echoing sound of a glass shattering into smitherings against the wooden flooring, interrupted his train of thought. 

“OOOIII– TAXI!” It was almost as if all the patrons, besides Jake that was, had all congealed into one as they yelled shouted and cheered towards the man who had dropped his glass. With a heavy sigh and a quick roll of the eyes, you knew you would be the one who ultimately had to clear the mess. 

“I should probably get back to work.” The silence that came from Jake was deafening as you pulled away from where you had been standing far too close to a man you thought you didn’t want. A man you couldn’t have even if deep down you really wanted. Life was unfair like that. You couldn’t have anything you wanted, anything you loved. Anything that made you happy in the smallest of ways. 

“There’s really no chance of getting you to agree to just one date, is there Brewer?” Jake watched as you made your over to where you kept the cleaning supplies in a small section behind the bar. 

“If you already know that then why do you constantly make such an effort?” It was the look on your face that told Jake everything he needed to know. There was no chance in hell he was ever getting that date. 

But Jake Seresin never gave up without a fight, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to now. 

“Because you gentled me, Brewer,” Jake Seresin had never been the type of person who wanted to settle down. He was always so content with the relations he chose to have and the way he chose to have them. Short simple quick flings. Girlfriends who lasted no longer than a year and one-night stands he’d promise to call but never got their numbers. But then there was you. “No one’s ever done that before.” 

“Please don’t put that on my shoulders, Jake,” You weren't sure how to respond to that, how to process that kind of admission. “Just lay off the heroics for a while alright? I don’t want people getting the wrong impression.” 

“That impression would be?” Jake questioned like you’d just insulted his very being. That it would be a crime to love him. 

“Jake, I have a job to do alright,” It wasn’t that you were angry or upset that Jake cared for and about you. It was more frustration on your part for not being able to act on your own feelings towards him. It had been three years since your husband died. Three years since you felt the loving embrace of another human being. That alone was enough to frustrate anyone. “Please, just–just, I need to get back to work.” 

The thing about nightmares is that they often don’t stick to their own parameters. Sometimes, you end up living a nightmare more often than you dream one. Right now? As Jake looked at you like you’d just shot him through the heart, you knew you were wide awake. Living a nightmare that continued to punish only the good. 

“You’re untouchable,” Jake sighed to himself softly as he shook his head in defeat. “The untouchable woman who won’t let anyone in, you’re too proud or something aren’t you?” 

“It’s just–” All you wanted to do was explain yourself, pull Jake aside and let him in on why you couldn’t allow him to love you the way you wanted him to. But no words came out as you stood there holding the old dustpan by your side. 

With every blink, you saw flashes of Patrick. The love you lost too soon, too suddenly. He made sure to haunt your dreams to keep you safe. For a brief second of all-consuming anguish, you saw him too. Standing right behind Jake, warning you not to. “I need to get back to work, I’m sorry.” 

“Right,” Jake clenched his jaw when he felt the word vomit about to spew from his lips. He wasn’t mad, rejection just wasn’t something he was familiar with. “When you get a chance, put a Budweiser on Bradshaw’s tab.” Jake pressed his lips together into a fine line of regret, instantly kicking himself for pushing. He knew he shouldn’t have, but the chase was as addicting as it was thrilling. With a simple knock of his knuckles on the bar before, he turned on his heels. Leaving you to stand there in your own self-loathing. 

Your heart sank as you watched Jake shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a head that hung so low you almost wondered if his neck would be sore. Guilt, shame, it all felt the same. But you couldn’t let Jake in, you couldn’t allow him into your life more than what you’d given him over the last six months. 

You’d tangled yourself in barbed wire so you couldn’t be reached by anyone. Unknowingly bleeding when as it digs into you more and more. You would think the touch of skin on yours wouldn’t be so terrifying, but you’d been bruised before. You couldn’t allow Jake to fall into your web of lies that kept you safe from harm’s way. If hurting him was the only way to keep him safe, you’d hurt him twice over every single day.

Perhaps it would be safer to stay the untouchable woman. 

***~***~***~***~***~****

As a child, there was magic in the mundane. You often found yourself missing the mermaids among the koi in the pond, their glittering scales reminiscent of a childhood fairytale. Summer mornings you’d make bouquets out of the same flowers adults would now mow away while wrinkling their noses at the weeds. 

You often wondered to yourself when the awe of the day-to-day faded away and when you stopped believing in your ability to see mermaids in the momentous world around you. 

“Another round fellas?” You tried not to think too much about the way Jake’s eyes burned into you like a fiery sunbeam as you stood behind Rooster. “Same old same old? The usual orders of Bradshaw’s table?” The squad, affectionately known as the Daggers erupted into laughter all the while Rooster remained silent and brooding. 

“You are all bleeding my dry,” Bradley sighed as you made the rounds and collected all the empties onto your bar tray. “Seriously, I know you aren’t all working for free, cough up.” 

“You could– just apologise for being a Neanderthal and I’ll close it out?” Your statement left a bad taste in Rooster’s mouth, he wasn’t one for apologising for things he didn’t think he’d done wrong. 

“I could,” the brooding moustache-having man replied. “But it’d be an empty lie.” There was something about Bradley Bradshaw that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention. He wasn’t necessarily a bad person, he was–an only child. He probably never imagined mermaids among the koi.  

“Appreciate the honesty there, Bradshaw,” you chuckled deeply as you finished you collecting all the empty glasses and beer bottles. “Guess the next rounds on you.” 

“Here here,” Coyote chimed in with a Cheshire Cat grin. “All in a hard day’s work there Rooster, you always know how to piss off the barkeep.” 

“Works out in our favour,” Bob smiled as he passed you two empty glasses. “I don’t think I’ve paid for a drink of my own in a few weeks now.” 

“No, you just keep trying to convince everyone Brewer here was your first kiss,” Phoenix smirked as she finished off her beer. 

All the air inside your lungs felt like they had been sucked right out. The chills that ran down the expanse of your spine made your blood run cold. You stood tall with your now full tray of old beer bottles and empty glasses and sent a polite smile Bob’s way. 

“You still riding that wave?” 

“You just really look like Y/n from Nurellun Public,” Bob countered with an almost pleading tone. “She was my first kiss by the sandpit and I remember she had a little yellow dot in her right eye.” 

“Brewer has a yellow dot in her right eye,” Jake decided to enter the conversation from his place in the corner of the booth. “Tell you what Floyd, you must have been one shocking kisser if you got Brewer here to change her damn name.” The table erupted into a loud boisterous laugh as the Weapons System Officer sunk a little lower into his seat. 

You felt for Bob, being the butt of the joke was never a good feeling. But when your case officer relocated you to North Island, he didn’t bank on one of its locals being your first snog. You hated gaslighting the guy, but you had no other choice. Bob Floyd had to stay in the era of Meridamis and weed bouquets. 

“Like I told you last time Bob, you’ve got the wrong girl,” It was as nonchalant as it was dismissive. “My first kiss was with Johnny Bennett out at some random guys shed.” You had gotten used to lying about your life and who you were. At the very beginning it was almost impossible, but three years on? You’d gotten pretty good at playing pretend. 

Only you wished it could be with the mermaids in their fairytales. But much like all those mermaids and all those fairytale stories……you didn’t exist. Much like Johnny Bennett.  

***~***~***~***~***~ 

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[harmonictechnicality]

Eddie’s Memory Log Day 1:

part 2 here | part 3 here | part 4 here | part 5 here | part 6 here

(ao3 link here)

The only reason Steve volunteers to keep a journal to track Eddie Munson’s skim-milk memories, is because of the twerps.

They have school, they can’t commute to the government-protected hospital that’s all the way in the city. That, and they gave Steve this well-rehearsed, tearjerker performance about how grateful they would be.

About how grateful Eddie would be.

Pfft like shit on a stick, he’ll be grateful. The dude doesn’t even remember how old he is, how the hell is supposed to be grateful for Steve Harrington jotting down notes in binder?

But those kids have been through Spielberg-level disaster shit. Steve has too, but they’re just kids.

So he’ll do it. He’ll do it for them and only them.

Eddie knows his name today.

He’s pissy - he’s always pissy cause Eddie is battered up beyond belief. But still, he’s extra pissy today because Dustin is his favorite visitor and he hasn’t stopped by in almost a week.

Eddie knows Dustin’s name today too.

And guess who’s his least favorite visitor?

“Harrington.” Eddie grumbles, mouth full of lime jello. “Who paid you to be here today?”

Remembers Steve’s name… last name.

“No one.” Steve makes himself comfy in the vinyl armchair. “Call me crazy, but I’m not too big on taking lunch money from sophomores.”

Speaking of which…

“Do you know you know how old you are?”

Eddie crumples the plastic jello container. “You’re a patronizing sack of shit.”

Steve rolls his eyes, starts to write down:

Eddie doesn’t know his age.

“Twenty.”

Eddie does know his age (20).

“Swell.” Steve fakes his amusement. The kids are much better at cheerleading Eddie along in this process. But Steve’s poker face is nonexistent. Sarcasm and assholery occupy every seat in his brain these days.

They go through a few more questions before Eddie begins to get tired. He’s tired a lot, even though the coma knocked him out for almost four months.

Guess holding hands with Death really takes it out of a person.

Eddie doesn’t know his birthday.

But Eddie does remember it’s in the winter (has a memory of seeing leafless trees from an early childhood birthday party).

Eddie remembers his uncle’s name.

Eddie doesn’t remember which street he lives on.

Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).

“I’ll let you rest.” Steve folds the binder shut, sort of desperate to do anything to get Eddie to stop whining. Seriously, he thought this guy was funnier pre-bat attack.

Eddie doesn’t remember he has a sense of humor.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.” Eddie settles into his pillows.

Steve shrugs, puts his hands behind his head. “I took the bus from Hawkins today. The next one doesn’t leave for another few hours.”

“Still… it’s a city, right? You can go explore or whatever. Be a tourist.”

Yeah Eddie’s persuasive skills aren’t completely back either, it’s all very half-assed.

“Been here before.” Steve lounges deeper into the squeaky chair material. “I’m good.”

“Probably haven’t seen everything is all I’m saying -”

“Do you want me to leave that bad?”

Steve doesn’t shout, but his tone takes up space. Makes the room feel crowded with accusations and cutthroat honesty.

Eddie stares back hard. Sometimes, he doesn’t look like Eddie Munson - he looks like this war victim with knotted-up hair and sulky brown eyes.

Like a John Doe cadaver - tagging his foot with the possibility of Eddie Munson.

Anyways, that’s how he looks right now as he stares at Steve. Barely Eddie.

“Just. I don’t know you.” That’s a shitty ass comeback for someone with a memory-tank that’s perpetually blinking with the low-engine light on. 

Eddie continues with his weak argument. “Were we close enough back home that you’d stay here while I sleep?”

Eddie doesn’t remember Steve ignoring him in high school for four years.

Steve finds no reason to lie. “No. We weren’t close at all.”

“Right.” Eddie nods once. “So why do this? What are you getting out of this?”

This is a complicated situation to explain to anyone, let alone to someone with fuzzy comprehension abilities. But Steve gives it a whirl:

“Look, we have mutual friends that are… younger. Dustin’s age. And whether I like it or not, they’re like siblings to me now - I’d do anything for them. But they’re in school, they can’t be here every day like I can.”

“Why can you be here?” Eddie asks.

“I lost my job.”

Eddie attempts sympathy. “Sorry.”

Eh, Steve gives him a B-minus.

“Didn’t like it anyways.” Steve reassure him plainly. “The point, I’m doing this for them. For you too, but they’re the anchors in this.”

Eddie thinks for a moment - readjusts to laying on his side, facing Steve. “Won’t you need a new job eventually?”

“Nah. Trust Fund Baby.” Steve points both thumbs at his chest.

“Yeesh.” Eddie rolls to the other side, away from Steve. Disgusted by his comment, yet still chuckling very quietly.

Okay… Eddie does remember he has a sense of humor (just a teensy bit).

His breathing becomes long and hard - sleep heavy breathing. It doesn’t take long, sleep seems more natural to Eddie right now than being awake.

Steve watches him for a moment. There’s always the ghostly-distant fear that Eddie might stop breathing. He’s done it before - four months ago and once more while he was still at the hospital in Hawkins.

Max is still asleep. Steve hates thinking about that detail because it’s cruel. This twisted game that the universe is playing is truly unjust. 

Like an Almighty Asshole rolled Eddie’s stupid dice and decided, ‘I’ll let one of your friends wake up, but he won’t remember that he battled along side you in the trenches of darkness. Take it or leave it, douchebag.’

Steve will take it.

Eddie is still sleeping when Steve decides to head out - the bus will be arriving soon and he’s gotta get a window seat. Needs control over the window cause he gets carsick way too fucking easily these days.

“Heading out?” Eddie mumbles, eyes not even open.

“Yeah - sorry.” Steve doesn’t know why he whispered that. “Didn’t think I should wake you.”

“I gotcha. I’m assuming you’ll be back tomorrow?”

Huh… Steve thinks there might be a hint of implication that Eddie wants him to come back tomorrow. Interesting.

“Your memory isn’t as shitty as you think it is.” He’s overly smug when he says it. 

Eddie gives him a closed-lip smile. Only Dustin and Wayne receive those.

“Want me to pick up some food on my way in?”  Steve decides to give generosity a try, since Eddie is tolerable enough to give him a smile. “Get you off of this lousy hospital meal-plan temporarily?”

The smile is gone. “Nah, you don’t have to do that.”

Right.

Eddie definitely remembers how to be Stubborn with a capital ‘S’

But Steve is a Trust Fund Baby, so he’s unfazed with difficult behaviors. He can match difficulties all damn day if he wanted to.

Which he does.

“Suit yourself, Munson.” Steve acts so uncaring. Very uppity and douchey. “I’m thinking Chinese takeout for me personally.”

“Cool.”

“Cool. See you tomorrow then.”

There’s a pause, so Steve takes that as his sign to turn the handle, get the hell out of here.

“Steve?” Eddie calls weakly just before he shuts the door behind him.

He cracks it open, peeks his face back in. “Yeah?”

Eddie sighs. “Kung Pao Chicken.”

“Excellent choice.”

Eddie gives him another closed-lip smile.

Steve grins wildly, with all of his teeth. “In fact, I think I’ll do the same.”

And as Steve claims his middle seat on the bus, he pulls the binder back out of his backpack to add one more note for the day:

Eddie remembers that he likes Kung Pao Chicken.

[sitkowski]

sweet surrender (nick folio x oc)

pairing: nick folio x harper (oc)

cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ fake dating, kinda crappy parents, vaginal fingering. doing things on a motorcycle that probably aren't realistically possible.

word count: 3.8k

author's note: this one wasn't originally started with the intention of being posted around the birthday boy's day, but here we are. i've seen enough rom-coms and hallmark movies to know anything is possible. title comes from the song by sarah mclachlan 🫶🏻 dividers by @saradika-graphics

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups

Harper’s flip flops smack noisily against the asphalt as she hurries across the parking lot. She’s already seventeen minutes late, and her mother doesn’t like to be kept waiting. The second her hand is on the handle to the restaurant door, her phone pings loudly in her purse for the fourth time since she left work. She didn’t even think of trying to go home and change, knowing that it would only delay the inevitable more.

Inside the quaint little bar and grill, Harper’s mother sits in the back at a small table, disappointment evident on her face as she approaches the table. There were many things that she considered hell, and lunch with her mother was one of them. But she knew if she didn’t go, she’d just keep bugging her until her sister’s wedding. And somewhere between work and arriving at the restaurant, Harper came up with a possibly insane plan.

“Hi mom,” she sinks down in the chair across from her and grabs a menu. “Sorry I’m late. I had to wait for someone to relieve me at the bar—”

“I already ordered you a sweet tea. I know it’s your favorite.”

Harper tries her very best not to seem shocked at that, because she knows there’s probably an ulterior motive behind it. “Um, thanks.”

“Look, I know I’m a broken record here,” her mother begins, and there it is. “But I wish you weren’t coming to this wedding alone. You’re the last of my children without a partner, don’t you feel like the odd person out?”

It takes everything Harper has not to get up and leave right then and there. She tells herself that her mom is only looking out for her, that she just wants her to be happy. But somehow, she’s always equated happiness with finding someone, having a boyfriend. Being the youngest of four, and right now the only single child, she’s heard it all so much over the years, and it’s one of the reasons why she’s kept any relationships she’s had to herself until they got serious. Which, of course, hadn’t happened in a long time.

“I have a date for the wedding.” she blurts out instead. Harper is a liar. She has nothing remotely close to a date, but she sees the way her mother’s eyes light up, and she raises her hand before she can immediately start drilling her with questions about this nonexistent date. “It’s still very new, but he’s nice. And I’ll let you meet him before the wedding, at the final rehearsal. But for now, can we just keep this between us?”

“Oh absolutely, of course!” her mom says. But Harper knows, her mom is a liar too, and the entire family will know before the end of the day. “I’m just happy you found someone, I know you’ve got to be lonely in that house all by yourself.”

Harper opens her mouth to say something else, but the waitress arrives with their drinks and to take their orders. She’s never been so grateful for the distraction. Her mother even changes the subject before their food arrives. But now all Harper can think about is the fact that she has to convince her neighbor to be her plus one to a wedding.

It’s either a coincidence or a twisted act of fate that Harper’s neighbor is outside working on his bike when she pulls into her driveway. She and Nick aren’t exactly close friends; they’re friendly with one another, she grabs any mail that comes while he’s on tour for him and makes sure his three plants don’t die. He asks her about her day if they catch each other outside at the same time, and once they shared a few beers on his porch after she accidentally locked herself out. She baked him cookies.

And now she’s got to ask him this huge favor.

She knows she could get out of this with her mom, admit she lied or say this mystery guy broke up with her. But as she gets out of her car and looks over at Nick in his driveway, wearing a fitted black tank top and his hands stained with grease, she realizes she wants to prove a point. Her shutting the car door seems to grab his attention, and he turns to wave at her. She lifts her hand in return before taking a deep breath and walking across the section of grass that separates their houses.

“Is something wrong with your bike?” she asks by way of greeting.

Nick shakes his head, wiping his hands off on a rag from his back pocket. “Nah, I just like doing everything on it myself. I’ve got the free time right now.”

“No big tours coming up?”

“Not for a few weeks,” he shoves the rag back into his pocket and pushes his hair back out of his face. “It’s hot out, you want a drink?”

“As long as it’s alcoholic, please.”

She follows him up to his porch and he disappears inside. Harper sits in on the porch swing, picking nervously at her chipped nail polish. The worst that can happen is he can say no, that’s what she tells herself. She waits for Nick to come back, holding out a glass to her. Her eyebrows raise because instead of beer, he brings her whiskey.

“You look like you could use it,” he admits, before sitting beside her. The last time they did this, it was just two beers sitting on the porch steps so she could keep an eye out for the locksmith. It’s not lost on her that this is the closest she’s been to him before. “Everything okay?”

“Just…lunch with my mom. My sister’s wedding is coming up and she’s being extra…extra.”

“She’s stressing you out?”

“More like she won’t stop asking me who I’m bringing to the wedding as a plus one,” Harper takes a sip of the whiskey and rubs her forehead. “I kind of…told her I had a date, when I didn't.”

Nick winces sympathetically, “Ouch.”

She nods in agreement before taking a deep breath and looking over at him. “So I have this stupidly huge favor to ask, and I know you’re probably busy with your band even though you said you have a break, or maybe you just wanna be left alone in which case I will finish this drink and go, but do you maybe wanna pretend to be my date to this wedding?”

She knows that she’s babbling, and she sees the way his eyes widen a little at her question. He’s quiet though, for a lot longer than she thought he’d be, and she fully expects him to let her down gently when he speaks.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I totally get it, we don’t even know each other all that well so if you don’t want to I’ll find someone who—”

“Harper, stop!” he laughs a little, reaching over to put a hand on her knee to cut off her second round of anxious speaking. She blinks and looks down at his hand and then back at his face. “I said I would. I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”

She doesn’t mean to let out a little squeak and throw her arms around his neck, but she can’t help it. She lets go quickly, her face on fire. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, but thank you—”

“Hey it’s no problem, she’s obviously driving you a little insane and I don’t mind helping. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve got a few weeks off.”

“It’s seriously just two days, the final rehearsal dinner and then the wedding and reception,” she explains and he nods along. “Do you…do you own a suit?”

She doesn’t mean it in an insulting way, but she’s only ever seen him in t-shirts and jeans, and his riding leathers. That was a distracting enough image, and she quickly banishes it from her mind.

Nick doesn’t seem offended. “I can clean up when I need to. Unless you want to traumatize your mother in which case I am fully prepared to take you to this thing on my bike and make myself her worst nightmare. I’m flexible.”

Harper downs the rest of her whiskey, letting it burn all the way down her throat so that the flush that comes across her cheeks can be blamed on something else.

“Just a nice dress shirt will work,” she pauses and thinks about it. “And yeah, maybe your bike.”

She imagines her mother’s face when she shows up to the rehearsal on the back of Nick’s bike. It wouldn’t be so much the motorcycle itself, but Harper on the back of it in a dress. If this is going to be the way that she’s going to get her off of her back about dating, so be it.

“So, if we’re pretending to date, should I have a cover story?” Nick asks.

Harper hadn’t thought about that. Her mom was nosy, she was going to want every little detail of how she and Nick met, how long they’d been together, what their plans for the future would be. Even if it was just two days, she has to have some kind of details besides him having a motorcycle and being in a band. 

I mean,” he seems to be able to tell that she’s struggling with what to say. “We kind of already have our story, don’t we?”

“We do?” she doesn’t let herself get stuck on how that sounds. Our story.

“We’re neighbors who became friends, you came over and had a few beers when you got locked out of your place and it just…took off from there?”

It sounds so easy, and it’s not even a lie. She nods. “Yeah, that works.”

“So when is this thing? That way I’ve got time to get my bike nice and shiny.”

The day of the final rehearsal approaches quickly. Harper spends most of the morning out with her sisters, getting pampered for the day. They ask her questions about her mystery guy, and she gives them vague but believable answers. When Nick agreed to do this for her, he also gave her a little bit of a rundown on himself in case of situations just like this. She almost wondered if he’d had to be a fake boyfriend before.

When she goes home, she puts on the green floral dress she bought for the day, and even though she knows it’s not exactly practical for the back of a motorcycle, she likes how it looks. She’s doing the finishing touches on her makeup when there’s a knock on the front door. Feeling oddly nervous, Harper goes to answer it. 

Nick wasn’t lying when he said he could clean up when he needed to and he took her words to heart; the black dress shirt he’s wearing beneath his leather jacket looks really good on him. They’re kind of just standing there, staring at each other for a few minutes.

“You look gorgeous,” Nick says, and Harper blushes. His eyes drift down, and the corner of his mouth tilts up. “And while those shoes are very pretty, they’re not safe for the bike. Do you have any flats you can wear?”

Harper slips back into the house and grabs a pair from her hall closet, switching them out and putting her heels into a bag to bring with her. When she comes back out, she follows Nick down to his bike. He hands her a helmet, one that isn’t a full face like his.

“Figured you didn’t wanna sweat off your makeup on the ride.” he says, and she thinks he’s teasing her. “Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?”

She’d been on the back of a friend’s bike in high school, but it had been another style and she knew there was a difference between the two. “Nope.”

“Don’t worry, it’s the safest thing you’ll ever have between your legs.”

Harper’s mouth opens and closes again in surprise, before her eyes narrow. “Did you…did you just quote Girls Just Wanna Have Fun to me?”

Smiling proudly, Nick takes the helmet out of her hands, putting it on her. She holds her breath as he buckles it for her, before pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. He grabs his own helmet and puts it on. With his help, she gets on the bike behind him. She’s able to tuck the skirt of her dress enough so it won’t blow when they’re on the open road. This part she knows enough about, and she puts her hands on his sides. Nick reaches down, wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling until she gets the message, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso. Harper presses her cheek between his shoulder, clenching her fingers in his jacket.

There was nothing more exhilarating than being on the back of Nick’s bike. It’s not that far from their houses to the venue where the final rehearsal and wedding is being held, but she enjoys every minute of the ride. The parking lot is littered with familiar cars, and Nick parks his bike, cutting the engine. It takes Harper a minute to be able to loosen her grip on his jacket, and she can still feel the rumble from beneath her in her thighs. She lets out a shaky breath, undoing the strap of the helmet and taking it off. In front of her, Nick holds out his hand so she can lift herself off of the seat. When her feet touch the ground, her legs are still shaking.

She can see her mom and her sister Reece watching her from the alcove by the entrance, and it’s hard to miss the smirk on Reece’s face and the look of concern on her mother’s. Harper takes off her flats and slips her heels back on before fluffing out her hair. She watches Nick get off the bike, and he takes off his helmet, gloves and jacket. He’s got the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows, and it shouldn’t be nearly as distracting as it is.

“Ready to do this?” he asks, holding out his hand to her. 

Harper nods, lacing her fingers through his. He pulls her closer and she swallows hard, unable to avoid the smile that comes to her face. “Yeah.”

Making the introductions almost seems like the easy part. Within minutes of meeting, all of her sisters are enamored with Nick, including the bride to be. Her mother is a different story, but Harper already knew that it would happen like this. She hears the words drummer and motorcycle club and puts on the most believable fake smile she can. But Harper genuinely wants them to like Nick, even if it is pretend. And for the most part, they do.

“And your band…it does well?” her mother asks sometime between the final rehearsal and dinner, and Harper feels the evening going downhill. 

“They’re viral on Tik Tok,” her grandmother says. Nick smiles that wide smile again and her grandmother winks at him. “Leave them alone, dear. They seem very happy together.”

It eases the tension for Harper, just a little. Beside her, Nick puts his hand on her thigh in a comforting gesture, and she relaxes back in the seat.

The rest of the dinner goes okay, until her mother asks to speak to her privately. She leads her off to the hallway of the floor they’re on away from everyone else. Most of the day has been a blur but Nick’s been there with her the whole time, and she’s thought that they were pretty convincing.

“I know what you’re doing,” her mom says, and Harper frowns. “How could you hide something like this from us?”

“Mom, what—”

“The way that boy looks at you, there is no way that this is new. How long have the two of you been together that you couldn’t tell me, or any of us?”

She almost lets out a sigh of relief, but her mom’s words register with her. She thinks that they’ve been together for longer than she’s said, because of the way that Nick looks at her? From what she’s been able to tell, he’s looking at her the same way he has since they met. Sure, he’s touching her a little bit more, but that was all part of the plan. Wasn’t it?

“You just met him today, and you think he looks at me like, what?”

Her mom’s look turns wistful. “Like your dad used to look at me.”

The words are a punch to the gut, and not in an entirely bad way. Her parents were deeply in love once upon a time. But she doesn’t think that she and Nick know each other well enough for that to be true. Still, her mom wouldn’t have dragged her out here and said something like this unless she saw something that Harper apparently didn’t.

“Mom, there’s something—”

“Babe,” Nick appears in the hallway, and it’s obvious that he might have overheard something that was said, because he comes over, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Jolly wants me to stop by before we head home, would it be okay if we headed out now? I know things are wrapping up for the night.”

“You two go on, we’ll see you in the morning.” Harper’s mom says, answering for her.

She hugs Harper and gives Nick a polite smile before walking back into the banquet hall. It’s not until they’re in the elevator that Harper finally asks. “Who’s Jolly?”

Nick doesn’t take her home right away, turning the bike the opposite direction that they came. Harper doesn’t question it, she just burrows against him comfortably and lets him take her wherever he wants. She’d been grateful for the rescue while dealing with her mom, but she wonders what’s going to happen after the wedding tomorrow. She assumes that things will just go back to how they were before, the two of them being neighbors. It’s something, at least.

It’s dusk by the time Nick stops the bike, in a secluded little spot overlooking mountains and trees. Harper’s pretty sure she came to this spot with a boy when she was in high school. Nick drops the kickstand and takes off his helmet, and Harper takes hers off too. But he doesn’t get off the bike, and she stays leaning into him, enjoying the quiet and the view.

“I know you heard what my mom said,” she whispers into his jacket, and she feels him tense a little before he relaxes. “I thought it was all pretend.”

“And if I said that I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out for months and thought this was going to be the best way to do it?”

Harper sits up and pulls herself off the bike, and it’s just like he knows what she’s planning to do because he slides back on the seat, making room for her. He hauls her into his lap, her thighs spread over his as she sits facing him.

“I like you, Nick Folio,” she murmurs, draping her arms over his shoulders.  “I mean, you’re viral on Tik Tok after all.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “I like your grandma.”

“And what about me?”

“Oh, I really like you,” he says, before wrapping one gloved hand around the side of her neck and kissing her. 

Harper kisses him back, fisting her hands in the sides of his jacket, trying to get him closer. But she’s worried that too much motion is going to overturn the bike. It’s probably a miracle that it’s staying upright anyway. She slides her hands beneath his jacket, pulling at the buttons on his shirt. Her eyes widen at the sight of the tattoo on his chest, and she files that away for another time when she can drag this out and trace it with her tongue.

Nick pulls back, long enough to tug off his gloves and shove them in his jacket pocket before shrugging out of the leather and letting it fall behind him. Keeping his eyes on Harper’s face, his hands slide up beneath the skirt of her dress. Her breath hitches in her chest at the feeling of his hot hands on her inner thighs, skimming upwards until they touch the edge of her panties.

It’s not lost on her that they’re out here in the open where anyone could come by and see them. That doesn’t really matter to her though, not when Nick’s scraping his teeth over the column of her throat and pulling her underwear to the side.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low.

Harper nods quickly, reaching down to wrap her hand around his wrist and guide his hand where she wants it. His fingers slide between her folds, thumb teasing over her clit. She moans, head falling back and his free hand tugs at the top of her dress, pulling it and the cup of her bra down so he can get one of her nipples between his teeth.

A sharp cry escapes her when he eases first one, then a second finger inside of her, and when his fingers curl upward, she finds herself trying to lean back into the handlebars behind her. Nick’s fingers tangle in her hair and he pulls her mouth back to his. Harper nibbles on his bottom lip, tongue sliding over his as she grinds down against his hand.

Whimpering, she buries her hands in his hair, yanking at the longer strands. She’s already on edge, and she’d be surprised that Nick’s able to work her up so quickly, but she can’t think about anything else but this. His forehead presses into hers, eyes locked on the space between them, watching his fingers rock in and out of her. He moves them faster, adding in a third, and Harper’s lost beneath the orgasm crashing into her. The cry she lets out echoes in the air around them, bouncing off of the trees.

Nick pulls his fingers out slowly, bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean. The sight and the aftershocks of her orgasm leave her dizzy. She starts to reach for his belt, but Nick catches her wrist, pulling her hand up and kissing her palm.

“Later, I promise. I kinda wanna get you home and into my bed.”

Harper can’t argue with that. They fix their clothes and she moves back behind him. As she’s putting her helmet back on, a thought occurs to her. “What happened to this being the safest thing I’ll ever have between my legs?”

“Honey, you haven’t seen anything yet.” he murmurs before putting on his helmet and starting the bike.

She grabs onto him, unable to keep the smile off of her face as he points the bike in the direction of home.

⇉ taglist:

@circle-with-me @deathblacksmoke @malice-ov-mercy @baddestomens

@ladyveronikawrites @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @collidewiththesavannah

@thatchickwiththecamera

[adorethedistance]

The Late Late Show - Bella Ramsey x Reader (18+)

General Masterlist

Warnings: (18+ only minors DNI) afab reader, smut, swearing, teasing, lmk if there’s anything else I missed.

Words: 2697

Summary: After a promotional appearance on the Late Late show, you and Bella confess your feelings for one another; your skepticism causes them to prove just how much they like you back.

A/N: It’s almost 1 am. I don’t feel like proof reading this. I want to be done with it. SO here we are LMAO. In all seriousness I’m really stoked on this piece and I hope y’all like it. It’s been a while since I’ve written a full smut so I’m a little rusty.

Pedro, Bella, and I are on the Late Late Show to promote season 2 of The Last of Us, and Mr. James Corden had the incredible idea to make us play ‘spill your guts or fill your guts’. In rehearsal the questions were all mundane and simple to keep the surprises for the actual show. Now that the questions are real, my anxiety has skyrocketed and I anxiously await my turn. So far, Pedro has had a sip of bird saliva and Bella has confessed who their least favorite person to work with in their career was. Now it’s my turn and I’m almost too anxious to comprehend the words coming out of anyone’s mouth. Bella turns the table slowly, watching my face and gauging my reactions to each food as it goes by.

“Y/n.”

“Hm.”

“For this question, I will give you…” They pause to think for a moment, “The one thousand year old  egg.” I fight the urge to gag and Bella laughs deviously. They noticed the way I was particularly disturbed by it when we reviewed all the food options on the table for the camera. Bella laughs their adorable laugh after reading the question written on the cue card; I can’t stop the fake frown that’s appeared on my face.

“Which of mine and Pedro’s acting performances were the worst, and why?” The audience erupts into laughter, cheers, and groans as I contemplate how I can answer this question. “There is no way in hell I’m eating that.”

“Then you’ve got to answer.”

“I don’t know! I think you guys aren’t capable of bad performances.”

“Booooo.”

“Why are you booing me?!” I screech in surprise although I can’t help the smile forming on my face. Pedro jumps in,

“That’s a cop-out!”

“That is such a cop-out answer!” Bella laughs, biting their lip and resting their elbows on the table, displaying their hands that are sparsely decorated with rings.

“Why are you guys teaming up on me? This is so unfair. James, do something!”

“My hands are tied-”

“No, they are not it’s your show!”

“That one thousand year old egg isn’t getting any younger,” Bella quips, a devious smirk adorning their features. More laughter from the audience and I look back at Bella with pleading eyes. They raise their eyebrows to taunt me, clearly enjoying how I’m scrambling for answers. I bite the inside of my cheek and playfully glare. Another eyebrow quirk from Bella. On national television?

I cave, “Oh god. Okay, uh, Pedro. Maybe Mando? Since you’ve got the helmet on and we can’t really see your face emote a lot?”

“Kind of a cheat answer but I’ll leave it be,” Bella teases.

“Bella… Maybe Judy since you didn’t have too much on screen time so you weren’t given a lot to work with?” I attempt to calm my breathing as I wait for the other three to either approve or disapprove my answers. The jury is pleased with my response and I’m saved from eating the egg in front of me that is literally black and green.

We continue another rotation of questions going around the table until James takes us to commercial break. Bella, Pedro, and I stand from the table and head back to the couch for our actual interview portion of the show. It’s the last segment before we’re wrapped and I can’t wait to be finished so I can get out of this makeup and borderline black tie attire.

James gives us the standard questions that come with promoting a show and I find myself struggling to stay present. The way Bella moves their hands and the numerous rings that adorn their fingers are eternally captivating.

I want to just reach out and grab it. To hold their hand in mine and exist like that for as long as we possibly could. I want to hold them in my own and kiss them to show how much I care. I want to clench around their hands as I scream their name loud enough for anyone to hear. I want to bite down on exposed skin as they fuck me and tell me I’m their good girl. I crave Bella. I’ve always craved Bella.

“I think we’ve lost her. Y/n?” I hear James’ voice bring me back down to earth. My cheeks are a thousand degrees warmer as I realize I’ve been caught, lost in the fantasy of what it would be like to belong to Bella.

“What?” I ask when I zone back in. Everyone in the room laughs and I try to blink away my embarrassment.

“You play Dina, correct?”

“I do, yes.”

“This is a new character for this season, what can you tell us about her?”

“Yeah, so Dina is Ellie’s love interest in this part of the story,” I proceed to tell James the same basic spiel that I give every interviewer and he listens intently. He asks a few more questions about the characters and what it was like for the three of us to work closely on set. The interview goes over fun, smooth, and funny and before we knew it, the show was wrapped shortly after. Bella disappears almost immediately in search of a bathroom, leaving me with Pedro as James begins talking with one of his producers.

“Are you okay?” Pedro nudges my shoulder to get my attention. I nod rapidly which does not at all minimize his suspicion.

“Yeah, I’m totally good.”

“You were in space for the entire interview. What’s up?” He asks sincerely. Is this something I should tell him? Is this something I shouldn’t tell him? I’m at a loss for direction but Pedro’s reassuring smile reminds me that he is probably the best confidant on planet earth.

“It’s about Bella…” I start off slowly.

“Yeah, you really seem to like them.”

“SHHHH! Why would you say that so loud?!” I whisper shout which if anything draws more attention to us.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Pedro holds both hands up to try and ease my anxiety and I drop my shoulders to try and reel everything back in.

“You’re right, though. I do really like them.”

“Apparently.”

“So what do I do?”

“What do you mean?”

I scowl, “What do you mean what do I mean?”

“It’s obvious they like you as well.” I tilt my head back incredulously.

“What are you talking about?” Pedro laughs heartily before responding,

“I may not be the smartest person in the room but I’m not an idiot. I see how you look at each other. How they look at you.” My heart flutters with excitement. “It’s a huge crush if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Well, what do I do then?” I ask, and we’re back to square one. Pedro shakes his head at my obliviousness.

“You tell them you like them and then kiss!” He says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. Ever the optimist. As I open my mouth to speak, I cut myself off to see Bella has rejoined the three of us. A quaint smile paints their face and my heart flutters again tenfold.

“What’d I miss?”

“Not much from me but Y/n has something to say.” I go wide-eyed and look at Pedro in panic. If looks could kill he would be a dead man this instant. Bella nods at me expectantly and I feel a rush of anxiety in my core. I do my best to cover up the fact that I’m taking a deep breath to soothe my nerves.

“We should go somewhere… not… here.” Bella laughs at the peculiar rhythm of my speech but agrees and follows me backstage. In the dressing room that we shared when getting ready, I flick the switch that lights up the perimeter of lightbulbs around the vanity mirror. Bella senses the tension that’s practically radiating off of me and closes the door behind us.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay I just-” I trail off in search of the right words.

“...You just what?” Bella asks, gently.

Moment of truth.

“I really like you, Bella. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I’m anxious that bombarding you with this information could scare you away, and then we wouldn’t be friends anymore because it would be too awkward. So then I’d be losing not just my best friend, but also just you as a person and I’d hate for that to happen because I like you as a person too and I-”

“I’ve been waiting for this conversation.” Bella says smugly.

“-Have been so worried about- wait what?” As my whole rambling rant lead me to look down, my head snaps back up. “You’ve been waiting for this?”

“Mhm.”

“Would you care to share with the class?” I ask, facetiously causing them to laugh at the sarcasm.

“Pedro and I actually had a bet going for how long it would take you.” I frown at their words and blink away my confusion. Bella drops the smug smile. They stare at me and I feel my face heat up being under their intense gaze.

“You… don’t like me back?” I say, my heart sinking in panic as I had just bared my soul to them.

“Of course I like you back.”

“Well, don’t say that like it was obvious!”

“I made it pretty obvious.”

“No, you didn’t!”

“We spent Valentine’s day together.”

I open my mouth to protest but close it to consider maybe it wasn’t just a ‘Galentine’s’ hang out.

“But-”

“We literally woke up spooning when we had that sleepover.” I blink. Once, twice, and then shut my eyes completely to block out the visual of Bella’s face as I come to the same conclusion.

“Yeah, I guess it was pretty outright.” They simply nod a yes and I feel the weight of the world lifted off of my shoulders at once. “So, you like me?”

“Oh my god-” Bella rolls their eyes, and swiftly comes over to grab my face in their hands and kiss me passionately. Their lips on mine are the symphony of an orchestra that I’ve long awaited. Each movement of our lips, the rhythmic richness of percussion. Their hands tracing down the silhouette of my body, the sensuality of the brass. A desire-filled rush of blood coursing through my entire body, the serenity of the woodwinds. And the intensity of our feelings for one another becoming intertwined into one energy, the complexity of the strings.

I’m fully floating on cloud nine, drifting further and further away from the Earth and into the ethereality of Bella. The kiss started passionately and quickly becomes heated as the two of us revel in our lust for one another.

Bella grips my hair in their hand at the base of my neck, tugging the handful to break the kiss and tilt my chin upwards. They take the new access to kiss and suck the skin of my neck. Grazing their teeth over my larynx, biting into the side and sucking a harsh, clean mark into the exposed flesh. I groan and the sheer eroticism and grip the vanity counter behind me.

Bella’s ringed fingers gently grasp my hips, pushing me back to lean on the counter with more of my weight. They abandon the task of marking me, grabbing the fabric of my dress, pulling it up and cradling the hem of it in their hands at my hip sockets. All the while, they had sunken down to the floor, lustful eyes watching my face as they kneel on the floor.

“Can I?” They ask and I quickly nod yes as my mouth was too dry to form a verbal response. Lifting the hem of the evening dress over their head, Bella bites another hickey into my inner thigh. I squeak at the sensation. It hurts so good.

“Shhh. You’ve gotta stay quiet.” I nod rapidly as reassurance, temporarily forgetting they can’t see my face.

“Got it, sorry.”

“It’s okay, babygirl.” Bella then hooks their fingers into the waistband of the underwear I was wearing. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” I sigh out, anticipation dripping from my voice. They drop the garment to the floor and have me step one foot out of them. My left leg stays anchored on the ground as a point of support since the counter likely wouldn’t hold my entire body weight. Bella guides my right leg up and over their shoulder before they trace their tongue over my glistening core. I whimper out a noise of relief and my head drops back, readying myself for the ride of my life.

Their tongue traces through the folds, trailing up to draw my clit in their mouth. I let out a languorous moan. In an attempt to regulate my breathing, I pull in a deep breath of bliss. Bella expertly devours me and I feel myself pulsating from arousal. Judging by the smug hum of laughter I’m guessing they could feel the movement as well.

I grab the fabric of my dress around my thighs and lift the layers to keep Bella from practically suffocating. They continue, unphased. A euphoric cry escapes my lips when Bella presses two tantalizing fingers inside of me. My hand quickly covers my mouth to try and conceal the undeniable bliss of their hand working in tandem with their mouth. Each stroke of their fingers elicits a ragged moan from my throat and I fight so hard to remain quiet. Then, Bella’s mouth pulls off of my clit with an audible smack.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and come for me?” They ask earnestly and I nod rapidly. Anything to please them. The frantic nature of my response is satisfactory enough and they resume sucking on my swollen clit. I’m almost overstimulated from the pleasure of their mouth working with the rhythmic curling of their fingers. My moans increase tempo as I continue chasing the high. Bella beatifically bobs their head, moving faster to bring me closer to the edge.

Their fingers curve so perfectly against my g-spot and I fight the need to cry out in untamable pleasure. Stimulating the spot brings me closer and closer. I hold the collected fabric of my dress skirt in my left arm, and frantically reach down with my right. Bella masterfully maintains their pace, mouth and fingers working together while their other hand reaches up to interlace their fingers with mine. The thoughtful gesture is arousing in itself and I find my orgasm come to a peak.

I reside in this high for a moment before the waves of pleasure come crashing down over me. I finish with a strangled sob of gratification. Bella’s pace slows but they continue working me through the orgasm until the feeling passes. Once my clit stops pulsating, I feel them pull their mouth off of me with a most sinful pop. They leave our hands intertwined, but take the hand that was inside of me and lift the wet fingers to their lips, sucking off my remaining juices with great pleasure. I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, partly from disbelief but mostly from the residual high. They lock eyes with me and smile innocently, as if they hadn’t just sucked the life out of me in the best way possible.

Bella then wraps both arms around me and holds my body as tightly to their own as they can without hurting me. I then realize they’re doing this because my legs are trembling and they’re allowing me to use them as support. I’m grateful for the attentiveness and melt in their arms, wrapping my own around their shoulders. They hold me like this for a few minutes, and I smile knowing they would have remained there for hours if I’d asked them to.

“You were so good for me, pretty girl.” The praise is of the utmost comfort and I tuck my face into the crook of their neck. Placing soft, practically indebted kisses on their skin serves as a ‘thank you’ since I’m still very much recovering.

“I love being the only one to make you feel this good.”

[blixabargelds]

first position is over your mouth

world's silliest buck x bucky drabble in the universe me and @swifty-fox kicked about in which gale is a ballet dancer and bucky is a soccer player. oh and they were both girls <3

“You never told me why your name’s written the boy way,” Bucky says, muffled somewhat.

“Huh?” Gale opens her eyes, her tight calf muscles spasming under the pressure of the position Bucky has her in.

“I said,” Bucky backs off from her cunt, speaking somewhere near her pelvis now. “Your name. There’s no ‘i’. You got a reason?”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Gale groans. 

Her left foot is cramping. She hadn’t finished her stretches properly; leapt into Bucky’s hideous Bimmer straight from rehearsal. Refused to let her drive- Gale’s got a big show in two weeks, and she’s not taking any chances on Bucky’s euphoric post-game swerving. Had swung her dance bag in the backseat, alongside empty bottles of Gatorade and Luna Bar wrappers, said shift it, and slid into the left side as always. Thing about Bucky, though, is that she makes Gale go half as reckless when she knows her mouth is what’s waiting at the end of the drive. Gale’s left foot is cramping, two weeks before a show, because she could barely get her pointe shoes off fast enough to bear down on the accelerator. Bucky is making her damn stupid. 

Bucky licks a long stripe back up, dipping her tongue straight into Gale and dragging right along to her aching clit. Gale bites her palm against a moan.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Bucky says, lips flush to her sensitive skin and vibrating all through her.

“Dad wanted a boy,” Gale says- gasps. “Didn’t wanna- Christ- didn’t bother changin’ the spelling.”

Bucky’s running a long finger up and down the inside of Gale’s thigh, now, coming to tease at the join of her legs before sliding back down. She hums against Gale’s cunt, and Gale drops her head down against the shower tiles. 

“You’re so tense, baby.”

“’Cos you’re bein’ a menace,” Gale grits out.

“I told you,” Bucky says, mouthing at her bony hip. “You gotta warm down proper. Me and the girls would be stiff as all hell if we walked off the pitch fast as you get out that studio.”

“You’re meant to be my warm down,” Gale says. Every inch of her body hurts. She gets her fingers in Bucky’s dark curls, and as she moves her face back to where she wants her she goes like butter. “Or so you said.”

“Mm,” Bucky hums. She moves her hand finally, one finger tracing the folds of Gale’s cunt delicately before pressing in. Gale bites back a moan. “All mouth, aren’t I, doll?”

Gale doesn’t bother to reply. Bucky pulls her finger out slowly, then presses back in deep. Gale’s so open and ready for her that it’s torturously gentle. She wants her to stretch her out, fuck her on her fingers hard and fast, but Bucky’s kind of evil after a good game. She pulls out all the way, circles the same wet finger over her swollen bud, pinching just slightly. Her free hand roams up Gale’s abs, her exposed ribs, reaching up toward her flat chest and rolling her right nipple between her fingers with practiced efficiency. Gale whines, hips jerking forward toward Bucky’s open mouth.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Bucky says. She pushes back into Gale’s cunt, two fingers this time. Gale’s embarrassingly wet, dripping down Bucky’s hand and into the hot stream of the shower. “I’ll get you to relax. My swan princess.”

“That’s not-” Gale gasps as Bucky scissors her fingers wide. “That’s- you know that’s not-”

“Jesus,” Bucky laughs. “I know, baby, I listen.”

“You yap,” Gale says.

As if to prove a point, she yanks Bucky’s head forward, sets her lips to her once and for all. Bucky laughs again, then moans as she licks into her. She draws her hand back, presses in with three fingers. Gale moans loudly as Bucky’s tongue flattens against her clit, then swirls around it like she’s plotting a formation. She licks at her like that until Gale’s dizzy. Bucky’s fingers drag in and out of her, her thumb teasing a path between her fingers and tongue. Gale’s stomach is tensing already, her whole body quivering as her tired legs attempt to hold her up. Bucky must feel this in the way Gale’s shaking above her, because before she knows it, Bucky's lifting one of Gale’s legs over her shoulder, crowding her back against the shower wall, Gale’s entire weight pinned between the tiles and Bucky’s face as she doubles down on her. Gale’s soaking her chin, now. She thanks God they’re doing this here.

“God, Bucky, I’m close.”

Bucky hums against her clit. Gale feels it building too fast, hitting with almost no warning, and as Bucky delves her fingers deeper, tongue pressing up against her, she pitches forward and shakes apart. Gale gasps, quiet with it at first, as her release crests over her in a warm wave. Bucky works her through it, strong fingers crooking inside her, and then she keeps going. Keeps going. 

“Bucky, fuck-” Gale says. She moans, then, loud and unbidden. “I’m good, I’m- fuck-”

Bucky keeps her fingers inside her. Moves her mouth from her clit to the soaking entrance of her cunt, sets her lips around her and pushes her tongue up inside her as well. Her thumb keeps working over her sensitive clit as she licks deep into her. It’s too much. Gale’s legs are jelly, dance-worn muscles failing to keep her steady, and she grabs onto the shower curtain to save from falling as Bucky keeps lapping at her hungrily. Gale feels another shock of pleasure hit her, starting in the base of her spine and threatening to fry all her senses to nothingness.

“Bucky-”

Bucky slips her tongue out for just a second. “I got you, doll. Relax.”

Gale opens her mouth to protest, but Bucky’s already licking back inside. She scissors her fingers again, slides her tongue up between them, hooks them inside Gale, and Gale’s vision blurs out. She comes again, lightning firing through all her synapses, and she feels herself gush down Bucky’s face, flooding the hollows in her collarbones, dripping down her breasts and flowing loud as the shower they’re in.

Bucky pulls off her with a smug grin, licking Gale’s release from the insides of her thighs. Gale’s about to fall over. She’s going to break a leg. She’s going to break a leg, two weeks before show, and then the whole production is going to fall apart. Her understudy is fine, a sweet girl, but she doesn't know her partner as well as Gale does, and-

“God, don’t you ever stop thinking?”

Gale blinks. Bucky’s got her hands on her waist- is lowering her slowly to the shower floor to sit with her. “What?”

“Y’thinking,” Bucky says. Gale’s still half in space, trying to catch her breath and gather her warring thoughts. “You’re still thinking.”

Gale starts to say something, but Bucky kisses her deep instead. Presses the taste of her back into her own mouth, cupping her jaw and rubbing the muscle of her thigh until something inside Gale uncoils a little. Bucky runs her hand back up to her cunt, touching her where she’s oversensitive in little circles. Gale shudders. Whimpers.

“Bet I can get you to relax more,” Bucky says, with a sly smile.

“Don’t count on it,” Gale says.

Half of it is lost to a quiet moan as Bucky slips two fingers back in.

[pursuitseternal]

“Our Blood is Thicker: Into the Fire,” first sequel quest for the Ascendant and his Raven

Astarion x Cordehlia | E | 3.5 K of exposition and throne sex

🎨 by @marimosalad , co-parent creator

NSFW version on X 🍒🍆

Summary: A favor once given to ensure Ascension is finally owed in turn. Raphael arrives from Avernus to negotiate the aid of his much-adored Bone Picker on the front lines of the Blood War, but the Ascendant won’t let her go alone. With the thrill of another battle on the horizon, Astarion and his Raven steal a moment just for the two of them. Lust and bloodlust aren’t quite so diffent.

CW: another deal with the devil, hints of voyeurism, pre-battle sex, male receiving oral, assplay, rim job, romantic PiV throne sex, semi-public sex, possessive Astarion

Original Fic | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 1: “Where Two Raging Fires…”

🔥💞🔥💞🔥💞🔥💞🔥💞🔥💞🔥💞🔥💞🔥

Air had grown warmer in the palace, then the slight stink of sulphur. Astarion sat up from the back of his throne, glancing at Cordehlia who lounged against the arm of his massive chair, her favorite place.

At his literal right hand. That hand that usually toyed sneakily over her back or up her thigh when eyes weren’t watching too closely. Or even when they were.

This… this stung them both, made both their hearts rap faster in trepidation at the memories of those similar times.

Slowly, the cloud of shadow and fire dissipated, and an all-too-familiar face leered up at the royal couple from the floor beneath their dais. “They say… uneasy lies the head that wears the crown…” that deep velvet voice crooned, “but I suspect it is because of the crown now, you’re receiving head much more easily, isn’t that right, Lord Astarion…”

Astarion sneered, holding up Cordehlia’s hand in his, resting it on the arm of his throne. “What do you want Raphael?” he sneered. “And you can skip whatever questionable poetry you’ve rehearsed for the occasion.”

The devil looked at his nails, placing one foot on the bottom step of the dais. “Why else would I come back into this realm than to say it’s time to cash in on my favor to you, Lord Astarion, Vampire Ascendant, saviour of Baldur’s Gate and overthrower of his erstwhile master…” His deep set face drew into a smirk and he climbed right up to the throne, making a growl rumble in Astarion’s chest. His fangs bared as he watched the Cambion scoop up Cordehlia’s hand to press it in greeting to his lips. “The favor I ask, however is not for you to fulfill, mighty master. It is for your lovely and fearsome bride, for the Bone Picker.”

“I no longer answer to that title, devil,” she snipped, ripping her fingers from his burning touch. “I am my Lord’s Raven, now…”

“And bride,” Raphael smirked darkly. “You reek of him…. Somehow worse than before the fall of the Absolute.”

“You say that as if it’s a problem,” Astarion sneered deeply, hackles raised if he had them, as every muscle in his body wound tight to attack.

“Of course not, what’s yours you’ve won, fair and square, and so hard-earned as well. A victory with every advantage that was generously bestowed upon you.” Raphael straightened and withdrew a step. “I do require your Right Hand’s many talented skills in the hells, however. The Blood War reaches a pinnacle, and her ferocity should turn the tide in our favor.”

“That sounds like a devil of a problem…” Astarion smirked, placing his hand on Cordhelia’s thigh where it rested over the arm of his throne, softly teasing the leather of her breeches. An extra loud drag of his nail over its soft leather caught Raphael’s attention. “You should know, better than anyone, I won’t be letting my darling Raven out of my sights.” He gave a polite but toothy smile. “You will have to rethink your favor, then if you wish it to be satisfied.”

“Very well,” Raphael bowed his head in deference. “As the Vampire Ascendant, your efforts would go a long way as well in battle. I would be remiss not to have you join in the fray, beside your beloved of course.”

The way his dark eyes glinted made Cordehlia’s brow furrow, her chin jutted out a bit more in a vision of confidence, even as her mind ran over and over again through her suspicions. “Tell us more about the battle, the enemy, the terrain, before we consent to your request,” she hissed at the devil, the commanding voice and experience of the Bone Picker coming full force. “There is something you aren’t telling us, devil.”

And it made Raphael noticeably shiver. “I swear it’s just a bunch of pesky demons and imps. I’m sure you and your lover will make quick work of them while my forces decimate the bulk of their ranks.”

Astarion’s brows raised high. “My my, you must be desperate if you’re going to be fighting too.”

“I would hate to make a request of your illustrious selves I wouldn’t also… indulge in,” the devil grinned.

“Oh I’m sure there is much you would indulge in….” Astarion sneered. Then, his eyes looked up into Cordehlia’s, those matching crimson irises sparkling as they fell silent. Little expressions crossed their faces, their thoughts clearly unified, that fabled marriage bond between Sire and Bride clearly not stuff of legends only. A playful smirk dallied across her full lips before Astarion’s gaze returned to the devil at his feet. “Very well, you have our pledge of strength. We will leave…”

“Now,” Raphael interrupted. “We must go now, this instant. Or else all will fail.”

Cordehlia stood from the arm of his throne, blades already spinning in her palms. Testing their weight and grinning all the while. “We need an hour to prepare. You ready your portal to the hells, Raphael.”

As the devil bowed low, she let one dagger sing just over the top of his head before it embedded in the wall behind. His dark eyes stared in insulted, aroused fear as he instantly looked up.

Cordhelia only narrowed her glare more. “And if this proves more difficult of a favor than you paid us… if this poses a risk to me or my lord, I’ll have your cambion testicles brined as a trophy, do you understand?”

Raphael gave that well-practiced, wicked smile. “Of course, I wouldn’t let any harm befall my favorite legend or the new favorite of Mephistopheles… there would be literal hell to pay.”

“Oh…” Astarion sat up, hand splayed across the buckles of his jacket, “is that me? Am I the favorite?” He smirked, that one that was dripping with arrogance and self-conceit.

“I wont waste my breath spouting off your praises, Lord Astarion, for they are so well-sung. My humble additions would do nothing—”

“You’re wasting precious time to prepare, Raphael,” Cordehlia’s voice sliced through his oily accolades.

A slight twitch of the devil’s eye, a subtle raise of his mouth and a pause of his breath, and wordlessly, Raphael bowed. With that, the Ascendant and his Raven watched as he receded, both managing to perceive that sly little turn of his mouth as he left the throne room.

After a breath, Astarion looked up at his bride, eyes softer as he scanned her face. “I don’t like it,” he said coolly.

“Hmm,” Cordehlia shifted her legs around, sliding off the wide arc of his throne and settling herself on his lap in one fluid motion. “The only thing better than the devil you do know is if we rid ourselves of any lingering bargains, don’t you agree?” She met his gaze, his breath warm as he sighed, two-hundred years of betrayal, of abuse, years brimming with the pain of owing everything to others still shined in those faintly glowing depths. “I had nothing for so long, not even my own body…” he had once said. “You want freedom, my love,” she whispered, nuzzling against the pulse point of his neck to hear his heart racing, “we need to satisfy this last agreement, and then all of that is behind us.”

Closing his eyes, Astarion could see the memory of his Ascension from her hazy, venom-clouded sight. Memories were filled with her darkening gaze as she watch that red light bathing his pale skin, sad eyes glowing with Ascended power before her own closed almost for good. Her thoughts swirled inside her own head right now, thoughts racing with images and emotions to reach him down their tethered bond.

“I’d do it all again,” he whispered, stroking her flowing, fiery hair, “I’d give all that again, make the same decisions, just to have this moment with you, my darling. The chance to hold you on my lap again… to keep your soul in this realm and bind your heart to mine as my bride…” A sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “worth every sacrifice made.”

Cordehlia swallowed past the lump of tears in her throat. “Helps that you have me right on your cock…” she teased, ignoring the damp fluttering of her voice, “on a throne no less, you spoiled lordling.”

He gave a single laugh, damp on his breath with nearly-shed tears at the memory of almost losing her. “Where you belong for eternity now, my darling Cordehlia,” he rasped. His nose pressed into that soft skin behind her ear, breath hot as he whispered more. “Think your preparations will take the full hour, my Raven? Or is there some room for… indulgent activity before we leave for uncertain danger and battle again?”

“You know I don’t believe in any more what-if-we-die-today fucks,” she whispered, voice deep and needy in her throat as she turned her lips to brush his. “But if you’re asking just because… then say the word, my love, and I’ll have you right here on your throne.”

His warm lips suckled the bottom of her own pointed ear, making her squirm and soak her under things all at once. “Please,” he whispered, that gravely undertone in his voice. “Having you always gets me in the right frame of mind for a fight,” he goaded her, a little thrust of his hips to grind his hardening cock against her left thigh.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Cordehlia ran her hand beneath the hem of his jacket, sliding her cool touch to tease the buttons of his breaches, the supple velvet doing him no favors to hide his erection.

“Come now,” he purred in the same dulcet tones that still made shivers race down her spine, “we both know you want this too. Let me help you clear your head before we enter back into battle. He slipped the buttons of her tunic open to expose those voluptuous breasts of hers, “I’d hate to leave you wanting, to leave you stuck dreaming instead of doing.”

She arched her back, letting her tunic fall open for both of those hardening mounds to touch the air. A sigh on her lips escaped as his mouth closed around that pretty pink nipple to suck. “It’s a fine line between lust and bloodlust,” she rasped.

“Don’t we know it, my love,” he spoke, swiping his tongue through her bosom to capture the other aching nipple.

Fingers freeing his cock, she lovingly stroked him until every vein raised hard and its head flushed hot and pink with need.

A growl in his throat, and Astarion’s hands fussed for her own laces to her leathers. “Why couldn’t you wear the dresses I’ve bought you?” he hissed, chastising. “It would make this so much faster for both of us,” he grunted.

“Oh, poor baby, needing to work a little to get to the rewards of his labors,” she snickered, sweeping her thumb over his cock’s weeping slit. “I can’t spoil you too much or you would be positively insufferable.” She whispered into his ear, only to suck his earlobe into her mouth, jeweled earring and all. Warm precum seeped out over her hand as he shuddered beneath her.

“Are you my raven or are you a minx?” he rasped, breath forced from his lungs.

“Can’t I be both?” she murmured against the shell of his pointy ear, running the barest tip of her tongue up it just the once.

“You are both,” he corrected bluntly as he choked on his words. He spasmed against her, and Cordhelia laughed slowly, settling her body, fluid and smooth, to sit on the floor of their dais, nestled between his thighs. She fished out his balls too, widening that gap of his breeches and prying his thighs all the wider for her. Astarion shifted, a contented sigh in his throat. “Always the good soldier, aren’t you, my darling? Beginning with a proper weapons inspection?”

“Shhh,” she gave him a peeved, twisted smile. “Save your razor wit and authority for the battlefield.” Her thumb swept up and down that hardening length, but her rosy lips pressed in little suckles and licks over the loose skin of his balls. That hiss from between his fangs as she nipped that velvet skin with her own blunted teeth was music to her ears. Just a tease of danger, just a hint of dominance and threat to make him whimper. Her hand worked his marble-hard and vein-ridged shaft, her mouth easily sucked one ball between her cheeks to suckle and then the other.

“And to think, those hands of yours are about to tear their talons through some demonic forces,” he sighed, voice strained in his throat, hips bucking as he looked down at those bright, vermilion eyes glinting at him with adoring mischief.

Those hands tugged his trousers to his ankles, efficiently pulling off one boot before she had freed his leg completely. “Why don’t you let me pamper you, my lovely lordling, one more time before we face death and destruction again…” her voice was molten with desire, those lips barely off from sucking his cock.

He groaned his approval, never one to turn down being spoiled. Those lithe hands of her guided his leg up and over the arm of his throne. That touch pulled him closer to the edge of his throne. His cock throbbed from need, her lips having yet to close around it completely. But that tongue laved around his balls until, finger and mouth explored his tight hole at the back, suddenly making him ache with pleasure. Fists gripped the arms of his throne, and he was glad they were metal, not wood, that they would bend and not shatter under the force he now clutched them with. “Easy, Cordehlia,” he panted. “Do you want the devil to come back and give us an audience?”

“I think you can bite your tongue,” she chuckled against his sensitive flesh before diving in for a bit more.

Bite his tongue, he did. Or his knuckle rather. The copper of his own blood covered his teeth, his core flooding with heat and tightening with pleasure with every lick and teasing touch she made around his ass. “Love,” he croaked in a single breath. A warning as he approached his own climax so quickly.

Licking her lips, she sat back on her heels, her hands slowly undoing the laces to her black tunic, letting that deep collar open to reveal her breasts. His cock twitched, untouched, at the sight of their fullness, those rosy nipples just barely visible in the cloth’s gap.

“I might have been a touch aggressive, my love,” she purred as she slid her body up, dragging her breasts up over his weeping cock first, pausing to let it glide slightly between their warm curves. That length jolted at the contact, his back arching, his hands gripping subtly against the nape of her neck.

“Save your aggression,” he chided her back with a suck of his teeth. “I’d prefer your adoration, my darling,” he asked, voice soft with love and yet edged with need. Her brows raised, that look in his eyes the same as it had always been, centuries of longing never to be sated. A look of pure love that could never be given or reciprocated enough.

Her elven body moved with all its grace, climbing to rest in his lap, her forehead pressed to his. Even with her crimson eyes closed, she could see his smile, feel his warm breath on her own lips. His skilled fingers wove intricate patterns against her neck, teasing and spinning her coppery red hair.

“I could hold you like this forever,” he whispered, that sweet confession from his now-beating heart. “And even still, forever wouldn’t be enough.”

Cordehlia leaned just slightly, lips pressing the cool fullness against his own. “My eternal lover,” she whispered, “my husband and sire by blood, a blood thicker than time itself.”

“Tch,” he broke from the kiss with a taunting tone, “my fighter has a bit of the poetic bard inside her.”

Oh, that smirk on her pale face and that glint in her scarlet eyes, it made him gasp as she lined up his cock with her entrance and sank down on him at long last. “No, I only let insufferable elvish rogues inside me,” she replied in a voice of purest desire.

“Fuck, Cordehlia, you know what I meant,” he rasped against her grinning lips, hand still heavy at the nape of her neck as she slowly began to ride him.

One hand braced into the thick gold filigree of the throne’s back, the other caressed his cheek, keeping his forehead pressed tenderly against her own. Those now-crimson eyes closed, fluttered shut to savor the way his warm breath panted over her awaiting tongue. When she closed her eyes, it was as if no time had passed, as if his pulse thrummed in her veins, as if his breath carried life into her soul. This, this was when she felt whole, completed.

This was when she lost herself in the warmth of who he was, in his love and passion and power. A sigh on his lips against his own, and she dove her tongue in to taste him, that comforting feeling that transported her back centuries and leagues away to the very beginnings of their love.

This was no rough fuck, no bloodlust driven blind drive for release. A union of two souls, battered and bruised as they were, shared between one beating heart.

It was enough for her to slip her mind into his, to flood his every waking and subconscious thought with every moment shared between them. With ragged breath and aching legs, she rode him, his hands rocking her hips to bring her somehow even closer.

“Look at me, Cordehlia,” his lips whispered noiselessly against her gaping mouth.

Eyes wide, dark and dilated, his gaze flickered over her beautiful face. His reflection was mirrored almost infinitesimally in those vermillion eyes of his Bride. His gut twisted in a mix of grief as he missed those star-kissed silver ones and a mix of reassurance to see her made forever in his own image and under his eternal protection.

“Astarion,” her voice barely more than a breath. “Promise me, you won’t do anything stupid in battle…”

“Only if you make the same promise, my queen of battle and blood,” he rumbled in reply, lips barely breaking from the taste of her own. His hips rolled in perfect union with her, stealing her breath until all she could do was nod her assurance. “Good,” he grunted, eyes still locked into hers, hungry to watch her come apart for him one more time. “Now, I’m going to fill you so that when that devil comes sniffing after my Lady Corvus, he can’t help but scent me,” his voice rough and gravely in his throat.

She pushed herself harder, hand gripping her nails into the back of his neck too to keep his damp forehead pressed hard against hers, her tongue tangled in the warmth of his until her breath stopped as she came. Her taste flooded with the tang of her blood as he bit the corner of her lip accidentally. His own body was lost in the waves of pleasure she commanded as he came, hard and sudden and shaking as he filled her. Grunting, his fangs released her lip, tongue lapping the wound closed out of habit as his hips gave a few softer rolls until he finally stilled.

Fingers ran through her hair, one last kiss on her bloodied lips and he released her. She made quick work of her trousers again, and Astarion did the same, belts fastened not a moment too soon as the doors to the chambers opened again. Raphael entered, a smug sort of grin twisting his swarthy, deepest face. An armload of items, Raphael set them down in the center of the receiving chamber. A snap of his fingers, and salt began to pour along the floor in patterns, the arcs and points required for a portal into Avernus. Then he turned that sinister smirk on the two vampires, a blush covering both their pale cheeks. “I figured salt was a safer bet to use in place of blood in the presence of two ravenous vampires, but it smells like you’ve already sated your… appetites.”

Astarion gave that low, rolling chuckle, eyes watching as the devil started setting out items for the rite. “My house, my rules…” his voice dropped to an intimidating growl, “my consort.”

“Your house, indeed, and master of all that resides in it, I’m sure,” Raphael’s thick lips grinned over his shoulder. “As for me, I would never allow for such… relations… outside of my chambers, as Master of my house.”

“Well, how fortunate we are under my palatial roof where I am Master,” Astarion sneered with bold confidence. He stood, making his way with abject determination. “Now that necessities are taken care of,” he threw at Raphael as he passed, “a simple trip to our armory and we will be ready for whatever fresh hell awaits us.”

Even Cordehlia snickered at that one, shaking out her red hair and following in her lover’s wake.

[forgottenfourr]

saturday - written ༉‧₊˚.

prev ✮ masterlist ✮ next

an: not proof read, sorry :')

you cannot express the level of panic you felt approaching gyuvin’s dorm. nearly everything in you is telling you to turn back and tell him that something has come up. but next thing you know you are standing face to face with his front door, hand in the air ready to knock. 

you WERE going to knock. you just… needed a few minutes. maybe a walk around the block? yeah, maybe that’ll help. just some fresh air and then you’ll come back and just tell him you got caught up at rehearsal or something.

yeah! just some fresh air will work- and hanbin just opened the door.

“yn?” thank god he was the first to speak.

you clear your throat. “yeah! hanbin right?”

the bright smile on his face lets you know you were right.

“i am assuming you’re here for gyuvin? for your little date thing?”

“it is NOT a date!” you jump at his words

“that’s what i’ve been telling him too,” gyuvin laughs at your urgency to set hanbin straight.

“alright and that’s my cue,” hanbin says, leaving you and gyuvin alone in the doorway.

“so uh, do you want to go to this cafe nearby?” you ask, nerves now taking over your body.

“yeah sure, i’d love to.” his words almost immediately calming you.

——————

the walk to the cafe is… awkward.

you can tell gyuvin has something to say but he won’t say it. and you sure as hell aren’t going to ask what he’s thinking about because what if he isn’t thinking about anything and you just straight up embarrass yourself? absolutely not.

“do you remember when we were trainees and we would sneak out when our manager wasn’t paying attention to go get food?” gyuvin breaks the silence.

your heart feels warm at the memory. things used to be so carefree when you guys were trainees. you didn’t have to deal with all of the pressure and then.

“of course i do. at some point they knew where to find us if we weren’t in our dorm.” his laugh joins yours, the sound filling your heart with joy.

——————

his order is still the same. which is something you probably should’ve expected. he wasn’t one to change much.

it was admirable about him. he stayed strong and passionate about the things he loved. he always had. even with life constantly changing around him. it was something you wished you could do. you always envied him for that. for his goofy and carefree personality. 

“you drink coffee now?” he asks while gesturing to the cup in your hands.

“yeah, the boys are pretty exhausting. it feels like i am a father of 5 sometimes.”

his smile falters at your comment, making your heart drop.

“it seems like a good fit for you.” his voice sounds sincere, “ionic i mean, you guys work well together.”

“thank you gyuv, it means a lot coming from you.” 

he sighs, “i used to be so mad whenever i watched your performances. i wanted to be up on stage with you. together.”

his words break your heart in a way you cannot explain. 

“oh gyub, i’m sorry. if i was able to debut with you i would’ve.”

“would you have though?”

his question shocks you, “of course, i would’ve.”

“but you didn’t,” he sighs, “you didn’t even tell me you were leaving yn. you just left one day and i never heard from you again.”

he stares at his hands in his lap. 

“i’m sorry gyuvin,” you sound defeated, you nearly forgot about why you guys were meeting up in the first place. “i didn’t know how to tell you. i didn’t want you to hate me and the thought of you hating me for leaving you destroyed me. i was scared.”

“but you did leave me. you know that right? you just up and abandoned me with no explanation. when you left i didn’t just lose my roommate, i lost my best friend.”

his words weigh on your heart.

“and when i saw your debut a few months later i was so angry. i was so mad at you. i had thought you died and there you were on stage doing the thing we promised we would achieve together.”

“and you did achieve it gyub! you debuted and i’m so proud of you!” even the smile you plaster on your face couldn’t convince you that what you did was okay.

“that’s not the point yn,” he sighs again.

“i’m so sorry gyuvin, i don’t know what else to say.”

he stays silent as he listens to you, expecting you to say more.

“but i’m here now. i know it’s a couple years too late but i am here. and i won’t go anywhere if you don’t want me to. but if you don’t want me back in your life i understand.”

he perks up at your words.

“you’re here now? yeah?”

“i mean yeah, if you want me to be.”

“of course i want you to be, yn. i’ve missed you so much.”

you smile at his words, a familiar feeling fluttering in your chest.

“i missed you too gyub, so much.”

SYNOPSIS ✮ a company gave you the opportunity to finally live your dreams, but as a result, you had to leave the company you were at and your best friend. 2 years later you watch as he makes a name of his own on boys planet. the unrequited love you fought away for years coming back stronger than before.

taglist is open!! ༉‧₊˚.

@phtogravi @istphanie @xiaoquanquans @mins-fins @junhuilvrrr @pinklemonade34 @stillalostpdf @gyuricks @thepeachyhub @jaehyuncocksleeve @ashersdeadinside @carmesi-butterfly @haechansbbg @07yujin @cara-rey @moonslie04 @leehanscent @v0relino @kkurbys @starchasing-cryptid @hasunelol @pleniluneg4ze

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[mikhailwrites]

The fire in your eyes / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #19 - Uniforms

Military Parades. Everyone hates them. Instead of doing something useful and productive, you need to dress up and march in front of staring crowds. Nobody cares if it’s so hot the road is melting or so cold your eyes are freezing over. However, there might be a silver lining to this one: Johnny fucking MacTavish proudly displaying his Scottish heritage.

I'm writing this at 3AM, terribly sorry if it's even less coherent and has even more mistakes than usual. Btw did you know SAS has its own tartan? Well, now you do.

The door to the rec room opens, Ghost immediately checks them. And has to look away and back again. As if to make sure he’s truly seeing... that. Johnny. In a kilt. Not just the kilt, in fact, the whole getup.

Gaz whistles, eyeing the other Sergeant. “Looking sharp, mate! Got a date? Some pretty bird to impress?”

“Damn right, I do,” Johnny smirks as he momentarily looks at Simon. Oh, he likes to play with fire. But he does look sharp, Gaz is right about that. “But we gotta address the elephant in the room. Ghost in a uniform? What did you bribe him with? And the chest candy, too? Had to be expensive.”

“That would be classified, Sergeant,” Price appears out of nowhere, rivalling Ghost’s namesake. “I hope you boys are ready to make a good impression today.”

“Yes, sir!” they answer him in unison. They don’t have to like parades, but they all understand why they must be at their best.

It all goes smoothly; they’ve rehearsed it, after all, for countless hours. Even the weather takes pity on them and graces the parade with an overcast and reasonable temperature. They march, they do the show, people are applauding, a few are shouting some profanities as if a good portion of the parade doesn’t have a near-death experience. As if they didn’t hear the whistle of a bullet flying way too close to their head.

Ghost keeps his mind carefully clear. He performs as is expected of him, enjoys the fleeting moments he gets to see Johnny and tries not to count passing minutes. Then there’s a hymn, another march, and, yes, finally, they’re free. He needs a drink, as do the rest of One-Four-One. Drink, and then he gets out of the uniform. Every time he catches a glimpse of himself, he startles a bit until his brain catches up. God, he hates this.

As Simon nears the pub they had earlier agreed to meet, there is an unusual amount of noise and ruckus coming from inside—the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood, shouts and thuds. Ghost tags Price standing a little out of the way, leaning against the wall and smoking one of his usual cigars.

“Someone already managed to start a fight?” Simon asks as he comes closer, mildly impressed.

“Uh-huh,” Price nods. “We did.”

Ghost blinks a few times. Alright, he didn’t see that coming. “What happened?”

“Someone insulted Soap’s kilt and, if I got it right, even went as far as to say something about his mother. And you don’t just insult SAS soldier’s mum, do you?” Price asks a wholly rhetorical question. Ghost only nods, but then he looks around the deserted street.

“So, why aren’t you inside?”

“Plausible deniability. If I go there, I’ll have to clean up the mess and employ some disciplinary measures. You know the drill.”

“Want me to sort it out, sir?”

“Please do.”

That’s the only permission Ghost needs. He takes off the jacket, handing it to Price. He might not like it, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to get his measurements taken again for a new one.

It’s an absolute chaos inside. Luckily, Ghost thrives in chaos. He sweeps the pub from left to right, taking a quick and rough account of the situation. Gaz is to his right; two men are holding him up as the third takes a swing at him. It’s not a bad punch, Gaz’s head jerks to the side, blood from the split lip dripping on his uniform. As the assailant prepares for another swing, Ghost intervenes. This is his teammate right here, the man who’s saved Ghost’s life on numerous occasions.

Ghost moves quickly, sliding behind the man’s back and grabbing him by the collar, slamming him into the overturned table. The two blokes holding Gaz up look at Ghost, then at each other. There’s a hint of recognition. They let Gaz go immediately and try to charge Ghost, both of them at the same time. Not a bad thinking.

Ghost dodges one fist aimed at his stomach and trips the man. The other one lands a hit on Ghost’s kidneys. It hurts, but he’s used to pain. However, before Ghost can react, Gaz is there, kneeing the bloke in the stomach before sucker-punching him. Okay, that’s one-half of the job done.

“Where’s Soap?” Ghost barks out loud enough to be heard over the racket.

Gaz looks around. Numerous fights are going on, as is expected. There’s tension and rivalry between the military branches and the units. This sort of gathering is a powder keg. “I don’t…,” Gaz starts, trying to find their other Sergeant. “Oh….”

Ghost follows Gaz’s gaze, and… yeah. Oh.

Soap is lying on the ground, one guy’s neck held between his thighs while simultaneously doing a proper fist-assisted dentistry on another bloke who’s struggling to crawl away. Johnny looks like a rabid dog.

“You gonna need help with him?” Gaz asks, not making even a single move.

“Nah, get out of here, Price is waiting outside,” Ghost shakes his head, loosening his tie, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and tucking the sleeves up.

First, he frees the half-choked bloke before he kicks him further from Johnny. Then he grabs Soap and forces him to his knees, thus letting go of the second guy in the process. Ghost quickly glances at their uniform. Royal Marines. Of course. Ghost almost wants to kick them some more.

Instead, he does the reasonable thing worthy of an officer. He takes Soap and, much to the Sergeant’s protests drags him away. Soap is loud, cursing Ghost in that incomprehensible language of his, but even he isn’t so out of it as to hit Ghost, who also happens to be his commanding officer as well as a partner of sorts.

Ghost pretends not to notice and appreciate the searing heat in Soap’s blue eyes. Johnny doesn’t lose his shit nearly as often as many would think, yet when it does happen, it’s an absolute masterclass of carnage. And Ghost loves it. However, he can’t be thinking with his prick right now. They need to get out before someone with actual power shows up.

The ride back to Hereford is a short and quiet one. They stop at a petrol station and get some ice. Gaz is nursing his split lip and bruised jaw, Soap is pressing a handful of ice on the back of his head, where he claims someone hit him with a chair. He’s bleeding from the shallow cut on his forehead, and his left eye is beginning to swell. He got a thorough beating, but Ghost can’t help but think that he didn’t really save Soap. If anything, he saved those two poor bastards Soap was beating up. The Sergeant would probably eat them alive if someone didn’t stop him.

They get out of the car, Ghost immediately grabbing Soap and dragging him away. Price sighs, and Gaz chuckles.

Ghost is leading them to the barracks, to his room. The door closes, lock clicks in place. Johnny is dirty, bruised and bloody; his uniform is ripped in several places, too. He’s a damn mess, but Ghost has always had some seriously crossed wires. He’s been hard in his trousers for a while, and there’s no way he’s waiting a minute more to do something about it.

“Uh… Listen, LT, I’m sor…,” Soap doesn’t get to finish his apology before Ghost is on him, damn near devouring his mouth while his hand clutches at Soap’s thigh over the thick layers of tartan. Johnny lets out a slightly exasperated laugh as he backs up and falls onto the bed. Ghost follows, never allowing more than an inch of space between them. The new position allows him to reach under the kilt finally. He kneads at Soap’s bare thigh, remembering that he nearly choked a man with it. Fuck!

Ghost quickly undoes his belt and shucks his trousers down under his arse. “Lube,” he growls at Soap because the Sergeant is closer to the nightstand. Johnny does as he’s told, fishing out the bottle and handing it over with the same practised move as if he would hand Ghost a magazine.

“Prep?” Ghost asks, clipped and right down to the business.

“Fuck it, want you in me thirty minutes ago,” Johnny smirks. The fire in his eyes is back now. He didn’t get to rip the Marines apart, but now he might get that anger channelled in a different way.

“Wanted to be in you the moment I saw you in the morning,” Ghost retorts.

“You tell me the sweetest things, Simon. Hurry up!” Soap smiles, licking his lips as he watches Ghost fumble with the lube.

It burns a bit at first, then it hurts a bit more, but Soap is no virgin. Ghost is holding back a great deal, trying to go reasonably slow. Soap groans, but instead of pulling away or making any attempt to stop Ghost, he nudges him closer, whining as he forces himself to take more. Ghost is mesmerised, completely lost in him.

Johnny writhes under him, unable to stay still. Ghost’s prick halfway in is both too much and not enough, and it’s frustrating. Finally, he makes up his mind, hooks his legs behind Ghost’s back and demonstrates just how much strength there really is in his legs.

Ghost gasps and moans, Soap whines, arching his back off the bed, struggling to take a breath for a few seconds. “Christ, Johnny,” Simon wheezes, struggling to control himself and the situation. Scratch that; he doesn’t control the situation at all. Soap does, especially once he adjusts and simply uses Ghost to take what he needs.

Simon doesn’t mind. He would be willing to give this man anything he could desire. Anything at all. Simon would cut out his own cold, cold heart and gift it to him. He would burn down the world. For now, it seems that his cock will suffice.

Soap, for the lack of better words, fucks himself on it, and the kilt, rumpled and tucked up, leaves exactly nothing to the imagination. Johnny shivers as the glistening glans of his hardon rubs against the wool, but Ghost does nothing to help him.

If he did, it would’ve been over way too quickly. Instead, he leverages Soap’s hips, changing the angle significantly. Soap yelps before hissing an ecstatic “Yes!” Soon enough, more words follow. Please and harder are especially frequent, and Ghost does give it to him.

Snapping his hips forward at a punishing pace, he gets a lovely gasp each time he bottoms out. Johnny is clawing at the sheets with one hand and at Ghost’s forearm with the other. Come morning, he will probably look like a wild cat mauled him.

It’s a sweet kind of pain. Johnny will feel him for a few days; it’s only fair Ghost will, too. Simon feels the tension build up inside him; his thrusts are slower but firmer, forcing a breath out of Soap, who looks like half of his mind is wandering elsewhere. Eyes hooded, mouth hanging open, face slack in that special way only a good shag can do.

“’M close,” Ghost warns. Or maybe it’s a promise, what with the way Johnny’s legs hold him tighter, trying to force him deeper. Simon blindly searches around until he finds the lube, pouring a little into his palm before he grips Johnny’s neglected prick. It’s hot and hard, velvety, with prominent veins that make Ghost’s mouth water as he remembers how it feels in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue. How Johnny tastes, how his hand in Simon’s hair feels. Simon cries out, a broken sound of utter relief, as he pumps into Soap with each pulse that wrecks his body, coming inside him for what feels like an eternity but is mere seconds.

His hand slacks, but Soap covers it, tightens the grip and continues to fuck into Simon’s fist with quick, erratic thrusts. He’s close, his breathing ragged, his brow furrowed with desperation and concentration. Simon moans as Soap rides his oversensitive cock.

Even in his post-orgasmic state, Ghost feels the faint rush of excitement as he watches Soap coming undone and, a few seconds later, actually coming, soiling his uniform, jacket, kilt, shirt, all of it. Ghost lets them both breathe for a few seconds before Johnny lets go of his hand; Simon, in turn, let’s go of Johnny’s cock, and brings his hand to his mouth. Johnny makes a small, helpless noise as he watches Ghost lick the cum off his fingers and palm.

Simon collapses on the bed next to Johnny, exhaustion catching up to him quickly.

“You’re beautiful,” Simon whispers, unable to stop himself.

Soap stares at him for a moment before he snorts. “Aye, damn right I am, what with the black eye, all bloodied and bruised.

“You’re prettiest when you’re bloodied and bruised. And angry, I like you angry,” Ghost continues, his filter completely fried. Johnny would probably tease him about it later, but for now, he can say whatever he wants.

[brewsterispunkk]

sunshine state

EPILOGUE

pairing: benny miller x f!reader

WC: 1.4k

summary: the end.

A/N: thank you so much for being here. ily.

EPILOGUE

You took a nervous breath, smoothing your hands down the satin fabric falling over your legs.

The dress was long—longer than you normally would like. But, it was a wedding, after all.

You fisted the smooth fabric in your hands, willing your heart rate to slow. It was ridiculous that the nerves were getting to you like this. Then again, you never liked being the center of attention.

Across the room, in front of the large vanity, you heard Everett’s booming laugh from where he stood with the rest of the bridal party.

You smiled to yourself, Everett’s carefree mood lifting your own.

You could do this, you thought to yourself.

Your palms felt sticky and clammy. You hated that you were second-guessing this. It was the easiest “yes” you’d ever given in your life. You’d barely even thought when he’d asked you. And now, you felt like your heart was beating out of your chest.

“Hey,” Everett’s smiling face pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Just a little nervous.”

“A little?” He raised an eyebrow.

“A lot nervous.” You relented.

“Why?” He laughed.

“I don’t know,” You scratched the skin of your wrist, not liking the way his eyes saw right through you. “I just don’t like the idea of everyone’s eyes on me.”

“You’ll be fine,” he squeezed your shoulder. “It’s a cake-walk. Just do what you did at the rehearsal.”

“You mean when I almost threw up all over Benny’s shoes?”

It hadn’t been pretty; You were pretty sure Pope almost had a heart-attack when he saw how nervous you’d gotten. He’d practically planned the whole wedding.

“You were fine,” Everett rolled his eyes. “Just do what Will told you.”

“To picture everyone naked?”

“No,” Everett shook your shoulders slightly. “Just look at Benny.”

You hummed, still not feeling sure.

“Or better yet, look at me,” he winked at you. “I have to finish getting ready. We got, like, thirty minutes.”

You nodded, turning to the mirror.

It was about five minutes later when you heard the quiet tap on the door to the back-room in the church.

“Who is it?”

You heard the shuffling of feet on the other side and smirked to yourself, already knowing who it was.

“Ben, is that you?”

“...Maybe.”

“Is that Ben?” Everett called from over his shoulder. “Tell him to get the hell out! It’s bad luck!”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Ev.” Benny called through the door.

You giggled.

“I don’t care. Tradition is tradition.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at Everett, who tossed you an obstinate look.

“What do you need, babe?” You asked through the door.

“Hey baby,” you could practically hear the smile in his voice. Even after all this time, it made your stomach flip.

“Oh, save it!” Everett called. “Why are you here?”

“Uh, about that,” Benny coughed. “I need help with my tie.”

You snorted to yourself.

“The same tie you told me you could handle yourself this morning when I tried to help you?”

Benny sighed from the other side of the door.

“Yeah.”

Everett sighed and came to stand beside you.

“I don’t care, Miller! You aren’t coming in here.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’ll do it. I’ll tie it in the hallway.”

“But–”

“He won’t step foot in here. I’ll be two seconds. It’s fine.”

Everett sighed, placated.

“Fine. But you get five minutes.”

“I’ll be less than that. I promise.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, before crossing back to the others on the other side of the room. You smiled, opening the door and slipping out. You quietly shut the door, before jumping at the presence in front of you.

You bumped into the hard wall of muscle that was Benny Miller nearly as soon as you set foot out the door. You hadn’t been expecting him to be that close.

You stumbled backwards, nearly hitting your head on the door, before Benny’s warm hands caught you around the waist and pulled you until your front was pressed to his.

“Woah, sorry.” you breathed, hands finding his biceps.

His cologne invaded your senses and you felt nearly every seed of anxiety from before melt away.

“Holy,” Benny sounded reverent and your eyes snapped to his.

His blue-green eyes were wide and his lips were parted as he ran his eyes up your figure. His tie hung untied around his neck, the rest of his tux buttoned and ironed to perfection. He looked perfect, your boy.

Your boy. No matter how much time had passed, your heart still leapt at being able to call him that.

“What?” You asked at his dumbstruck expression, eyebrows jumping to your hairline. “Do I have something on my—”

You were cut off by Benny’s lips on yours.

You gasped, and his tongue dipped into your mouth, parting your lips as he kissed you deeper. His hands slid down from your waist to your ass, grabbing. You bent into him, sighing. Though you’d only been apart for a few hours, it was still too long.

After a moment, Everett’s muffled voice from inside broke you apart. He was speaking to one of the photographers. Suddenly, you remembered what you were supposed to be doing.

“Mm,” you mumbled as you broke apart. “Benny, I’m supposed to be helping you with your tie–”

“Everyday I wake up and wonder how I got so lucky.” The words were breathless as he pressed his forehead to yours.

You smiled fondly, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

“Hmm, where’s this coming from?”

He shook his head against yours, before sighing and pulling back. He pressed his lips in between your brows and kissed you there.

“You look stunning.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“God, I love you so much.”

You threw your head back and laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing his body to yours in a hug. You swayed there for a minute.

“Feeling sentimental, Mr. Miller?”

He hummed against your neck, before a pounding to the door made you both jump.

“Hurry up! We’ve got twenty minutes!”

You sighed, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

“Here, let me.”

You busied yourself with his tie while his eyes remained firmly on you.

“You look rather dashing today yourself, Mr. Miller.”

“That so?” He smirked at you and you felt yourself get giddy. He could get you to do anything when he smiled at you like that.

“Mmmhmm.” you hummed, pulling him to you with his tie. He closed his eyes, expecting a kiss, but instead you just whispered, “see you out there.”

Before he knew what was happening, you were back inside the room, the door shutting in his face.

- - - -

“I do,” Everett smiled through his tears as the priest pronounced him and Santi as husbands.

You brushed a stray tear away from your own cheek as you watched them: two of your best friends, your found family, pledge their lives to each other.

On Santi’s side of the aisle stood his groomsmen: Everett’s two brothers, Will, Frankie, and, of course, Benny. You’d wept when Everett had asked you to be one of his bridesmaids—or, groomsmaids as he called you.

Your eyes caught Benny’s through the crowd’s applause at the new couple.

He was blinking away tears of his own through his smile.

The two of you swayed slowly in the crowded dance hall.

Your face was pressed to his shoulder, the cotton of his button-up soft against your cheek. Benny had long since ditched his tux jacket and had since rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His arms were wrapped around your waist as you swayed.

Over his shoulder, Frankie and Mari danced, their foreheads pressed together as they whispered to themselves. To your side, Everett danced with his mother, and beside him, Santi danced with Alma, who had just turned three and was their flower girl. She giggled into her uncle’s shoulder as he spun her. Everett looked upon them with a placated smile.

Suddenly, the ring on your left ring finger felt heavier than ever. You couldn’t wait to walk down the aisle to him. Your whole life, you’d been terrified of making the wrong choice in a life partner. You’d been scared you’d choose wrong, or worse: you’d settle. Looking at Benny now, you knew that wasn’t possible.

He was it for you—he always had been.

[sentientgolfball]

Can you please do a Phantom x plus size reader if you're comfortable? Where Phantom is immediately drawn to reader when he starts to get to know some of the siblings of sin. Maybe some smut but not required!

I am SO sorry this took me as long as it did. I got behind on my writing cause of midterms but I'm back :D I really hope you like it!

Have some very soft and smutty Phantom

18+ MDNI

My requests are open !

You furrow your brow as the first light of dawn cracks through the window. You grumble not yet wanting to wake and face the day. You could already feel how cold the room was on your face, you loathed to remove the blankets from your body. It was warm, cozy. You roll over away from the coming rays. You try to hold back a smile at the sound of soft little giggles from next to you. 

“G’morning.” 

You keep your eyes closed, but you can no longer hide the smile at the sound of the ghoul whining. 

“Come onnn open your eyes. I know you’re awake.”

“Mmm nope ‘m still asleep” You pull the blanket up over your head. 

“Oh…well I think you should wake up now.” 

You don’t have time to respond before you feel clawed hands lay flatly on your chest and stomach, giving you a little squeeze. You yelp at the suddenness of it, throwing the blanket off your head and smacking Phantom’s hands away to the best of your ability. 

“Why are your hands so fucking cold? Aren’t you a demon from Hell?” 

“Technically yes but I’m also made of stars” He has a stupid grin plastered on his face.

“Shouldn’t that make you hot?” 

“Are you saying I’m not hot” He faux pouts at you. 

You roll your eyes and bring him closer to you, pressing your foreheads together. He closes his eyes as you run your hands through his hair, a soft purr kicking up in his chest. You loved moments like this. Moments with him. You just loved him. Phantom hadn’t been at the Ministry for long, relatively speaking, but you two had been inseparable since he was first indrotuced to the Siblings. He had been drawn to you instantly, why you still haven’t wormed out of him. All you knew was he would constantly seek your attention. You had to admit it was very endearing. You two became friends quickly when he was assigned to the same job as you outside of his rehearsal time. Everything was a blur from that point forward. 

He had always been a touchy ghoul, but something about the way his tail wrapped tighter around your wrist or the way his hugs had begun to linger made your stomach twist. You tried to deny it for so long, not convinced he saw you as anything more than a friend. Turns out you had been so wrong. He couldn’t tear his gaze from you. He didn’t want to leave your side. He was content to just follow you around, helping with your duties so you could finish faster and spend the day with him. He was drawn to you at first because of the energy you gave off. It had a sweet and cozy taste, like freshly baked cinnamon rolls on a cold autumn morning. It was something he had never experienced before. He couldn’t get enough of it. As he started to hang around you, though, he began to understand why. You were kind, soft-hearted and showed genuine care for all of the Siblings and ghouls at the Ministry. He so desperately wanted to become the object of your affections when he saw just how gentle you were with some ghouls who came to the infirmary with minor injuries. 

All of this came to a head one night during a full moon celebration. You had worn your best gothic attire to the party, excited to finally wear something that wasn’t your habit. He was enamored the whole night at the way it complemented your curves in all the right places. It was then and there he finally confessed to you how he felt about you. You still blush a little when  you think about how large his eyes got when you told him you had felt the same, for a while actually. That had been months ago. 

You’ve found yourself spending more and more time in his room, in his bed. You had all but moved in at this point. Some nights you lazily curled around each other, basking in each other’s presence while others had you getting angry looks from a sleep deprived fire ghoul and congratulations from a grinning multi-ghoul. But it was always the mornings that were the best. Especially the ones after the latter. Mornings like this one. Mornings where you didn’t have to do anything except lay with him until the spell of serenity was broken. You smile at the way the first rays of dawn make his purple skin look like polished amethyst. 

There’s a faint smell of ozone and frost before Phantom is leaning in to press a deep kiss to your lips. He most definitely heard your thoughts. The kiss quickly turns filthy as he licks into your mouth with a pleased little sigh. His claws graze your hips, using them as leverage to pull himself even closer to you. 

“How are you hard this early in the morning?” You say with an amused smile in between kisses. 

“I could ask you the same question.” He chuffs a laugh before dipping a hand between your legs. 

You gasp at the suddenness of it, closing your eyes and resting heavy against his forehead. He gave you a quick little kiss before you felt his hand momentarily leave you as he slipped under the blanket you refused to crawl out of. You felt him trail gentle little kisses from the dips of your hips to your plush thighs, soothing over the bites and bruises from the previous night. It’s not long before you feel him lick a hot stripe from slit to clit that has you choking on air and throwing a hand over your mouth. 

He swirls his tongue around your clit before wrapping his lips around it with a gentle suck. You involuntarily snap your legs closed at the sensation, squeezing his head between your thick thighs. This seems to only spur him on. He trails down from your clit to your entrance letting the forked tongue drag so slowly through your folds before probing into you. You thank Satan for the impossibly long tongues of ghouls as Phantom licks in place only he knows how to reach. 

You stifle a moan at the way you can feel him worshiping you under the sheets. Every pass of his tongue is soft yet heavy, slow and deliberate. There’s no rush, no desperation behind it, a stark contrast to the ghoul from last night. He takes his time with it, enjoying his place crushed between your thighs. This is why you loved mornings after with him. He was always so soft and so full of affection he couldn’t keep his hands, or tongue, off you. He wanted you to know how much he loved you. How perfect you are to him. How grateful he is that he’s the one who gets to see you like this, the one responsible for it. He would give you the world if he could find a way, but morning head will have to do for now. 

You finally pull back the blanket no longer caring about the cold of the room. You wanted to see him. You wanted to touch him. He lets out a surprised noise against you and you lose it at the sight of his big eyes gazing up at you from between your plush thighs. You run a hand through his hair and scratch at the base of his horn with little praises and words of adoration on your lips. He smiles as a pure kicks up in his chest before burying his face in you. You feel his nose press against your clit as he starts lapping at you in earnest. Still sensitive from last night, it doesn’t take much longer for you to cum on his face. 

Phantom slowly sits back on his legs, rubbing gentle circles into the meat of your thighs. He wipes his face with the back of his hand and leans over you for a kiss. 

“Nope nuh uh” you shove his face away “go brush your teeth.” 

He keeps making a kissy face at you “Aw come on I didn't hear you complaining about it yesterday.” 

“I have no idea what you mean. Go clean if you want kisses.” 

He dramatically sighs and flops off the bed before going to the bathroom. You watch him go with a smile of pure adoration. When he returns you practically pull him back into bed and bundle the two of you up in the thick covers. You reward him with little kisses all over his face before placing one on his lips. You barely pull back as you whisper to him.

“I love you.” Your lips brush together as you speak. 

“I love you too.” 

[sattlersquarry]

hyacinths; peonies (steve harrington x fem!reader)

finale of the bloom series. series masterlist

Summary: All things must come to an end...or not so much. (garden center!steve x wedding planner!reader)

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: language, mentions of infidelity and trust issues.

hyacinths: "I am sorry," "please forgive me," sorrow

🪻🪻🪻

You get out of “family dinner” with Jim, Joyce, their kids, and your mother by feigning a stomachache. You cry yourself to sleep, and the next morning, you shine a flashlight on your forehead to raise your temperature.

Your mother comes in your room at 9 a.m. sharp to whisk you off for some last-minute wedding prep before tomorrow’s rehearsal and this weekend’s big event. Thanks to your faux fever and somewhat convincing acting where you clutch your stomach and moan and groan about how bad you feel, she gives you the day off.

“Rest up and drink lots of fluids,” she says. “I’ll check on you later.”

You wallow in bed, thankful that you don’t have to spend the day thinking about eternal love after seeing Steve getting a kiss from the mystery girl. You watch soap operas on the small TV in your rented bedroom, relieved that today’s episodes all surround dramatic events, like car crashes and kidnappings, and that none of them are themed around weddings or love.

The guest house phone rings around noon. Distracted by the episode of General Hospital you’re watching, you pick it up without thinking.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Steve! What’s up?”

You almost choke on the chocolate-covered pretzels you’re scarfing down, causing you to erupt into a coughing fit.

“Hey, Steve,” you say hoarsely. “Sorry, I’m sick, so I’ll see you—”

“Wait!” Steve begs. “Hold on. I saw you at the Garden Center yesterday, but you rushed out of there so fast we didn’t get to talk. Is everything okay?”

“Like I said,” you say sharper than you mean to, “I’m sick. I feel like shit.”

“If you want, I can come by later with some chicken noodle soup? Or something else, if you don’t like chicken noodle.”

God, why is he so fucking nice? It’s making it harder to push him away. But visions dance in your head of Steve and that girl yesterday, and it spurs you to snap, “Goodbye, Steve.”

You hang up the phone and curl up under the covers, closing your eyes and wishing the wedding was over. You just want to go back home.

🪻🪻🪻

Steve, shocked, stares at the Garden Center office phone in his hand. He tries not to be too hurt by your behavior—you’re sick, after all, you don’t owe anyone pleasantries—but after the other night, he thought you two were in a really great place.

But then you stormed out of the Garden Center before you two could talk. Steve wanted to call you last night, but he spent the rest of his shift lugging mulch bags around and was exhausted after closing.

He used his lunch break to call you today, not expecting such an icy reception. Again, it could just be your illness, but Steve worries it’s something more.

Did you see him with Nancy? The realization startles him. Out of context, he and Nance probably looked pretty cozy. You might get the wrong impression.

“Fuck me,” Steve groans, slapping the phone back on the hook.

“No thanks,” Robin says, entering the office. “Why aren’t you eating lunch?”

“I just tried to call Y/N,” Steve says. “And she says she’s home sick, but I really think she’s pissed at me because she saw me with Nancy yesterday.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Robin says. She perches on the edge of the desk and holds out her baggie of baby carrots for Steve to take one. He does. “She practically sprinted away from here. She couldn’t get away fast enough.”

Steve bites into the carrot, looking much too sorrowful for a man with an “Honor Your Mother Earth” shirt on.

“What the hell am I going to do?” he asks. “Y/N made it clear she doesn’t want to talk to me, but I need to explain that Nancy and I are nothing more than friends.”

“What about a grand romantic gesture?” Robin says. Her eyes shine with excitement. “Ooh! Maybe serenade her with a love song?”

“No, no,” Steve says. “No fluff. I have to be authentic and genuine.”

Although Steve’s break is over, he decides to spend the rest of his shift brainstorming how to clear the air and win you back. Because he wants you, not anyone else.

🪻🪻🪻

When your mother checks in on you later, she gives you a knowing look and says, “If you think I can’t tell that your sickness is nothing more than a broken heart, you must take me for a fool.”

You grimace.

“It’s that obvious?”

“Of course,” your mother says. “But only because it’s an ailment I’m all too familiar with.”

She perches at the edge of your bed and pats your arm. “What did that boy do?”

“I saw him with another girl,” you say with a sigh, picking at a loose thread on your throw blanket. “She kissed him. Just on the cheek, but still. The way he looked at her…it killed me.”

Your mother doesn’t say anything for a few moments. When you finally look up and make eye contact, she’s frowning.

You know what she’s thinking about: your father. How he up and left the family to run off with his mistress, and now he has another family in Key West.

So, you’re shocked when your mother says, “Well, what if that’s his cousin?”

“Uh, excuse me?”

“Did you talk to Steve about it?” your mother says. “Maybe that’s his cousin, or sister, or friend.”

“Friends don’t look at each other like that,” you say, vehemently shaking your head. “He’s cheating.”

Your mother nods slowly. “Hmm. Yes. Well, you’ll never know the true story if you don’t talk to him, will you?”

With that, she stands and exits, leaving you to think about her words.

You’re surprised at her reaction. A few years ago, your mother would’ve been cursing Steve’s name, lamenting that all men are the same: untrustworthy pigs.

Now, a few years after the cheating scandal and messy divorce, she’s more self-assured. She’s less likely to jump to conclusions. But you did, because maybe your parents’ divorce had more of an effect on you than you initially thought.

You try to call Steve back, but he’s already left work when you dial the Garden Center’s number. You call his home phone, and the line is busy.

You tell yourself tomorrow before the wedding rehearsal, you’ll swing by and talk to him. But the day comes, and your mother has you doing last minute wedding prep up until the rehearsal itself.

The man you want to see arrives at the Byers-Hopper residence for the rehearsal dinner, with Robin and a few of Will and El’s friends in tow. Your heart sinks when you see the girl from the Garden Center walking up with them.

Any desire you had to talk to him and figure things out disappears, replaced by a sensation of insecurity and dread. You make eye contact with Steve and his eyes widen. He smiles and waves. You give him a polite smile before beelining back to your mother, asking (begging) her for another chore to take you away from the main group.

“We’re about to do the wedding rehearsal,” your mother says pointedly.

“I don’t need to be here for that, right?”

She glances between you and Steve and sighs.

“Oh, fine. If you really don’t want to stick around, you can head to the main house and fold table name cards.”

You thank her and zip away, the mindless activity a reprieve. However, 15 minutes later, you hear the back door open while your back is turned.

You assume it’s your mother and say, “Okay, so where should I put—oh.”

It’s Steve. He’s standing in the doorway, face pale, gripping a bouquet of purple hyacinths.

“Hi,” he says quietly. “Can we please talk?”

You clear your throat and turn away, back to the name cards.

“Sorry, I really don’t have time right now—”

“Please?!” Steve repeats, voice cracking. “I think I know why you’re upset, and I just want to explain.”

You sigh and sit in a kitchen chair, gesturing for Steve to sit across from you.

He hands you the hyacinths, with you gingerly accept.

“Who is she?” you blurt out before he can say anything.

He swallows hard.

“My ex-girlfriend. But we’re not together anymore.”

You nod, hating yourself for sounding so small when you say, “She kissed you.”

“I know,” Steve says, closing his eyes like he’s in pain. “But it’s not like that. Nancy and I are just friends now. We’re better as friends.”

“Right.”

“I promise,” he repeats firmly. “Nancy is Jonathan’s girlfriend—that’s why she’s here. Y/N, I’m really enjoying spending time with you, and I like you so much. I’ve never felt this way before. I’d never cheat on you. Never.”

You believe him. Mostly. But something itches in the back of your mind. A seed of distrust, planted years ago the first time you caught your father in his study, whispering on the phone with his mistress about a phony business trip.

“I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions,” you say, unable to look him in the eye.

“No, please don’t apologize,” Steve says. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

You pluck a petal off a hyacinth, squeezing it between your fingers.

“My dad cheated on my mom,” you blurt out, before you can stop yourself, surprised at your own honesty. “So now I kind of have trust issues.”

“Well, we have that in common,” Steve sighs. “Are all dads assholes, or are we just unlucky?”

You laugh despite yourself, feeling some tension dissipate. Steve must feel it too, because his shoulders relax.  

“Can we start over?” Steve asks with a shy grin. He sticks out a hand to shake. “Hi, I’m Steve. I work at the Garden Center. What’s your name?”

You almost want to run away, embarrassed that you jumped to all the wrong conclusions about Steve. But the expectant, earnest look on his face makes you stay. Makes you smile at him, shake his outstretched hand, and say, “Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

peonies: happy life, happy marriage

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”

Hopper and Joyce embrace and kiss, the crowd erupting into cheers.

The wedding went off without a hitch—just like you knew it would. Now, your time in Hawkins is almost to a close.

At the reception, you stand off in the corner of the yard by a willow tree and watch the newlyweds and their guests tear it up on the dance floor.

Your mother has finally freed you from your wedding-planning duties. She promises to handle any last-minute emergencies and let you enjoy yourself.

Enjoy your time with Steve, you know she means. She looked thrilled to see the two of you emerge from the Byers-Hopper house holding hands after you cleared the air yesterday afternoon.

You see Steve navigate through the crowd, holding two champagne flutes aloft. He darts to the side just in the nick of time as Jonathan Byers’ friend Argyle starts to electric slide into his path.

You snicker at the sight as Steve approaches.

“Hey, cut that out,” Steve says, handing you the drink with a mock intense expression on his face. “I almost got bowled over for these.”

“I saw,” you say. You jokingly pat his cheek and add, “You’re very brave, Steve.”

He plays along, preening under your fake praise.

“I know.”

After drinking, dancing, drinking some more, eating, and watching Jonathan’s face turn firetruck red when Nancy catches Joyce’s bouquet, you and Steve find yourselves swaying on the dance floor to an instrumental of “Unchained Melody.” The band your mother hired really is quite good.

You don’t want to ruin the moment, but you need to know.

“Hey,” you ask, hoping the hands slung around Steve’s neck aren’t shaking. “You still want to do this, right?”

“What do you mean?” he asks softly.

“Like, this,” you say, a little embarrassed as you gesture between the two of you. “Because I’m moving back to Eagleton tomorrow. But I really like you and I hope we can make this work.”

“I really like you, too,” Steve says, his cheeks flushing peony pink. “So, to answer your question, hell yes. I want to do this. Whatever ‘this’ entails.”

“Driving two hours round-trip to see me?” you prompt, bracing yourself for his response.

“Oh, absolutely! We can alternate visiting each other on weekends. And talk on the phone during the week. And just, you know. See where ‘this’ goes.”

The two of you lovesick goofs smile at each other, continuing to slow dance even as the music changes to something upbeat.

If you or Steve could predict the future, you would see a few important things. You would see the many months of weekend trips before Steve moves to Eagleton to share an apartment with you.

You would see the proposal — a quiet, understated thing at home with no witnesses except the cat you and Steve adopted on your two-year dating anniversary.

You would see your own wedding, planned by your amazingly talented mother of course. And she’s the one you have walk you down the aisle.

You’d see birthdays and holidays and romantic getaways and babies being born and growing old together. You’d watch your whole life with Steve bloom ahead of you, filled with all the wonderful things life should be.

But right now it’s 1987, and you’re dancing at a wedding with your new boyfriend Steve, and you can’t predict the future but if you could, you’d be really damn happy about it.

💐💐💐

A/N Thank you for reading along with this mini-series! :) I wanted to get the finale posted before the official start of fall. now it's time to pivot to spooky things perhaps, or an orange juice sequel...

tag list for this particular series!! @quinnkeerys @spicysix @keerysquinn @sunshinesteviee @inkluvs @stevebabey @0vix0 @lame0o @ghostlyfleur @starry-eyed-steve @hollandweather @lurkingprincess

[jujumin-translates]

[A3!] ★ Main Story | Act 14 - DREAM CATCHER | Episode 24 - A Showy Greeting

Sakyo: How are the ticket sales going?

Manager: Overall, we’re selling out pretty well, but we’ve still got some extras when it comes to the weekday performances.

Manager: Thanks to Spring Troupe’s popularity, the initial responses has been better, but compared to the momentum we had before…

Sakyo: Just the number of performances we’re doing itself has increased due to the new Fleur Award. Not to mention that we’ve got a lot of overlapping dates, so the audience is probably more spread out.

Izumi: Should we consider doing some kind of promotion?

Sakyo: No, we still have some time. Let’s just wait and see how things go.

*Door opens*

Kumon: Tenma-san said he’ll be home soon!

Izumi: Huh? Really?

Yuki: He sure got here surprisingly fast.

Misumi: Let’s go greet him~.

Kazunari: Yeah!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Door opens*

Tenma: I’m hom--.

*Party poppers go off*

Misumi: Welcome home~!

Kazunari: Welcome back, TenTen!

Muku: Welcome home!

Tenma: Hold on, the hell kinda greeting is this!? It’s not my birthday!

Yuki: It just kept getting more and more showy.

Muku: At first, we all just greeted each other normally.

Kazunari: But this was the last one, so we just had to~!

Tenma: Alright, I’m gonna go drop off my bags, and then we’ll meet up in the practice room.

Kumon: Already!?

Kazunari: We’re rehearsing right now!?

Izumi: Aren’t you jet-lagged? Are you sure?

Muku: Maybe it’d be better if you rested a little bit…

Yuki: You better not go overboard and immediately flop right off the bat.

Tenma: Just who do you think you’re talking about? I’m a successful actor who’s handled all kinds of overcrowded schedules that you couldn’t even imagine.

Yuki: Whatever you say.

Kazunari: Ahaha, that’s our TenTen~.

Yuki: If he’s got this much energy, he’ll be fine.

Misumi: I can’t wait ‘cause it’s been so long since we’ve had a full Summer Troupe rehearsal~!

Kumon: Let’s hurry up and go~!

Izumi: Alright, if you’re sure, we’ll start rehearsal in ten minutes.

Izumi: (It seems like all of them are motivated by the success of their respective “challenges”!)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Tenma: “Ah, I forgot. I’ll go fill it up.”

Tenma: “What do you mean while I’m at it!?”

Misumi: Ding dong!

Tenma: ?

*Door opens*

Kazunari: Summer Eats here!

Misumi: Onigiri midnight snack for six!

Tenma: Hold on, that’s way too much!

Misumi: Let’s all eat ‘em together~!

Yuki: We can use the soapboxes as a table.

Kumon: Right, Tenma-san, do you want me to give you a massage later? Your body must be stiff from being on a plane for so long, right?

Tenma: A massage?

Kumon: I studied sports massages on my own when I was on the baseball team, and the other day Yamaguchi asked me if those could be applied to actors too.

Kumon: So I did some research and found this stage trainer who massages actors to keep them in good physical condition.

Kumon: I looked into some massages that might help, and I wanna give them a try!

Tenma: What am I, your test subject!?

Kazunari: But we do use our whole bodies during performances, so something like that would be pretty helpful.

Muku: And it’d be a good way to prevent injuries.

Misumi: I want one too!

Kumon: Sure thing~!

Kazunari: Ah, right. I just printed off the flyers. Lookie, lookie!

Muku: Wahh, it looks so cool!

Tenma: Nice. It’s got the same feel as our debut, but with a sense that we’ve moved forward.

Kazunari: It’s all thanks to me traveling around Europe and getting tons of inspo. The ideas just poured outta me~.

Kazunari: And that’s why I think I’m pretty satisfied with the design!

Muku: You didn’t make too many major changes with the costume designs this time around either, did you, Yuki-kun?

Yuki: That’s right. The debut performance costumes were completely my own designs, and they all fit each character as well as everyone in Summer Troupe.

Yuki: That’s why I went with those designs.

Tenma: Yeah. I think it’s nice seeing something that gives the feel of it getting a simple update.

Muku: That’ll help our changes as actors stand out more too.

Misumi: I love the Genie’s costume~.

Kumon: I’m glad that my Genie of the Ring costume looks like it goes with Sumi-san’s!

Kazunari: Thanks to how glam the accessories are and how great the flyer looks, I feel like I can really appreciate these costumes again~.

Yuki: Speaking of accessories, Misumi, how are you liking that bromide case I made the other day?

Misumi: Ah, it’s perfect! Thanks, Yuki!

Muku: Bromide?

Misumi: Here, look~!

Kazunari: That’s…

Misumi: A picture of Gramps! Syu gave it to me~!

Yuki: Huh, that’s pretty nice.

Kumon: It’s pretty rare to see a photo where Hakkaku-san’s the focus like that!

Kazunari: And is that a baby that Hakkaku-san’s holding in that pic?

Misumi: That’s me~. Syu told me the picture was taken right around when I was born.

Misumi: He said that Gramps said that he’d wanna see me on stage if I grew up to become an actor.

Kumon: I see…

Misumi: Gramps didn’t really like having his picture taken, so there’s hardly any pictures of him. That’s why I was really surprised to see this one~.

Tenma: It’s pretty incredible that Syu-san had such a precious photo like that…

Kazunari: That’s a die-hard fan for ya~!

Yuki: I’m surprised he gave you something from his prized collection.

Misumi: He said that I should have it ‘cause I’m family. Here, and on the back of the picture--.

Muku: Is that your name written on it, Misumi-san?

Misumi: Yup. Syu said that Gramps wrote my name here after he decided on it to show everyone.

Tenma: He was right. You really should be the one to have it, Misumi.

Misumi: Ah, but Syu also took a picture of this picture with his phone.

Kazunari: He’s still as cunning as ever, huh~.

Misumi: And then Yuki made me a holder for it so I could put it in there rather than just carry it around~.

Yuki: If you had just kept it in your pocket as it was, it would been torn to shreds before you knew it.

Muku: It’s cute with all the different triangles on it!

Misumi: Ehehe, it’s really nice, isn’t it~? It’s a treasure that I can carry with me all the time!

Misumi: And if I have it with me during performances, it’ll be like Gramps is watching me closely!

Yuki: While I get the sentiment, it might be better to leave it in the wings during performances.

Kumon: You wouldn’t wanna drop it or anything.

Misumi: Okay, got it!

Tenma: If Hakkaku-san’s gonna be watching us too, then we better get fired up.

Misumi: Watch over us as get even better than before, okay, Gramps?

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

[sandersontheside]

Drabble list #4

25. “Worst day ever!”

Any characters of your choosing :3

Beanie!! Thank you for the prompt! Please enjoy high school AU creativitwins being silly boys with just a sprinkling of implied prinxiety bc I can't help myself. Under a cut because it broke 1k words by accident. (prompt lists: 4,5,7)

Roman flung himself onto his bed with a huge sigh, his messenger bag still on one shoulder. 

Remus looked up from his own bed, where he was already clicking away on his laptop. He pulled off his big headphones and let them hang around his neck. “What’s up your ass?” 

Roman responded with a muffled groan. 

“Anything to do with why you’re home so late?” Remus asked. “Rehearsals ended like an hour and a half ago. Where the hell have you been?” Roman was always home later than Remus because of his commitments to the school musicals, unless Remus decided to join tech that particular semester, which he hadn't this time around because apparently Legally Blonde was too boring.

Roman pulled himself onto his knees so he could take off his bag, letting it fall to the floor. “I have had the worst day ever.” 

Remus rolled his eyes. “Okay, drama queen. Did you embarrass yourself in front of that emo kid again?” 

Roman flushed. “His name’s Virgil.”

“That’s not a no,” Remus smirked. 

‘Ugh, shut up,” Roman flopped onto his back. “That’s only one of the things that went wrong today. It started when we were late to school, which I totally blame you for—”

“Excuse me? Which one of us takes an entire hour in the bathroom to shower and do his hair?” Remus scoffed. “You always make us late.”

“Whatever, Mister ‘We have to go back because I left my homework on the table.’”

“Well, if you had been ready to leave earlier, we would have had time to—” 

“Okay, okay,” Roman groaned, rubbing his temples. “The point is, we were late, and then my math teacher yelled at me for being late, and then at lunch I realized I didn’t have my wallet. Patton gave me half his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but I was still starving—”

“Why the hell didn’t you come find me? I could have bought you something.” It’s a rare moment of sincerity from Remus. 

“I didn’t think of that.” Roman admitted. 

“Clearly.”

“Anyways!” Roman huffed. “After that, I had English, and we’re doing Shakespeare, as you know, and we got to pick scenes to do with a partner, from any play we liked. And I wanted to pick Much Ado About Nothing because you know I was born to play Benedick. But then she assigned Virgil to be my partner.”

“Did he not want to do Much Ado?” Remus asked. 

“Worse! He wanted to play Beatrice!” Roman threw his hands in the air theatrically. “Can you imagine? Reciting Shakespearean romance lines to my crush?”

Remus blinked, confused. “That sounds like something you’d love, you nerd.” 

“If he liked me back, maybe! But he doesn’t! So it was just painful, and I got so flustered that I stumbled over some of the lines!” 

Remus winced. 

“And, then, finally, I had rehearsals for the play. But I tripped during one of the dance routines and knocked over one of the sets and broke it.” Roman lifted his hands, which were covered in paint. “I had to stay late to rebuild it."  

Remus let out a long breath. “That does sound like the worst day ever."

“Thank you!” Roman curled around a pillow. “Now, go back to looking at God knows what online and just let me sulk in peace.” 

His brother didn’t respond at first. He glanced at his screen, tapped out something short (a message to a friend, perhaps?), closed it up, and removed his headphones from around his neck. “Nope,” he said finally. 

“What?” 

“Nope. I’m not gonna let you sulk.” Remus stood up from his bed, extending a hand to Roman. “You have two options. Movie night or me kicking your ass at Mario Kart.” 

Roman looked up at his twin pathetically. “Can movie night be Disney movies?” 

“You’re going to make me watch Tangled again, aren’t you?” His words were exasperated, but he was smiling reassuringly.

“I mean, it is the best new Disney movie.” Against all odds, Roman felt his miserable mood start to let up. “But I’m kind of in the mood for Treasure Planet. Or The Emperor’s New Groove,”  he said, knowing full well that while Remus vastly preferred Pixar to Disney, that he had a soft spot for “the weird years” of Disney in the early-to-mid 2000s, just as 2D animation was fading out. If Remus was going to do this for him, the least he could do was pick movies Remus actually enjoyed as well. 

Remus’s smile grew. “Hell yeah, let’s watch Emperor’s New Groove."

Roman smiled back. “Sounds perfect.” He took Remus’s hand and stood, letting his brother drag him out to their living room. Their parents wouldn’t be home for hours—they never were. So, they basically had free reign of the house. Remus cued up the movie, while Roman continued into the kitchen to hunt for some snacks. He returned with slightly burnt microwave popcorn that he didn't even bother to put in a bowl, goldfish crackers, a plate of reheated lasagna because he was still starving, a package of Oreos (Double Stuf, of course), insect gummies that were shaped far too realistically for Roman’s taste, a bottle of Coca-Cola for himself, and Mountain Dew for his brother. He placed it all on the coffee table. “Dinner is served.” 

Remus immediately grabbed a gummy. “Delicious.” 

“I don’t know how you eat that,” Roman shook his head, joining his brother on the couch. “It looks way too real and creepy.” 

Remus shrugged. “It’s still candy.” 

Roman rolled his eyes. “Whatever, weirdo.” 

“I’m not weird, you are.” 

“I’m not weird, I’m unique.” 

“Same thing.” 

Roman gasped in mock offense. “Just play the movie.” 

His brother hit play on the remote and settled into the cushions. 

“Hey, Remus?” 

“Ro, you know I hate it when you talk over movies.”

“It’s still the opening credits,” Roman insisted. “And I just wanted to say thank you. This isn’t the worst day ever anymore.” 

“Gross, don’t be sappy.” 

“Too late.” Roman slung an arm around Remus’s shoulder and pulled him into an awkward kind of sitting side-hug. “I love you, Remus.” 

“Ugh,” Remus grunted, but didn’t try to move away. “I love you, too.” 

[boltupbitches]

Sliding in the DMs Part XX

Arty hesitated for a moment before opening the door. The sight of her mother, Penelope, standing on the doorstep sent an immediate chill through her. Penelope’s eyes were as sharp as ever, her posture stiff, and the air of judgment practically radiated from her. It had been months since they last spoke, and yet the second Arty saw her, she was transported back to those uncomfortable memories of childhood.

“Well, are you going to welcome me in, or should I stand here like a fool?” Penelope’s voice, thick with a Greek accent, was laced with irritation.

Arty swallowed hard, stepping aside to let her mother in, but the tension between them clung to the air like humidity before a storm. “Come in.”

Penelope strode in like she owned the place, her eyes glancing around the house, assessing it in that cold, calculating way she always did. Arty’s heart raced as she closed the door, trying to keep her composure.

They sat down in the living room. The silence was unbearable, and Arty tried to break it with mundane pleasantries. “How’s patéras?”

“Busy,” Penelope said curtly, crossing her legs with a grace that seemed rehearsed. “He’s been traveling for work again. You know how it is.”

Arty nodded, unsure how to respond. It was always like this—her mother speaking with a tone that implied Arty should have known something, that she should have been more involved in their lives, despite the fact that Penelope had pushed her away at every opportunity.

The conversation dragged on in a dull, strained exchange of family updates. A new cousin was born. Someone’s daughter had gotten engaged. It was all just a prelude to what Arty knew was coming. She could feel her mother’s simmering judgment underneath the surface.

And then it came.

“I hear you’ve been quite busy yourself,” Penelope started, her lips pursing into a thin line. “Rushing off to marry this… Joey, was it? At a magistrate, no less.” The disdain in her voice was impossible to miss.

Arty tensed. Of course, this was why her mother had shown up out of nowhere. She wanted to pick apart the one thing in Arty’s life that actually made her happy. “Yes, Joey and I got married.”

“How nice,” Penelope said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “No celebration, no family, just sneaking off like some cheap affair. You’ve disgraced the family, Artemis.”

Arty’s chest tightened with anger. “Disgraced the family?” She repeated, her voice rising. “By marrying the man I love? The man who treats me better than anyone in this family ever has?”

Penelope’s eyes flashed with cold fury. “Love?” She spat the word like it was venom. “You’re a foolish girl, Artemis. You’ve always been impulsive, making rash decisions that will ruin your life. First, it’s marrying this football player, and now what? Ruining your future with some silly little company you think you can start?”

Arty’s hands clenched into fists. This was the same toxic pattern she’d grown up with, always being told she was worthless, that her choices were wrong. But this time was different. She had Joey now. She had her own life.

“I’m not ruining anything,” Arty said, her voice beginning to shake with emotion. “You have no idea what my life is like, what Joey is like. He loves me, and I’m happy.”

Penelope scoffed, leaning forward with a cruel smile. “Happiness? Happiness is a lie, Artemis. You’ve been blind to it your whole life. And now you’re throwing away your family’s reputation because you can’t control yourself. You’re no better than your father, always making a mess of things.”

The familiar sting of her mother’s words hit hard, but Arty wasn’t a child anymore. She wasn’t powerless against this woman. “You don’t get to talk about patéras’ mistakes when you aren’t any better, and you sure as hell don’t get to talk about my marriage like it’s some kind of mistake.”

The argument was escalating quickly, and the air felt heavy with the weight of years of unresolved pain. Just as Arty was about to snap, the front door opened, and Joey stepped in.

He froze for a second, taking in the scene—Arty, standing in front of her mother, her face flushed with anger, and Penelope sitting there like a vulture, ready to strike.

Joey’s face hardened immediately. He dropped his bag on the floor and walked over, his eyes never leaving Penelope’s. “What’s going on here?”

Penelope straightened up, her eyes narrowing at him. “So, you’re Joey. The one who’s swept my daughter off her feet and turned her into this—”

“Stop,” Joey cut her off, his voice firm but calm. He moved to Arty’s side, placing a protective arm around her. “You don’t get to come into our house and fucking talk to her like that.”

Penelope blinked, clearly taken aback by his bluntness. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t care who you are, or what you think you know about Arty,” Joey continued, his voice cold and unyielding. “But you’re not welcome here if all you’re going to do is tear her down. We don’t need your fucking approval, and we don’t fucking want it.”

Arty watched, her heart swelling with a mixture of relief and admiration. Joey wasn’t backing down, and she’d never seen anyone stand up to her mother like this before.

“You think you can just dismiss me?” Penelope hissed, standing up now, her eyes blazing with fury. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“I know exactly who I’m dealing with,” Joey shot back. “And I’m telling you, right now, to get the hell out of our house. Don’t contact us again.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension thick enough to cut through. Penelope stared at Joey, her eyes filled with contempt, but Joey didn’t flinch. He stood tall, unwavering, his arm around Arty like an unspoken shield.

Finally, Penelope sneered, her lips curling in disgust. “You’ll regret this, Artemis. Mark my words.”

Without another word, she stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Arty let out a shaky breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Joey turned to her, his expression softening as he cupped her face in his hands.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Arty nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “Thank you… I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come in.”

Joey kissed her forehead gently. “You never have to face her alone again. I promise.”

And in that moment, despite everything, Arty knew she was exactly where she belonged.

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 6 (Sneak Peek)

Here's a little snippet from Chapter 6...

“Fiction or non?” 

You were splayed out on your bedroom floor, with Theo across from you. As he’d pored over his textbook, he kept coming up with questions to ask you. 

Sure, it might be cute and endearing in a normal circumstance. But right now, you wanted to focus on studying for a couple of upcoming tests, as summer semesters were the worst at moving so damn quickly. 

There were more important matters at hand than nonsensical small talk. 

Deciding to humor him (and hopefully get back to the task at hand), you responded. “Hmm. . .,” you sat up from where you’d been laying on your stomach to read about Geoffrey Chaucer. “They both have special things about them—both stretch our minds to understand more about other worlds and our own,” you paused, giving it a second to ponder. “Are we talking writing-wise or reading-wise?”

He chuckled, and winked at you. “It doesn’t have to be something you think so deeply about,” he closed his textbook. What was he doing? You still had to make flash cards! “Pretend we’re playing a game and it’s rapid fire questions.”

You didn’t want to be playing a game. You wanted to be sinking your teeth into the intricacies of this author in order to ace your test. 

You shook your head, your eyes stuck on his closed book. “Fuck,” you scratched your eyebrow. Your mind flicked to music: fun to write and read about. You were actually currently reading a book about John Lennon. You had many books on your TBR list about famous musicians. A most intriguing subject, in your opinion. “Non-fiction.”

His face scrunched up. “Nah,” he disagreed. “Fiction.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” his stare was blank in response. “Don’t really have to think too hard about it.”

You tried not to roll your eyes at him. In your opinion, thinking hard about what you were writing or reading was what made it most desirable. It made you venture into undiscovered realms of your mind. 

When you went to lean back over your book, the movement made you realize just how badly your bladder was begging to be released. 

Stupidly, you thought of the ridiculous work schedule on the fridge. 

Why the hell couldn’t you just let yourself go to the damn bathroom without thinking about Jake? You knew it was fucking ludicrous. You just didn’t want to see him. When you pulled up the picture of the fridge on your phone, you saw you were in the clear. He should still be at band rehearsal. 

You tapped your open book, giving Theo a sign that he needed to open his back up. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick,” you stood up, the wave of having to pee rushing through you tenfold at the motion. He still hadn’t gotten the hint to open up his textbook. Ugh. “I’ll be back soon and then we will make our cards for the test.”

And as you exited the room, you saw him finally get back to business and open his book back up. After you’d safely closed the door to your room, you rolled your eyes at his lack of care at getting shit done. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

You dried your hands on the towel next to the sink, and took a look at yourself in the mirror.

He sort of annoyed you, but Theo was still cute, and he’d made you happy in high school. You weren’t totally opposed to the idea of kissing him (or maybe more) by the end of the night.

It seemed to you to be another good plan to get your mind off of Jake.

And Theo seemed interested enough. Considering he’d been more interested in learning about you, rather than the material for class all night (irritating, but whatever). 

Deciding you looked good enough, you opened the door to go back. And as you went to walk out, you stopped at a chest in your way. You got dizzy at the smell—smelled so fucking good—

You looked up.

Jake.

Your eyebrows pinched together, not happy at all that you’d crossed paths. Fucking hell. Why wasn’t he. . .?

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like thi—.”

You held a hand up to silence him, crossing your arms. “Why aren’t you at band practice?” 

Why the fuck was he cracking jokes? You were not in the mood. 

“Ended early,” his face hardened when he shrugged, stating it plainly. 

“Why didn’t you just stay with the guys?” You asked, secretly glad he didn’t. For whatever reason. “You could have hung out with them instead of coming back here.”

“Oh,” he stuck his chin out at the word and leaned a shoulder against the door-hinge. He raised a brow and crossed his arms to mirror you. “I see.”

You definitely didn’t glance at how his bicep flexed as his fingers wrapped around it. And you didn’t take time to appreciate his beautiful hair. . . had it started getting slightly longer? 

You shook your head, retraining your eyes.

“Tell me, Jake, what do you see?” You snapped, flicking your eyes up to his.

He scoffed, rolled his eyes. “Saw that guy lying on your bedroom floor, waiting for you. He was even sweet enough to wave at me when he saw me pass your room,” he sarcastically remarked, waving his hand to mimic. 

“We’re just studying,” you hushed back, feeling the (unnecessary) need to reassure him.

He scoffed. “You think that’s all it is to him?”

You narrowed your eyes and pursed your lips before you pulled him by his T-shirt into the bathroom. You weren’t going to discuss this in a place Theo could possibly hear. 

“I know that’s all it is,” you released his shirt like you were repulsed by the touch, when in reality you wanted nothing more than to pull it completely off of him. Damn him. 

“I don’t. Just think it’s funny how you’re so naive to believe he doesn’t want more.”

“He doesn’t.” 

“Do you?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I just think it’s funny that you might want me out just so you can fuck that guy in your bedroom,” he nodded his head in the direction of your room. 

Oh. He was taking it there. Okay.

“Yeah? And if I wanted to?” You jutted your chin out the slightest bit, bringing your arms closer, to press against your chest. “How is it any of your damn business?” 

He stepped once towards you, eyeing your chest, the tops of your breasts revealed, pushed up to the top of your tank. Your skin flushed, heart racing. 

His voice lowered. “It became my business the night you spread your legs for me at Baby’s,” one more step towards you, his eyes locking with yours. Fuck. “When I had you moaning my name while my mouth played between your pretty legs,” another step. “I think you gave yourself away that night. I don’t buy this little act.”

Oh. 

Fuck. . . If your heart wasn’t racing. 

You blinked, shaking your head. You tried to stand firm. “Wh-what act?” Dammit. Why were you stuttering? 

Stand your ground, y/n, you thought, motivating yourself to stay strong. 

But as he took one more step in, your body was effectively once again trapped between his body and a sink. Thankfully, he hadn’t pressed himself up to your front, so you weren’t distracted by that. 

You tried to hold your own.

But shit. . .he was so close. Your skin flared with heat, your heart still beating erratically in your chest. 

As you were making direct eye contact with the chest of his white t-shirt, you craned your neck to see his face fully.

“What act, Jacob?” 

He shook his head. A little smirk played at his mouth. He brought his hand up to hold your cheek. Your skin was on fire for him and his touch.

You couldn’t help it when you leaned into his hand, letting your cheek press into his calloused flesh. 

He licked his lips. “You tell me,” he whispered lowly, nodding his head once at you. 

And you couldn’t help it, his deep brown eyes pulled you in. He was begging to be touched. You had to feel him. 

Leaning in, you held his cheek just as he held yours. He then took the chance, and captured your lips with his.

Ah. His lips. So soft. 

Your vision was hazy, eyes still open, you saw how his eyebrows dipped in with a moan. You matched the sound, closing your eyes, and slipped your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his. 

You heard him shut the door with the hand that wasn’t holding your face. 

He then moved that hand from your face, reaching both hands under your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he lifted you the short distance to sit on the bathroom countertop. 

You bit his bottom lip, getting another small moan from him. He did the same to you and then soothed the spot with his tongue. You sighed into his mouth. 

Reaching both hands up, you sunk them into his dark, brunette locks. He matched every movement of your lips with his own, and then licked one wet stripe on the roof of your mouth. 

You were able to gasp for air when he moved his mouth from yours to give the softest, small kisses to your neck. Though it didn’t last long before he turned his pecks into wet, open-mouthed kisses. The slightest stubble of hair on his lip skimmed against your sensitive skin. He worked from under your jaw, all the way up, to the tender spot behind your ear. 

Shivering with a sigh, you gripped his hair tighter, pulling him in as close as he could be to you, on the counter. You felt his hardening length against your center when you did so, making you immediately grind into him. 

And when he did the same to the other side of your neck, this time, he nipped at the skin behind your ear. You bucked your hips into his. He released a groan that echoed through the small bathroom, making you want to melt into it. 

“More,” you breathed, clutching him closer, making sure the front of you stayed connected to him. Feeling his hard length through the material of his jeans was almost too much, but you craved it. You needed it. 

More.

But, the next moment, you heard a little cough from your bedroom, right next door. 

It snapped you from your daze. You were suddenly hyper aware that it was not just you two in the apartment. You had to stop.

You pushed him back, jumping off the counter. When you looked in the mirror to check your face and neck, your lips were swollen and your cheeks were flushed. Your neck was still pink from where he’d been. You checked where he’d bit behind your ear, and seeing the redness back there made you want to hop right back onto that counter. Let him have his way with you— right there. Theo be fucking damned.

But you knew better.

Tucking some hair behind your ear, you tried to make yourself look slightly presentable. 

From behind you, he was brushing a hand through his hair, when he went to smooth a hand over his cheeks, his jaw stretching with the motion. He was contemplative.

His eyebrows drew together, curious. You couldn’t tell if he was upset. He mostly looked . . .confused. 

He removed his hand from his face when his eyes found yours in the mirror, open and wondering. He looked desperate to understand. 

“What do you want, y/n?” 

You didn’t know what in the hell to tell him. 

You wanted Jake. And you wanted him bad. But somehow saying it out loud seemed too difficult at the moment. 

And how could you say that to him when he’d so recently, blatantly told you that you were a mistake?

“I don’t know, Jake,” you whispered back, still looking at your blushing cheeks, messy hair, and freshly kissed lips. You’d need a minute to let your skin return to its normal shade before going back to your room. 

You turned to face him.

When you saw him, looking so beautiful, so lost. . . You thought of how lost you’d felt for the past couple weeks. His words were once again flashing back through your head. 

“It was a fucking mistake and you need to leave me alone.”

It still hurt as you could see him so clearly in the doorway of his bedroom, angry and insistent that you do what he said and leave him alone.

But tonight? Crowding you in here to make out on the bathroom counter? Did he truly want that? For you to leave him alone?

“What do you want?” You leveled him with a stare, your tone sharp, but keeping your voice low since Theo was one room over. You pointed a finger in his chest. “You say you want me to leave you alone, but then you trap me in here like this?”

He shook his head, a dimple showing again with a sarcastic grin. After tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, he put the same hand in his pocket. 

“Oh, there is no way you are going to turn this around on me,” he matched your quiet tone, understanding. “And trap you? Okay, Little Miss ‘Fuck Me, Jake,’” he used air quotes to remind you of your words from the night at Baby’s. 

Fuck. 

Of course he remembered you’d said that. Why wouldn’t he? 

You decided to ignore it, focusing back on him.

“You’re the one who said it was a mistake! That I needed to leave you alone,” you protested, anger flaring in your chest.

He covered his eyes with a hand, the veins in the hand catching your eye. You’d never noticed how masculine his hands were. And damn if he didn’t know how to use them . . . Even in this moment, debating with him, you wanted them touching every part of you. You wanted his skilled fingers, flexing inside of you.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” His eyes were sad when he moved his hand, when you saw the brown irises again. But there was a fire behind them still. “Dammit, y/n. Why do you insist on assuming the worst about me all the fucking time? I’m not the one who can’t make up my mind about what I want,” he leaned back against the wall behind him, crossing his arms. “One minute you’re kissing me. You’re with me, naked and ready as I’m pressing into you,” his voice was being raspy, along with the picture he was drawing. . . It made your cheeks pink. You could still feel what he felt like, pressing against you, throbbing. . .so close to being inside of you. He went on, “And the next moment you’re shoving me away from you, making sure to tell me that Josh doesn’t need to know what we’re doing.”

Of course some of this had to do with Josh. You’d had the smallest inkling, based on how weird he’d acted when you set the rules. 

Stupid.

“I knew you were making it all weird with Josh. . . is this all about Josh?! You know that he and I—.”

“No! It’s about you and how you make it impossible for us to—.”

“You told me to go away!”

“And you told me to stop,” he said back, his smoky voice still hushed. “More than once.”

Your chest heaved, knowing he was right, but you were so lost on how to explain it all. “There were reasons every time.” 

“Reasons,” he scoffed. “So are you going to keep having these reasons? Keep stopping it? Why do you keep letting it happen if all you’re going to do is make us stop?” 

“Last time you stopped us, Jake!” You defended, focusing on keeping your voice low. “Not me. You walked away and called it a mistake.”

He covered his face with both hands, growling. You shushed him. 

He took his hands away to show his jaw set, clenching with frustration. “You were drunk, y/n!” He begged you to understand, “I wasn’t going to do anything with you without you being in full and total control of yourself.”

You were sure your expression showed it all clicking. You blinked at him. It all made so much sense now. 

And what he’d done? His true intentions? Fuck. Sexy as hell.

Maybe you really did need to stop assuming the worst. You just couldn’t help it. It was a trauma response. Jumping to conclusions, thinking that people didn’t want you. . .

Your mom didn’t want you, so you were always convinced other people wouldn’t either. 

Especially men who were as beautiful as Jake Kiszka.

Damn. Now it really was all on you. How did you even begin to lay it all out? 

You looked him dead in the face, completely unsure of how to articulate the mess in your head. 

“I don’t know,” you covered your face with both hands, mimicking him and frustratedly groaning into your palms. When you removed them from your face, you tucked them into your front pockets. You decided to assure him of one thing. For whatever reason, you wanted—needed him to know this. “I do want you. I want what we almost had in the bathroom at Baby’s,” You stepped towards him, wanting to be close to him again. You placed a delicate hand on his chest. He looked down at you, as you looked up into his eyes, reaching to hold your hand on his chest. Your skin tingled at his touch. “I need to feel you, to be with you. . . it just never seems like the right time. There’s always something.”

You didn’t know why you’d suddenly felt the urge to be vulnerable with him. He kept your hand on his chest, holding you, his eyes meeting yours in understanding. 

And you knew then that it was just him. Jake Kiszka, in and of himself, made you feel this strange sense of safety, comfortability. 

And it was different from the kind his twin had offered you as your friend for so many years. 

With Jake, you weren’t just friends. You weren’t even really friends. . .it was something else—an intense, unavoidable attraction. The safe feeling came combined with this desire to be with him. 

He felt like a resting ground. 

It was weird.

But you liked it.

He smoothed a thumb over your hand on his chest. You held his deep gaze, getting lost in it. 

And out of nowhere, he leaned down, kissing your lips with his. Just for a moment. 

You felt it all the way down to your toes. The feeling of him so close, with one simple kiss from his soft lips, it felt perfectly intimate. 

He released his hold on your hand, wrapping his hand around your waist instead, eyes connected with yours. It was as though he just wanted to touch you, have his hands on you.

It was what you wanted, too. Just the feeling of his hand, as it moved down to just over your hip, his thumb on the skin underneath the hem of your gray tank top. . .it felt right. 

He penetrated the thickness in the air with his low, gravelly tone. His eyes were vulnerable as he asked, “Do you want that? To find the right time?” 

You reached a hand up, holding his handsome face. You smoothed a thumb over his skin, tracing a freckle on his cheek. “I do. I promise I do,” you blinked up at him, needing his answer to that question. “And do you? Wanna find the right time?”

This was so much, butterflies flew rampant in your tummy. 

The grin he gave you was loose, his eyes relieved and open. “I really do.”

It felt so amazing to hear it straight from his lips. He really wanted it too. 

You’d overthink all of this later.

He leaned down to kiss you again. You reciprocated, for just a moment, letting your lips move with his. 

Then you pulled back, your hand falling from his face.

You nodded at the door. “I gotta get back to studying.”

His hand that was holding your hip squeezed slightly, your skin heating at it. You caught his eye, the intense feeling setting in your beating heart. 

“Is that all you’re doing?” His eyes were dark and questioning, making your head spin. “Studying?”

You winked at him, still holding onto your teasing from earlier. “It’s whatever I want it to be.”

His eyes seemed to darken more, pulling you in so your chest touched his. So warm. “I really don’t want to hear another guy fucking you through these walls.”

You pressed closer to him, your body thrumming with fire. “Funny coming from the guy who told me I could just wear earplugs when he brought women over,” then you pulled back, his hand fell. His eyebrow lifted, a tiny smirk lifted his lips. You continued, “Why don’t you go ahead and get a pair of your own, hm?”

You patted his cheek, reluctantly parting from him. Before leaving the bathroom, you chanced one more glance at your appearance. Not quite as flushed as before, though your cheeks were still blushing. You’d find a way to pass it off. Whatever. You’d been gone too long. 

You were about to open the bathroom door when, from behind, his voice stopped you. You felt a spark as his hand delicately touched yours.

“Hey.”

You swiveled on your heel, raised your brows in question. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you could come to our gig this weekend? It’s a bigger one.”

Did you work this weekend? You couldn’t remember. 

All you knew was that, suddenly, you really wanted to be at their show. 

“I’m not sure . . . Depends on work.”

“I would love—,” he put a fist in front of his mouth and cleared his throat. “The guys and I would love it if you could be there,” he shook his head, seeming to come to terms with an inner battle. “For me, I would just love to look out and see your beautiful face in the crowd.”

Your mind was fuzzy. All of this felt so unreal, yet so real all at once. He really wanted you there? And had he just called you beautiful? 

“I’ll try my best,” you slapped on a small grin, trying to play hard to get, masking your inner shock. You wanted to keep him on his toes, like he’d kept you for the past weeks. 

He scrunched his brows in and messed with his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, totally get it. Just text me and let me know.”

Anytime he messed with his mouth, it was a distraction. You had to keep yourself from watching too close. It really didn’t help that you knew the feeling of those full, pink lips. . . 

And as you walked the short distance to your bedroom, you realized something else.

Had he just asked you to text him? 

What was all of this? This new territory you had just discovered?

---

Thoughts? What are you looking forward to most from this chapter?

Let me know <3 I'm so, so sorry this update is taking so long...I promise it will be worth it! (if you know what i mean......)