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okiedokrie · 13 days

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High Infidelity

Summary: There are many different ways that you could kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough. So what happens when you find someone who was all too willing to give you thee attention you craved, you said you'd only dip your toes into the idea, and yet, you find yourself already drowning. The novel you've been writing has been in progress for the better half of two years now, your writer's block beating you up, and your husband hasn't shown you any sympathy. Maybe a visit to the art exhibit from this new artist would jog your creativity, but what happens when this new artist offers you more than just relief from your writer's block?

Characters/Pairing(s): Xu Minghao (The8) x F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person (not) Too Late

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, afab!reader, wears dresses, lmk if i miss something!! (Smut warnings under the cut)

Rating: 18+

A/N: banner and dividers by @daemour!! tysm!! This is also a rewrite/reupload of my own fic, "High Infidelity" on @pyeonghongrie, yes I reskinned my own fic.

A/N 2: Thanks to @nebulousbrainsoup, @kwanisms, @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, and @gongiz for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: tipsy sex (not drunk), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple stimulation, masturbation, lmk if i missed anything!

The rain soaked into your skin—cold and icy—piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

"I'm right here, honey, I love you." He whispers into your skin, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, one button at a time. He kisses your skin every time new skin is revealed to both of you, he kisses your skin so delicately as if you'd break at the slightest touch-

"Y/N, you still haven't dealt with the dishes yet." Your husband, Haru, said monotonously just as you were starting to gain momentum in your writing.

You groan, the interruption making you lose focus and motivation to write. You stare at the last word on your document, gaze burning into each pixel as if hoping that this piece would write itself.

Unfortunately, life said, "Fuck you."

With another groan, you rub and pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to settle in as your husband returns to work as if he didn't just cause you a serious inconvenience.

Standing from your comfortable computer chair, you take calm and even strides toward your kitchen, where only a handful of dishes are left in the sink.

And this little shit didn't even bother washing like, what? 8 dishes? He has to be kidding me, men.

You thought to yourself, your inner monologue only making you more irritated. But you wash them in silence, thinking of ways to calm down and clear your head so you have a clean slate to work with to get inspired again.

I think I should visit the gallery again, there's this new artist that I've been following. He's getting pretty popular, maybe I could draw inspiration from his work?

You think maybe this is the best idea you've had since you put bacon bits on mac & cheese.

Taking the time to visit this gorgeous gallery was the correct move.

Xu Minghao is a passionate man, you can see his dedication to his craft in all the pieces in this gallery. He was a mixed media artist, sometimes his work was pops of color on a canvas, others were sculptures made of clay, made with the most delicate of hands, and others were more niche, like the stained glass piece in another part of the gallery.

One thing about Minghao's work is that his subjects are also subjects of passion.

Paintings of a man's devotion to worshiping his lover's skin, a stained glass recreation of The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, and his latest masterpiece, simply titled "Passion", a sculpture of a woman in the throes of pleasure, with her lover holding her close to him, no gap between their skin, eternally locked in a passionate embrace.

As a romance writer, this is exactly what you need.

You take in this sculpture, the light of the gallery display emphasizing the delicate attention to detail this piece had, you know the man who made this takes pride in this, his work, skills, and dedication finally being realized.

You stare in awe at this piece for a little over 20 minutes, the more you look at it, the more entranced you become of the mastery of this craft.

You feel a presence beside you, a man around 5'11", slightly muscular build, in a turtleneck with glasses sitting delicately on his nose. He has a peculiar hairstyle, a mullet to be exact, and the most gorgeous face you've ever laid your eyes on.

"I see you like this piece in particular," He started, hands in his trouser pockets while smiling fondly at the piece, "'Passion' was a difficult piece for me to finish, ironically enough, I got bored of it quite easily." He continues, turning to face you.

"I'm Minghao, by the way, Xu Minghao. If you haven't already figured it out." He takes a hand out of his pocket, extending it towards you.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, Park Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Minghao. Your exhibit is astounding, I love your dedication to your work." You take his hand to shake it,

He chuckles at the compliment, "Oh please, save your praise, I know that name from anywhere. I love your latest work, that book was what inspired this entire collection, to begin with."

You gawk at him, oh my god, he reads smut. My smut.

"Oh my, what an honor! I'm glad you also enjoy my work." You receive the compliment gracefully, "Although, I do want to hear more about why you got bored of this piece in particular, such a wonder to the arts community, surely you aren't downplaying your work?"

He smiles, perfect teeth on display, you swear you’ve never looked at a man like this in your life. You were down bad for his smile.

"I'm not saying I think it's bad, I just got bored of the creative process." He explains, "Although I do want to continue adding to this collection, perhaps we can go and get drinks together? Exchange ideas?" he offers.

You ponder on this for a bit. Going out to drinks with a budding friend wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I give you my number? Let's set aside a day to chat. I have to get home to my husband before it gets too late."

A smirk came into his face, something dark about a seemingly insignificant change in his expression, “Of course, I look forward to our time together.”

The mug in your hands warmed your palms, and your focus was fixated on the man in front of you. He talked about another piece of his, titled “Longing”; it was heavily inspired by his desire to find someone who shares the same passion as him, the longing to hold someone in a way that nobody else could, intimacy in its purest form.

“It sounds a bit pathetic, I’m known for my work in the art of passion and, to put it simply, sex; but I haven’t been able to find the company of a lover myself. Perhaps that’s just the consequence of being a hopeless romantic. Then again, you wouldn’t know the feeling of being lonely, I assume.” He said calmly, a small chuckle ending his tangent.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” You look into the mug in your hands, your reflection swirling in the tea. Your face looks back at you, eyes sunken in and sad, “To put it nicely… my husband robs me of solitude, but fails to offer me company.” You shouldn’t be talking about Haru like this. Your husband works many hours, tirelessly providing you with the house and connections for you to pursue a career in writing. But that wasn’t the reason why your anxiety was swirling in your stomach.

Looking back up at Minghao, the same dark expression sits on his face, a minuscule smirk, barely there even if you squint, “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we? I could keep you company.”

That. That was a quality of his that you noticed fairly early on. You can never read his true intentions, suggestive prose with just enough deniability to gracefully reject him without the conversation becoming inappropriate.

But your anxiety wasn’t caused by that, no, it was caused by the fact that you didn’t want to reject him.

“I’d like that, Maybe we could head to a bar and get drinks there too? My husband won’t be back for a few months because of a business trip in a few weeks. I could use the company.” You say, looking at him through your lashes; he knows his effect on you, and the mental gymnastics that both of you play over the table was just appropriate enough that to anyone listening, it’s just two friends agreeing to get drinks sometime in the future.

But to both of you, well, only the two of you know what’ll happen once the sun goes down.

“Of course, my schedule is free for the rest of the month. Be sure to think of me if you need company.” He offers you a soft smile, directly contrasting how intensely he’s making eye contact with you. The way he’s looking into your eyes makes you feel vulnerable like he’s directly using them as windows into your head. You’re half-convinced he could read your mind, if he could, he’s a master at hiding it.

You haven’t learned much about him, but from what you do know, you can never take his words at surface level, much less his actions. The way he’s leaning over the table, elbows on the surface, and his shoulders relaxed. His closing the distance, even if just by a hair, and the way his posture suggested the epitome of familiarity, shook you to your core.

His presence is almost suffocating, his dominance over your mind silencing whatever protest his suggestions may have created. You nod dumbly, “Of course, be warned though, I think of you a lot.” This causes his smile to relax into a smirk, the kind that could pass off as a smile if you don’t think too hard about it.

“I’m glad to hear that. I think about you a lot too.” He says picking up his cup of tea, “So much that a collection was born from the thought of you.” He takes a sip from the cup in his hands, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup, the way he holds eye contact with you always makes goosebumps litter your skin, the cup hiding the growing smirk on his face, silently enjoying his effect on you.

“Ah, speaking of the collection,” He started again, after setting the cup down, “Would you do me the honor of visiting my studio sometime? I’ll text you the address right now, you can come by at any time if you’re interested.” Taking his phone out from his pocket, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket, you pick it up. The small device, usually light, feels like a heavy weight on your palm.

Opening your messages, you see that Minghao already sent the address, a building about 20 minutes from the cafe you’re in right now. “Lovely, could I trouble you to pick me up when I decide to visit?” You ask,

“Of course,” He replies, a gentle smile stretches across his face, “I’d love nothing more than to see you more often.”

The first time you entered Minghao’s studio, it felt like a dream. The studio wasn’t small by any means, the place was neat, neater than what you imagined any artist studio would look like. “Make yourself at home, I’ll brew some tea for us,” Minghao said as he took both your coats. Hanging the heavy fabrics on his coat rack, he gently guides you to the couches with a hand on your back, the light touch helping to ground you in this new environment.

He shoots you a quick smile before turning his back to you, setting his electric kettle to boil the water at the perfect temperature for tea. He rummages through his extensive tea set collection, settling on a simple white ceramic set with wooden handles. His eyes meet yours briefly, taking note of how you watch his every movement with care and curiosity, the way you were fascinated with the way his hand veins jumped every time he set a piece of the tea set down.

The kettle finishes boiling, he finally sets it down next to the tea set. “I want to introduce you to this teacake that my friend from home sent me,” He pulls out a teacake about the size of his head from the drawer under the table, wrapped in a slightly stained paper. He carefully unwraps it to show you the rich brown of the aged tea leaves, “This is a 15-year-old aged pu’er, I haven’t had the chance to try it yet, so I’d like to try this with you.”

“What an honor, I read from a recent interview that you were waiting for a good day to taste that right?” You ask, trying to gauge his reaction, if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it,

“Of course, making a new friend is a special occasion, isn’t it? I’d consider that a good day.” He replies cooly, taking a tea knife and carving out a piece of tea to steep for a second, you watch as he delicately handles the porcelain set, the control in his movements reminding you of his mastery in sculpting, “You know, making tea is much like cultivating a new relationship,” he starts as he stands up to take the kettle off the stand.

“You carefully carve out your leaves, boil your water to the perfect temperature to bloom them, and steep the leaves a few seconds at a time.” You see him pour the water over the tea leaves, dried blades blooming like flowers under the delicate stream. “Each steep of tea is different, starting from the bloom until the flavor develops; and only then will you appreciate the true complexities of what tea has to offer.”

A small smile grows on your face as you watch him pour the first bloom onto his tea pets, “If my assessment is correct, you’re trying to correlate the developing flavors of tea with how our relationship is progressing?” He nods, confirming your hypothesis, “Then, I’ll ask you a question, which steep are we on?” you say with a cheeky smile.

Minhao grins at this, eyes almost disappearing with how wide his smile was, “Literally? The second steep.” He says as he pours more water over the leaves, you let out a chuckle at his little joke, “Figuratively? The fifth.”

You tilt your head a bit, “The fifth? I didn’t realize we were already at that stage.” you say as you accept his offer of a teacup.

He chuckles, “Well, I don’t just share my most expensive teas with anyone, so I might as well share it with one of the most brilliant minds I know.” he said while bringing the cup to his lips, sipping the drink carefully while making eye contact with you over the rim, winking playfully.

You raise your cup as well, the rising steam not being the only reason for your flushed face, you grin against the rim of your cup, savoring the rich and deep aroma of the high-quality tea.

After a while of banter and small talk, you finish your tea, setting down your cup gently on his expensive-feeling coffee table, he stands from his seat, “Could I show you something?” he said, holding his hand out to you. You place your palm on his, the warmth from his hand seeping into your skin. The touch was negligible, simple, even, but the contact with his skin sent electricity through you, like a violent jolt of excitement.

Minghao notices this and smirks, feeling pride swell up in his chest as he pulls you up from the couch, leading you to the other side of the room with a hand on the small of your back. He finally stops in front of a large canvas, laid across what looks like a bare-bones bed frame. You turn to him, curiosity growing on the expression of your face.

“What’s this? This looks fairly new, the paint on the frame still seems wet.” You ask, eyes raking over the splotches of color seemingly placed without much thought or care, it looked like the aftermath of a messy and angry paint spill.

“It is new,” Minghao starts, “I’m trying a new technique where I release frustrations by getting whatever paint catches my eye and throwing cups of it without much thought.” He shrugs, nothing particularly of note, but you do notice the amount of emotion that is in the piece.

“It’s not an elegant piece, but for a collection centered around passion I find it missing raw emotion.” He runs his hand through his face, frustration taking over his features, something you noticed early on was his emotions were closely tied to whatever art was around him, it seems as though the frustration in this one was affecting him at this moment.

“Yes, the human form and sex are great subjects, but pure, raw emotion is hard to capture.” He mumbled, eyebrows furrowing. “So, that’s why I invited you here. Tell me, as someone who’s written longing, despair, and everything in between. How does this make you feel?”

You pause and take in his words, turning back to the canvas and trying to soak in the colors, the shapes, and the emotion behind this piece. Yes, frustration is here. Yes, anger is here. But how does it make you feel?

“It makes me feel like I’m missing out on something.” You say simply, your stomach sinking just thinking about what that might entail. Minghao has a genuine look of shock for the first time since you’ve met him. His head tilted to give his attention to you fully.

“Really? Interesting. That’s the first time I heard that about this piece specifically.” He said with a lopsided grin, seemingly getting a new stroke of genius with your answer. He looks back at the canvas too, shoulders shaking from his restricted laughs. Your answer seemed to entertain him a lot. That much you can figure out, but you can never be sure what goes on in the mind of Xu Minghao.

Just then, your phone starts to ring, you only know one person who would call you at this hour—your Husband. You watch as the expression on Minghao’s face falls, face contorting into something short of a scowl for a split second before settling on his usual cool neutral expression. It was so quick that you barely missed the change, it happened so quickly that you decided it was all in your imagination as you ran to answer the phone.

You pick up the phone, “Hi honey-” You were cut off by your husband speaking,

“Get home, it’s getting late and you haven’t started dinner yet.” He said simply, before promptly dropping the call.

You stand there, the line going dead as you try to hold back tears. You take a deep breath, too afraid to show your face to Minghao in case tears were about to fall from your face. Grabbing your coat, you turn to face the door.

“Thank you for inviting me over, I have to get home now,” you said, your voice a little shaky, as you roughly opened the door.

You were out of his sight as Minghao stood alone in his studio, pondering. As silence took over the space, a dark smirk on his face.

'How long before you break?' he wonders.

The next time you and Minghao meet, you’re sitting on a park bench watching the autumn leaves dance to the silent song in the wind. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear leaves crunch beside you, seeing the tail of Minghao’s long coat swaying in the wind.

He sees you, a smile spreading across his face, his long hair almost covering his face. His fast-paced walking makes the leaves crunch under his weight rhythmically. You think that he looks beautiful under the soft brightness of the autumn morning, only ever seeing him in the harsh rays of high noon or the constant humming of fluorescent lights.

You feel the heat radiating off his body through your and his coats as he sits next to you on the park bench. “Beautiful morning, the view is exquisite.” He says, looking directly at you. You giggle at this, he’s always been such a charmer ever since you met him. You peel the notebook from your lap, “I’m no artist, but the park is too gorgeous this time of year to not at least try to capture on paper.” you say as you open it to show him a relatively crude sketch of the scenery.

“Oh? This feels like a threat to my career.” He says with a chuckle, “But, genuinely, this is an amazing sketch. Are you sure you aren’t an artist?” You think you could get used to how relaxed you were around Minghao, conversations with him flowed so easily, it reminds you of the times your husband used to be invested in you as a person. Perhaps it was easier to compare the thrill of meeting a new person with feeling the start of a romantic spark, it was a dangerous game to play with him.

“No, I’m not, but I can appreciate a masterpiece when I see one.” You say, this time looking at him. He notices this and laughs at the fact that his joke is being used against him. He closes the notebook, handing it to you to put in your tote bag.

“The weather is perfect for a walk, care to join me?” He said, offering his hand for you to take. You accept the offer, the warmth of his palm being something to ground you on such a dreamy morning. Leaves crunch under both your weights in synch, your hand moves from his to hold onto his arm, and you try not to notice the lean muscle of it or the steady and secure way he guides you through the path.

You breathe in the autumn chill, enjoying the comfortable silence that followed the quiet whistle of the wind. “Your book,” Minghao said, his silky voice cutting through the silence effortlessly, “The one that inspired the collection, I’ve been following your publisher’s updates on the series, and I was wondering if you'd be able to share your progress on the second book?”

“Ah, about that.” You grimace, and you shake your head, quelling the urge to complain about your husband’s lack of sympathy for your predicament. “Maybe I’ll tell you another time, it’s not something I can talk about at the moment.”

Before you can correct the old man, Minghao speaks up, “Of course, could I take three of these?” He said, pointing at the basket of Jonquils.

He hums, luckily, Minghao was never the type to pry, “I get it, ever the tortured poet you are.” he said in a joking tone, you let out a chortle at this, agreeing that you may or may not be one.

Both of you are stopped by a flower vendor, “You both are a lovely pair,” The old man starts, as he turns to Minghao, he asks, “Could I interest you in some flowers? I’m sure your lady would appreciate them.” He smiles.

“Of course, you’re in luck too, these are the last off-season flowers I had in my greenhouse.” the old man said as his nimble fingers wrapped the flowers in some yellow tissue paper.

“I'm really lucky indeed.” He agreed while looking at you, your cheeks warming up at the implication. Minghao accepts the flowers and happily pays for them, gracefully handing the bundle to you.

Holding onto the stems, your fingertips graze over the delicate petals of the bright yellow flowers. “Thank you Minghao, they're beautiful.”

He smiles at the way you look at the flowers fondly, simply adoring the way your face lit up; literally, the yellow from the flowers reflected off your face and gave it a yellow hue.

“Shall we continue to walk?” He asks, offering his arm for you to hold again, you hold onto it, the flowers in your other hand. And you let the silence take over again.

Before you knew it, you've spent the entire day laughing and talking with Minghao, only stopping at several vendors for food and other trinkets, feeding the ducks berries, and watching the fish in the pond.

But the day has to end at some point.

You regretfully leave Minghao at the train station, waving goodbye through the glass of the train doors as you watch his figure get smaller and smaller.

Arriving home, you try to find a vase to put your flowers in, setting it down on the kitchen counter, your husband walks in and sees them.

“They're ugly, don't put them anywhere where I could see them.”

He said coldly, you try your best not to scoff at him, still searching for a vacant vase.

Finally finding one, you decide to place the flower vase on the windowsill of your office, the bright flowers contrasting everything else in the room, the dark and neutral furniture your husband got for you.

You jolt, realizing you're comparing your husband to another man.

You expected guilt to eat you up at the realization, but really, you couldn't find a reason to keep defending Haru.

“Could you come over to the studio later tonight? I don't think I should be alone.”

This text from Minghao worried you a bit, you've been spending a lot of time with him recently, you met him 6 more times after he got you flowers at the park, and you never noticed that he could deal with something so sinister.

Of course, you agree to come, your closest confidant in your adult life needs you right now. You wait for your husband to fall asleep in his office, again, before you leave the house, walking to the end of the block before calling a cab.

Arriving at his studio, you already knew the code, punching in the numbers 150526 on the smart lock, the studio opens with a click.

You take cautious steps into the studio, seeing the silhouette of a man on the couch, his back towards the door, nursing what you assume is a wine glass in his hand.

He turns his head to face the door, “You came.” He said, with relief in his voice, a little slurred from the alcohol you assume.

“You called.” You replied. Shrugging off your coat to hang, you join him on the couch. He looked a lot more disheveled compared to the usual clean and put-together Minghao that you know.

His hair is slicked back, some pieces of hair falling onto his face, his tie loosened, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And glasses resting lowly on his nose.

You look at his face, and you notice dark circles around his eyes.

“Drink, and stay with me. Please.” He asks, no, almost begs you. You don't have the heart to decline. He pours you your glass and you both toast your glasses together.

You take the normal sip and he downs the rest of his, taking in a deep breath as if to steady himself. “Y/N, there's something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach drops at this, anxiety filling the pit of it as you nervously wait for the rest of what he has to say.

“I think I'm in love with-” he pauses, “someone I shouldn't be in love with.” He finishes, leaning forward to pour himself another glass of wine.

Your face falls only slightly, a minuscule change in expression that neither you nor Minghao catch. You cross your hands over your lap as soon as you realize your silence.

“Why can't you be in love with them?” You ask. Your head tilts as you take another sip of your wine. He hums, a smile graces his lips, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes.

“They refuse to be vulnerable with me, opening up throughout our time together then closing back in the next time I see them.” He says with some fondness, “Also, they're married to someone else.”

“You probably should've led with that.” You mumble lowly, “I see, I know that all too well, wanting someone you can't have, someone so close yet so far. It's suffocating, especially when you haven't felt like yourself in so long, and then this person comes around and gives color back to your sad, gray, life. It's cruel, actually.”

You realize you've been rambling, turning to meet Minghao's eyes, you notice an emotion swirling behind them, something bittersweet, a realization that may change the course of your relationship.

“Anyway, how did you end up falling for them in the first place?” You ask in an attempt to bring the conversation back to him,

“Well, at first it was just a cure for boredom, I saw how receptive they were to my advances and I thought their marriage served as a fun, harmless challenge for me. But I got to know them, spend time with them, I got to witness the color come back into their face and I couldn't help but find it beautiful. That fact that I did that, bring color back into their face, slowly becoming someone again. The moment I saw their face light up with a simple gift I knew I was down, down bad.”

You hum, thinking the person Minghao was talking about is one of the luckiest people in the world right now. To be loved by him was like witnessing Orpheus’ choiceless grief that drove him to save his lover from the underworld, it was like feeling the devotee's dread-filled need to turn around, it was like experiencing the immediate forgiveness of Eurydice.

You wanted to be loved by him.

You both continue to chat and drink, and it isn't long before the two of you finish your second bottle of wine, Minghao offers to pay for your cab home, and he decides he's going to sleep in his studio.

You reflect on the events of that night as you slip into the cold covers of your marital bed, your husband’s side tidy as it was for the past month.

You run your hand over the pristine and cold sheet, imagining someone else filling its space on your bed, as he does your heart.

Minghao added a new piece to his collection, his gallery is still a work in progress and you walk through familiar doors. The very same statue you were entranced by still sits by the entrance, and you see a very familiar figure standing in front of it.

“I feel like this already happened before.” You said cheekily, he snorts at this, handing you a paper bag with tissue paper peeking from the top.

“Maybe this happened before in a dream, maybe we were destined to meet under the judgemental fluorescent lights.” He jokes as you feel the weight of the bag on your fingers.

“What's in the bag, Hao?” You ask cautiously, mischief flashing on his face before he fully turns his body to you, giving you his full attention.

“It's something you might like, maybe.” He said, his confidence faltering toward the end of his sentence. Tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, he eagerly waits for you to open the semi-heavy bag.

You carefully move the paper to the side of the bag, seeing white porcelain peaking back at you, you whip your head with with your face showing an expression of surprise. Minghao smiles, enjoying your reaction to his gift.

“You got me a tea set? That's so thoughtful, thank you.” You say with a smile, inspecting the frog patterns in the glaze.

“You mentioned your husband is leaving for a business trip soon, so I figured you'd like a set so we can have tea at your place. I'll even bring you a teacake to keep.” He said as he pulled a hand out of his trousers, fixing a stray hair that fell from your up-do.

“It's perfect, thank you.” You said, looking up at him, a smile still on your face.

“Do you want to walk around the gallery with me? I added a few pieces since then, and I'd like to talk about them.” he said, offering his arm. You wrap another hand around him, the familiarity of his arm under your palm giving you a sense of calm.

You spent the rest of the day walking around the gallery and chatting, other gallery-goers openly gawked at Minghao. It was obvious, really, the artist is here in the flesh, and he's gorgeous.

Minghao stopped to entertain other guests too, seeing him in his element made pride swell in your chest. His work, and by extension him, is finally being recognized by more people in the community. His hard work and dedication paid off handsomely.

Stopping in front of a mural, you noticed it was a replica of a really old painting. A painting of Ares and Aphrodite getting caught by Hephestus.

“Oof, poor bastards.” You joke, Minghao found this funny too, chuckling with you.

“It’s almost comical how this painting compelled me. I don't know what drove me to recreate the thing as a whole mural, but we both know I'm a little crazy.” He says with a playful groan, you try to hold back a loud laugh by giggling into your palm.

“Well, dear Xu Minghao, everyone knows crazy people are geniuses.” squeezing his arm, you check out the side of his face. His side profile was so sharp and soft at the same time, the dichotomy of his features was an easy subject to study. He's a gorgeous man, too gorgeous for his own good you think.

You both sat down on the bench in front of the mural to chat, and before you knew it, enough time has passed that the gallery was about to close.

Minghao calls a cab for you, and you arrive home in-tact, but not safe.

“Y/n, where have you been running off to these past few weeks?” Your husband questioned you as soon as you entered your home. Your mood instantly dropped, feeling the weight of your actions all at once.

“I'm hanging out with a friend, and it's really not that deep. It's not like I've neglected house work at all. So you should have a reason to care.” You snap back, a little too much for such a simple query. Your husband rises from his seat, cupping your face with a gentle hand for the first time in a long time.

“You’re my wife, of course it's my concern.” He said, just as he was about to make you fall for him again, he said, “We haven't been intimate in a long time, I'm leaving in a few days, so I want to make love to you before I go.”

Ah, there it was. He only ever shows affection for you when he's asking for sex nowadays.

You nod, what followed was unfulfilling and unsatisfying sex. Missionary, a few pumps just to get him off, and he didn't even kiss you.

And obviously, he didn't make you cum.

Your husband is fast asleep in your bed for the first time in months, and yet you can't find it in yourself to be happy about it.

You take out your trusty friend, egg.

The jolts to life with steady vibrations as you press the toy to your clit, relaxing into the sheets as you imagine a pair of calloused hands roaming the plane of your skin.

Controlled pressure and technique only a sculptor could have, his hair falling over his face, and his eyes holding you gaze as if you gave him everything he could ever want by simply existing.

He looks at you like you hung each star in the sky just for him, just so he could watch your skin bathed in moonlight, twinkling like the most precious diamond he could ever have.

This man isn't your husband, It was Minghao.

Your orgasm came unexpectedly, the realization that you were fantasizing about him snapped you back into reality so violently that you ruined your own orgasm.

You huff as you tuck the toy back into its drawer, pulling up the covers to try and sleep off the guilt.

Your husband left for his business trip a few days ago, and you made preparations for your first guest in a while. You finally set up the tea set when you heard a knock at your door, springing up, you head towards the door to look through the peephole, you see Minghao dressed a little more casually, a cap on his head and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

You swiftly unlock the door for him, he smiles upon seeing you, tipping his cap, he says, “Good evening, it's a pleasure to finally be invited into your home.” You greet him back, stepping to the side to let him enter. As he does, he takes his cap off to let his hair fall onto his face again.

He offers you the flowers and you take them, “I'll go find a vase for these, make yourself at home, dinner is still cooking in the oven.” You said as you turned back to find another vase.

After finding one and setting the flowers in your office again, you find Minghao setting a record on your turntable, a slow tune plays through the air, instantly making the room feel calmer and homey.

“I didn't pin you as the type to have such an extensive vinyl collection, you have good taste too.” He said, swaying to the music by shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“I didn't feel the need to mention it considering I haven't touched those in a while. My husband hates them.” You say solemnly.

“Well, he isn't here now. Let's enjoy the music,” he said, holding his hand out for you to take, “Dance with me?”

You smile as you take his hand, he suddenly pulls you towards him and you land on his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely as you sway to the calm of the music.

You think to yourself, This is nice, this is safe. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be married to Minghao instead.

You turn your head and press your ear to his chest, hear him breathe slowly, his heart beating rhythmically. This is the first time you were ever this close to him, practically holding him in a loving embrace.

His woody cologne almost distracts you, so seductive and masculine and you almost reach up to cup his face, to kiss him. Before you realize that he isn't your husband.

You're both snapped out of your little bubble when the oven dings, signaling that dinner is ready. You break away from him, already missing his warmth as you set the dining table, one that hasn't been used in a while.

You eat dinner with him, talking about your days and how work has been. It's a welcome change of pace from your husband’s tolerance of your presence. You didn't have to beg Minghao for footnotes on his life, you didn't feel like you're taking up too much of his space or time.

It's safe, secure. It feels like you're being celebrated for existing.

You dwell on this feeling long after Minghao heads home, your stomach and heart full. As you slip into the covers you wonder what it'll feel like to hold him under them, for him to kiss the crown of your head and whisper the three words you desperately wanted to hear again.

You fall asleep with the fantasy that when you wake up, he'll be right next to you.

Minghao invited you downtown this time, various pop-up stores of luxury brands recently opened and he just secured a sale of a really expensive painting; so of course, what better way to spend that money than taking a shopping trip with his closest friend.

“This would look amazing on you.” He said while taking out a dress, it's a color that compliments your hair and skin wonderfully. Minghao always knew how to dress.

“Oh, I'm inclined to agree, but I'm not willing to look at the price tag for that one.” You joke, shrugging as you follow him around the store.

“Nonsense, I'm offering to pay.” He said, turning his nose up. “I'm getting this for you, I'll ask the salesperson for more sizes so you can try them on.” He said, turning to the salesperson doing just that.

The salesperson nods enthusiastically, bringing the dresses to the dressing rooms and ushering you in despite your protests. Minghao only smiles in amusement as the curtain hides your figure, he sits on the bench near the dressing rooms in silence, scrolling through Instagram on his phone.

He hears the curtains roll open, it only takes a moment of him looking at you in the dress to take his breath away. It fits you perfectly, hugging your body deliciously. Minghao almost drops his phone onto his lap, his grip loosening, star-struck by your beauty.

“How does it look?” You ask, awkwardly fiddling with the expensive fabric of the dress, feeling a little too expensive to be on your body.

Minghao wordlessly stands from the bench, looking a little dazed, he turns to the salesperson and tells them, “We're getting the dress.” As he walks toward the cashier almost in a trance.

You're a little taken aback by his reaction, but nonetheless you change back into your regular clothes. As soon as you walk out of the dressing room Minghao Pushes you back in with more dresses.

“Please try these on.” He says, not having the strength to look you in the eyes. You comply.

It took you hours of trying on dresses and accessories to the point that you almost bought the store out. Minghao couldn't get enough of the mini-fashion show you were putting on for him, and it's not like the salespeople are complaining either.

You walk out of the first store with multiple bags in hand, you thought that was enough shopping for the whole year maybe, but no, Minghao pulls you into another store, and another, and another, all leaving with bags (multiple) of clothes.

It got so bad to the point that Minghao had to leave your bags in his car so you could free up your hands to buy more stuff.

You stopped trying to fathom the amount of money Minghao was spending on you, yes, he did buy items for himself too, but he looked much more satisfied to provide for you rather than procuring items for himself.

The car ride back home was filled with way too many ‘are you sure's and ‘you really didn't have to's. But Minghao was insistent on you keeping all the items he got for you.

“I'm being serious, you're a gorgeous woman, you deserve to be spoiled like a queen.” he said, turning to you while waiting at a red light, “You need to visit my studio in the clothes I got you, you'll fit right in with my paintings.” He smiles.

Your face flushes at his compliments, a bright and happy smile stretching across your face. You couldn't remember the last time you were this happy with someone. To find joy in the company of another felt liberating, you felt like you deserved this.

Minghao drops you off at your place with your new clothes, helping you get them into your living room like a true gentleman.

“I'll see you next time, Y/n.” He said stopping at your doorstep, annd leaning down to press a kiss on the crown of your head, he took note of what your shampoo smelled like and left. Leaving you awestruck in your doorway as you watch his car drive off.

This studio has become so familiar to you, like a second home almost. Punching in the code was muscle memory at this point, the smell of drying paint and clay becoming a calming scent.

You smooth over the front of your dress, one that Minghao got you, as you enter his studio again. Shrugging off your heavier coat, the beginning of winter creeps closer as the trees lose the last of their leaves.

Minghao just got out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his paint-stained shirt and apron. He looks at you, the dress, the way it fits on you. And he smiles widely.

“Hey there gorgeous, what are you doing all the way there? You should be over there with the rest of the art.” He says cheekily.

You giggle as you enter the space more, stopping in front of him taking his extended hand and following it, giving him a twirl.

He simply adores the way the fabric flows and shapes around your curves and contours, your skin practically glowing with life.

He fights the urge to kiss you, succeeding for now.

He guides you onto the couch, a turntable sitting next to his stone tea tray on the coffee table. ”Oh? This is new.” You said when you noticed it.

“Oh that? I got it for when you come over. I got a few records too, if you'd like to make yourself comfortable while I brew us some tea.” He said, untying his apron to hang on an easel, turning his back to you and he started preparing tea like before.

His movements and practiced, you'd guess this tea ceremony is second nature to him, considering he always talks about it. This scene is safe, familiar, it's comfortable.

He does this whole song and dance again, you've seen him do this over and over again but you can't seem to get sick of it. It's like you're giving yourself excuses just to keep seeing him.

But they don't feel like excuses, not at all, they're just more reasons why you feel deeply, and so quickly for Minghao.

Again, the both of you talk about everything and anything under the sun, him walking you through all his latest pieces, him plans for new ones creativity vibrating through ever cell in his body.

You imagine him talking so passionately about the future, maybe even a future with you.

Before you could realize what you were doing, you’re holding onto Minghao’s shoulders for support,

and you lean up to kiss him.

Minghao fights the urge to kiss back, he fails.

His hands come up to cup the back of your head tilting his head to deepen the kiss, pouring all his emotions into the simple, gesture of affection.

Your head was spinning, dizzy from his cologne and the wind getting knocked from your lungs as soon as your lips met his. It was electrifying, finally feeling the warmth of his body pressed so close, yet so far from yours.

Oh, you wanted him, so, so badly.

He pulls away first, heaving from the intensity of the kiss, eyes in a daze. Meeting your eyes again, he couldn’t help but lean in for another kiss.

This time he's really pressing into you seemingly drunk off of the feeling of his lips meeting yours. He's just a man at the end of the day, a weak, weak man in the face of paradise.

He came back to his senses once he felt the cool metal of your wedding ring on his neck. Jolting back, he pushed your shoulders back, creating a significant distance between the two of you.

“I, I think you should leave.” He said turning to hide in his studio bathroom to collect his thoughts.

You stood there puzzled, did he not feel the same way you did? But why did he kiss you, twice? Something isn't adding up.

But moreover, you can't ignore the painful sting this rejection gave you. You wanted him, did he not want you? What was the point of trying so hard to make you fall for him when he just decided to back down when he finally had you?

You gather your belongings and leave the studio, the door clicking to lock behind you. The ride back was suffocating, it felt like you left a part of yourself in that studio with Minghao. And you fear that this may be the last time you see him.

You haven’t spoken to Minghao in the weeks following the kiss, your nerves on fire every time you remember how his pillow lips felt so right on yours.

You're standing in front of the mural. The one where Hephestus caught Aphrodite, his wife, and Hephestus, her lover, having an affair and having sex on their marital bed.

It's funny, looking at this mural. You spent your last weeks wandering his gallery, searching for his shadow, but he always seems to evade you so easily. He's marked you like a bloodstain on a pristine white dress, lingering like fog on a cold autumn day.

Winter is still young, yet you feel cold. So, so cold.

As if your most desperate prayers were heard, Minghao practically materializes next to you.

“Hi. I'm sorry I wasn't able to speak to you for the past few weeks. I'm a coward, a fool to run from you.” He said, both of you looking at the mural and not at each other.

Silence follows, you couldn't look at him, you couldn't speak to him. “Y/n I-”

“This isn't the place to talk about this.” You said coldly.

Minghao flinches a bit, not used to how icy your voice was. It usually greets him so warmly, so lovingly.

“Let's go out to drink, there's a bar that's walking distance from here, if you'd like go go with me. I have too many things to say to you, too many thoughts left unsaid. You deserve to hear them, at least.” He said, remorseful.

You really couldn't find it in yourself to stay mad at him. So you agree to walk with him.

The walk to the bar is silent, unlike your previous walks. You're so far from him, you even refused to hold onto his arm like you usually do.

It's early winter yet Minghao is sweating bullets, he's almost vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass. His nerves are all over the place, he's acting so out of character, nothing like the calm, cool, collected Minghao you've come to know over the past few months.

He takes a deep breathe before you both enter the bar.

A few drinks in and you’re already tipsy, “You know- hic- my husband is being a dick to me.” You drunkenly slurred, “This novel I’ve been writing for over two years now is fucking me in the ass- I- I want to finish it so desperately but all he does is sucks the soul out of me. He’s a giant pain in the ass-!”

Minghao snorts at this, loudly talking over the music of the bar, “Your husband is a fucking dick! Your work is amazing. If I were him, I would do anything to help you get rid of that writer’s block, you know, inspire you.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’d do that?” You ask, clinging onto his arm, “Thank youuuu hao bear~ you’re the best-!” You giggle into his arm, your weight pressing against his side. You’ve only known him for three months at this point, but his ideas and influence on your work improved your writing and motivation drastically.

“Hao bear? That’s new, you’ve only known me for- what? 3 months? You’re already calling me nicknames!” He holds the back of your head gently, pressing his forehead onto yours, “I should give you a nickname too… Starlight, how does that sound?” At this point, you tune out every other sound other than the sound of his voice and the pounding of your heart.

This man had you in a chokehold the moment you met him, you were fucking doomed from the start.

“Starlight? Yeah, I like it more than a little bit.” You say softly, your words almost getting lost in the noise of the bar.

“Let’s move to somewhere quieter, yeah? Tell me more about your work. We can head to my place to settle down for a bit.” There it is, the same dark, barely there smirk that plagues your stomach with butterflies.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Arriving at Minghao’s place, you take a quick look around his apartment. Everywhere you look is a pop of color, bold splotches of vibrant hues making the place look like it was pulled straight out of the 80s, “Hao, your place is amazing, the furniture brings me so much joy~” You giggle a bit, sitting down at the plush red velvet couch shaped like a seashell.

“Thanks! Most of the furniture is thrifted from retro thrift stores, I like this style more. It brings so much personality to the space.” He passionately talks about them, “Do you want anything to drink? I have water, juice, and beer here.” He says, rummaging through his fridge.

“Oh, just water, please.” You say you have a feeling that you need to at least sober up for whatever the night brings.

He takes two glasses of water and places them down on the coffee table. It’s the only piece in the entire house that is a neutral color, a fine hardwood. You couldn’t tell what it was at a glance, not that it was important anyway.

“So, let’s talk about this book that you’ve been struggling to write now. Could you tell me what it’s about?” He asks, taking a swig of his water, you stare at his side profile while he does, sharp yet delicate features, his Adam’s apple bobbing from his drink.

Bro’s so majestic.

“Well, it’s about an artist who’s losing passion for his work, told from the perspective of his lover. It’s a spicy romance, with, in my opinion, a correct amount of sex scenes-”

“Give me a percentage of how much of it is smut.” Minghao interrupts you,

“Like… 75 percent?” He snorts at this, “Anyway, I’ve been stuck on the last spicy scene of the book, the climax, pun not intended,” You take a swig of your water, “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have experience writing that sort of thing, or lack experience in sex either, but my sex life’s been such a drag with my husband being gone for long periods and-”

Minghao interrupts you again, “And he doesn’t fuck you right, does he?”

The forwardness of his words made you freeze, you contemplated whether to reject him here, to tell him it wasn’t appropriate to talk about this with you, especially about your husband. You know how Minghao looks at you. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that he wanted you, but he never acted in any inappropriate way. He never makes you uncomfortable.

This was no exception. The swirling in your stomach wasn’t because of unease, no, this was because of arousal.

“No, no he doesn’t.”

He leans in, kissing you. This time he's not rushing, no more pushing and pulling, no more things left unsaid. He wants you, he'll have you. That was a promise.

He lifts you from the couch, lips never parting as he carries you to his bedroom, peeling each other's clothes, bumping into walls and furniture. But you couldn't care less, you were lost in each other's embrace and you can't think of another place you'd rather be.

Half-naked on Minghao’s bed, who, need you be reminded, was not your husband.

His hands roamed your sides, the heat from his palms warming your skin, causing it to flush, his soft, plump lips pressing feather-light kisses to your neck. You could feel his breath behind your ear, his hair tickling your cheek.

“How would your husband feel if he knew what you were doing with me right now?” He asks, clearly getting off on the fact that you were in his bed, getting ready to fuck him, a man who wasn’t your husband.

“I hope he’d be disappointed, but at this point, I think he forgot about me.” You say with a chuckle at the end, trying not to ruin the mood.

Minghao gently pulls away from you from that, “What?” he asks quietly, the word almost getting drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning, “Sorry, I know this was supposed to be a taboo, forbidden relationship thing but… I’m angry at him.” He says, avoiding your eyes.

“I know I’ve only known you for a few months, but I never felt this way before. It fucking kills me to think that a woman like you would be forgotten, for what exactly? Work?” He said anger gradually filling his voice. His hand reaches for your face when your eyes meet, thumbs pressing down on your cheekbone. The controlled and purposeful movement reminds you just how pliable you are under his touch. He sculpted you into what he wanted you to be; beautiful, strong, unashamed.

You gently cup his face, still hovering above you, “Kiss me, Minghao.”

And he did.

His lips met yours in a searing embrace, just the force of his passion against yours was dizzying, fiery desire clashing to make fireworks behind the eyelids that fluttered close. You never felt this type of longing from your husband, never felt his devotion being kissed through your lips like Minghao’s tongue was exploring it.

At that moment, you knew you were gone.

Minghao pulled away from you, hazy eyes meeting yours as the string of saliva that connected your mouths broke. At that moment, Minghao was stuck in a trance, his lips coming to meet yours over and over like he couldn’t stop tasting your lips even if he tried. A sweet ambrosia, too saccharine to stop. He’s become addicted to your lips molding onto his like sickly sweet honey sticking to his lips.

Out of breath, he grabs hold of your waist, rolling over to get you on top of him. He reaches behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra and letting your breasts fall free from it. He cups both of them while you sit up, grinding on his hardening cock through his boxers, he groans at this, reflexively squeezing your boobs.

Placing both of your hands on his pecs, you also give them a gentle squeeze. Minghao notices this and his gaze darkens, passing his thumbs over your hardening nipples. Your pussy clenches onto nothing at this, a soft gasp leaves you as you started to grind harder against Minghao.

His nails started to dig into your hips, his own desperately grinding up against you for more friction. Soft moans leave him as he throws his head back against the pillows, eyes fluttering close just so he could focus on the sensations of your clothed cunt grinding against his cock through his boxers.

“God, get off of me before I cum in my underwear like a teenager.” He says with a playful groan, lifting your hips off from his crotch.

“Right, you still need to cum inside of me.” You say back playfully, his eyes darkened at this.

“Fuck, you make me want to keep you forever,” taking one of your hands and placing a kiss on your palm.

He lifts his hips only enough to get his boxers off, shimmying them off to somewhere on the floor near his bed. You also take this time to take your underwear off, secretly hiding it under his pillow when you lean down to kiss him again.

When you both pulled away, another string of saliva connected you two. You took two fingers to swipe at the liquid, bringing it down to rub your clit while you lowered yourself down to grind on his bare cock now.

Minghao hisses, “Fuck, I can feel how wet and warm you are, sweet christ.” he breathes out a shaky breath as you grind your bare wetness on his cock, lubricating the shaft for later. You moan at the contact, body slightly shaking from the friction of the tip of his cock hitting your clit occasionally.

“God, Minghao, fuck I need you inside me.” You desperately whine out. You lifted your hips up to finally hold his hard cock to align it with your pussy, slowly sinking on the thick girth. You throw your head back at the satisfying stretch his dick was making you feel.

“Fuck, you feel so good, so tight and warm,” He moans, he’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels with how vocal he’s being, he takes your right hand and holds it tightly, pressing it against his chest. You could feel his racing heartbeat under his skin, “Let me keep you forever, please, don’t make me beg, run away with me.”

You openly gape at him from this, You’d be a fool to accept this, especially since you’ve only known him for a fraction of the time you knew your husband, but god dammit.

“Take me with you, anywhere you want to go. I’m yours, please take me.” You say desperately. You’ve never been wanted this badly before, and god, you wanted more, for the rest of time.

Minghao abruptly thrusts up into you from this, tightly clenching your hand in his, still pressing on top of his racing heart under the skin. You cry out in pleasure, somehow the sensation of his heart under your palm elevates your pleasure, making you go dizzy at the thought that you’re doing this to him, and only you.

You come close to your climax embarrassingly quick, the sensation of his cock rubbing your velvet walls so perfectly made your head spin. Your ears are ringing so loudly that it almost drowns out your sounds of pleasure, and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Minghao isn’t far from you either, the same dizzying effect taking hold of his mind too. He’s so close to finishing that he could almost taste it, his moans and whines of your name leaving his lips like a mantra, a prayer, even.

“Minghao I’m gonna cum-!” you say frantically, pressing your forehead onto his as he meets your lips with his for the nth time. You swallow the moans he spills into your mouth as you both climax at the same time. His heart still beating frantically under your palm.

“Did you mean that?” You ask breathlessly, “When you said you wanted me forever, did you mean it?” you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Exactly, I meant it word for word. Let me replace the ring on your finger with mine.” He smiles at you.

In the end, he did replace the ring on your finger with his, much more extravagant, and elaborate. Your husband wasn’t surprised at your sudden request for a divorce, since your marriage was already failing before you met Minghao.

Still, time was the ultimate truthteller.

Your husband found out about your High Infidelity around the middle of your divorce proceedings, and in a rage, he threw you and all your belongings out onto the driveway. In the middle of winter rain.

The rain soaked into your skin, cold and icy piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

You finished your book, it received critical acclaim and it was a New York Times Best-Seller.

And you got to marry Minghao, the love of your life. Who you were happily married to until the both of you grew old.

FIN.

166 notes · View notes

murciafire · 8 months

Text

My Jacket, My Girl

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | You and Jason had been friends for the longest time, and today you had to ask him for a favor. Who can resist saying no when you bring scones?

Warnings | If you squint smut is implied

Words | ~2.5k

Notes | this is my very first fanfic so dfgfdgfd pls forgive me if it’s not good. This has been running rampage in my brain and I really needed to get it out. Jason Todd has been living in my head rent free and it’s time he pays up.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*: ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

Sirens cried to a crescendo, faltering until it fused with the unrelenting sounds of traffic; it was a rhythm, a song that struck itself against the window, barely muffled by the thin glass that already struggled to keep the Gotham chill out. The sound did not die, not entirely, in its slow diminuendo through the pane, but enough that it became a murmur, like the soft pattering of the rain that became insistent through the evening. It seeped through the kitchen window, entering the small apartment, the sound as steady as Jason’s hands as he prepped dinner for himself.

It was a slow night, one that he favored but had yet to admit that to anyone, where life trickled by as slow as the rain drops sliding down the pane. It was odd, he supposed, that this sense of solitary in his kitchen brought a sort of consolation, a normalcy despite what he did every night. And he knew that despite the solace he found, there would always be something to pull him back to what he was. And his knuckles were a testimony to that, bruised and swelling, marked like a lover had kissed his skin with lips stained red.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. He did not have to think that; it was ridiculous and he knew it, because damn him for thinking exactly who’s lips he wanted to touch his skin. He clenched his jaw, about to busy himself with another vegetable when he heard the front door unlock.

He didn’t tense, not when he knew that there was only one other person who had a copy of his key. He had just placed the knife he was holding next to the cutting board when y/n walked in, her hair damp and cheeks flushed from the frigid weather and rain. His eyes flicked over her, barely noticing the pastry box she carried, too preoccupied with what she wore—and some part of him, he felt, died with how this woman was killing him.

Dressed in a jean skirt that barely covered her thighs—which he was still debating whether he should tear his eyes away from—and a black fitting top, there was nothing left for him to imagine. Well, there were lots of things that he could imagine, but what caught him off guard was that she was wearing his leather jacket. It hung on her loosely, in a way he knew she found comfortable, the bottom of it just brushing her legs where her skirt stopped. His breath hitched and he looked down at the counter, steadying himself.

“It’s cold out,” she said, taking off her ankle boots in the hallway, walking into the kitchen towards where he stood. She plopped the pastry box on the counter, then flicked her eyes to him.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers. His voice was low, hoarse as he tried to keep the hunger out of his voice.

“No, I was in the area and thought I’d dop by to give you some pastries,” she said, her voice a little too sweet for him not to notice. He narrowed his eyes, picking up on her tone. She wanted something and he knew it. He’s known her for so long that she was a book that he read with ease, one that he wanted to split open and dive into its pages.

“You just decided to come by? Just for that? Just because you wanted to give me pastries and spend time together?” he asked sarcastically, crossing his arms as he leaned back on the counter to look at her.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like her in his jacket, the way it sat on her, the way it made her look like she was his.

“What? Am I not allowed to see my best friend?” she retorted, crossing her arms, mirroring him. Jason grunted, rolling his eyes.

“Of course, you can see me, but it’s a little strange to bring pastries with you to spend time with your best friend, don’t you think?” he said back, his tone dry as he raised an eyebrow. “There’s something you’re not telling me. You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

There was no way, he thought, that this was a chance meeting. It certainly didn’t have to do with baked goods, not with her legs on display and her in his jacket.

“Fine, if you’re being so picky about this, then maybe you don’t deserve the pastries,” she huffed, annoyed. She walked around him to where she placed the box, pulling it towards her.

“You’re right. I don’t deserve them,” Jason smirked, turning around to face her, reaching his hand out to where the box was. “Because it isn’t about the pastries. And you know it.”

His fingers inched closer to the pastry box, keeping his eyes trained on her. His lips were slightly parted, curving into a ghost of a smile. She looked so good in his jacket.

“That’s too bad,” she said, pulling the box closer to her and out of Jason’s reach, “because I got your favourite scones.”

“You did not pick up scones,” he growled, trying to grab the box from her hands as he looked into her eyes. He tried to not lose himself in them, as he usually did. Maybe it was the way they could change from cold and distant to burning with passion in an instant. She was a mystery he wanted to figure out, a religion he found in the crevices of her body. He stepped closer to her, the smell of rain, flora, and him radiating off her and pulling him in.

“I know you too well, y/n. You don’t do these things because you feel like it. You’re here because you want something,” he said, his words barely above a whisper.

She looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed in determination, and he bit back a smile at how cute she looked.

“I did get scones,” she muttered out stubbornly, “and I can’t believe you think I want something.”

“You took my jacket!” he said, his voice laced with frustration as it raised slightly. “There is absolutely something you’re trying to get at!”

“Your jacket is under shared custody. It’s not my fault this leather jacket looks so good. Maybe you shouldn’t have left me looking in your closet. It’s free thrifting,” she shot back.

“You knew it was mine!” he grounded out. In the back of his mind, he wasn’t entirely upset. Not at all, not when he left that jacket in the closet knowing she would look in there. He had wanted her to try it on, and here they were because of it.

“And now it’s mine,” she said coolly, crossing her arms.

“You don’t just get to walk into my apartment and take my jacket for yourself,” he said frustrated. His eyes flicked to her hips, where her shirt showed the barest sliver of her stomach, then back up, staring her down with agitation.

“I’m pretty sure at this point what’s yours is mine,” she noted, fighting back a smile. Jason licked his lips, eyes bright as he stared at her. There was no denying how badly he wanted to tear that jacket off her at that very moment.

“Do you hear yourself, y/n? You’re stealing from me,” he rasped.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Jay. How is this any different from taking your hoodies?”

She stepped back, twirling around to show him her outfit. “Doesn’t it look good?”

Jason stayed quiet as he watched her, taking in every inch of skin and curves. She looked incredible in his jacket, which only made him want it more and more.

“It does look good,” he said slowly. “But that doesn't mean it stays on you.”

“I’ll give it back tomorrow,” she promised.

“No, you’ll give it back now,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. He knew deep down he didn’t need that jacket. He needed her—to put his hands on her and take it back. He wanted to rip it off and touch every part of her that he could.

“It’s my jacket,” he added.

“Not for this evening,” she said back. “I need it.”

“You need to give it back,” he said, voice tinged with frustration. His hand flexed as he thought about dragging her into his room, and taking it off right then and there, but he held himself back.

“Why don’t you calm down? Have a scone?” she suggested, looking at the agitation creeping into his features.

“I don’t want a scone,” he bit out. “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me why you’re really here. You didn’t just stop by just to give me scones.”

“I wanted to visit my best friend,” she excused again, averting his gaze.

“And why did you want to visit your best friend?” he mused, narrowing his eyes, pushing for the truth. She never had to have an invitation to come over, especially not that sore of an excuse of scones of all things.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Because I may or may not need a favor,” she relented reluctantly.

Jason paused, mulling over what she said. He knew she wanted something, and there were only so many favours she could be asking for what required her wearing his jacket and showing off her legs.

“Oh?” he asked casually. “And what might that favor be?”

“I want you to take my virginity,” she said bluntly.

Jason’s lips parted, his jaw dropping slightly as he looked at her. “You did not just say that.”

He watched her expression, looking for any tells that that she was joking. And if she wasn’t, she was being way too casual about it. Jason was already half-tempted to give in, despite knowing it was a terrible idea.

“Do you want me to say it again?” she asked sarcastically.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “Say it again and say it slowly.”

“I want you to take my virginity,” she said again, exaggerating the speed in which she said it. She said it out of annoyance, but Jason could tell she was nervous with the way she played with the rings on her fingers out of habit.

Jason’s gaze flicked down to her legs, considering the idea—strongly.

“Is this what this entire visit is about?” he asked, voice suddenly quieter. He wanted her, always had. He wanted this—needed this. There was not a single part of him that didn’t, but deep down, there was a part of him saying that he shouldn’t.

“Well, I mean, yes,” she said, stumbling over her words. “Hence me trying to persuade you with scones.”

“You’re telling me the only reason you brought me baked goods was to see if I would sleep with you?” he asked in disbelief. “So, what? It’s my reward? My prize?”

He was trying to tease her, but there was an air of seriousness to him now. He wanted this.

“I thought it was an equal price to pay,” she quipped back.

“I feel like the scales are a little tipped, sweetheart,” he remarked. He stepped closer, placing his hands on either side of her, trapping her against the counter. “What more could you possibly want? What more could you possibly ask of me? If this is how much you wanted to try and tempt a man, I can’t imagine what else you’d want from this . . .”

“If you don’t want the scones, I can get something different,” she uttered out, face flushing at the sudden proximity.

“I’m not here for the pastries,” he said, his voice low and soft as he dipped his head into the crook of her neck. “And you know it.”

Her breath hitched and he looked back up, her eyes searching his before dropping to his lips. “So, do we have a deal?”

“We do,” he said, his voice gravelly as he watched her with intensity, his hands inching closer to her hips, sliding across the counter to pin her there more.

“Good,” she breathed.

Jason’s gaze darkened as he looked back at her face. “My room. Now.”

He wasn’t asking, he was commanding, already walking into his room knowing that y/n was obediently following behind. She had barely stepped in before Jason was on her, pressing her up against the wall, kissing her with the fervor of a man who only lived to love one woman.

She kissed him back, her hands in his hair softly tugging, and he groaned. She tasted better than he thought, and as he continued to kiss her, he held back a grin. She had also tasted very faintly of the raspberry scones she had brought. She had eaten one—what a traitor, and so very much like her to do so. And that is what he loved about her, the little things she did. He didn’t care if she had eaten one, she could’ve eaten all of them, if he knew what they were going to do tonight. She swiped her tongue along his bottom lip and he moaned, opening his mouth without hesitation. She could have him, all of him. He wanted her to.

And God, he felt like he was going to drop to his knees and start muttering her name like a prayer, begging her if he didn’t feel her skin. He let his head fall, kissing her neck, making her elicit moans that if he could, he’d bottle them up and listen to—other than her laugh of course, another sound he often bottled up in head and got drunk off later. His hands gripped her waist, his thumbs rubbing soft circles.

“Are you sure you want me to take you?” he rasped out, pulling back.

“If you don’t mind,” she smirked. Smart-ass. “Unless you’re already backing out from our deal?”

He smirked back. “Hell no.”

“Then take me,” she challenged, her eyes burning, and pupils blown wide.

He groaned, his hand wrapping around her throat, her eyes fluttering closed. “Is that all you’re good for?” he asked, his voice low, just above a whisper. “For me to take? To use?”

Her back arched at his words, a moan slipping past her lips, cheeks flushing. Jason’s eyes narrowed, watching her expression. “That was hot,” he remarked, his other hand slipping up her thigh teasingly.

He kissed her again, all teeth and tongue as he pulled off her—his jacket. “You should’ve never worn my jacket,” he whispered, his face against her neck just below her ear where he kissed the skin there lightly. “You asked for this.”

He lifted his head up from the crook of her neck, looking into her eyes. “Tell me what you want me to do. Use your words, love.”

Y/n could feel her neck flush, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. “Making me talk? Thought you liked me better when I shut up.”

“I like it better when you beg,” he smirked.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #bestfriend!Jason Todd #red hood #red hood x reader #bestfriends to lovers #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader smut #red hood smut #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood x fem!reader #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd fanfiction #batman #dc batman #dc comics #batboys #batfamily

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twistedbloodstain · 7 months

Note

Heyo! I gotta know when the akira sister Fic is gonna be released

also! Could you do a one shot where Vincent gets jealous

vincent de gramont x reader: you know how i hate the crowds. | i smell him but i only see you.

plot: the one where he gets jealous

warnings: sweet fluff, not very possessive jealousy, healthy communication (shocking i know)

masterlist

fiddling with the ends of the sleeves, you then softly caress your skirt, attempting to make it appear more cleaner from the state it was currently in. the red wine stains the front of your dress, it drenched you and the clothing itself. it devastated you to see such a lovely piece from your wardrobe be ruined within a few minutes, not to mention the humiliation it entailed during one of vincent’s fancy events.

someone had collided with you when you weren’t looking and the glass of wine you held splashed across you chest. albeit, vincent was just as shocked as you when it happened, still all eyes were definitely on you during that collision. you could feel their burning stares of confusion and scrutiny from the accident and the shame of it only sunk deeper into you.

thankfully, the person you collided with was kind enough to offer their suit jacket to you while you offered showers of apologies to him. he reassured you that it was alright while he draped his jacket onto you. soon after that you begged vincent if you could leave considering the uncompromising state you were in. vincent obliged but oddly he hasn’t said a word since the both of you got in the car.

you could feel his stare on you again. you looked up at him.

“something wrong?” you asked.

vincent stares at you before he opens his mouth to reply but a moment of hesitation is visible on his face before he closes his mouth.

“vincent?” you try again.

“it’s nothing,” he replies but his eyes don’t meet yours.

“if..this is about what happened earlier i’m sorry. i know how much you wanted to stay there,” you begin to ramble.

“no, no this isn’t about that.” he assures as vincent laces his hands with yours.

“then what is it about?” you ponder puzzled.

“i can smell him on you.” he confessed.

“what?”

“…his jacket”

he doesn’t make a reply but his eyes make his way on the jacket currently draped on you.

oh.

a giggle escapes your throat, vincent’s eyes widen from you reaction. a tinge of pink begins to make itself visible in the dark shades of the car. vincent squeezes your hand a little too tight in retaliation which only makes you chuckle.

“you like to tease me a little too much from my liking, mon amour.”

“and you get too jealous over little things, darling.”

author’s note: sorry this is short…this is the quickest i can cough up since exam week’s almost here…I’ll try to work on your requests cuz a lot of them are EATING. hopefully, i’ll have the time after exam week. :) thanks for the support!

#marquis de gramont #vincent de gramont #vincent de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont x reader #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgård #asks #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard x reader #john wick #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard icons #bill skarsgard crackship #bill skarsgard gif #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic

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cumulo-stratus · 4 months

Note

hi sweet max!

I’m here to drop in a request for Aaron x bau!reader, where reader’s just noticing all the little things Aaron does for them in their day to make it better and easier and how THOUGHTFUL HE IS, like maybe he buys their favourite drinks to stock the fridge on the jet and in the office, making sure that their keyboard at their desk is always charged bc he’s there so late at night and he knows they’d forget. maybe he picks them up in the mornings to make sure they get to work on time. Just him trying his hardest to help them out in teeny tiny ways that make a big difference? sorry if this is long or boring I can try something else but yeah! He’s just so cute and thoughtful. Also masc or gn reader is fine, whichever you prefer!! <3

The Little Things

Request- yes/no

Pairing- Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

Summary- you notice all the little things Aaron does for you everyday (could be read as romantic or platonic)

warnings- like one use of y/n, fear of flying, mentions of eating/not eating

A/N- Rooommmee!!!! Thank you for this absolutely lovely request, I hade SO much fun writing this, and I may have gotten a little bit carried away😅! But anyways he would SO do that- he's a gentleman fs!! Love u Rome 🫶🫶

wc- 2k

Despite the bright, morning light shining through the large rectangular windows, you still yawned for what must’ve been the fifth time in just as many minutes. In your defense the team had wrapped up a case pretty late the night before. Which meant by the time you were in bed and asleep, it was only a couple hours until your alarm went off to go back to work again the next morning.

Spencer had arrived around the same time as you—you both took public transit to work— so he pushed open one of the large glass doors marking the entrance of the BAU. Both you and Reid offered each other warm, but tired smiles as he let you go ahead of him, holding the door.

coincidentally, you both start making your way to the small kitchenette in the corner of the large bullpen. since you hadn’t had any coffee yet, you B-lined straight for the old, barely functioning coffee maker. Gideon had refused to get a new one when Garcia mentioned getting a keurig, stating that all the new ones these days were too fancy- a coffee maker did not need a screen. So that's how you ended up with a coffee pot with stains and knicks all over it from constant use. But what you noticed when you approached it wasn't the coffee maker itself. But what was sitting next to it.

your snoopy mug!

you couldn't help but break out into a grin at the sight of your favorite mug, it was white with an image of the little white dog, sitting on top of his little house in his signature aviator goggles, hat, and a red scarf. Except the bright red scarf trailed out behind him and morphed into the handle of the mug.

Reid noticed your excitement as he poured his own mug of coffee. The pot was about ¾ full, Hotch and Morgan having already got to it. “Nice mug” Reid commented with a smile as he stirred what must’ve been at least 2 tablespoons of sugar. You thought he was smiling because it was a cute mug—which it was—but Spencer was mostly smiling because he had noticed hotch watching from the window of his office.

Aarons face had one of his rare smiles that actually reached his eyes. He couldn’t help but blush as he watched you fawn over the mug to Reid. A couple minutes later, after Reid had left for his desk, you made eye contact with Aaron, smiling. Then, if he hadn’t gotten the point already, you took a sip of the hot coffee- which you had forgotten was still hot and scrunched your face in pain. It had burned your tongue, causing you to stick your tongue out in pain. Aaron laughed at the silent scene he watched unfold, but you didn't notice as you had already shook it off and walked to your desk.

Only minutes after you had settled into your desk, JJ stood on the raised walkway above the bullpen, calling for everyone to meet in the round table room. They had a case. You a bit reluctantly, heaved yourself up from your chair, the weight of sleep still wearing off. Derek chuckled, and gave your arm a playful shove. As you walked by Spencer's desk, Morgan mussed with his hair to get his attention, as he was so absorbed in his book that he hadn’t heard JJ announce the case.

“Come on pretty boy, we got a case-“ Morgan didn’t finish his sentence before you had sped ahead to catch up with Aaron as he made his way to the round table room. “Thanks for the cereal bar by the way, I forgot breakfast on the way out again.” You spoke casually, barely even making eye contact with him, as this was a normal occurrence. You often arrive at work to find a cereal bar, or pastry on your desk with a little note on it. They were usually Aaron reminding you how important it was to eat.

“you need to eat breakfast you know y/n, it’ll affect your abilities in cases if you're not careful you know” you just rolled your eyes at Aarons comment, he was often very protective in that way. Although it was a bit annoying sometimes, you mostly found it endearing. It showed that he cared.

Instead of responding to Aaron’s comment, you just took a bite of your cereal bar as you sat down. JJ started going over the case, 3 women in Wisconsin were missing and presumed dead after days of searching.

”wheels up” hotch called to the team, and everyone almost immediately dispersed to get themselves ready to leave.

—

As everyone filed onto the plane and took their seats, you followed Aaron, as you and he often bounced ideas of each other well. And for one other reason. but no one else, not even Emily, your best friend (only second to Aaron), knew about it except for you two.

You had a fear of flying, take off and landing in particular always freaked you out. You knew it wasn't a good phobia to have, considering how much flying you had to do for your job, but you couldn’t help it. That’s where Aaron came in, you would always sit next to him at the tables, and he would always offer you his hand under the table. He never said anything about it, and no one ever noticed. but every flight a minute or so before takeoff and landing he would rest his hand palm up on your thigh in a silent offering of comfort. and every flight for a minute or so after take off and landing he would keep your hand in his, letting you play with his fingers knowing it often helped you ground yourself and refocus.

That day he offered a small smile along with his hand when no one else was looking. Morgan and Reid were arguing, JJ was scolding them, Rossi was reading a book, and Emily was getting herself a cup of tea. You decided to get yourself something too, after take off of course when the plane was safely en route to wisconsin.

When you approached the tiny kitchenette of the jet the first thing that came to mind was something snarky, like cheetos. JJ always kept them stocked. But then you noticed your favorite as you scanned the small cupboard, cheddar pringle’s! They were cheesy, crunchy and salty- aka the perfect chip. You immediately grabbed them and tore off the lid, excited to eat the crunchy chips. You had only had coffee and a cereal bar to eat so far that day. Aaron watched you walk back to your seat with a contented smile on your face and a small bounce to your step.

When you arrived at your seat you didn't hesitate to plop down next to Aaron and take a big bite of chips. He couldn’t help but laugh a bit at your obsession with the salty snack and decided to comment, knowing he had put them there last case, noticing they didn't have any.

“oh, looks like you found your favorite, how nice-“ his smile was almost sly and you noticed. It didn’t take long for you to connect the dots that he had restocked them, he often did. And they were often your favorites, your favorite energy drink in the fridge, your favorite protein bars in the cupboard, and your favorite snacks on the jet.

—

After a long day of profiling in Wisconsin, the team had ordered take out and decided to all sit together around the large table in the conference room that had been provided by the local police department.

You sat with Aaron to your left, and Derek to your right. THere were 2 trays of food in the middle and various smaller dishes surrounding it. Most of the team was still discussing the case as they served themselves from the various dishes.

You were the last person to serve yourself, as you had been too absorbed in a conversation with Aaron about where he got his many, very, nice suits. You had learned that Aaron Hotchner gets all of his suits tailored.

After lots of discussion, and some slightly subpar asian food, the team was ready to get back to work, it was only 9 o’clock, and they were all pretty much workaholics. So reid went back to his many colored markers and his geo-profile. For whatever reason, you hadn’t been able to sleep very well the night before, and due to that you were practically falling asleep standing up. You had moved from sitting into a standing position in order to keep yourself awake a little more.

It wasn't working. And Hotch noticed this. Aaron used his legs to push up and out of his office chair away from the table to where you were standing about a foot away. He tapped your shoulder to get your attention before speaking. Your head snapped towards him, surprised, as if you hadn’t even noticed him approaching in your trance-like state.

”y/n, you should go back to the hotel, you're no use if you're not clear headed. The team will benefit from you much more if you just get some rest and come tomorrow morning”. You almost immediately tried to protest leaving, but a stern look from Aaron put any protests to rest. Even when you really wanted to protest the idea of him driving you to the hotel, since in his words “you're in no condition to drive, I don't need an agent in a car crash and 3 dead women”. Eventually you had accepted it, as you were too tired to care by the time you and Aaron were on the road to the hotel.

Aaron left the radio on, playing quietly in the background so the silence wouldnt be awkward. But, number one, you were already half asleep by the time he started driving, and number two, the silence was never awkward with Aaron, you felt comfortable with him.

When you arrived at the hotel, hotch shook your shoulder lightly and you jumped awake saying, “Im awake! I'm here! I'm ready..” before trailing off and yawning. Hotch chuckled as he walked around the car to open your door for you, inviting you to step out in front of him. He walked with you to the elevator and pushed the button for you, always a gentleman.

When you finally got into your room after struggling with the key for a minute, you flopped face down on your bed with a groan as Aaron watched from the doorway. When he noticed the lamp on he immediately started crossing the room to turn it off, so you could sleep.

After the lamp was turned off, and Aaron was sure you were okay, and fast asleep, he left for his room in order to change his shirt as he had spilled soy sauce on it at dinner. After making his way to his room down the hall and fumbling with his own key, Aaron made it into his own room to pull out a new shirt. After the long process of taking off his tie and jacket, switching shirts, and putting his tie and jacket back on, he turned off the lamp on the desk near the door. Aaron shut the door behind him quietly so as to not disturb anyone at 10:00 at night.

At first he continued past your room, but then two steps later he changed his mind, turning on his heels back down the hall. He wanted to make sure you were alright one last time before he went back to the police precinct. He had made sure to get a copy of everyone’s room key when they checked in, in case of emergencies. And it wasn’t exactly an emergency, but if you didn't tell, Aaron wouldn't.

When the door clicked open quietly, light from the hallway bled into the dark room. In front of him lay your sound asleep body, still in its work clothes, passed out face down on the hotel bed. Aaron couldn't help but smile as he approached you, bending down to your level. When his face was level with yours he left a small kiss on your cheek, before retreating back into the well lit hallway and into the night.

The End

#criminal minds #bau #bau team #Aaron hotchner #Aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gn reader #Gn reader #Aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fluff #fluff #request #requests!#the radient Rome !!#Maxs mailbox !!

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flowerandblood · 6 months

Text

Glass Cuts Deepest (12)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, fingering, smut, kissing, fluff, angst, trauma, mention of rape, indecent student-teacher relationship ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He fully realised how involved he already was in this relationship when he had to fall asleep alone in his bedroom after he returned home. His flat had never seemed so empty, so cold, so alien to him before − he realised that it didn't even have anyone's photos in it, no memorabilia − it was a place where he existed between work and nothing else.

He tried to do what he always did, made himself a cup of tea and turned on the TV to watch the news, read a book on catacomb painting he'd borrowed from Cregan, but still all he did, all he focused on, was glancing at his phone screen.

She hadn't texted him, nor had he texted her even though they had each other's phone numbers.

He himself didn't know how he felt about it, at the same time raging with desperation, opening the new message window several times to write her anything, to apologise for the scene he had done to her the day before or to wish her a good night, but each time he deleted everything, throwing the phone somewhere in a corner, heartbroken.

Perhaps she needed time to herself to think things through.

He had cornered her and not given her time to think, and she might not have really wanted that.

She might not have wanted to take on the kind of baggage he was carrying.

He went to bed with this thought and turned off the lamp, but he felt restless and uncomfortable. He got up twice and checked that the front door was locked, just in case, and then went back and laid under his duvet, but the feeling remained in him.

The feeling that something was going to happen, that he would hear the sound of the door opening, as it did then, and see her on the doorstep.

He shuddered at the thought, clenching his eyes shut, dreaming only of Wright calling him, of telling him she missed him and wanted to see him, of coming to him and falling asleep beside him, making him feel safe.

She didn't call and he wriggled through the night, panicked, sad and tired. He gave up at four in the morning and took a shower, made himself a quick coffee in a thermos and drove to the university, deciding that he would rather use this time in some meaningful way.

He turned on all the lights and took a sheet of clear glass from his compartment, intending to cut it for his personal project, wanting to create a stained glass window for himself with Adam and Eve motif.

He wished to model himself on D��rer's copperplate, but changing it a little, softening the proportions of the figures, painting them in a slightly more mannerist form. He had no intention of giving the figures their faces, of course, however he found the work itself meaningful.

He shuddered when he heard someone come inside, despite the fact that there was still an hour left before classes started, and froze completely when he saw her standing in the aisle.

"Good morning." She said softly, warmth and happiness in her eyes at the sight of him from which he felt heat in his chest − he couldn't stop the shy smile that forced itself onto his lips.

He couldn't stop himself from kissing her as soon as she let him get close.

He found to his despair that her scent was enough to make him completely hard and he suffered through the day, watching her from the sidelines, witnessing the way she talked to her year mates, being able to get close to anyone but him.

As he spoke and noticed her gaze, he would lose the thread and have to quickly return his thoughts to what he had just talked about, embarrassed and ashamed that he had acted like a child.

The only thing that kept him sane was that she had agreed to come to him in the evening.

Despite the fact that he usually worked after hours, that afternoon he returned to his flat immediately after class, doing his shopping beforehand, recognising that he had to host her somehow and prepare something to eat.

He was also embarrassed to find that he should change the bedding for a clean one.

While doing this, all he could think about was what they were going to do on his bed when she came to him and he had a feeling his cock would just explode with arousal.

He didn't want to touch himself before she came though; he wanted to be desperate and on the edge of his endurance − he hoped that this would make him finally get over himself, that the lust would completely stupefy him and make him think of nothing else but fulfilment.

When at last she knocked on his door, when at last she stood on his threshold he felt apprehensive, realising that he had never invited anyone there before.

He let her in without a word, feeling his throat tighten. She was wearing a dress and nice long, white socks that he couldn't stop looking at, thinking only of the fact that he wanted to press her against the wall and slip his hand under her underwear, wondering if she was in the same state as him.

"If there's something wrong, I'll change. I took my things." Her worried voice snapped him out of his reverie and he looked at her surprised, not understanding what she was talking about, only realising after a moment that she thought he was looking at her like this because he found her outfit inappropriate.

"What? No, no. Come in. Are you hungry? I'm just heating up dinner." He said embarrassed at the direction his thoughts were running off in, deciding that she should at least eat something before he touched her, heading towards the kitchenette.

"Yeah, I'd love to." She said softly as she followed him, sitting down on the other side of the kitchen counter, looking intently at what he was doing.

He felt strangely tense; he'd never seen another human being in this space, much less a woman − he recognised that he hadn't spoken to one in so many years that he wasn't even sure how he should refer to her, not wanting to come across as a buffoon or a simpleton.

He knew he hadn't shown his best side to her before and he wanted to change that, but it only made him stress even more and say very little.

He almost choked, pulled out of his reverie when he heard her question while they ate.

"Where am I going to sleep?"

He looked at her in shock, thinking quickly about what he should answer, recognising that if he told her he wanted her to sleep in his bed it would immediately give away what he desired, perhaps putting her in an awkward position. He decided to get out of it somehow.

"…it's up to you. I can sleep on the couch." He said cautiously, watching her reaction, wanting to make sure she didn't think he was just a pervert who was only hoping for his student's young body to make his night more pleasant.

She meant so much more to him.

"What if I don't want you to sleep on the couch?" She asked quietly, looking up at him with her big, warm eyes.

God.

He reached quickly for his wine glass, taking a sip from it, feeling her question in his trousers. He set it down, looking at her intensely, wondering if she really wanted an answer to that question or was just teasing him.

Then we'll fuck, he thought.

"Will you show me your bedroom?" She asked softly, lightly, non-committally, and he swallowed loudly, wondering if she was doing it on purpose or if in her mind it was really just an innocent question that wasn't going to lead to anything more.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asked carefully, looking at her face, and she nodded. He pressed his lips together, gazing at her bare shoulders, the shape of her breasts outlining under her dress, and thought he couldn't take it anymore.

He stood up and glanced at her, waiting for her to move behind him.

He led her to one of the rooms to which the door was on the corridor and stepped inside, lighting the lamp standing by his bedside table, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, feeling his heart pounding hard, his hands clenched into fists.

He felt his manhood pulsate painfully hard in his trousers as she unhurriedly laid on his bed with her stomach down, placing her cheek on his pillow, playing with the fabric of his sheets, not even looking at him. He looked down at her long legs and swallowed loudly, thinking that if he didn't touch her soon he would probably die.

He circled his bed, climbing onto it and kneeling behind her, having her legs between his thighs. He lifted the material of her dress up and exposed to him the bare, glistening skin of her buttocks, which were framed by pretty white lace panties. He placed his large hand on one of them and stroked it, feeling how soft and firm her skin was, her whole body tensing under his touch.

There was no turning back now, he thought.

He'd been thinking about it all night.

About how he wanted to do this.

He placed one hand next to her head while sliding the other across her stomach and squeezed her with his body, sighing along with her as he pressed his length hidden under the material of his trousers between her buttocks, rubbing against her, feeling a wonderful pulsing, his free hand brushing away her hair, kissing her neck with his warm lips.

They both drew in a loud breath as his hand under her belly slid lower, pulling up her dress, picking at the material of her panties, slipping his fingers underneath. He heard her moan helplessly, writhing beneath him as he touched her moisture, her slick folds − he involuntarily licked his lower lip, feeling how hard he was.

"− have you been this wet since you came in here? − or maybe since this morning? −" He gasped delightedly, trailing his lips along her soft skin, listening to her accelerated, erratic breathing, rubbing with the movements of his hips against her buttocks, making shivers come over him, her wonderful scent filling his nostrils.

"− it's your fault, Professor −" She mumbled regretfully, and he felt her words between his thighs, his cock pulsed hard when she called him that, shamelessly using his academic title in such a situation − his fingers began to massage her puffy clit in circular, sure motions, making her moans of pleasure grow louder and louder.

"− mine? − because I take care of my student's needs like any good Professor in my position? −" He breathed out in her ear and smirked mischievously feeling how his strokes were accompanied by a sticky click of her wetness, both of them panting and moaning, her thighs involuntarily parting beneath him, allowing him better access.

"− I need this − please −" She mumbled with difficulty, clenching her hands on the fabric of his pillow. He groaned low, rubbing himself against her, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen at the thought of what he wanted to do.

"− I know −" He hummed, then slid the tip of his middle finger gently inside her − her walls were hot, fleshy and sticky, tight, resisting him with his every gentle push. He felt a powerful shudder pass through her, she cried out beneath him in pleasure, parting her lips, her body trembling under him, sucking his finger deep inside her.

"− shhh −" He hushed her, not letting her move, delighted that she was at his mercy, that he was touching her in such a way and it felt wonderful, not a trace of discomfort or bad memories in his mind.

"− please − ah − please − please −" She mewled pleadingly; he thought with tenderness that she was on the verge of orgasm, unable to get anything more out of herself, and he merely teased her, sliding his finger in and out of her, returning to her clit again after a while, not giving her what she needed.

"− please, what? − don't be disrespectful, title me properly −" He growled warningly, recognising that she had wanted this herself − she had wanted to play like this and now she had to suffer the consequences.

He heard her moan loudly at his words, her thighs trembling under his hand, his fingers all sticky from her moisture massaging her with a loud, lewd click.

"− please, Professor − please, I've been waiting for this all day −" She mumbled, and he chuckled low, taking pity on her at last, seeing the state she was in, and slid his whole finger inside her, feeling how wonderfully hot and rough she was inside, her muscles clenched against him greedily.

He heard her gasp loudly, pressing her face against his pillow, her hips struggling to rock into the rhythm with his movements as he kissed her neck, her jaw, her cheek, her temple.

"− soaking wet for her Professor − fuck − you're a very dedicated student, aren't you? −" He gasped in delight, literally fucking her with his finger, searching for the spongy bud inside her that he had read so much about on the internet, knowing that it should be somewhere above her entrance. He realised that he had found it between her slick muscles when he heard her loud, surprised moan of pleasure, her lips parted wide, her eyes clenched as if in surprise and disbelief.

"− yes − God − yes, yes, please! −" She cried out pathetically, and a few of his movements were enough for her to cum on his fingers, her warm moisture spilling over his hand.

"− fuck − what a little mess you are −" He muttered with delight at her state, feeling how hard she came, fascinated with what he could do with her.

He groaned lowly feeling that he couldn't take it any more, that after what he had seen and felt he needed to finally relieve himself with his hand.

"− don't move − okay? −" He asked quickly, panting loudly along with her, lifting himself up and resting his body weight on his knees. He unbuttoned his trousers and put his hand under his boxers, with quick sure movements starting to jerk himself off, looking at her bare buttocks, at her wet underwear, at her face, at her trembling body.

Fuck, she was so pretty.

He knew he was going to cum soon, he could feel it.

"Can I kiss you there?" She asked softly, and he froze in mid-motion, panting heavily, thinking he'd overheard himself.

"What?"

He saw her open her eyes and press her lips together, playing with the fabric of his pillow, breathing unevenly.

"You could lie on your back and massage yourself, and I would kiss you there. I wouldn't touch you with my hands, just my lips and tongue. I've never done that before, so it would be our first time."

He stared at her in disbelief, breathing loudly, feeling his manhood pulsate hard in his hand at her words, at the thought that her sweet lips could touch him there, give him pleasure in such an intimate place. He thought, however, that he might inadvertently hurt her, and he would not forgive himself for that.

"− I − God - I don't know − I wouldn't want to hurt you − force you to do things like that, humiliate you −" He mumbled out struggling to put into words what he was feeling − he saw her move, shaking her head quickly, still not looking at him.

"− I want to try it − I'll tell you if it feels uncomfortable and you can do exactly the same − you don't feel bad when I kiss you, just when I touch you with my hands − I thought maybe this is our way to your fulfilment together −" She said softly, tenderly, and he felt he could come from just those words, from just imagining what she was talking about.

He felt horror and hope at the same time − he wanted her to do it, he wanted it to work, but he was afraid it would end up like the last time.

If she couldn't even touch his cheek, how could she touch him down there?

On the other hand, he realised that she was right, that they had kissed many times, but it was the touch of her hand that scared him.

Alys had never kissed him.

He swallowed loudly, looking at her uncertainly.

"−… will you tell me if there is something wrong? −" He asked in a voice trembling with emotion, and she nodded quickly.

Fuck.

He let out a loud breath, burying his manhood in his boxers, laying down next to her on his back, leaning partially against the backrest, breathing loudly.

He swallowed hard, horrified when he saw her rise and move towards him, laying between his thighs − she didn't touch him, but just looked at him expectantly.

"So?" She asked softly and he felt his cock pulsate impatiently, demanding at last the relief he craved − he was terrified and aroused, curious and uncertain, he felt his lips get dry from exertion and licked them involuntarily with his tongue.

"If it goes wrong − what do I say?" He asked uncertainly, wanting to know how he was supposed to act if it was unpleasant after all, not wanting to hurt her with his sudden, aggressive response. She considered his words for a moment, lowering her gaze.

"− say slower if you feel it's right but things are happening too fast, or faster if it's too slow. If you feel bad say stop and I'll pull away immediately −" She said calmly, and he felt relieved, sticking to these rules as something that could actually work, giving him a sense of security.

He thought that it might have gone too well for them.

"− and if I − you know −" He mumbled, and she smiled slightly, warmly, embarrassing him completely.

"− well − Eve was the first to taste the forbidden fruit, wasn't she? −" She asked softly, and he thought it was over, that with or without her mouth he had to come right now, because his cock would just explode in his boxers.

"− touch yourself as you always do and just say if what I'm going to do makes you uncomfortable − remember this is time for you and your pleasure −" She said calmly and he needed no more encouragement, on the verge of despair, slipping his hand back under the material of his boxers, tightening his fingers on his hard manhood, clenching his eyes in pleasure, jerking himself with sure up and down strokes.

When he felt her lips on his sensitive skin he gasped and moaned, but thought with surprise that it was not unpleasant, more like a gentle tickle.

However, when after a moment he felt her lips and her tongue licking upwards to the head of his cock he groaned louder, feeling a shiver of pleasure − her tongue was moist and rough, teasing him in a way that the touch of his own hand had never given him.

"− fuck −" He muttered, tilting his head back, panting heavily, massaging himself with increasing speed.

He stared at her in disbelief, seeing her leaning towards him with her eyes closed, brushing the pink tip of his cock with her lips, licking it with her tongue faster and more intensely, making him feel like he was just about to come on her face, his cock pulsing greedily in his hand.

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a more perverted sight than her lips pressed to his swollen cock, leaking with his precum.

He parted his lips wider and gasped, surprised when she suddenly lifted higher and slid the fat head of his cock between her lips, teasing and licking it with her tongue. He clenched his eyes shut, tilting his head back, feeling this incredibly gentle yet intense sensation, with an involuntary rocking of his hips he pushed his length deeper into her throat, shuddering with arousal.

"− oh, God − please −" He mumbled out, horrified at how pleasurable this was and clenched his free hand in her hair, moving deep inside her mouth, feeling his whole body quiver in pleasure, just thinking about how warm and wet her throat was, how soft her lips were sucking him so intensely.

He thought that deep inside her he felt safe, he felt good, so wonderfully good.

"− faster − ah, fuck, squeeze me here −" He exhaled, grabbing her wrist quickly, tightening his hand with her fingers on his hard cock, showing her how she was supposed to squeeze him − her hand was wonderfully soft and warm, giving him a much more pleasurable sensation than his own, jerking him with a sure, intense motion harmonising with the smooth movements of her lips, loud from the click of her saliva.

"− forgive me − fuck, 'm gonna cum −" He mumbled out surprised that his fulfilment was approaching so quickly − he felt it in his lower abdomen, and then he just cum in her mouth, panting heavily with pleasure, leaning forward, surprised at how hard he throbbed inside her, how his orgasm shook his body.

He had never experienced anything like it before, and he felt completely stupefied by this wonderful, hot pleasure.

"− fuck − fuck, baby − oh my God −" He babbled with difficulty, clenching his eyes shut, breathing loudly, unable to stop himself from throbbing, listening as she bravely swallowed everything that came out of him.

He let go of her hand and hair, looking at her, and she immediately pulled away from him, sliding him out of her mouth with loud plop, breathing hard as he did, looking at him in disbelief.

He didn't know how any girl could look so innocent after sucking someone's cock.

He thought perhaps she was just a saint.

"− you are indeed my revelation −" He whispered embarrassedly, smiling involuntarily, feeling relieved, feeling free, because they had done it, succeeded, found a way for him to experience fulfilment with her, some point from which they could start.

He pulled her to him by the material of her dress, wanting to feel her close, now, immediately, and embraced her tightly, kissing the top of her head, feeling boundless gratitude for her sacrifice, that for her, too, this was the first time, and she was so brave, so good.

"Are you okay?" He whispered, and she nodded quickly, snuggling into him tighter.

They talked for a while longer, considering what to do next, whether she should move in with him. He respected her wishes and the fact that she felt joy and peace when she said that she would be coming to stay with him overnight.

That she would be there for him.

Just as he had promised, he let her study. After they both dressed in their pyjamas and lay down on his bed he snuggled into her, nuzzling his cheek against her soft breast hidden under the material of her t-shirt, her free hand combing through his hair as the other held the book she had just read, resting it on her raised thighs.

He muttered under his breath seeing what she was reading about, that she was preparing for an exam on the history of Renaissance art.

"Dürer?" He asked, running his pointing finger over her bare arm, and she nodded, turning the page, then went back to stroking his head.

"I'm working on a stained glass window right now, the design of which is based on his copperplate." He said softly, concentrating on how soft her skin felt under his fingers. He heard her move in curiosity, glancing up at him.

"What theme are you based on?" She asked excitedly, and he swallowed loudly, feeling embarrassed at how obvious his choice was.

"Adam and Eve." He whispered, pressing his lips together, waiting with a pounding heart for her reaction, wondering if she would see him as a desperate idiot.

He felt her hand freeze in the air only to surprise him as she hugged him tighter to her chest, placing her book on her stomach, embracing him with her other arm as well, leaning over him and kissing his hair. He murmured low, feeling hot in his heart at her reaction, her acceptance of how involved he was.

"They won't have our faces." He added lowly, and she giggled slightly, heartily − he felt butterflies in his stomach at that wonderful sound, at the thought that she was laughing because of him.

"Thank God my Professor is so smart." She said with amusement, both mocking and praising him at the same time, and he snorted at her words, cuddling his face into her firm, soft breast, wonderfully warm, adjusting to the shape of his cheek.

He murmured quietly, turning his face and grasped her nipple hidden under the material of her shirt with his lips, sucking on it in a light, unhurried rhythm.

He heard her moan quietly, surprised, involuntarily pressing his head closer to her chest, clenching her thighs in a sudden surge of pleasure, stroking his hair.

"You promised." She muttered regretfully, alluding to the fact that he was going to let her study for her exam which was to take place in a few days. He hummed under his breath, rubbing her nipple with the tip of his nose.

"I promised I'd let you study when we were done."

_____

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worth-the-chaos · 2 months

Text

Adventures in Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 15

Chapter Summary: Racing against the clock, you and your friends desperately attempt to connect the dots before it’s too late. Your efforts bring both progress and peril as you and your boyfriend dive headfirst into life-threatening scenarios in order to save each other.

Content Warning: swearing, trauma, angst, upside down scary shit

Word Count: 8.8k

Author’s Note: sorry this chapter took so long for me to get written. Life has been crazy, but here’s a longer one for you, so I hope you enjoy! I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much!

Message me to be added to the taglist and get updated when the next chapter is posted! I highly recommend this if you want to keep up with the story since I don’t do regular updates!

ALSO, I am thinking about revamping the masterlist for this story and adding chapter summaries and word count…let me know if you think this would help!

Series Masterlist | Part 14 | Next Part

***

You all got out of your respective vehicles and looked at the dilapidated house in front of you. The lawn was overgrown with weeds, and every window was boarded up. The house’s facade itself screamed “go away,” looking like something out of a horror movie, but there you all were. You pressed yourself into Steve’s back, grabbing onto the back of his jacket to ground yourself. No one moved, everyone hesitant to approach the foreboding home, so you took one more deep breath and pushed past your boyfriend.

Steve was surprised by the confidence in your stride. He knew that you were cracking under the pressure. He knew you had to be scared out of your mind. Yet, you were facing it head on. He watched the way you tossed the hammer you were holding a bit before flipping it around and beginning to remove the nails from the board across the front door. Though he would never say it out loud, the way you looked so incredibly tough was incredibly sexy to him, and his eyes wandered your frame as he took in the sight of you.

Suddenly Steve felt an elbow in his side, jumping a bit as Robin glared at him and whispered, “dude, why don’t you stop undressing her with your eyes and help the fuck out.”

“What the hell are we supposed to be looking for in this shit hole anyway?” Steve grumbled as he made his way to the door to start removing nails on the opposite side.

“I don’t know…I-I just know it’s important,” you responded, momentarily stopping what you were doing to look at your boyfriend. You didn’t want to explain any more of what you saw and Steve didn’t press you for details as he continued removing nails.

“Maybe it has a clue as to where Vecna is,” Dustin spoke up, “you know, like why he’s back, why he killed the Creels, and how to stop him before he comes back for y/n.”

Your heart sank at the mention of your name. You weren’t sure that you’d be able to save yourself again if Vecna came back for you. The visions you were having were getting progressively longer, and your physical symptoms in the real world were getting progressively more terrifying. How long was it going to be before your bones were snapped every which way and your eyes were sucked into the back of your skull?

Steve removed the last nail and he looked at you, silently asking if you were ready. Though you weren’t, you nodded and the both of you dropped the board. It fell with a sickening thud, kicking up decades worth of dust up from the front porch. You coughed, waving away the haze before turning back to the front door. You saw the stained glass rose and suddenly your mind flashed to the sinister reds painted across the sky when Vecna had his hand around your throat.

“Hey, are you okay?” Nancy asked, gently putting a hand on your shoulder. You jumped a little, before turning slightly towards her, meeting her concerned expression.

“Yeah…yeah, I-I’m good. This is definitely it; no doubt about it,” your voice got small as you said it.

Steve tried the doorknob which didn’t turn, announcing the obvious, “it’s locked. Should I knock? See if anybody’s home?”

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s sarcasm before moving towards him. “It doesn’t matter. I have a key.” Steve looked at you quizzically, but before he could ask any questions, you shoved him to the side a bit before aggressively driving your elbow through the stained glass. It made a satisfying shattering sound as you listened to the shards hit the floor inside. You reached through the window and felt for the lock, turning it swiftly before shoving the door open.

Lucas flipped a light switch to no avail. “I guess somebody didn’t pay the electric bill,” he joked quietly as the room remained shrouded in complete darkness. The only light was the minimal sunlight peaking through the slats of the boarded up windows.

You pulled a flashlight out of your bag and handed it to Steve, knowing full and well that he didn’t bring his own, before you pulled out a second one for yourself.

“They just left everything,” Nancy breathed out, pointing her flashlight into the family room.

“Yeah, I guess a triple homicide isn’t good for resale value,” Robin responded. You barely heard her as your eyes remained fixed on the sight in front of you. You had to readjust your grip on your flashlight as you willed your hands not to shake.

“Guys, you see that too, right?” You asked quietly, the beam of your flashlight unsteadily illuminating the familiar grandfather clock in front of you.

“Yeah, we do,” Steve assured you, wrapping a hand around your shoulder and pulling you into his side. He could tell you were scared, and wanted to do everything in his power to comfort you. He couldn’t really imagine what it must be like to not be able to trust anything that you were seeing. His heart broke at the way he could see the fear in your eyes. His picture of you in his mind was always so fearless and stoic. You were always prepared to face any threat, regardless of whether or not it was supernatural.

This time was different though. This time they were racing to postpone the inevitable. It felt like a jack in the box, every attempt to investigate being another crank of the handle. He didn’t want to know what was going to happen when they pushed too far.

“Is this what you saw in your visions?” Max asked you gently. You turned to look at the girl and saw how she stared up at you with a furrowed brow, her worry painted across her face. Your expression faltered for a second before you regained your composure, readopting the stoic facade you tried to maintain; putting on a brave face for the kids.

Robin could sense your anxiety; in fact, it was radiating off of you like crazy. She was your best friend and she could read you like the back of her hand. “I mean…it’s just a clock, right?” She spoke up, trying to sound reassuring. She stepped past you and wiped the dust of the clock’s face, turning back towards you before adding, “just a normal old clock.”

“Why is this wizard obsessed with clocks? Maybe he’s like a clockmaker…or something?” Steve spoke up, and honestly it kind of broke the tension as you bit back a giggle. Steve was smart in so many ways, but in this moment, you were glad your survival was not up to your boyfriend being able to problem solve.

“I think you cracked the case, Steve,” Dustin replied sarcastically. You glared at him before elbowing him in the side. Steve was doing his best and you didn’t need the Henderson boy making him feel bad about it. Hell, you were going to take all of the help you could get…even if it was borderline idiotic.

“All I know is the answers are here…somewhere,” you added quietly, looking around the dust covered room. The longer you stayed there, the more unsettled you felt. You shook your head to clear the negativity from your mind before speaking up again. “Okay, let’s just split off.”

Robin nodded and quickly followed Nancy upstairs, and Lucas and Max darted off to the kitchen, begrudgingly followed by Henderson. The boy had wanted to stay with the two of you, but the look that Steve had shot him was clear in letting him know not to push it.

“So, I guess it’s you and me,” Steve spoke up, reaching to gently grab your hand. You jumped a bit at his touch and he immediately backed off, “sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“No, it’s…it’s fine. It’s not you, it’s me. I-I just need to get my head on straight is all,” you quickly responded, your hand darting to grab his. You interlocked your fingers and placed a gentle kiss to the back of his hand, shooting him a weak smile. He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue either.

You both entered some sort of family room, your flashlights sending light beams to scatter through the dust particles swimming through the air. You let go of his hand as you both spread out around the room to reach high and low for anything that might point you in the right direction. Though, you weren’t entirely sure what the right direction even was.

Steve was trying not to lose his mind. All he could think about was the way you had looked when you had gone into a trance at the cemetery. It was like you weren’t even there anymore. For a brief moment, he experienced what the world was like without you in it and he was sure that he couldn’t stand to live another moment like that. He looked back over his shoulder to make sure you were still there; that you were still in his sight. You were blowing a thick layer of dust off of the mantle of the fireplace, backing up and waving a hand through the air as you coughed.

Steve sucked in a deep breath and then turned back around, though it was hard for him to take his eyes off of him. You could go into another trance at any moment. He would never forgive himself if something happened to you. He redirected his gaze to his flashlight beam, noticing the way the light reflected off of something underneath a floor vent. He moved the vent out of the way, reaching in and pulling out a jar with the body of a dead spider in it.

Suddenly he felt movement on his jacket, looking over to see a spider crawling up his arm. Fear settled deep within his chest as he stood up, dropping the jar in the process and frantically backing away as he tried to get the damn thing off of him. He was embarrassed to admit it, but even Steve “the Hair” Harrington was afraid of spiders. He bumped into something (or more accurately, someone) barely noticing it was you until your voice rang out.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?” You frantically asked, your heart pounding in your chest. You had heard the distinct sound of shattering glass and immediately started assuming the worst. You attempted to steady your boyfriend, your hands reaching for his arms, but he yanked them out of your grip, clearly still reeling from whatever encounter he just had. “Please, Steve; tell me what’s wrong!”

Your face was twisted with worry as your eyes scanned your boyfriend. He was still breathing heavily, but he was beginning to calm down. He brushed his hands down his arms, just to make sure, before pulling you into a bear hug as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

“There was a spider,” he breathed out, “black widow I think.”

He added the last part as he placed a kiss to the top of your head, squeezing you a little bit tighter. Your heart skipped a beat and you bit back a smile at how goofy Steve was sometimes. Even though he tried to be the tough guy, it was nice to know that he got scared of dumbass shit too.

“Poor baby,” you patronized, pulling away slightly to look up at him. Steve was going to stand up for himself but his words died in his throat as he just admired the way your eyes shined up at him. Recently, he hadn’t seen the light in your eyes. Even before these Vecna visions, you hadn’t been the same since what happened at Starcourt.

“Everything okay over here?” Robin’s voice rang out as she began to round the corner. The two of you quickly stepped away from each other, and Steve cleared his throat as you attempted to act natural.

Robin stopped in her tracks and glared at you, watching as you attempted to innocently shake out your hair, trying and failing miserably to pretend that you hadn’t just been pressed up against her best friend.

“Oh would you two just fuck already?” She rolled her eyes as she continued through the room, brushing past Steve on her way out. Your face immediately turned beet red and your mouth fell open, a small squeak escaping your lips as you tried and failed to defend yourself.

Steve’s face was equally red, but he chuckled as he tried to brush Robin’s comment off. He thought back to how the past him would have immediately corrected Robin; bragged about how he had in fact already slept with you. You would have been another notch on his belt, another conquest to tell Tommy H. about in the cafeteria. He was glad that he wasn’t that person anymore.

Besides, he felt somewhat self conscious about it. He knew that it had been your first time, which made it all the more nerve wracking…especially since you both hadn’t really talked about it since then. Sure, Nancy and him had slept together, and he had thought he had loved her, but since meeting you he wasn’t so sure that he really had. This—what he had with you? That was love, plain and simple. He’d never experienced anything quite like it.

He had to stop his mind from thinking about the way you had looked underneath him. The way your bare skin felt against his as he finally got to see all of you. He had to stop himself from thinking about the sounds you made, how reactive you were to his touch.

He cleared his throat, throwing an arm around your waist, feeling the need to be touching you in some capacity. He squeezed your hip a bit and smiled down at you, as the two of you shared a knowing look. He bent down to tell you something and you tried not to go weak at the knees at his warm breath whispered in your ear.

“I’m not sure about ‘already,’ but I could definitely go for ‘again.’” You could see his smirk in your mind’s eye as your breath hitched in your throat. Before you could even think about how to respond, Steve spoke up again. “Well, I guess we should get back to investigating.”

He let go of you and sauntered forward, confidence in his stride at how he’d so easily gotten a reaction out of you. You stood there for a second, staring at him in complete disbelief before biting back a smile and hustling to rejoin him. You only made it a few paces before you stopped dead in your tracks, your sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor.

Steve whipped around to see you staring wide eyed at a lamp on the table next to you, sparking to life with erratic electricity. His heart jumped to his throat, and when you opened your mouth to speak, he wasn’t sure if the fact that your voice sounded so calm and collected made it more or less terrifying.

“I promise I’ll stop asking, but you see that too, right?”

“Yeah…yeah, I do,” Steve spoke up, fishing through his jacket pocket frantically before pulling out the walkman and headphones. He gingerly placed them over your head, hitting play on the device. You jumped at the contact, eyes previously still drawn to the flickering light at the lamp. You looked up at him confused as your hands went to the headphones on your ears. “Just in case,” Steve added in a whisper, struggling to speak past the lump in his throat.

He went to quickly turn away from you, not wanting you to see him cracking under the weight of the situation, but you quickly grabbed onto his jacket sleeve to catch his attention. “Hey, everything’s going to be okay, yeah?” You tried your best to reassure him, trying to believe the words yourself. You wanted nothing more than for them to be true.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everything’s gonna be alright,” Steve agreed, but you could tell he believed it about as much as you did…which was barely at all. Normally these sort of sentiments would be followed by a pinky promise, but neither of you reached for each other’s hand as you continued to stare at the lamp humming with electricity.

Slowly but surely, you reached one of your trembling hands towards the lamp shade. As you got closer, the light intensified before flickering out altogether as soon as you made contact, plunging the room back into darkness. You could hear Steve suck in a breath and you felt his hand on the small of your back.

“Look,” Steve whispered, pointing to another lamp down the hall that had come to life with electricity. With much trepidation, you began to move towards the light source. No sooner had you started moving, did it jump to another lamp….and then another and another.

You continued to follow, but you quickly felt a force pulling you backwards as Steve’s fingers looped through the belt loops of your jeans. “Hey!” You called out, your brows stitched together in frustration as your attention was pulled away from the task at hand. “Let go of me, Steve,” you warned, your hand attempting to pry his away, but to no avail.

“Y/n, what if it’s a trap?” You could hear the fear in his voice and you saw the way it was reflected in his eyes. You two had been through hell together and lived to tell the tale. You had seen him scared all the damn time but never like this. This time your life was on the line much more directly than it had in the past. This time a miss step meant you’d be gone.

“Steve, we’re here to look for clues, so I’m looking for clues. End of discussion,” you yanked his hand away and attempted to continue down the hallway, but he caught your arm first, pulling you back again.

“Steve—“ you began again, but the rest of your sentence died in your throat as he wrapped his arms around you, his head buried in the crook of your neck as he hugged you. He held onto you as if he might never get to hold onto you again and you couldn’t help but feel tears well in your eyes as you hugged him back. He placed a tender kiss to your neck.

“I love you,” he whispered into your skin. He stayed like that for a little longer before pulling away and looking you in the eye adding, “I need you to know that y/n.”

“I know, Steve,” a tear rolled down your cheek, “I love you too. More than anything.” Your voice was a whisper, the emotion behind your words nearly rendering you speechless. You held onto each other for a few more moments before letting go and turning to follow the light.

***

Night had fallen and the seven of you stood under a cobweb chandelier, blinking haphazardly above a dining room table. You felt uneasy as you watched each bulb flicker, your hand instinctively going to grab Steve’s for comfort. He immediately reciprocated, giving your hand a tight squeeze and sending a reassuring smile your way.

“It’s like the Christmas lights,” Nancy spoke up, her eyes glued to the light fixture above you. Your mind flashed back to the Byers’ living room and the gashes now permanently etched across your arm. That was the first time you and Steve had faced threats like this together, back when you didn’t even really know each other outside of reputation.

Steve’s mind thought back to that time too, his hand letting go of yours and moving to rub up and down your upper arm. By now he had each scar perfectly memorized. He used to trace them with his fingers when you were asleep beside him as a reminder that you were still here; as a promise that he would protect you better. He felt a pang in his chest as he was painfully reminded of how he couldn’t keep that promise.

“Vecna’s here,” you spoke up, “in this house, just on the other side.

The light slowly fizzled out, nothing left but the long shadows cast by the beams of your flashlights. “I think he just left the room,” Robin spoke up, her eyes still glued to the chandelier.

“Did he hear us?” Max asked, her eyes widening with fear as she considered the possibility that Vecna may be able to discern their next move from the Upside Down.

“Can he see us?” Dustin asked further. You and Steve locked eyes before he quickly spoke up.

“Headphones!”

You abided by his instructions and quickly hit play on the walkman. “Everyone turn off your flashlights and spread out,” you added, darting away from Steve before he could protest. Everyone followed suit (though Steve did so much more begrudgingly).

You hated the way it felt being alone though. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were, considering the amount of time you spent sleeping over at Steve’s while his parents were traveling the world on various business trips. Your hands trembled as you waved your flashlight every which way, attempting to maybe, just maybe, pick up Vecna’s movements through the Upside Down.

All the sudden, Robin’s voice rang out through the deafening silence of the Creel house. “Got him!”

Before you could even think, your feet were taking off towards the sound of her voice. You stopped in your tracks, your breath catching in your throat as you saw the way the light hummed from her flashlight. As soon as it had started though, the light fizzled out. She made a sound of annoyance, but it didn’t last long as your flashlight suddenly sparked to life. The light jumped once more to Steve’s flashlight, and this time you were all ready.

“He’s moving! He’s moving!” Steve shouted, moving his flashlight in front of him as he followed, trying to maintain the gentle yet unsettling stream of light radiating into the empty house. You followed closely behind him, a hand loosely grabbing hold of the fabric at the bottom hem of his jacket as you tried your best to keep up with him. You ascended a staircase and once Steve reached the top, the light dissipated, leaving you all in the dark once more.

“You lost it,” you whispered, staring at the flashlight, disappointment settling into your chest as you attempted to shove it down so it wouldn’t turn into panic.

“No he didn’t,” Max spoke up, shoving past the two of you and opening a door that led to another corridor bustling with light and electricity. You all cautiously made your way up the stairs into the attic, anxiety settling in your bones. Steve instinctively wrapped his hand around your wrist for reassurance, needing a reminder that you were there.

A single light bulb thrummed with electricity, pulsing rhythmically and casting eerie shadows across the dilapidated floor. You took a cautious step towards it, and suddenly your flashlight began flickering, the beam growing stronger the closer you got. Steve’s light did the same until all of you were standing under the singular bulb, each of your flashlights synchronizing to the flicker of the attic light.

“What’s happening?” Steve whispered, eyes glued to the light above you. You had no words to answer his question, staring just as mesmerized as he was. This house likely hadn’t had electricity in the last thirty years. Thirty years! You had to remind yourself of the impossibility of it all, and you wished it was just a dream that you would wake up from, curled up in Steve’s arms.

Without warning, the light grew to a blinding intensity, and suddenly the bulbs in each of your flashlights began to burst, shattering as the light abruptly disappeared. You shrieked as you attempted to shield your eyes from the shards.

The room was plunged into a nearly pitch black darkness, the only light being the soft moonlight filtering in through the slats on the boarded up windows.

“Is everyone okay?” Nancy called out, looking over Max to check for any cuts. Robin helped her check over the other two kids while Steve turned to you.

“Hey, you’re bleeding,” his hands darted to your face, wiping blood away from a tiny cut on your cheek. His eyebrows knitted together with worry.

“Nothing a little band aid won’t fix,” you reassured him, pulling him into a hug. His hands wrapped around your waist and you felt comforted by the way they felt at the small of your back.

You thought back to the way the lights shattered as the cut on your cheek began to sting again. You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach, but you shoved it down and held onto Steve tighter.

You tried to convince yourself that this was progress. You knew something more now. What that something was, you weren’t sure. It seemed to be that you kept finding puzzle pieces but they were all impossible to connect. It was all just a big jumble.

You weren’t sure you were going to like it when the picture cleared.

***

You sat in the back of Nancy’s station wagon eating Pringles with Steve as you drove back towards Rick’s house to let Eddie know what you had found out. Robin was in the front seat rambling, clearly stressed about all that you did and didn’t know, but all chatter halted when Nancy turned the corner and noticed the crowd surrounding the lake house.

“Shit,” you whispered as you quickly yanked the trunk door open, flying out of the back seat with Steve hot on your tail as the car barely slowed to a stop. You ducked around the news van to tune into what the police officers were saying.

“….reporting a homicide here on the lake. Officer Callahan here and myself were the first on the scene. We found the victim, an 18-year-old senior from Hawkins High, Patrick McKinney, on the shore of Lover’s Lake. His limbs were…” you heard Chief Powell’s voice, but it faded out as your ears started to ring.

You stumbled backwards, needing room to breathe, shoving past all of your friends and walking down the street away from the yellow crime scene tape and the nightmares and the terror that just wouldn’t seem to stop despite how hard you tried to have a normal life.

“We’ve also identified a person of interest. Eddie Munson,” Chief Powell held up a picture of the boy to show the news camera. “We encourage anyone with information to please come forward.”

Steve immediately followed you, a sinking feeling in his chest as he ran towards you. “Y/n….y/n!” He whisper-shouted, trying to get your attention without drawing attention to you.

You didn’t react, continuing marching forward, so Steve jogged to catch up to you, grabbing onto your wrist and spinning you around to face him. His frustration over you ignoring him quickly disappeared when he noticed your tear stained cheeks and the blood trickling from your nose.

“Steve,” you breathed out, your voice dripping with sorrow, “I think I’m next.”

“Woah, woah, woah, baby, don’t say that….th-that’s not true, we don’t know that,” Steve was quick to try to comfort you, swiftly wiping at your nose with his jacket sleeve, his heart breaking as you broke out into a sob.

“We don’t know that! W-we don’t know anything! For all we know, I could go into another fucking trance right now and just like that—“ you snapped your fingers, “I’m gone.”

“Don’t fucking talk like that, y/n! I…I-I mean we found out the music thing! We’ve bought some time! You’re going to be okay, y/n, I promise, we-we just have to—“

“But how do you know that? How can you promise me that?” You cried.

“Because you have to be, okay? You just have to be,” Steve’s voice was full of fear and unshed tears and it just made yours fall faster down your face as you allowed yourself to break. The rest of the group cautiously made their way towards you as you gathered some of your composure. Suddenly, the walkie talkie sprung to life in your pocket.

“Dustin? Wheeler? Can you hear me?” Eddie’s voice crackled out of the speaker.

“Eddie! Holy shit, are you okay?” You asked, your brow furrowed with worry as you waited on bated breath for his response.

“Nah, man. Pretty….pretty goddamn far from okay.”

You could hear his exhaustion through his voice and your heart broke a little. “Where are you?” You inquired.

“Skull Rock. You know it? It’s by—”

“Yeah, I know where it is. Just hold on, okay?” Your face flushed as you thought back to the times that Steve had taken you there, but now was not the time to think about those kisses that you’d shared.

Right now it was you guys against the town, and you were damned if you were going to let them find Eddie first.

***

“Dude, you’re taking us the wrong way,” Steve complained at Dustin who was religiously following his map and compass.

“It’s north. I’m positive; I checked the map,” Dustin replied, irritation lacing his tone. You rolled your eyes at their bickering, but felt the need to speak up yourself.

“Normally I wouldn’t trust Steve’s judgment on something like this considering he bases 90% of shit like this on a hunch, but this time he’s right.”

Steve didn’t know whether to feel flattered or offended, but it didn’t matter, as he spoke up to defend himself. “Yeah Henderson, you do realize Skill Rock is like a super popular make-out spot?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t popular until I made it popular, alright? I practically invented it; we’re heading in the wrong direction,” Steve turned away from where Dustin was heading and you began to follow him. Dustin looked at you both in shock before shouting back at Steve.

“Yeah? Well just because you’ve stuck your tongue down y/n’s throat there doesn’t mean that your sense of direction is better than a goddamn compass.”

You gaped at the Henderson boy, and your glare must have shut him up because he quickly tried to back pedal his way out of it. “Woah, um that was my bad; I think I perhaps took it a little bit too far.”

“You think?” You rolled your eyes and continued on next to Steve.

“I mean, he’s not wrong…well, he definitely is about the damn compass, but we have had some pretty good times at Skull Rock,” Steve whispered to you with a smirk plastered across his face.

“Sure, whatever,” you rolled your eyes again. At the rate these boys were going, you were sure that they would roll out of your head before Vecna could suck them into the back of your skull. You immediately went nauseous at the thought.

“What do you mean ‘whatever?’ Come on, you’re telling me you don’t think about that time you skipped third period last semester?” Steve shot you a knowing look.

“Shut up,” you responded as your face went red.

“See! I know you too damn well, baby. Besides, I think about it all the fucking time so if you don’t that would be kind of embarrassing for me.”

“You think about it all the time?” You looked at him annoyed, not believing a word that was coming out of your perfect jock boyfriend’s mouth.

“I mean, yeah! Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why would you though?”

Steve paused for a second, contemplating how much he should say before he continued. He flushed a little and decided that there wasn’t much point in keeping secrets, especially since your time together may be more limited than he had thought.

“Well, I mean….okay, sometimes I think about the fact that you spend seven hours in that damn school everyday with guys that undoubtedly want to hook up with you, and-and I’m not there anymore to keep those assholes in line, you know?” Steve started and you stared at him in disbelief before he continued, “But!—but then I think about how fucking stupid that is of me and I don’t want to be one of those disgustingly possessive toxic boyfriends, so to keep myself in check I think about that time you skipped third period so that we could make out instead…and-and it calms me down a little…because if I keep kissing you like that then I would hope you wouldn’t be tempted by any of those dumbasses at Hawkins High.”

You began cackling and Steve turned beet red. “Hey! I’m pouring my heart and soul out to you here, you little shit! You don’t get to laugh!”

“No, you’re right; I’m sorry,” you giggled as you wrapped an arm around his and leaned into him. “It’s just…you’re you.”

“—and?”

“And—if either of us was going to be worried, it should be me,” you argued with a chuckle, “I mean, I spent so much time watching you flirt with other girls right in front of me when we worked at Scoops!”

“That was stupid of me, I don’t know why I did that,” Steve shook his head and looked down at his feet, a bit disappointed in his past behavior. “I was honestly just so in love with you at the time and it scared the shit out of me—it still scares the shit out of me, by the way—that I thought an appropriate solution would be to find someone that didn’t scare me so that I wouldn’t fuck it up and lose you, you know?”

“You’re not gonna lose me,” you nudged him in the side and smiled up at him, a silent gesture that you forgave him for his past mistakes. “I’m in it for the long haul, alright?”

Steve smiled back at you and shook his head. You were just so perfect.

“Besides,” you spoke up again before adding the rest in a whisper, “I think about that time during third period all the time too.” And with that you sauntered ahead of him, your hips swaying back and forth, in a way that had Steve thinking…well, about that third period.

You shoved forward through some overgrowth to a clearing to see the one and only Skull Rock. Steve pushed through shortly after you and you could see the self-satisfied smirk stretch across his face.

“Bada bing, bada boom. There she is, Henderson. Skull Rock. In your face, man. In your stupid, cocky little face,” Steve shouted out, and you smacked his arm with the back of your hand. You had only ever officially been Dustin’s babysitter, but sometimes it really did feel like you were babysitting Steve too.

“Cool it, Harrington,” you warned.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Dustin stared at the boulders confused, and suddenly you got a sinking sort of feeling in your stomach.

“Yeah, yeah, even with it staring you in the face, you can’t admit it. You just can’t admit that you’re wrong, you little butthead,” Steve retorted. Suddenly, you heard something behind you, and you quickly turned on your heels as you heard the familiar voice ring out.

“I concur. You, Dustin Henderson, are a total butthead.”

“We thought you were a goner,” Dustin quickly hugged Eddie, relieved to see that he was okay given the police cars and news vans that had infiltrated his hiding spot.

“Yeah, me too…me too,” Eddie replied, patting the boy on the back before letting him go. “Teach, glad you could make it, sorry about the…you know,” Eddie gestured to his neck, apologizing for the small cut that he had left on yours.

“No apologies necessary. We’re just glad that you’re okay,” you replied, pulling Eddie in for a hug as well. You hated that he was involved in all of this shit. You hated how you always managed to bring more people into this mess; that it grew and spread like weeds in a garden.

Eddie explained what had happened with Patrick, and your heart sank at the fact that he had to experience all that trauma all over again. “…and when I got to shore, I tried to call you guys but my walkie was busted, so, uh, I did the thing that I do now apparently: I ran,” He chuckled exasperatedly.

“Do you know what time this was exactly?” Nancy inquired.

“Yeah, no, I…I know exactly what time it was. My walkie wasn’t the only thing that got soaked,” Eddie replied, taking off his watch and tossing it to Nancy.

“9:27,” she read the time out.

“Same time our flashlights when kablooey,” Robin added the proper context.

“Which means what, exactly?” Steve asked.

“That that surge of energy was Vecna attacking Patrick,” Nancy explained.

“Well, we’re one step closer. At least we know how Vecna attacks,” you tried to be optimistic, but it didn’t really feel like much of a win.

“And where he attacks from,” Lucas spoke up.

“So, now we just need to sneak into his lair in the Upside Down and drive a stake through his heart,” Max emphasized. All jokes aside, it sounded simple when she said it, though you knew that wouldn’t be the case.

“A stake? Is he like a vamp—is he a vampire?” Steve asked.

“It was a metaphor, sweetheart,” you replied. Oh how that boy was great at not catching on.

“A bullet should work on him, right?” Eddie asked.

“I say we chop his head off,” Lucas suggested.

“Hey, uh, Henderson’s not, uh, cursed…is he?” Eddie pointed and you all turned to see the boy pacing back and forth.

“Cursed? No, no, no, he’s fine. Mental? Absolutely,” Steve answered.

“Boom!” The boy suddenly shouted into the wilderness, “I was right! Skull Rock was north.”

“Seriously? Are you serious? This is Skull Rock!” Steve shouted back. That sinking feeling in your stomach returned as you took a deep breath awaiting Dustin’s explanation.

“This compass worked correctly when we left the Wheelers’. It was correct when we got in the car on Kerley. But it started to slip the further east we went. Now, it’s way off. When I was leading us here, I wasn’t wrong; the compass was. Do you remember what can affect a compass?”

“An electromagnetic field,” Lucas answered as his eyes lit up, beginning to connect the dots.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve skipped that class,” Robin spoke up, requesting an explanation.

“In the presence of a stronger electromagnetic field, the needle will deflect towards that power,” you began and Steve looked at you incredulously. You shrugged as Dustin continued.

“So, there’s either some super big magnet around here, or there’s a gate.”

“But we’re no where near the lab,” Nancy pointed out.

“But what if, somehow, there’s another gate? A gate that we don’t know about. It would have to be smaller, way less powerful,” Dustin proposed.

“A snack sized gate,” Robin contextualized.

“But how? Why?” Steve asked the hard questions.

“I don’t know. All I know is that something is causing this disturbance and the last time we saw anything like it, there was a gate. And if there is a gate that means we can get to Vecna and we have a shot at freeing y/n from this curse,” Dustin explained and then turned, his eyes glued back to the faulty compass.

“Hey, woah, woah, woah,” Steve spoke up, a hand on his hip and giving peak paternal vibes, “Eddie’s still a wanted man. We can’t just go on a hike in the woods.”

“This compass might be the key to saving Eddie and y/n. What say you, Eddie the Banished?” Dustin replied.

“I say you’re asking me to follow you into Mordor, which, if I’m totally straight with you, I think it’s a really bad idea…but uh, the Shire…the Shire is burning,” Eddie replied and Dustin began to jump up and down in excitement. You rolled your eyes and chuckled at Steve’s confused expression.

“So Mordor it is,” you added as Eddie hopped up to follow Dustin, the rest of the gang following suit.

“What is Mordor?” Steve asked quietly.

“Oh, baby,” you replied pitifully as you placed a hand on his back and led him to follow the others.

***

Night had fallen and you were still walking through the woods following the damn compass. Your feet were getting tired and if one more low branch hit you in the face you were pretty sure you were going to scream.

Robin and Steve were arguing over the plot of the movie they had watched at your last shift together and you fell into step with Eddie.

“So, I take it when I saw you all beat up in the movie theater last summer, it was related to all of this shit, right?” Eddie inquired.

“I mean yeah…well, kind of,” you replied, your face scrunching up in thought as you considered how you would have contextualized those specific injuries.

“What do you mean ‘kind of’?”

“Well, it was related to all of this supernatural bullshit, but not quite supernatural. Long story short, I got the shit beat out of me by a bunch of Russians who were secretly in Hawkins trying to reopen the gate to the Upside Down,” you explained. Eddie stared at you for a second, not really sure how to respond.

“So…you did all of that…and then just came back to school, like it was nothing? Started tutoring me in physics?”

“I mean, it was the third time some crazy ass shit had happened, so I guess afterwards all there is to do is to try and return to some form of normalcy. What else were we supposed to do?” You asked rhetorically. “Also, Steve and I started dating which made things a lot easier. You know, just having someone to rely on like that and all.”

It felt natural confiding in Eddie. He never judged you and you never judged him. He felt like the type of person that would be in your corner despite your ups and downs and you appreciated that tutoring him had given you the opportunity to see that side of him.

“Bullshit. You had to have been dating Steve last school year. Like before the mall fire. You two were all over each other after him and Nancy broke up; you were practically together all of the time!”

“It was…complicated before last summer,” you chose your words carefully. “I don’t think we knew how to tell each other how we felt, you know? I mean, we had already watched the world nearly end twice at that point, and the thought of ruining our friendship to pursue a relationship that might not work out was scary then. Looking back it was stupid of us, but we’re together now and that’s all that matters.”

“You think he’s the one?” Eddie asked and your face went bright red. You hadn’t really thought about it, but then again, you hadn’t really needed to because you already knew.

“Yeah…yeah, I think he is,” you smiled, your eyes focused on Steve’s back, watching how he laughed at something Robin had said. “Don’t fucking tell him I said that though or I’ll kill you myself,” you threatened.

“Surely he has to already know,” Eddie argued. You felt your insecurity festering in your chest. Sometimes you still couldn’t believe that he loved you. You weren’t the kind of girl he would have paid any attention to in the past and sometimes that thought ate away at you. You knew that he was it for you, but sometimes you doubted whether or not you were it for him. You hoped with all of your heart that you were.

You shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean, I’m probably going away to college next year and I don’t really know how we’ll make it through that. I don’t want him to have to wait for me, you know?”

“Oh, he’s waiting for you, honey. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” Eddie chuckled, speaking as if the idea was absurd. You felt a weight fall off of your shoulders as he said it. You bit back a smile as the two of you quickened your pace to rejoin the rest of the group.

“Dustin? Can you slow down? Dustin?” Steve called out as he attempted to follow the all-too-energetic boy.

“I think we’re getting close!” Dustin called out as he turned over his shoulder as you all entered a clearing, and you quickly pushed past Steve, grabbing the back of the boy’s collar just in time to keep him from stepping right into the lake.

“Woah, cool it alright?” You warned, your babysitting instincts still prepped and ready for action.

“You gotta be shitting me,” Steve breathed out. You were right back where you started. Lover’s Lake.

“There’s a gate in Lover’s Lake?” Max asked, trying to sort out the pieces of the puzzle in her head.

“Whenever the demogorgon attacked, it always left an opening. Maybe Vecna’s the same way,” Nancy suggested.

“Only one way to find out,” Steve spoke up. You all wandered the shore of Lover’s Lake until you found a boat. Steve held it steady as Robin, Nancy, Eddie, and you piled on. You had come prepared, again all thanks to the babysitting, and had the walkman and headphones safe in a ziplock bag to avoid them getting damaged from the water.

Dustin attempted to board the boat, but Eddie swiftly stopped him. “Woah, woah, woah. You trying to sink us? This thing holds four people tops, okay?”

“It’s better this way. If we all disappear, people are going to get suspicious,” Nancy argued.

“It’s my goddamn theory!”

“You heard Nance,” Robin warned.

“Who put her in charge?!” The boy asked in exasperation.

“I did,” Robin replied simply.

“Compass,” you held out your hand and Dustin begrudgingly gave it to you.

Steve pushed the boat off the shore, boarding it as it started to float away. “You said four!” Dustin shouted, angry at the way he’d been conned.

“Sorry,” Steve offered as the boat continued on. He threw an arm around you and hugged you to his side. He was nervous about the fact that you weren’t on the shore with the kids, but he knew that you would find a way out on the lake one way or another so he didn’t really feel like fighting the inevitable…even though you all were quite literally fighting the inevitable.

You thought about how this would be fun in any other context. Just you, three of your close friends, and your boyfriend, out on the lake at night. You thought about the way you would all probably crack jokes and share stories, passing the time away until it was way later than you realized. You wished that could be your reality, and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you accepted that it wasn’t.

The compass jumped to life in your hands, the needle spinning every which direction. “Woah, woah, woah! Slow down guys!” You called out, eyes glued to the small device in your hand.

“Woah,” Steve breathed out as you stopped to watch the compass needle spin. It was a mesmerizing sight, and your hands slightly shook as you watched it. Steve noticed and quickly grabbed your other hand, running his thumb over the back of it to calm you down.

“Guys what’s going on?” Dustin’s voice crackled through the walkie talkie. Robin quickly attended to it.

“Uh, Dustin, your compass has gone from wonky to wonky with a capital ‘ahhh!’” You barely paid any attention to her words, more preoccupied with the way Steve began quickly removing his shoes.

“Steve, what are you doing?” You were quick to question, though you already knew the answer. Your heart stopped in your chest and you felt like you could barely breathe anymore.

“Somebody’s gotta go down there and check this out. And unless one of you four can top being a Hawkins High swim co-captain and a certified lifeguard for three years, then…it’s gotta be me. No complaints, alright?” He made eye contact with you as he said the last part. You gaped at him, struggling to find the words to voice your very obvious complaint.

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Eddie spoke up, “I do not want to go down there.”

Eddie wrapped his flashlight in a plastic bag and handed it to your boyfriend, and suddenly you were at a loss for words at the only other man on the boat too. Typical.

Steve took off his yellow crewneck and you flushed at the sight of his bare back. He was toned in just the right way that made you want to run your hands all over him, and you could go weak at the knees at the sight of his chest…but that was besides the point; right now, you needed to focus on the task at hand: not letting your boyfriend go kill himself trying to solve an inter-dimensional mystery.

“Steve, just let me go, okay? I’m practically dying anyway,” you argued, trying to pry the flashlight out of his hand. He swiftly pulled his hand above his head and out of your reach.

“Okay, absolutely not. No way…in hell. Alright?”

“Steve,” you looked up at him with so much worry that he about broke right then and there. But what he was doing was to save you, so that you would still be around for him to keep looking into those beautiful eyes.

He pulled you into a tight hug, placing a kiss to the top of his head. You placed a gentle kiss to his bare chest as you tried to swallow the worry that had leapt to your throat. “I’ll be alright, okay? I promise.”

He extended his pinky towards you and you hooked yours around his, taking a deep breath and nodding. “Be careful,” you warned him, and just like that he dove into the lake, disappearing under the surface of the water.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, holding a hand to your chest as you tried to remain calm. Normally when the two of you had faced supernatural bullshit together, you faced it together. The fact that Steve was on a solo mission right now was enough to make your heart explode. Maybe that made you codependent but right now you didn’t care.

“Woah, y/n are you okay?” Robin asked, noticing the way your breath was shaky.

“Yeah, I-I’m fine, I just need….to catch my breath is all,” you responded. She rubbed circles around your back, trying to comfort you while the four of you waited for Steve to resurface. How long could he even hold his breath for? You couldn’t even fucking breathe and you had access to plenty of oxygen.

“Where we at, Wheeler?” Robin asked, starting to get worried herself.

“Closing in on a minute.”

You all stared at the undisturbed lake. The silence was deafening and you were about fifteen seconds away from jumping in yourself when the surface of the water broke and Steve emerged, causing all of you to jump.

“I found it,” Steve reported, swimming towards the side of the boat to get back in.

“You found it?” You asked, hope starting to build in your chest, relieved that your boyfriend was no longer in the depths of Lover’s Lake searching for inter-dimensional portals.

“I found it, yeah, I found it,” he reiterated with a chuckle, his eyes shining as hope began to build in his heart as well. He grabbed onto the side of the boat, and it gently rocked towards him.

“Dustin, you are a goddamn Einstein! Steve found the gate!” Robin reported back to land.

“It’s pretty wild,” Steve explained, “it’s more of a snack sized gate than the mama gate, but still, it’s pretty damn big.”

No sooner had Steve finished his sentence, did he suddenly dip below the surface of the water, his shout cut off by his head nearly going under. He gripped the side of the boat more firmly, it teetering to the side, causing the rest of you to fall off balance. Steve bobbed back up, looking you in the eye, before he was suddenly yanked under the water again, this time losing his grip on the boat and disappearing completely below the surface of the lake.

“Steve!” You shouted, beginning to hyperventilate. You felt your stomach drop as he didn’t resurface. Everyone else on the boat was yelling and shouting and everything was starting to go fuzzy. They sounded far away and all you could hear was your heart beating in your chest.

Eddie, Robin, and Nancy were shouting at each other, arguing about what they should do. Your mind finally cleared in the chaos of the moment. You didn’t think twice, standing up and ignoring their protests as you dove headfirst into the cold water of the lake.

***

a/n: shit’s gettin’ real. Anyway, again so sorry about taking forever, but I hope it was worth the wait :). Reblog if you’re feeling generous and want to make me smile! Also comment! I love hearing what you think and it helps motivate me to write more when I see people interacting with the story! Love you all <3

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#stranger things #steve harrington #joe keery #steve harrington fanfic #netflix #friends to lovers #steve harrington friends to lovers #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff

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rreskk · 3 months

Text

MELLOW NIGHT

Summary: Arguments are usually unresolved. In this case, you went to bed and avoided any more of his antiques. Unfortunately he followed you to bed and disturbed the slumber, getting what he deserves in the end.

TW: smut

Pairings: Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

Word count: 1849

You were on your side, back facing Trevor who remained wide-awake as you attempted to sleep. Your body curled up and solidified at the consistent shuffling of his restless limbs. Wanting to say something, you couldn’t. You weren’t apparent to the idea of giving Trevor the satisfaction of talking, not after his stunt from earlier that day. By all means, the shuffling and twitching was on purpose. His grunting had revealed the stubbornness nature where he wanted attention despite the fault belonging to his destruction a few hours prior. He acted upon his insanity and broke some promises, arguments after arguments; not a sound of apologies. So you went to bed, and to your misfortune, he followed.

The flashing lights of his phone illuminated on the wall beside you. His thumbs tapped amongst the screen and faint, muffled noises of videos started to play from his end. It made you sleepy – all the background noises – until you heard clicking and, of course, the volume was increased. The faint racket became recognisable through loudness, and you heard the intro to some pornography videos he had downloaded. You recognised this one. The woman’s voice; it was his favourite porn clip, showing you many times before. He was always open about his preferences so you had the insights of his most regular watches, categories, most visited sights. However, it didn’t make you feel good this time.

This video, loud and booming, started with that familiar voice of a lady, softly spoken, ushering dirty words towards the man. You could hear the man muffle out sensual grunts as action began participating. Throughout the videoed foreplay, Trevor’s soughs of glee distracted you from the pornography that was happening from behind your back. Trevor responded to the lady who, as you recalled through memory, took the upper hand, her voice becoming the most dominant feature in this video. You heard this lady repeat phrases where she praised the man for being well-behaved, acting upon this maternal figure through a kinky and rose-tilted glasses. Trevor responded via sighs and small exhales. Like Hell, this video was so loud but you just managed to hear him.

It continued for a few painful minutes then your curiosity took the best. Pretending to still be asleep, you turned over, feeling his body freeze at your sudden movement. You faced him – in an uncomfortable position – but you couldn’t risk alarming him of your consciousness. It became silent. You felt his eyes peer over your “sleeping” figure before the video started again. He assumed you were asleep enough to pursue this moments of desire.

Since you were closer, the flashing lights of his phone would startle your closed eye-lids. So badly you refrained the urge to flinch at the sudden change of lightness. It went from dark to bright, depending on the angles of this video.

Trevor’s frantic limbs rested since you were within proximity but that didn’t stop him from experimenting with the pornography. He groaned softly and, with the mattress shifting, he adjusted his arm, the dirty hands edging towards his grey sweatpants where you vaguely heard the fabrics of his drawstrings loosening around the hips. Your left eye stirred open, the other one remaining closed in case he happened to look this way. With the new visions presenting itself, you saw him through the blurs of your lashes. He had himself in a muddle where a hand was settled within his sweatpants, the other holding the phone, the video – still loud and booming – showing the full penetration of these stars enjoying the fake intimacy.

You stared as Trevor’s sweatpants slacked down his hips, the stains creasing and the folds multiplying before he diminished the white briefs, proposing the size of his hardness. You had unconsciously inhaled through amusement. Your undercover frame was at worship of this blossoming erection that grew denser by minute. Trevor rubbed his tip and worked his way down, his voice-box trembling and breaking.

The pornography was approaching his favourite scene and you could tell he was getting excited. His cock twitched in his palm and his eyes, so merrily focused, never left the phone screen. He watched the lady with intensity. He watched as she held the back of the mans head, praising him for feasting at her breasts, treating him like a nothing but helpless boy who was frail and small. The background noise of his lips constantly attacking her nipple, her sighs, his whines, the occasional moans, the skin-to-skin contact; sexiness overtaking Trevor’s composure and possessing his cock into becoming unmanageable, taunting his tensed figure that struct to stone from beside you. Seeing someone of his own sex submit had made him lose authority over himself.

Then his head turned and gazed down at you. His glassy eyes made eye-contact with your opened ones. You refused to become covert now.

Trevor didn’t react to your awakening. He continued holding his cock and stroking it from the tip downwards, the pornography video turning off as he threw his phone aside. The ladies moaning had finally stopped, to your favour. And now his attention was fully placed onto you.

“Mm…” His lips quivered and he shuffled closer to you. Trevor usually acts like this total washaway when he feels small and figureless.

You were hesitant to act. You were supposed to be mad still, but seeing him brittle and delicate, it was something that turned you on like a switch. It was the consequences of hating how reckless and psychotic he could get that – an unconscious chemical reaction that alters your arousals – you favour the opposite, enduring all sides of Trevor; emotional through the physical blesses of passionate sex. So you slowly sat up and moved closer to him. “Hey, baby…”

He sunk into your words and closed them glassy eyes, taking a deep breath, his stomach shrieking inwards and evidencing his ribs through the untidiness of his white T-shirt. You took this time to gently crawl over his static body and sitting just below his crotch. Your backside warmed up his thighs and you caressed his stomach with your ticklish nails.

“Everything hurts… So good… Jesus – “ He croaked out, looking down so his chin started pressing against his collarbone, admiring the way you sat there and massaging his rough skin. You had gently unveiled his chest by lifting up his shirt. You didn’t have to say anything, but the mannerism of your stern face, Trevor immediately bit into the hem, holding it back for you.

“That’s right.” You praised as your hands trailed closer to his intimacy. His back arched in effect of your touch. Trevor’s face scrunched up with pain or pleasure – you hadn’t of known – he was hard to read since he’s usually too animated.

You held him by hand. The rigidness was cruel compared to your skin. Despite it, you proceeded to praise it by precious strokes of your palm. His cock had excessively shivered when you decided to take matters into your own hands, literally.

“Ohhh… Oh.” You heard him murmur with a pleasurable groan.

“You feel good, lovely?”

“Fucking…” The shirt dropped from his mouth as he spoke, “I knew you couldn’t stay mad.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” You said while rubbing his extreme erection.

He smirked and whistled at your, what he’d call, feistiness. It was charming, juxtaposing the true annoyance you felt.

“What do you think, sunshine?” He slurred.

You leaned down and breathed against his cock while maintaining this strong eye-contact. The way he instantly shuts up, it was memorable. You didn’t plan to help by mouth. That would praise him too much, and he was being very naughty before the circumstance.

“I don’t know…” Your hot breath attacked him, “Maybe you feel too good.”

Trevor whimpered and covered his face with frustration. He wanted to be beaten in order to release the arousal as your magic hands shot witch-craft into his veins.

Your hands tightened and you warmed him more, and more. You increased the pace as well, enjoying the muffled whines from behind his covered mouth. Giving him a mean hand job while huffing your hot, luscious breath upon his skin, it frightfully caused a series of spasms throughout his spine.

“Ohh, fuck…” Moaned Trevor.

It was a lullaby to your ears, so you mercilessly scrape your fingers across his cock and waited for any further signals to surprise an orgasm. He was easy to please and cum. It took minutes, sometimes seconds. However, he was already sensitive before you touched him – thanks to the pornography – that his cock hardened, coming close.

“You’re hurting me, ma.” He whined with a grin, “It’s hurting.”

You knew of his attempts and rolled your eyes. “Why’s it hurting, baby?”

When you failed to respond to his standard, he frowned at you. Annoyed and displeased. The hard work to try and lure you into sweet talking him went refused, it aroused him, sadly.

“I wanna cum. I wanna fuckin’ cum…” He spoke in whispers.

It was obvious he wanted to cum. You leaned close and pressed a soft kiss against his quivering lips. You kissed until his cock shrivelled up, white cum oozing from the tip and painting your hand.

“Please, please, please!” The sensation was too overbearing, “I love you, God! God, fuck! I love… Yes!”

“I love you too, baby.” You murmured as he moaned against your mouth.

The orgasm was a long one. If a man could whine anymore, it would be classified as impossible. You wondered how his voice hadn’t of ran out from the ongoing cries. Once he stopped, his face was exhausted.

“You’re alright…” Your hands caressed his stomach and, enjoying the musk of his utter sex, your lips kissed down his neck.

“Jesus, sugar. Fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Easy.”

Trevor glanced down at you, pouting but in a subtle way. “Mhm?”

You returned his eye-contact and smiled. “Take it easy, my love. Don’t you feel good?”

“Yes, ma.”

“Then what’s the complaining.” You mutter.

He stayed silent and watched you applaud kisses down his collarbone. It felt more than good. It was dreamy. Like meth penetrating his skin.

You hummed and stopped kissing his body any further than his chest. Trevor was about to whinge but you immediately grabbed his jaw and his mouth fell open. His eyes were barely present to the current reality. He presents his tongue and knew what you were going to do next. His most favourite thing you could do.

A long trail of spit drooled from your mouth and into his. He inhaled your spit with heart-eyes and closed his mouth, swallowing the slaver like it was his own.

“Good boy.” Finally, you said what he’s been wanting to hear all night.

Trevor’s head fell back against the pillow and he dropped his limbs as you crawled to the side, lips never leaving his neck. The affection had instantly drowned him in the blues, solitude turning into slumber.

You waited until he had fell asleep before turning your back, once again, and leaving him to soak up the post-clarity of his orgasm.

#grand theft auto 5 #trevor philips #gta v #grand theft 5 #grand theft auto #gta 5 #trevor gta #grand theft auto v #trevor philips/reader #trevor philips x reader #trevor philips fanfiction #trevorphilips #trevor philips/you #trevor philips headcanons #grandtheftauto5 #my fanfic writing #my fanfic #my fanfiction #my writing

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impala-dreamer · 1 month

Text

Who We're Pretending To Be

A Story from the YOU Universe

~Joe finds himself getting too close to one of his grad students and he fights the urge to fall completely.~

Joe Goldberg (Jonathan Moore) x F!Reader

5,019 Words

Warnings: NSFW.

A/N: If you've not seen the Netflix show YOU, this may not be your thing. Still a great story, but it helps to know the show. Also, if you've not seen the show, I suggest you get right on that because it is AMAZING.

Set between Seasons 3 & 4. Slight spoilers for s4, but not really.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

The classroom seems cold today, like there’s something missing. It’s distracting. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s off, but there’s a charge in the air like something’s about to happen; as if lightning could strike at any second.

I don’t mean proverbial lightning, as none of my students seem to have grasped any of the contextual undertones of the book we’re discussing, but actual, live lightning. If I opened the windows behind my desk just a crack, a bolt would sneak through and bury itself in the base of my skull. Maybe that’s what I need- a jolt of electricity, something to break me out of this fog that crept up around me and climbs forever higher threatening to suffocate me.

I think I’d take the lightning to the skull over suffocation, but we don’t always get what we want.

I’m perched on the edge of the desk when the door opens and Y/N comes rushing in.

Suddenly, all of my attention is on her.

She’s never late. Never rushing, always at least ten minutes early for every appointment, every class. She seems- off today, as well. Perhaps she can feel the imminent lightning strike as well. Wouldn’t that be funny? I find a kindred amongst these idiot grad students who can’t even seem to end this horrid debate.

“I am so sorry, Professor Moore.”

Y/N’s voice cracks a bit, which in itself isn’t very unusual. She’s one of the quieter students I’ve encountered, and the only American in my current circle of acquaintances. Her accent is faint, as if she’s attempting to hide it from her schoolmates. She’s been here a while, I can infer; sprinkling in local slang and adding letters to words where back home there would be none. She’s trying hard to fit in, but why? Why not be herself?

“I got held up by-”

I hold up my hand and smile softly. “It’s fine, Y/N. Please take a seat and try to catch up.”

For fuck’s sake, she’s only twenty minutes late, but it looks like every second has weighed her down like lead.

The others pick up their debate and I sit back a bit, cross my arms, pretend to listen. This teaching thing isn’t as hard as everyone makes it out to be. Occasionally, I toss out an idea and let them run with it. Sometimes, I pay attention, mostly I don’t. Mostly I’m thinking of You. Of how beautiful You looked at that art show, of how You gasped when you saw me like You couldn’t decide if You wanted to run to me or away.

From the corner of my eye, I see Y/N timidly raise her hand and You are temporarily pushed aside. She keeps her hand up but close to her chest, as if the very act of asking to speak is somehow terrifying.

How can someone so brave be so terrified to do something as common as speak in class? She’s clearly not a scared person by nature- she moved across an ocean to attend university when she could have gone for free back home to whatever state college she decided to attend. I’ve peeked at her transcripts- she’s smart. Not win a genius grant or a full ride smart, but smart. Why is she so nervous?

I smile and a bit of her nerves seem to quell. Her shoulders relax an inch and she smiles back.

“You know you don’t have to raise your hand, Y/N,” I tell her, laughing gently to put her at ease.

She dips her chin and then looks up with the most beautiful gaze I have ever seen. Her lashes flutter upwards in slow motion, the darkness of her pupils expand, pushing nearly every fleck of color away except the gemlike glow cast by the stained glass window over my head. She smiles and her lips shine like glass. Soft, pink, beautiful glass. I can’t look away and yet I absolutely have to. Thankfully, she speaks and I can act like I’m moving away to sit in my chair and not to get away from her.

“Sorry,” she says, sweet voice sweeping over the room. “I just didn’t want to jump in because I was late but-”

“But you have something to add,” I finish for her.

Her eyes float back to me and the atmosphere shifts. The foreboding of a lighting strike vanishes and the room seems to warm up. Quickly, I sit and scoot the chair close to the desk, set my elbows on the top, clasp my hands near my lips. I can’t stop staring at her.

She nods. “Yes. If that’s alright.”

There it is again, the tiniest speck of British on her tongue. How long has she been living here, and why? It can’t just be for school. She’s too interesting for that. She dresses to blend in; muted colors and clean jeans, her hair always swept back, face free of plastering makeup or too much color. There’s only ever that pink gloss and a gentle brush of mascara. It’s as if she doesn't know how beautiful she is, or perhaps, she doesn’t care.

Or was she one of those kids who never really got any attention until they blossomed but by then it was too late to fit into their personality?

She chews her lip nervously and shyly looks away from me.

No, she knows. She knows how beautiful she is, she just isn’t one to flaunt it; doesn’t need the attention. Or is that how she draws them in?

She’s already talking, but I can’t hear a thing she’s saying. I can hear her voice, that honey like glaze she adds to things when she’s speaking passionately, but the actual words, the meaning- I can’t follow a damned thing. I’m too busy trying to figure her out.

You flash through my mind for a moment; a sweet memory of a smile in the library when You didn’t think I was looking.

What is it about a smile that says so much without words? Does it show who we really are or who we’re pretending to be?

“I just think that love shouldn’t be so easily condemned.”

Y/N’s comment breaks through my thoughts of You and I clear my throat, straighten up in my chair, focus.

Across the room, Nadia rolls her eyes, clearly disagreeing with Y/N’s interpretation. “This isn’t love, it’s obsession. The two can’t and shouldn’t be intertwined.”

Y/N bites her bottom lip and shakes her head.

What does that lip gloss taste like? Berries, perhaps… No. Stop it. Focus.

“I disagree.” Y/N sits forward and tucks her hands below the table. “Love is obsession. Obsession is love. It’s not a tautology, no, but you can have one with the other. If you’re not even a little obsessed with the person you love, is it really love at all?”

My mind is zinging, my ears ringing. Does she truly believe that, or is it all for the sake of debating Nadia? They’ve been at war most of the semester, but this seems truthful, deep.

The bell rings before I can recenter and add anything. I give my head a little shake and stand up, the chair rolling back behind me.

“Class dismissed. Great job today. Lively, wonderful discourse.” I fake a smile at the rest and then settle on Y/N.

She’s taking her time, hanging back as she gathers her things. She stuffs a notebook into her bag and the pen she’s been using rolls away from her.

“Crap.” She lunges across the table for it, but it’s too close to the edge, too far from her reach.

I drop down at the last second and save it from a dusty fate of rolling across the floor. “Gotcha.”

She’s staring when I stand up. Our eyes meet and she doesn’t shy away, but looks even deeper somehow. A smile lifts her cheeks and my pulse quickens.

No.

She holds out her hand and there’s a fleeting second when I want to trace my fingers across her palm, feel how soft and warm she is, but no. I toss her the pen and turn, trying to get her out of my head.

I have more important things to do than become a tired cliche. Some professor falling for a student. It’s an outrageous thought, and besides, I don’t need Y/N, I have You.

I hear the zipper close and a chair being pushed in. She’s leaving.

She lingers in the door and turns back to me with a sweet smile. “Have a good weekend, Professor.”

Her tone is so genuine, so kind that it nearly knocks me backwards. I can’t remember the last time anyone has truly wished me a good time. It’s such an overused pleasantry, so common and boring, but not when she says it. Not when she smiles at me like that, with her eyes still and focused on me.

The warmth spreading through me is real as well and I can’t seem to push it away. “Thank you,” I managed, barely able to stand let alone return the sentiment. “You too.”

The rest of the day goes by quickly but it feels like forever. Two more classes, two more groups of students droning on about what the author really meant, when none of them, not a single one seems to be able to read between the fucking lines. None of them can step back and see the whole picture, capture the meaning as a universe unto itself and not just a line in black and white on an otherwise blank page.

Y/N could read between the lines. Y/N would understand the sum of it all. She would get it.

Stop. Thinking. About. Her.

On my walk home, I think about You. Wondering what You’re up to, where You are tonight. The sun is setting, dragging the sky down into a deep pink and I wonder if You are seeing the same colors where You are. Someday, we’ll sit together on an island in the Pacific and see what that sunset looks like. Would You paint it for me, I wonder…

Y/N crosses my mind for a moment as I gaze at the light reflecting off a window as I pass. Would the sunset hit her shining lip gloss in the same way? Would the pink deepen with the sky? Would she smile if she caught me staring, back away if I leaned in to drag my thumb across her juicy, pink bottom lip?

No.

Darkness has settled and I haven’t moved to turn on a lamp. I’m stuck, glued to my sofa, my hands nailed to my thighs. I keep my eyes open for fear of seeing her face, but bouncing around the room looking for a distraction is only giving me a headache. I need to get out. I need something to do. I need-

A knock at the door.

Who would be knocking at my door at nearly ten o’clock at night?

Curiosity pulls me off of the couch and I switch on the lights as I head to the door. The peephole is clouded as fuck, but I can see her outline. My stomach tightens, my shoulders tense.

What is she doing here?

Her hand raises to knock again, but I unlatch the door before her knuckles hand. I find her dangling in the air, her startled face the most appealing thing I’ve seen in ages. Her eyes go wide, her jaw drops just enough to give me a peek at her tongue. Quickly, she rights herself and shies her gaze away. She chews her lip and I notice the pink gloss is gone, replaced by a deeper red.

Everything about her is different tonight. Her hair is down and fresh, her eyes are lined in black and the color blended above brings out the prisms in her eyes. Her clothes are strange as well: a short skirt, tall boots, a blouse that’s too tight to hide anything. There’s a gold string around her throat, something old, a gift perhaps from a dead relative, or a chance find at an antique shop. She would like diving through boxes of discarded wares looking for treasures, wouldn’t she?

Or maybe I’m just distracted by her appearance. Maybe I should stop trying to pick her apart and send her far, far away.

I’m not that man anymore. I’ve changed. I’m good. I have to be good for You.

It’s been too long since either of us has said anything and the fact of it is hanging in the air between us like some kind of glowing, awkward sign.

Thankfully, she speaks.

“Um… Hi.”

It isn’t much, but it breaks the painful silence.

I smile, confused but curious. My ultimate downfall.

“Y/N. What are you doing here?”

I should say something about it being inappropriate, something about contacting me only during office hours, but she knows. That’s not why she’s here. I can see it in her eyes.

Her hands are tucked behind her back, I notice. She’s holding something, not just shoving her tits in my face, although, I can’t say that I mind. She sees that I’m looking and turns to the side a bit to hide it more.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, calming herself, steeling her nerves. Why is she so nervous? What secret is she hiding? What plan has been brewing all day in her head?

That’s it, isn’t it? She was late this morning, distracted and timid because she was planning to come here.

I should be flattered, but I’m too intrigued by her boldness as she slides past me into my flat.

“I know this is highly inappropriate,” she says, the confession like a song on her lips. “But… I… Well…”

Her nose scrunches up in the most adorable way while she searches for the right words. It’s endearing and makes me want to sit for hours and listen to her talk, discover exactly who she is and why.

I’m still standing in the open doorway, I realize, so I move aside and let it close. My back presses into the door and I hold my tongue, letting her get to the point.

She’s struggling, dancing around it in her head.

I want to crack open her skull and watch the thoughts spark through the gray matter like shooting stars.

“If you’re worried you’ll get in trouble,” I say, trying to get things moving, “you won’t. I’m just wondering why you’re here and how it is that you know where I live.”

She laughs and digs her tooth into the corner of her lip. “I’m not… stalking you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Nothing that nefarious,” she goes on. “But I did do something bad.”

The nerves seem to fall away from her the more she speaks and her demeanor changes. Her voice deepens ever so slightly and her hip pops to the side as she looks me over. Is she… flirting with me?

“I doubt you’ve done anything newsworthy, Miss Y/L/N…”

She takes a step forward and her lips pucker gently.

She is flirting with me.

“I hope not,” she says with a little laugh. “You see, I work part time in the admin office…”

I didn’t know that. I don’t know a lot about her. So many things to uncover, so many artifacts to dust off and examine.

“OK…” I push off from the door and take a step towards her. She counters, stepping backwards, guiding me to follow.

“And, well, I accidentally was looking at your files and-”

“Accidentally?”

She presses her tongue between her front teeth and smiles, eyes falling across my face. “Accidentally on purpose,” she clarifies. “I was… curious.”

“About me?”

Another step closer but she doesn’t move this time, letting me close the space between us by a few forbidden inches.

She sighs sweetly. “A little, yes.”

I dip my chin and look up, lifting my brows in question. She pulls in a quick breath, clearly enjoying the look I’ve given her.

“OK, maybe a little more than a little.”

One more step and I’m closer than I’ve ever really been to her, except just now when she invited herself in. I take a breath and she smells warm like vanilla, sweet like honey. The fantasy of berries on her lips falls away and I suddenly want to bury my face in the crook of her neck and do nothing but breathe in her scent, feel it invade my senses, infect my bloodstream.

Her chest heaves with a heavy breath and her eyes grow a little darker. She wants me.

“Maybe a lot curious,” she whispers, lifting her chin and blinking slowly.

Is she daring me to kiss her? Can she feel the lightning between us? Dare I?

No. She’s a student. She’s off limits. She’s not… You.

She must notice my hesitation and steps back a pace. She clears her throat. “Anyway. I saw that it was your birthday today.”

It’s not my birthday. Not my real birthday, anyway, just the one on the fake passport with the fake name and real photo.

I smile because I have to. “It is.”

Whatever she’s hiding behind her back shifts between her hands. “And, well, it’s presumptuous of me but I’ve never heard you talk much about friends or family and… you don’t wear a… ring. I just… Well, I know how hard it is to be a world away from what you know, and this city isn’t exactly kind in general, so…”

She’s rambling and I don’t ever want her to stop. Her voice ebbs and flows over me like a sultry tsunami and I can feel my fingers twitch, my blood rush through my system faster and faster.

“I just don’t think anyone should be alone or forgotten on their birthday so-” Finally, she reveals the mystery behind her back and holds out a green glass bottle. “I took a chance that you were a scotch man. At first I thought wine, but I know nothing about wine, and the guy at the shop said this one was good, so… Happy birthday, Professor.”

She hands me the bottle and without thinking, I take it. It’s not expensive by any means, but it’s the gesture that counts. She doesn’t let go right away, holding it with me, as if she can communicate her desires through the blown glass.

“Thank you.” I smile, let my finger brush against hers. “This is… very thoughtful.”

She lets go but doesn’t move otherwise. Her eyes are locked on me, her stare so pure.

I have to get her out of here.

Y/N shrugs and smiles, so confident now, so sure. “It’s nothing, really. I don’t even know if it’s any good.”

Her meaning lingers and I nod, gesture to the sofa as I start to peel off the seal on the top of the bottle.

“Join me for a glass?”

She bites her lip again and I nearly lose it.

“Love to.”

The scotch isn’t terrible but it’s not great. More like something you’d grab if you were just looking to get drunk, not necessarily gift someone you’re trying to impress.

Is that what she’s doing here? Trying to get me drunk? Surely, she knows she’s impressed me long before today. The looks between us in class, the lectures directed almost entirely at her have not gone unnoticed, but this, this is different. This is dangerous. She is dangerous.

The sofa suddenly feels too small. We sit close, drinking and chatting about life in London. She tells me about her family back home and how she had to cross an ocean to escape a misspent youth and an abusive father figure. I lie my way through a few answers but mostly, I let her talk.

The more she drinks, the looser her tongue gets, the freer her gestures. More than once, her hand falls to my knee and even though I should, I don’t push her away. Even though I should stand up, take her glass, ask her to get the hell out of my house, I can’t. I can’t do anything but stare at her lips as she speaks, drown myself in the tone of her voice, memorize the shape of her ears, her nose, slope of her shoulder. I’m lost in time with her and even though I know the clock is careening past midnight, I don’t care. I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to move. I want to be frozen in this moment with her. I want to die in her arms but not before…

“Professor?” She laughs gently, loose and relaxed from the alcohol. She leans in, her shoulder pressing against mine. “Are you even listening to me?”

Honestly, I have no idea what she’s been saying, but I can’t let her know that. I shift a bit, turning towards her. There’s barely room left for the Holy Ghost, as they say, but I doubt he’d begrudge me a little closeness, especially on my- on Jonathan’s birthday.

“I’m listening,” I whisper, captivated by the way she’s glowing. “I’m always listening to you.”

She squirms a bit and smiles behind her glass, takes another sip, downing the rest. There’s a drop of amber gold on her lip and it takes every ounce of restraint in me not to sweep it away with my tongue.

She pats the back of her hand against it and the moment is gone.

“Ya know, you’re one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. And I’m not just sayin’ that. You really are. I get you. I see you, Jonathan Moore. I see inside you.”

She slurs a bit, but not enough for it to be considered a crime if I touch her. That’s all I want to do, just a simple touch. Just to feel how soft she is beneath my fingers, how smooth the curve of her cheek.

Ripping myself away from the impulse, I take the glass from her hand and set hers next to mine on the coffee table. “I think you’ve had enough, Miss. Y/L/N.”

Her hand lands on my chest, right in the very center of me. Can she feel my heartbeat? Does she know how much I want her?

“You can call me by my name, ya know,” she says, dropping her chin and smiling. She’s so close that it would take but a tiny nudge to taste her. “Everyone just calls me Y/N/N.”

This is insane. She needs to leave. I need to slam the door behind her and never open it again.

“Y/N/N.”

Her name falls from my tongue like an incantation and her eyes go hazy. She leans closer, her breath fanning over my lips.

“Say it again,” she asks, nearly begging, “please…”

Fuck, this isn’t good. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. I need to- Fuck, what does it all matter? She’s beautiful and interesting and smart and sitting next to me barely dressed and all she wants is me to whisper her name. What’s the harm?

“Y/N/N.”

The spell falls over her and I know it’s too late to back away. Her eyes fall closed and she leans in, pressing her crimson painted lips to mine. She exhales, pushes herself into the kiss, lets out a tiny moan.

She feels so good and it’s all I can think about. She pulls back and I lean in, needing more. My arms wrap around her, stealing her away. She melts against me, opens her lips to my tongue. The vanilla on her skin mixes with the scotch on her tongue and I’m blown away.

“Professor…”

If feels wrong, so fucking wrong, but I can’t stop tasting her, can’t stop breathing into her with every ounce of air in my body.

I let her go for a second, thinking she’s changed her mind, but no, she’s even more ready than I am.

She stands up, fits her knees in between mine and slowly unbuttons her blouse.

My eyes are huge, I know it. I must look like an idiot but I can’t help it. She’s here, beautiful and curvaceous, teasing me, undressing for me. It’s all for me. She’s here for me.

The blouse floats to the floor and she looks down at me, a hint of previous nerves returning. Her bra is pale pink and covered in lace. Something so pure and innocent covering up something I would kill for.

I would, I realize. I would kill for her.

She wiggles out of her skirt and her hips are distracting. I want to touch, to feel my bones crushing into hers, to sink myself deep inside just to see what it’s like, to know her, to feel all of her.

“You like?” she asks, innocence ringing in her soft voice.

What happened in her past that would make her ask such a thing? Who hurt her so badly, who crushed her self esteem to the point that she wouldn’t be able to tell if I was enjoying her delicious display?

“Of course. You’re… absolutely stunning.”

I can’t say more or I’ll break. I reach for her and she slides into my lap, locking her thighs around mine. She presses down on me and my cock responds, all blood and logic rushing down to push back at her ass.

She wraps her hands around my neck and bends to kiss me. Her fingers tangle in my hair, she curls them, tugs gently, testing, enjoying. Her kisses deepen and her hips roll. I’m about to lose my mind.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first day of class,” she moans, scraping her nails across my scalp.

The sensation is intoxicating and my eyes roll back a bit as she tugs hard. Her right hand is locked in my hair and her left is dragging down my chest. I should stop her. I should stand up. I should…

“Fuck.”

Her hand sneaks into my slacks and she scoots back onto my knees for better access. I can’t even think straight as she rubs at my cock. Her hand is soft, warm, firm. I know I’m moaning, but I can’t help it. I might just die here beneath her.

Her tongue glides across my lips. “So hard to sit in class and not dream about fucking you…”

Something snaps inside of me and I let go. I grab at her tits, peel the delicate lace down and pinch her nipples hard until she’s crying out and arching against me.

“I can’t even read anymore,” she admits, nearly breathless as my lips seal around her left nipple. “Every page makes me think of you. I can hear every word in your voice. I- oh God-”

I bite down just enough to stop her train of thought and I look up to see a blank, beautiful stare.

“I want you,” she whispers, lips never quite closing after.

Fuck. This is what I was trying to avoid. This feeling, this hunger inside of me. This need to fall into someone else, this treacherous lust that forces me to act.

“Please…”

Her hand falls to the nape of my neck and it’s so delicate, so tender that I break.

Wrapping my arms around her, I stand and twist, flipping her over onto her back. She gasps and reaches for me, kissing through the shock while I tug the slacks from my hips. She yanks at my shirt, fumbling with the tiny plastic buttons, licking at every new inch of exposed flesh.

“Want you inside me so bad,” she sings, nearly praying as if I’m some ancient god on high that can make all her dreams come true.

I don’t know about all of them, but this prayer, I can answer.

I tear the lace from her hips and fall down over her, crushing her into the old sofa. Her breath stops for a blessed second and I swear I can hear her heart racing through the silence. She runs her hands across my shoulders and down, curling them around my hips while spreading her legs wider.

“Please… Please… Please…”

Her whine is pathetic but I can’t get enough. If I had it in me to drag this out, to tease her for hours, I would, but the scotch has clouded my head and the sight of her strung out and desperate makes it impossible to wait.

She inhales hard when I sink into her. I can feel myself falling but I press my hands beside her head and hold on as best I can.

She feels like heaven.

Or the closest thing to heaven I’ll ever know.

Wet and warm and tight, I can feel her throbbing around me. Every thrust is like magic, making her shiver and squirm and tighten up even more. She clings to me, nails digging into my arms, mouth searching and thirsty for more.

“Jon-”

I almost go insane. It’s not even my name, but it feels so right on her lips that I wish it was.

I feel her orgasm; her body clenching down on me and pulling me in deeper. It’s so hard not to scream her name at the top of my lungs. Nearly impossible not to stay here forever.

I fall down, shove my face into the crook of her neck and thrust a few more times. I know it’s over too soon, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

She rakes her hand through my hair, gently this time, and finds my lips, kissing me sweetly.

“Hi,” she laughs when our eyes finally focus and find each other through the afterglow.

God, she’s beautiful. So giving, so loving, so perfect in a million different ways that it’s actually breaking my heart.

I smile and peck her lips as I go soft inside of her.

“Hello, You.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05

#joe goldberg x reader #joe goldberg x you #you tv series #you netflix #one shot

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fillingthescrapbook · 9 months

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Let's Talk About: Mentopolis and The Scattered Mind

Not gonna lie, reading the takes Tumblr peeps have on what's going on in Mentopolis is kind of raising my expectations on how the show is going to unfold. That said, nothing could have prepared me for how this episode ended. Nothing.

And speaking of not being prepared… Wilton?! Wilton with the character art looking like a wrinkly pair of--

How I wish we could get a bonus episodes of Dimension 20 seasons of just the players reacting to the character artwork. Because much like I would have loved to see how Bob the Drag Queen and Jujubee would react to Nyruth, I would really really like to see Freddie Wong and Mike Trapp react to Wilton as well.

Now onto the episode content itself;

Hank Green's "I think it's time to unlearn that?" Chef's kiss. The whole thing with The Fix being built to be menacing and scary but Hank's innate kindness and softness still shining through? I don't remember if it was Brennan Lee Mulligan or Brian Murphy or Aabria Iyengar who said something about how your tabletop roleplaying character is you but through a stained-glass. I feel like that really applies to Hank and The Fix.

Alex Song-Xia, once again, has impeccable one-liners in this episode. Trapp doubling down on his character's… tenacity? Amazing. Danielle Radford is taking no prisoners in her game-play, and I love all of her facial reactions. All of them. Freddie Wong's choices in game continues to astound me, and you never know where he's going to zag next.

But my second chef's kiss for this episode goes to Siobhan Thompson's "Fucks Expletive." That was some very quick thinking that really fleshed out a part of this world, and one character's background, with just two words. And that's not mentioning all of the in-character choices Siobhan makes that truly, truly elevates this episode as one of the funniest and most enjoyable couple hours of content on the internet.

I can't wait to see what happens next. Because, really, after that ender of a scene, I need to know how it all plays out.

#let’s talk about #mentopolis #dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #mentopolis spoilers #brennan lee mulligan #siobhan thompson #hank green #danielle radford #alex song-xia #freddie wong #mike trapp

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kuroosdarling · 1 year

Text

BETWEEN THE LINES

‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ FEATURING ꒱ : akaashi keiji

‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ WC ꒱ : 1.5k

‎♡‧₊˚ ꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : you and akaashi have been dating for awhile now, but he’s been hiding a secret.

a/n: this is for @mrs-kurooo for better, for worse collab !!! i’m sorry it’s late pls forgive me :) reposting this again bc tumblr keeps cutting out paragraphs ;(

After just a few weeks of knowing you, Akaashi had already planned on marrying you. It wasn’t something that had hit him in the moment, but looking back he realized he always knew.

When he had met you, it didn’t feel like there was a chase or a game. It was as if the two of you had simply collided; everything falling into place as it was meant to. All he had to do was calmly accept it, allowing himself to open his heart for you and trusting you to keep it safe. What was even better is that you were right there with him, constantly on the same page as one another.

Getting to know you was the most exciting thing Akaashi ever had the pleasure of doing. Everytime he found out something new about you or discovered a cute little fact; he’d tuck all of that in his heart, never letting himself forget it and holding it dearly.

With all he was learning about you, he wanted somewhere physical to display it too; something more tangible. Something that he could hold onto and to cherish -- maybe even one day to give it to you.

So the day he found out about your favorite book, he knew exactly what to do. He bought his own copy knowing yours was already filled with your own little annotations. He still wanted to give you his version from his perspective so you could see how he views you through the lenses of the lines he pours onto the page. Akaashi was never big on huge displays of affection, he often showed his love in more subtle ways.

Over the course of your relationship, he’s reread the book multiple times. The days he reread it on your anniversary, he’d use pink highlighter or red ink. On the days he reread it just because, he used yellow ink. And on days when the two of you were apart and he missed you, he used blue.

The book itself had begun to show its wear and tear. The spine slowly splitting throughout the years of opening and closing it, the pages creasing from all the things he’s written on it. And unfortunately the coffee stain on the cover page from that one time he wasn’t watching where he was placing his cup too early in the morning.

Even after all these years, he had managed to keep it a secret from you. The only one that ever stood between the two of you. Anytime you came too close to seeing him annotate the book, he shut it quickly and grabbed the nearest thing to busy himself with. And once the two of you had moved in together, it was nearly impossible to hide. He had to keep a spare by him at all times to cover his tracks.

He wanted it to be perfect. He wanted to present it to you in the most romantic setting before he got down on one knee. The ring had been tucked in one of his old school jackets that hung in the back of his closet for far too long; but he wanted everything set in place before he made his final move.

But he didn’t figure you’d catch on. Not this early on a saturday morning while he sat at the kitchen counter, scribbling away little professions of love throughout the pages. How that one line reminded him of his adoration for you. And of course right as he took a big sip of his morning coffee is when you decided to make your presence known.

“What are you hiding there?” You ask him, popping a hand on your hip as you snuck up on him. Akaashi almost flew out of the chair, slamming down the coffee cup as the contents inside the cup jostled around. He reached out to close the book and tuck it closer to him.

“Nothing, I was just annotating.” He replies smoothly, as if you didn’t just scare the absolute shit out of him. His eyes trailed up to meet yours, the only layer of protection between your searching eyes and his was the glasses that sat on his face. He could tell that you weren’t fully buying into his story – not even close.

“Annotating what?” You peer over, trying to get a glimpse of whatever he was trying to cover up. Taking the newspaper that sat nearby, he quickly put it over the book.

“It’s a secret.” He smirked, standing up and softly caressing your face. The look on your face told him that he needed to try harder, the curve of your brow unsettled him and he knew this wasn’t something you were going to just drop. So he had to step it up. He cupped your cheek, pulling your face closer to his. “One that you’ll have to pry out of me.”

“Oh? Come here then.” You look up at him from under your lashes with a mischievous glint. He leans forward and catches your lips with his, pulling you into him. He pulled you up so you were sitting on the counter to get better access to you, slipping his body in between your legs. It didn’t take long for you to forget what you had previously been discussing, too lost in the sensation of Akaashi’s lips gliding over yours.

Needless to say, the distraction worked; but he knew his time was limited. He needed to plan something fast.

Akaashi had begged your best friend to take you out for the morning; going to the spa, doing some light shopping and most importantly, getting your nails done. All funded by him, of course. Your best friend knew exactly what he was planning so they eagerly agreed.

Meanwhile, Akaashi had work to do. He cleaned the entire apartment, picked out a nice outfit for himself, and started packing some things for the day he had planned.

A picnic in the park where the two of you had one of your first dates. It was a special spot. It was where he had kissed you for the first time. He texted your friend that he was setting up and you could be dropped off whenever.

Quickly and carefully setting everything up, Akaashi flipped through the book, the light weight of the ring sitting in his pocket. Everything was ready.

Akaashi expected to be nervous, or scared, or something similar to that effect. But he wasn’t. It felt like everything had come to this moment, the moment where he will ask to be yours forever.

“Keiji?” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts. He shuffles up, tucking the book behind him as he fiddles with it. You bound up to him, kissing him along the cheek and throwing your arms around him. “You planned a picnic for us?

“Surprise.” He chucked, giving you a chaste kiss that had you wanting more. Excitement bubbled up in his stomach and he couldn’t wait another second. The words lingered on the tip of his tongue, threatening to blurt everything out. “You like it?”

“I love it.” You beam up at him. He helps you sit down before taking his place next to you. The spread was immaculate. All your favorite foods and drinks are neatly organized on a small board. You go to reach for the food but he gently places his arm on yours. Before you could ask him why, he states “I have something for you.”

He pulls out the book, thoroughly worn with all the love he’s poured into it over the years. He’s done his best to upkeep it, trying to fix the spine and straighten the pages. But it was still obvious that it had been read and worked on for a long time.

“Is this-?” You start, your eyes widening as your fingers glide over the rough cover.

“Your favorite book. I’ve been annotating it for you.” He suddenly feels a little bashful at the light that shone in your eyes, casting over him like a warm spotlight. “I’ve been working on it for a bit.”

You take a moment to flip through the pages, your fingers carefully gliding over the scribbles throughout it. You flip back to the first page.

“You dated it.” You say, slightly bewildered. “You’ve been working on this for 4 years? Only a few months after we started dating?” Your eyes snapped back up to him before they fell down to the box he was cradling in his hands. Tears rushed to your eyes, shocked and touched from everything that was happening.

“Y/N.” He started, gently reaching out to hold one of your hands. “I’ve loved you for so long, since the day we met honestly. It’s something that has held me together through all my darkest moments. It’s something that is, and always will be, forever constant: undying. I know I’m not always the best at expressing how I feel, but every word I’ve written in between the lines of your favorite book comes directly from my heart.” He takes a steadying breath as he watches your expression soften, tiny hearts practically filling your eyes as you take in each and every word. He’s never been more sure of anything in his life when he breathes out the question, “Will you marry me?”

#⁺. ʚ now streaming:#akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years

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Trouble In Paradise | 0.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Next Part

Synopsis: After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

Warnings: no use of y/n, age gap (rooster is in his mid-30s, reader is in her early 20s), smut, oral (f receiving), p-in-v, protected sex, light choking

…

Rooster really thought he was going to marry her.

He sits and thinks about it now, hand curled around a chilled glass beer bottle, biting his cheek and examining the damage to the wood of the bar in front of him. Scratches, stains, dents and ring-marks from cold glasses.

Amy had been the girl of his dreams. She was smart, gorgeous, funny — she loved him for him. Or, she had. They had been together for the past six years. Engaged for the last four months. Living together for the past five years.

It had taken him a long time to feel secure. Rooster was confident in many aspects of his life: he knew he was a good looking guy, he knew he was pretty good at baseball and he knew that his piano party-trick was always a hit. But, in many ways, Rooster was insecure.

He'd never admit it, but he often second-guessed his skills as a pilot. It was easy to when the one man that had been in his corner for his entire life had pulled his application to the Naval Academy for no reason other than Rooster being 'not ready'.

For Rooster, that was just a nice way of saying not good enough.

Something that Amy had said during that last argument was that things always seemed too black and white. He was either good enough or he wasn't. He was either in love or he wasn't. She was either trying to make him jealous, or she wasn't.

"You're being ridiculous! - He's my boss, Rooster." Amy threw her bag down on the side and walked away from him. It was hot, she was pulling her hair up into a ponytail as she walked through into their bedroom.

"Yeah, and he was all fucking over you," Rooster was hot behind her, throwing his keys down onto the same counter as her bag and catching up to her. She had her back to him, standing by her dresser as she unclasped her necklace. "Does he always talk like that around you?"

"Yes, he does," Amy huffed, pretending not to notice him glaring at her through the mirror over the dresser. "Lots of my friends tell me I look nice. It's not a big deal."

Rooster scoffed at her. He shook his head, he rolled his eyes. All the telltale signs of an exasperated idiot standing behind her reflection - she narrowed her eyes at the sight.

"Friends." He muttered, like the word itself had left a bad taste in his mouth. "Come on... that guy doesn't want to be your fucking friend."

Amy seethed. She turned quickly, eyes widening in fury. "So what does he want, Rooster?"

Rooster met her eyes, looking right into the furious glare that she was giving him. Then, he rolled his eyes and turned away - saying more in his silence than he could have with his words.

"Is that the only reason he hired me too?" Amy pressed, watching her fiance drop down to sit at the foot of their bed and begin to take off his cufflinks. "Is that the only reason I am where I am in my career? - Because someone wanted to fuck me?"

He lifted his gaze, features hard and serious. "You tell me."

"Fuck you." She turned away from him again. It was this part of the man that she loved that she hated the most. His ability to be so cutting. Bradley knew everyone that he loved so deeply, he knew exactly how to hurt them. Only, Amy was the same.

"Like you're so much better than me," She shook her head, her lip trembling as she looked at him through the mirror, willing herself not to cry. "We both know the only reason you even went to Top Gun was because Iceman felt bad about getting your dad-"

His eyes on hers made her choke on the words. The hurt in those soft brown eyes, the betrayal. That she could have used the biggest loss in his life against him just because of a stupid argument about her work’s party.

"Say it." Rooster's jaw clenched.

"Bradley." Amy whispered, turning to face him. He pushed himself up, taking a step towards her.

"Say what you were fucking going to say, Amy." He dared her. She put her head in her hands, hiding her face from him. Bradley watched her body shiver as she let out a sob.

He waited, seething, for her to finish her sentence.

"I can't fucking do this." She pulled her hands away from her face, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks, leaving streaks of mascara behind. Bradley's brows furrowed, confused. "This isn't us."

He was silent.

"All we do is argue!" Amy cried, wiping at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. "Every time I see you, it ends in a fight! - I can't do this anymore!"

"What are you saying right now?" Rooster didn't want to believe that this was it. He knew Amy inside and out. She wouldn't do this.

"I can't be with you. - I-I... I can't even fucking look at you right now!"

Deployment came at the perfect time this time around. Normally it was an inconvenience, these longer trips. They had always caused issues between him and Amy. This time, she had left him a day before he found out he would be leaving again.

He was almost relieved. That week before he had shipped out had been awful. Amy was staying with her mother, he was in their home alone. Seeing their photos, her clothes, even their bed. He had slept on the couch all week.

It's been a week since he arrived in Oahu. He knows a couple of people that he's deployed with, but no one that he knows well enough to call a friend. He's been making excuses so far this week to not engage with them. A headache on Monday, sore shoulder on Tuesday, an early start the morning after Wednesday.

But, it's Friday now and he's here. In a beach-side bar in downtown Honolulu. He came with others but he ditched them at a busier bar down the street an hour ago. He found this place and came inside solely because of how quiet it looked.

There's music playing and there are other patrons here, but everyone's minding their business and he's free to think. Rooster doesn’t know how long he has been zoned out, wallowing in self-pity, but when he looks back up he realised that he has been being watched.

You’re behind the bar, eyes focused on him with an element of intrigue dancing across your features. You've been watching him for a while. He's been biting his cheek and staring into space for at least ten minutes now.

You're caught. You should look away hurriedly and pretend that you weren't staring - but you don't. You're just dying to see him without those sunglasses. You know he's going to have pretty eyes. The rest of him is gorgeous, his eyes must be too.

"Hey, sailor."

Rooster's lips part slightly as he looks you over.

You're smiling softly at him, a toothpick between your teeth. He squints behind the dark lenses of his ray-bans, tilting his head slightly to the side. There's a flush to your cheeks, Bradley isn't sure whether it's from the heat or from the way you're looking at him. You're wearing a baseball style t-shirt and the tiniest denim skirt he’s ever seen. You're cute. He reminds himself that he's allowed to think that now.

He's allowed to think you're gorgeous, and he's allowed to think that he wants nothing more than to ruin that tiny scrap of fabric you've has chosen to call a skirt. He's allowed let you flirt with him, even if you does look a little young for him. Flirting never hurt anybody - he still remembered Amy's laugh as he had overheard her saying that to one of her friends.

His eyes linger on your legs for a moment, his lack of discretion luckily concealed by his sunglasses. They look long in the skirt, long and there isn't a tanline in sight. He looks you over from head to toe and does the math silently in his head -- that skirt isn't more than a few inches long, give or take a couple centimetres.

"You are a sailor, right?" You ask, lips curving up to reveal white teeth. Shit. Rooster watches her as you reveal quite possibly the most infectious smile he has ever seen. His lip quirks slightly, then he purses his lips and shakes his head softly. Your smile grows with your intrigue.

"Oh, you're a pilot!" You realise your mistake and then grin so big that Rooster finds himself smiling with you. He picks up his beer and brings it to his lips, taking a sip.

"That obvious, huh?" That he's in the Navy, he means. You know what he means. He isn't in uniform. He's wearing denim shorts and a Hawaiian shirt - he isn't dressed any differently from any regular tourist. But you know that he's Navy. You practically bat your lashes at him when you blink and shrug your shoulders.

"All you Navy boys have a certain look to you."

"Is that right?" He raises an eyebrow, pressing his tongue to his cheek as he sets his beer back down on the bar. He watches you nod your head. "What's our giveaway?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." You tease. He brings his hand up to rest against his jaw, amusement toying at his lips. There's a moment of silence between the two of you where he's just watching you.

"So, someone missing you, sailor?" Your voice is chirpy as you move the conversation along and turn halfway to polish glasses behind the bar. Rooster chuckles at the pet name, choosing to focus on that rather than the fact that he's alone.

He gives a soft shake of his head, "Not anymore."

You look at him through the mirror behind the bar and see the sadness in his features. It's clear that he's hurting. You regret touching a nerve.

"Find that hard to believe," You choose to lighten the mood instead of prying, "I bet there are girls lining up around the block for a shot with you."

You've made him smile again. He's watching you in the mirror, fingers trailing through the condensation the side of his beer bottle.

You aren't entirely wrong. He still gets a fair bit of attention, and before he started dating Amy, sure, he did alright in the dating game. He doesn't know how to be single anymore.

Rooster just takes another drink.

"Sweetie." An older woman puts her hand on your shoulder and gives you a stern look. Abigail, your boss, has warned you before about flirting with navy boys. There's no harm in it from your side - you never do anything and they usually like the attention.

You know what Abigail is saying without her needing to say another word to you. She's protective, and she doesn't like the way these guys look at you sometimes. There was nothing particularly sketchy about the one you were talking to now, but it was routine at this point to shut things down before they thought they actually had a chance with you.

"Why don't you go take your break?" She brushes a hand over your hair softly and turns her head to look at the man on the other side of the bar. You've already taken your break and actually there's only an hour left of your shift, but you know that Abigail knows that.

You nod and shoot him an apologetic look. Once you've stepped past Abigail, you raise your index finger and trail it down your cheek, jutting out your bottom lip slightly - feigning sadness as you walk away. Rooster smiles at the interaction.

Abigail sees him smile and turns to see what you're up to, brows furrowed as she finds that you've already stopped and are walking away like nothing has happened.

Rooster finishes another beer. He listens to the couple behind him that are on their honeymoon as they gush over each other, giggling and sighing happily. That alone prompts him to have another. After that, he notices that the sun has started to go down. He decides he would much rather walk himself down to the beach to be sad there rather than in here, listening to those two.

It's as he leaves that he runs into you. He doesn't notice it's you at first. He notices the ‘73 Ford Bronco that you're throwing your bag into the back of. Rooster remembers spotting it on the way in. It's the same as his back home, only yours is a green colour with a brown leather interior. It's girlier than his, which is what catches his attention.

You’re on your tiptoes, the roof is down and you’re leaning into the car to organise the things that you have on the backseat. Rooster can’t help but notice how short your skirt truly is now you’re not behind that bar. He catches a glimpse of pink fabric between your legs as you reach further into the vehicle.

That’s when it occurs to him that he’s standing in the spot, just staring. He clears his throat and asks, “This is yours?”

He makes you jump. You turn quickly towards him and press your back to the car, eyes flying wide open.

“Shit, don’t sneak up on me like that!” You gasp. He smiles softly in silent apology. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. She’s mine.” You breathe, tapping the car door with your knuckle.

“I’ve got one back home.” Rooster explains.

You smile at him and turn to look over your pride and joy. He’s admiring it too when you look back.

“Wanna go for a ride?” You offer. He furrows his eyebrows slightly as he looks between you and the car. He wonders who raised you and why the never taught you not to talk to strangers. But, he does miss that car.

“You don’t even know my name.” He reminds you.

You roll your eyes playfully, “What? - you don’t like it when I call you Sailor?”

He moves toward the passenger side, “You can call me Rooster.”

You smile as you step up into the driver’s side and slip the keys into the ignition. He settles into the passenger seat and cranes his neck to check out what you have in the backseat.

“Rooster.” You muse, fiddling with the radio, “Like a chicken?”

This time you’ve made him laugh. He’s even more breathtaking up close like this, and his laugh makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah, like a chicken.” He agrees with you, smiling softly as you give up on the radio and push a cassette into the slot instead. “What do I call you?”

You grab your sunglasses from the dash and slip them on, bobbing your head to the soft indie playing. You tell him your name as you pull out of the parking space, he’s checking over his shoulder as you reverse.

“That’s pretty.” He hums, shifting in his seat and pushing his knees further apart.

“So, how long are you here?” You ask, he’s impressed by your driving. He doesn’t even question where you’re taking him. Wherever it is, it’s the opposite direction of base.

“Six more months.”

He looks over at you, watching you drum your fingers against the wheel to the beat of a song he’s never heard of, sung by a band he’ll never remember the name of.

“What are you here for, Flyboy?” He smiles at the new nickname.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Rooster teases, copying back to what you said earlier. You’re impressed at how well he has listened, shooting him an amused look. You’re also wondering why he hasn’t yet asked you where you’re taking him.

You drive for another fifteen minutes, making small talk and listening to deep lyrics and upbeat tunes before he gives in and does ask, “So, where are we headed?”

“Just the beach.” You answer, giving him a soft smile, giving away absolutely nothing. Rooster turns his head to look at the miles of shoreline you’ve already driven past, then raises an eyebrow at you, “Some kind of special beach?”

“Sure.” You’re elusive all of a sudden. It doesn’t take long before you pull up at the side of the coast, parking in front of a cottage.

“You coming?” You tease him, grabbing your backpack from the backseat and hopping down from the truck. He looks around the area first, then follows you.

“So, you live here?” He examines the house as the two of you walk past it and begin down the steps toward the beach. You nod and call back that he’s correct. “With your parents?”

You’re up ahead of him, so he doesn’t see the way you laugh at his question before you shake your head. “With my roommate. Her grandma owns the place, we just rent it.”

Roommate. Rooster can deal with a roommate. That’s not so bad.

“So what do you do?” He calls to you, looking around the empty beach as he continues down the steps. Each wooden plank creaks under him and he’s worried that one is going to snap any minute. You’re walking with much more confidence, almost on the sand already.

“I bartend.” You turn towards him as you step foot in the sand, walking backwards. The smile on your lips is coy, like he’s silly for asking.

“I meant are you in college or something?” He gets closer to you as you’re walking backwards. You shake your head and turn again, lifting your chin toward the sea breeze, “Still figuring things out.”

Rooster slows and lets you walk ahead of him again. He wonders for a moment what that’s like. To not just know. He remembers knowing that he was going to be a fighter pilot since he was a kid, even before his dad had passed away - he had always just known.

He had known he was going to marry a nice girl and probably have a couple of kids, then settle down and become an instructor or maybe an Admiral - something a little more stable.

He’s broken from his crisis of faith by you dropping your backpack in the sand and peeling your shirt over your head. His brows furrow slightly, he stops in place.

Rooster looks over strings tied behind your back and behind your neck that support the pink bikini top.

“You coming?” You ask again, popping open the button on your skirt and the fabric down your legs. His eyes take in what’s before him as he stands there, semi-frozen. He looks between you and the ocean.

“You’re going swimming?”

“Uh-huh. I always swim after work.” You’re already headed toward the water. As you turn fully to step into the waves, Rooster’s eyes trail your body. If the skirt had made him stare earlier, the flimsy bikini that you’d been wearing under it now has his full attention.

He stands on the shore as you walk into the water. You wait until it’s reaching your ribs before you turn back towards him.

“Come on, don’t be a chicken!” You tease. His lips quirk slightly at the challenge — that and the fact you’re making more chicken related jokes.

He hesitates and looks around him.

What the hell, he decides. The beach is empty and even if it wasn’t, he doesn’t know any body here.

You grin as he slips his shirt off of his shoulders and then peels his tank top over his head. You’ve been itching to know what was under that Hawaiian print since you saw him, and you have to say, you’re not disappointed at all.

He’s like an action figure. Unlike him, you aren’t hiding behind dark tinted lenses, so he sees it all as your eyes roam his body. It spurs him on as he almost makes a show of popping open the button on his shorts, then dragging down the zipper.

He kicks his shoes off and pushes the denim down. You wolf whistle at him from the water as he kicks the material off, leaving him in dog tags, black boxers and sunglasses.

His ears redden as he looks around the beach again — still empty — and then walks towards you. You take a couple steps further out, already acclimated to the chill of the water. Rooster groans at the cold, clenching his fists as he moves in up to his waist.

“Come here.” He tells you. You’re further out, not by too much, but out of arm’s reach. He holds his hand out to you for you to grab.

“Come get me.” You challenge.

You push yourself out further and tread water, watching him shiver. Rooster grits his teeth as he steps deeper into the water, taking two strides before he’s close enough to reach you. He curls his fingers around your hand and tugs you toward him until you’re close enough for him to wrap his arms around you.

You reach up and take his sunglasses from his face gently, then set them on top of his head. You were right, he does have pretty eyes. You smile softly and brush your fingers delicately over his cheek.

You let him pull you close, you curl your fingers around the nape of his neck and you push forward and press your lips against his.

“You smell really good.” He murmurs against your lips, lifting your chin as he kisses you again. It’s a simple statement but it makes you shiver, you press your thighs together as he guides you closer against him.

His hands grab at your waist as he pulls you closer to him. You trail your fingers along the chain of his dog tags, looking down to examine them for a moment. He kisses your temple sweetly as he watches you.

“Bradley Bradshaw.” You muse, lifting your head to look at him again. He likes the way you say his name. You kiss his jaw, then his lips, “I like it.”

You let him nudge back your jaw so that he can kiss your neck. His strong hands steady you against him, his lips working a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

You’re practically putty in his hands. The realisation is almost enough to have him rock hard. He’s just in boxers, he knows you can feel his semi pressing against your stomach. He’s still surprised when he feels you push yourself against it.

The talk that Abigail gave you last week rings in your head as his tongue trails your throat. “It’s not just a game to these guys — it’s dangerous to lead them on.” She had told you. You had rolled your eyes. If flirting and wearing short skirts got you better tips, then that was just part of the fun. You were never in any danger when you were telling sailors that they had cute smiles back at the bar.

However, here on the other side of the coast, alone on a beach with a man who’s name you hadn’t discovered until after he had gotten undressed — it occurs to you that this is the kind of danger she’s been referring to.

His hand comes up and curls softly around the base of your neck, just holding you there and finding your lips again. You pull back and blink at him. You look down at each ridge and vein of his muscled frame as his thumb strokes at the column of your throat.

Yeah. This is definitely the kind of danger Abi has been trying to keep you from.

“Hey.” He reminds you that you’re staring at him. Doe-eyed, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. You let him guide your legs around his waist. It shouldn’t make him as hard as it does, the way you’ve trusted him so easily.

“Hey.” You smile back at him. You don’t feel like you’re in danger at all. All you feel is fucking horny. You’ve got a good idea at how big he is from what you can feel pressing against you. You drape your arms over his muscled shoulders and grind down against his cock through the thin material between you.

He shifts you into one arm, slipping his hand between your legs to brush the pads of his fingers against your core over the bikini bottoms.

You grab his wrist. His cock twitches at the look in your eye as you still him and shake your head, “What kind of girl do you think I am, Rooster?” You tease as you unwind your legs from his hips and plant your feet up in the sand.

He groans softly as you begin away from him and back towards the dry sand.

“Trouble.” He answers, just loud enough for you to hear as he follows you. You bend over in front of him as you pick up both of your things from the ground.

His breath hitches. He’s too caught up in the thin pink strip of fabric covering your core, your ass all but exposed to him as you lean over to notice that you’re scooping his clothes up with your belongings.

“Keep up, flyboy.”

Rooster’s standing in ankle-deep water, lips parted as he watches you head up the beach without him. He groans, only catching up to you at the top of the wooden steps, once your unlocking the side gate to your place.

“You think that’s funny?” You gasp as he presses his chest to your back and captures you between his body and the gate.

“I do, actually.” You answer back, unlocking the padlock and pushing it open, escaping him. He follows you in and hugs you from behind, leaving kisses along your neck. The next obstacle you reach is the back door. He turns you and presses your back to the wall behind it.

“Oh yeah?” His voice is deep and serious. It makes you press your legs together. You hug what you’re holding and hum happily as he rolls his hips forward against you.

“Mhm.” You double down, slipping out of his arms, grabbing his hand and tugging him inside. You check around for your roommate, squeezing his hand and pulling him down the hall.

It isn’t until he’s in your room that he pauses to look around.

“Mm, wait.” You turn away from him and fiddle with something on your bedside table, dropping your collective items to the floor. The fairy lights around your bed frame come to life, and then weird crystal thing — that Rooster will later learn is a salt lamp — brightens the rest of the room.

Amy preferred to do it in the dark.

He makes the conscious decision to ignore your choice of decorations. He ignores the tapestry tacked to the ceiling, the posters of movies he hasn’t seen and bands he’s never heard on the walls.

“What?” You breathe as you turn back to face him. Rooster shakes his head, a silent ‘nothing’. You swallow. It’s real all of a sudden now that he’s standing in your room, dripping on the wood floors.

You reach behind you, tugging at the strings that secure the bikini behind your neck. Rooster watches the flimsy material fall to the ground, then looks back up at you.

“Fuck.” He breathes, reaching out and resting his hand on the curve of your waist. He skims his fingers along your side and up to your breast. He feels your eyes on him, watching as he strokes your hardened nipple. “Look at you.”

Your cheeks heat, smiling slightly at the confidence his approval gives you.

He lowers his head and kisses at your chest, holding you close with one hand as the other cups your breast. You let your head lull back. You should probably be embarrassed at how easily he coaxes a moan from your lips.

He cups his hands around your breasts, rolling one nipple between his thumb and index as he takes the other into his mouth. You’re so responsive to his touch.

Given that you’ve never been brave enough to take home one of the Navy boys before this, you’re filled with regret all of a sudden. You can’t believe you’ve restricted yourself to shitheads your own age when this is what you’ve been missing out on all along.

You’re reminded of Rooster’s strength as he lifts you and places you delicately onto your bed, covering your body with his. He nips playfully at your skin, glancing up at you with a smirk on his lips as you gasp.

He looks up at you through lust-filled eyes as he drags his teeth gently across your hipbone. You squirm under his gaze and his touch, closing your eyes to save yourself from the intensity of it all.

You wonder how the hell there was no one waiting for him at home — what kind of idiot would give him up?

“Up.” You lift your hips obediently for him to pull your bottoms down, watching as he discards them. He doesn’t look to see where they land, his eyes are unashamedly between your core. Almost subconsciously, he reaches out and runs his index finger along your core.

“Oh, honey,” His voice is gentle, dripping amusement, feigning care, “Look at you, all worked up.”

The statement brings heat to your face again, you wonder if he can tell how he makes your ears burn. His fingers stroke along your core once more. You whimper and push yourself against his hand.

His eyes flicker back up to yours, amused as he teases you, touching you in gentle strokes. Pretending that he’s willing to be compliant, Rooster leans down and kisses you softly.

You voice your frustrations by dragging your fingernails along the ridges of his stomach, soft pink lines decorating the tanned skin in your wake.

His fingers nudge at your pussy in retaliation as he sinks two into you at once. You hiss at the stretch, digging your nails into his hip.

He watches as your lips part, your brows furrow, those big doe-eyes are trying to glare up at him but he knows you’re loving this just as much as he is.

“Got something to say, pretty girl?” He murmurs sweetly, curling his fingers up against your g-spot and making you jolt. You part your legs further for him, shaking your head furiously and rolling your hips down against his hand. Desperate for more. Anything he’s willing to give you.

Rooster holds your hip as he works his fingers in and out of you, twisting and curling them.

“L-Like that. Right there.” You cover his hand with yours as it presses hard against your hipbone. Rooster takes his lip between his teeth, watching in delight as you writhe before him. So responsive to his touch.

He’s enjoying the theatrics of it. Sex with Amy was good, incredible even. Six years with a person really gives you time to learn their intricacies, physical or not. They knew each other’s bodies better than many people could dream. But, six years in, there wasn’t much room for the dramatics present in budding relationships.

They were used to having good sex, and that was that. When the sex was good every time, it wasn’t as mind-blowing as it had once been. Amy was still vocal, she still had a good time. But she wasn’t like you.

No, she wasn’t inexperienced and used to sleeping with frat boys. It had been a long time since she had first experienced Rooster in bed.

Rooster’s enjoying the strokes to his ego with each moan that slips your lips. He’s spurred on as he kisses down your chest and lifts your hips, kissing your thigh first.

His tongue teases at your folds before he settles in and seals his lips around your clit whilst his fingers fuck in and out of you. He’s glad he’s holding your hips as that’s about the only thing keeping you still as your hips buck slightly.

Again, he’s enamoured by just exactly how desperate you are for him. He holds you tight, groaning as he lets you rock your hips against his tongue. Maybe it’s a sixth sense, maybe it’s his expertise, but you swear that Rooster realises you’re close a split second before you do.

He groans, his nose brushing your pubic bone as his tongue caresses you, his fingers curling deep into you. You arch your back, pushing against his mouth, trembling as he holds you through your orgasm.

“Fuck.” He smiles down at you, reaching out and stroking the backs of his fingers against your cheek. You push yourself up and pull him down to you by the back of his neck, parting your legs for him to settle between as you lick into his mouth.

His fingers curl inside you once more, making you whimper against him, all too sensitive. He pulls them back and lifts them, watching as you part your lips for him and take them into your mouth.

You hum softly as you suck them clean. He grinds his hips forward against your bare core, eyes dark as they watch you. You push down the waistband of his still damp boxers, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock.

He isn’t sure what he’d rather look at. His eyes flicker between his fingers in your mouth and your hand around his cock before he cranes his head back to look at the ceiling, fighting a shudder.

Rooster slips his fingers back out of your mouth and places his hand over top of yours, guiding your palm around his length. He squeezes his palm softly around yours.

“You want it?” The gruffness of his voice makes you want to shiver. You nod at him eagerly. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly, stroking his thumb over your knuckles.

“Please.” You agree. It’s only then that it occurs to you that he’s a stranger. The same thought is clearly on his mind. He sits back on his heels, turning toward your bedside table and pulling open the top drawer.

He already knows what he’s looking for and where he’s likely to find it. He passes the foil into your palm. You pinch the top of the foil and tear the packaging open, trying not to screw up with his eyes on you as you roll the latex over his length.

He watches your fingers tremble as you do it.

You gasp as he grabs your hips and pulls you under him with ease. He plants his forearm beside your head and guides his cock between your legs you kiss his lips gently, whining.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take him. You whimper softly, adjusting to the hot, thick stretch of him. He kisses your jaw lazily, fucking into you in short, soft thrusts until he’s buried into you completely.

“So fucking wet for me,” Rooster breathes, his dog tags falling to rest against your own collarbones as he leans forward to kiss your lips. “You doin’ okay, baby?”

You nod hurriedly, grabbing onto the back of his neck to ground yourself as he fucks into you. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

He grunts softly, then leans back on his knees. His dog tags hit against his pecs as he drives himself into you, his hands gripping onto your waist. He holds you tight, keeping you right where he wants you, the veins in his arms bulging as he does.

You’re moaning under him, pressing your fingernails into his thigh. He fills you as deeply as he can, letting out a deep groan before he pulls back slowly. He pulls out almost entirely, revelling in your desperate sounds for just a moment before he ruts himself into you again.

It’s a process of this, filling you up and fucking you hard until you’re a mess under him.

He relents in a moment of weakness, filling you with long, especially deep strokes as he leans down and kisses you.

“Talk to me, baby,” Rooster’s voice is liquid gold spilling from his lips. He’s right over you, watching you expectantly. You push yourself up and capture his kiss desperately, whimpering as he tugs at your roots, “Tell me how you want it.”

You gulp, unsure that you’re capable of forming words at this moment in time. His hips pound into yours, unrelenting.

“F-Fuck, Rooster,” You arch your back away from the bed and up against his chest, mewling under him, “Like this. Please don’t fucking stop, I’m gonna cum.”

He was correct. He knew from the moment he saw you that this was how he’d fuck you. It’s hard and dirty and you’re loving every second of it, just like he knew you would.

He has both of your wrists in one hand, pinned above your head as he strokes deep into you. You’re writhing under him, moaning like a pornstar.

“That’s it, good girl.” He hums, kissing your jaw. “Look so pretty taking it like this.”

The strangled noise that slips your lips as he fucks you through your orgasm is music to his ears. He releases your wrist and pressed his hand to your throat instead, curling his fingers around the sides of your throat, squeezing softly.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted, cheeks warm. He admires the fucked out look on your face, grunting softly as he rutted hard into you. It’s intoxicating. The way you smell, the way you sound, the taste of your tongue, the feeling of your walls clenching around him. Rooster feels drunk off of it.

He loosens his grip from your throat, sliding his fingers around into your hair, cradling the base of your skull as he pulls you in for a kiss. You moan into his mouth and he groans against you.

The look in your eyes when he pulls back to look at you makes his hips stutter, mid-thrust. Your eyes are heavy, needy.

“Want you to cum in my mouth.”

Rooster’s fingers curl in your hair and make you gasp. He nods, rutting himself deep into you. He gives a couple more hard thrusts, kissing your lips, before he pulls back and sits back on his knees.

He grunts softly as he discards the condom. You push yourself up and slide closer to him. He curls his fingers around your jaw, letting out a pant as you part your lips obediently for him.

He holds your jaw steady, his other hand wrapped around the base of his cock. His eyes remain on yours as he strikes himself, his lip between his teeth.

You close your eyes, steadying yourself on his thigh as he coats your mouth. He watches, panting, as you close your mouth and swallow, wiping your lips with your thumb.

“Goddamn.” Rooster breathes, taking your face in his hands and kissing you. He covers your body with his, pushing you onto your back, groaning softly as he brushes your hair back off your face.

“You are trouble, aren’t you?” He mutters, kissing your forehead. You grin, giggling at the insinuation as you snuggle closer against his chest.

He doesn’t ask if he can stay over, and you don’t ask if he’ll stay. It’s just kind of an unspoken agreement. He’s reading one of your comic books when you return from the bathroom, which makes you giggle.

Falling asleep comes easier than you’ve ever found it before, tucked safely against a firm chest. He wakes before you at the sound of buzzing against floorboards. He untangles himself from you and grabs his phone from the back pocket of his shorts, eyes widening as he finds a missed call from Amy on his Home Screen.

He furrows his brows slightly as he types out a text. On base. Emergency?

A: No emergency. Miss you, just call me when you get a sec <3

The action of retrieving his phone has woken you, you’re stirring softly now. He drops his phone back onto the beside table and looks down at you as you rest your head against his chest.

Shit.

...

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #miles teller #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #trouble in paradise

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shady-tavern · 9 months

Text

Deals and Revelry

Warnings ahead of both attempted and implied murder, along with one, early-on instance of non-consensual drug use. Please take care of yourselves.

***

In a city as big as this it was easy to get lost, easy to slip between the cracks. Easy to go unnoticed even if one walked like a severely drunk sailor fresh back on the shore.

You stumbled against the alley wall, woozy and half numb and your vision was just the faintest bit off, the world around you roiling as though the ground itself had become the sea, rising and falling in slow, cresting waves.

Your breath was fogging in front of your face and you knew it was too cold to be out and about without a cloak, but you hadn't really gotten to grab one. Or shoes. You couldn't really feel your feet anymore.

But you were getting close. Already you could see the lights and colorful banners and decorations on the other side of the alley. You could hear it too, the sound of the Revelry, the biggest entertainment street of this city. A cesspool of backroom deals and unfettered delight.

Music and laughter mixed with the breathy moans of a couple that stumbled into the alley, the women pushing each other against the brick wall, one hoisting the other into her arms. You saw the glint of metal on one of them, the armor of the city guard and the cloak that fell down to her knees, cloth a dark forest green.

Neither paid you any mind when you shuffled down the alley, using the wall as your anchor. At this point it was the only thing properly keeping you up and walking in a straight line. You must look drunk, even if you were anything but.

You barely felt the cold with the numbness and as you stumbled out of the alley, it felt like you were hit by a wall of light and sound and movement. Lanterns were strung all across the street, reaching from house to house and the glass painted or stained, casting a multitude of colors across everything.

People danced in big groups or on tables, more getting pulled into alleys by one or more people, big grins on their faces. Dancers and musicians performed on the stage by the crossroads that led to the Revelry, while other stages were dotted down the street, showing off other performers.

Sword jugglers, puppeteers, actors and jesters all put on the show of the night, accompanied by music. Fortune tellers weaved through the crowd, peddlers with carts stood on corners and servers with strong arms brought round after round of drinks and food from taverns. Others lured the drunk or amorously interested towards many of the inns, slipping clever hands into unguarded coat pockets.

You had to take a moment to get used to everything and orientate yourself, to look beyond the street wide revelry towards the main house. Bigger than all the others, a four story building, freshly painted pale green walls surrounded by black wood.

Through the lit windows you saw more partying, more dancing and someone swinging through the air gracefully.

That was your destination.

You pushed off of the corner you had stumbled against and walked onward, forcing one unsteady step in front of the other. People barely noticed when you staggered past them, some even clapping you on the back and pointing towards inns before they continued on their way.

You passed tables laden with food and drink, tables where people played games, cards and dice and something that needed a knife and quick reflexes. The air smelled heavily of ale and perfume and sweat.

Coats and skirts billowed, hands clapping and boots meeting cobblestone like muted drums when you passed by a group of dancers.

It felt like it took forever to make your way to the main house, the Revelry that this street, this gathering was named after. A big sign was mounted over the large entrance door, made of dark green wood and gold letters that looked freshly polished, shining in the light.

You shouldered inside, heat and smells greeting you, followed by loud cheers. So loud and from so many throats they seemed to make the air itself rumble.

Past the shifting bodies you got glimpses of a stage that went up to the second floor, of people swinging through the air, colorful figures catching others.

The crowd cheered loudly once again, tankards getting raised or slammed onto tables in time with the jig the musicians played. Coin clattered and servers maneuvered past patrons like they were made of water, never slowing down, perfect smiles pasted on their faces.

It took you a long minute to spot him, the owner of this place, the founder of the Revelry, Quin. There were many whispers about this man who owned the night and even had the city guard unable to stop his dealings.

Face painted white with black tracks down his cheeks like tears, his lips were stained a bloody red and his grin was just a little too sharp. His canines just a tad too long. For all that he leaned back in his seat, languid and relaxed, he gave off an air of effortless power and dangerous grace.

He was dressed in expensive finery, diamond studded jewelry and silken, embroidered clothes that only the highest ranking noble houses would have been able to afford. Everything was modeled to resemble a court jester, a clear and unashamed mockery of those in power.

There were rumors about him, things you had heard here and there, whispers shared by friends and overheard from chatting guards who wishing to unsettle the new recruit. People said he had stopped being a mortal man before ever coming to this city, that he commanded the shadows and drank blood like wine.

That he had made a pact with something that should have been left damn well alone. Something older and more dangerous than anything else.

As you tried to make your way towards him, stumbling into strangers who shoved you onward with either laughs or glares, you saw that he was speaking with a nervous looking man.

The man was tall and broad, shoulders tense and posture wary as he gripped his tankard, speaking to Quin about something. You couldn't hear what was being said, but Quin threw his head back and laughed and the burly man visibly grit his teeth, leaning back slightly as though worried.

Quin grinned at him, sharp teeth and dangerous eyes and waved a hand in a lazy gesture. A whip-thin woman melted out of the shadows, dressed in all black and with a blank, white mask covering her face.

She came to stand at Quin's side and offered him a rolled up piece of parchment. Quin took it and held it out towards the burly man, still grinning.

The man took it after a long second of hesitation and the woman held out a quill next. There was no ink, but the man seemed to be able to sign anyway and you got a glimpse of bloody ink flowing from the dry quill.

His face was grim when he handed the scroll back and the woman stepped forward when Quin accepted it, waiting and arms loose at her sides.

The man got up and she followed him and they disappeared into the crowd. When Quin got to his feet, you made yourself move faster. He couldn't slip away. Not when you were so damn close.

You tripped over someone's foot, the person giving you an annoyed shove, but it propelled you forward the last bit. Undignified, yes, but Quin caught you before you could fall to your face.

"Now there, usually I have to put in some work to make people swoon like this," he said with a mocking undertone, pulling you upright with seemingly no effort at all. Before he could let go, you gripped his arms, making him raise his brows.

"Here for a deal," you managed to slur out and for just a moment it looked like he was going to send you away anyway, before he paused and leaned in.

"You are not drunk," he said, a warm finger curling under your chin to tip it up, making your gaze meet his dark eyes. "Tell me, did you intend to ingest a drug?"

Your grip on his arms tightened and a smile curled across his face that managed to be far more dangerous than the one the burly man had gotten. The sort of smile that made it easy to imagine blood being spilled and a last breath being exhaled.

"Now, I don't like that in my establishment at all," he downright purred, moving in a step, head bending down towards you a bit. He was propping you up with his body more than anything else with how close he was and you were glad he hadn't shaken you off. "Why don't you point me to the one who did that, sweetheart?"

You shook your head. It was getting harder to think and you could feel his warmth through the numbness that gripped your limbs. You had no idea how much longer you could fight this off, especially now that you had finally found him and you didn't have to force yourself to keep moving.

You were just so relieved you thoughtlessly leaned into his hold. The only reason you caught the brief flash of surprise in his eyes was because you were so close to him.

"I need a deal," you managed to say, unable to raise your voice much, but with him right there, breath lightly brushing your nose and cheek, he heard you well enough. "Please."

"Why don't you tell me what happened first, hm?" he asked, curled finger still under your chin. His brows furrowed slightly. "You are quite cold, were you outside until recently?" His dangerous grin returned. "I can find out who did this, even if it was down the street, don't you worry."

"My fiancé," you said and the smile fell away as his brows rose. "His mother is going to kill my parents and then me. They will do it after the wedding tomorrow. Please."

"Hm." He seemed curious at least. "Why not go to the city guard? I know I'm never the first resort, only the desperate and degenerate come here." He leaned a little closer still, your noses almost touching, revealing a hint of his sharp teeth as he smiled. "You do know what kind of deals I offer, don't you, sweetheart?"

"They're too rich," you made yourself say. Your tongue felt heavier than before and it was getting harder to keep your eyes open. "They have deals with the captain of the guard."

Quin suddenly sounded delighted. "Is that so? How delightful, I knew Albert was going to slip up one day. Thank you for that one, darling. But why not grab your parents and go away instead of coming here?"

"They arranged the wedding." And you hadn't even minded at first. The wealthy merchant's son had been pleasant enough after all, polite and maybe a bit reserved but not unfriendly.

Neither of you would have married for love, but during the conversations you had shared with the young, admittedly pretty man, it had become clear the two of you could have come to a good agreement.

Not all marriages were unions of hearts after all and there were plenty of ways to make it work. Plenty of ways to treat this like any old business agreement that both sides could benefit from. You had even thought the two of you could become good friends in given time.

Until you had overheard his mother's plans by accident tonight and had gotten discovered when you had tried to sneak away from her study. Your fiancé had done nothing when your future mother in law had gotten her personal guard to grab you before you could flee.

Your future mother in law had put some clear liquid into a cup of water while the guard had wrestled you towards her, muttering that you had to keep quiet until the wedding. That your parents wouldn't care about the state you were in so long as you signed the wedding contract.

She wasn't even wrong. Your parents would never again get the sort of deal the merchant had made with them. Your parents' business would join together with hers and it would make everyone all the richer. But if everyone died after the wedding, then your future mother in law would get to own your family business through her son.

Your parents wanted wealth too much themselves and unless you had managed to prove that your fiancé mistreated you, which he never did, they wouldn't stop the wedding for anything. Neither would they believe you if you showed up with wild sounding accusations such as planned murder out of nowhere.

Your future mother in law had proceeded to shove the concoction down your throat once she had it in the cup – or part of it at least.

It had been nothing but pure luck that you had managed to take hold of the guard's dagger at their hip and draw it. It had been a mad scramble where you had lashed out in a blind panic, the guard falling back with a howl and hands pressed over their bleeding face.

You had stabbed your future mother in law right in the thigh and had run, managing to toss a vase at your fiancé's head. Then you had kept running straight here. The only place you could think of to get help. The only place you trusted would help you, even if you'd have to give up something in the process.

You just wanted to live.

"I see." Quin tipped your chin up again, your head having slumped down a bit. You met his gaze and there was a red, fiery glow lurking in his dark eyes as though embers had come to life. "Want to me to get rid of your parents too?"

"No." They hadn't been...great, recently, but you wanted to deal with them yourself. "I don't want to die."

"I suppose you wouldn't," Quin murmured, almost too quietly for you to hear him. "Alright then, let's get you situated."

He moved his arm to hold you around the shoulders and bending down to pick you up under your knees. His words registered and you sagged with relief at once, pressing your head against his shoulder.

You felt him pause for just a moment and you felt the shift of muscle along his neck as he looked down at you.

"Aren't you a strange one," you heard him murmur. He was quiet for a second, then chuckled, low and dark. "Just alone to spite you I will do exactly that."

It didn't sound like he was speaking to you and he turned around, walking away from the press of bodies. Even half passed out you noticed it when the air shifted and five people stepped straight out of the shadows.

They were all masked, blank or painted, their clothes either black or colorful. You moved your head enough to peer past Quin's shoulder and you saw the glint on metal on them, blades and daggers, armor hidden under cloaks and silk shawls.

They looked nothing like the guards or mercenaries, but each and every one of them felt threatening enough that you half expected to cut yourself on their presences alone.

But most dangerous of them all was Quin. He felt like walking death as he held you, something so dangerous it would have stolen your breath away under any other circumstance. Instead, it made you relax further, one hand rising to lightly grip his sinfully soft silk doublet.

Quin hummed softly and this time, the words were directed at you as he said, "You are very strange indeed."

"Boss?" you heard one of the masked ones ask and when Quinn made a low noise, they stepped past to open a door at the back of the large tavern room. "What's your order?"

"I think we're going to have fun tonight," Quin said, voice light, but if words were capable of dripping blood, his would have, staining his tongue and sliding down his chin, thick and copper-sweet.

Quin carried you down a hallway and another door was opened within a few moments. The sound of the revelry was muffled and almost far away now as he stepped into a room and a couple of steps later you were gently set down on a couch that was softer than your own bed.

"You're not even wearing shoes," Quin mused and paused when you found yourself holding onto his sleeve when he stepped back. "Easy now, sweetheart, we'll take care of that little mess, won't we?"

"Thank you," you managed to slur out and he hummed again, waiting with unexpected patience for you to let go. When you did, he spread something warm and heavy over you. A blanket. "Sleep now. Believe it or not, but you will be safe here."

"I know." And you did believe him. Somehow, despite everything you had been taught and all the rumors you had heard, Quin felt safe. Safe enough that the fear that had driven you to his Revelry finally released it's bruising grip on you altogether.

Warm knuckles brushed your cheek. "You actually do believe it," Quin murmured. "That's a first, I have to admit."

"Deal?" you made yourself ask, because everyone knew that Quin always made deals. He never did anything for free.

Quin was silent for a long moment. Long enough that you thought he wouldn't answer, until he said, "You already gave me something no one else has. Not in a very long time at least. Let that be my payment. Rest, sweetheart. Your worries will be dead when you wake."

You heard rustling as he shifted and turned around to walk away.

"My friends," Quin said, voice strong and confident and there was a deep rumble to his words, something just a little too unnatural. No human throat should be able to make that sound.

The last words you heard before you faded into unconsciousness were said with a grin that dripped with malevolent violent, "Tonight we hunt."

*.*.*

You woke up with your head pounding and your mouth tasting the way old, wet socks smelled. Your body ached all over and when you tried to shift, you ended up groaning and burrowing more into the pillow. A pillow that smelled nothing like yours.

"Good morning," an amused voice said and you blearily forced your eyes open and looked up.

There he was, Quin, the founder of the Revelry. Your memories of last were a little foggy, but mostly you recalled his warmth and how safe you had felt. You still felt safe and warm now, bundled beneath a thick, soft blanket.

"Still not afraid, I see," he mused and leaned back a bit. He wore different clothes to last night, something a bit more muted, but the face paint was still there. "I have to thank you, we had quite a bit of fun tracing back your steps and getting to hunt."

His head tipped and his smile widened into that dangerous grin, showing his teeth. His lips were painted a blood red so vivid you wouldn't have been surprised if he had used actual, fresh blood. "Want a trophy?"

"No, thank you." You winced at how croaky your voice sounded and you forced yourself to sit up, limbs aching. You blinked when an elegant hand offered you a cup of water.

You took it and for just a split second you remembered the way your future mother in law had forced spiked water down your throat, then you shook off the memory. Quin of all people had no need to drug your drink, especially when he had had you drugged and at his mercy just hours prior.

"What do I owe you?" you asked after emptying the cup.

Quin raised a brow and sat down on the other end of the couch, thigh nearly brushing your toes. He leaned back, throwing one arm over the backrest of the couch as he regarded you with dark, curious eyes. "You're not going to ask if we took care of the problem?"

"You always do," you answered. "At least, that's what I heard."

"A business man such as myself takes great pride in a good reputation," Quin mused. "You are correct, they are very much dead. I would not recommend visiting that house anytime soon if it can be avoided."

"Thank you." The relief was still as potent as last night, thought not quite as soul-deep, for the fear wasn't there anymore. "What do I owe you?"

Quin waved you off with a dismissive flap of his hand. "You already paid, don't you worry your pretty little head." Before you could do so much as open your mouth to protest, he got to his feet again. "And now I will be dreadfully rude by tossing you out on your ear. I need my office back, sweetheart."

Blinking, you realized that you were, indeed, in an office. Lavishly decorated, with a rug as black as coal and, very, very faintly visible stains along the hardwood that you were willing to identify as dried blood.

"Of course, I'm sorry for being a bother," you said hurriedly, freeing your legs from the blanket, but the moment you tried to get up, your feet bumped into shoes. Looking down in surprise, you saw simple shoes in your size, a little scuffed but otherwise well maintained.

"I'll pay you for these," you offered and Quin rolled his eyes as you put them on.

"Just bring them back later. Now, please go." He ushered you up and pushed you out the door with a polite smile, gesturing down the hallway to the door that led into the tavern.

Instead of closing the door, however, he leaned against the doorframe and a bare moment later the door to the tavern swung open and the captain of the guard marched inside.

Before you knew it, you had shied back to Quin's side, as Albert glowered at you so viciously it wouldn't have surprised you if his glare had seared your skin like acid.

"No need to be impolite, Captain," Quin said with a smile sharp enough to peel away layers of skin. Albert flinched, just a little and the way he averted his gaze to his feet was all the more noticeable for it. "We're just going to have a friendly chat."

Quin pressed one warm palm against the small of your back. "Go on," he murmured, leaning closer to you, his warm breath brushing the shell of your ear. "He won't do anything." He raised his voice without moving back, gaze pinning Albert in place the way a scientist would pin down a helpless butterfly. "Won't he?"

Albert said nothing, but he stopped walking and moved over to the side, freeing up as much of the hallway as he could. Quin gave you a small push and you walked on, shuffling past the captain of the guard, feeling like a scurrying mouse.

You glanced back just once when you reached the door. Quin regarded Albert with feigned, gentle politeness as he walked past him into his office, the door closing behind the two of them.

Barely anyone was in the tavern at this hour when you stepped into the large room. Some hungover people sat at the bar, stirring oatmeal or nibbling on dry bread, looking either a bit green or half asleep.

The place was cleaner than it would have been elsewhere after a night of wild partying. No smashed glass was anywhere, not even spilled, sticky residue from drinks. Everything from the bartop to the tables and the floor looked freshly wiped down.

The air was still cool, but not as cold as last night when you left the tavern, the sky overcast.

The street outside the Revelry looked cleaned up as well, tables moved to the side, chairs stacked on top, to make for easy passing. A carriage rattled through and you heard someone puke in an alley as you passed by with quick steps.

It felt almost unreal as you made your way home. Your childhood home, not the big townhouse you had stayed in in preparation for your wedding. Your parents were at the kitchen table, greeting you with smiles when you entered.

"Looking forward to your big day?" your father asked as he buttered his breadroll. "Your dress is waiting upstairs for you."

They didn't know yet. You took a deep breath and it filled your lungs in a way it hadn't for weeks. You felt free, you realized. Free of your fiancé and a future you hadn't wanted, even if you would have accepted it with dignity and plans to make things work to the best of your abilities.

You took another deep breath, marveling at how much lighter you felt. "There won't be a wedding," you said and the words almost made you smile. When your parents looked up, surprised and worried, you added, "They got killed last night."

It was as though your parents saw you properly for the first time. Your nightclothes which were inappropriate to leave the house in, the shoes they had never seen you wear before and your somewhat bedraggled and worn appearance.

"What happened?" your father asked at the same time as your mother said, "What did you do?"

And now you did smile, just a little. It wasn't a happy expression and you probably looked more like you were baring your teeth. "I made sure I lived."

*.*.*

The Revelry was filled with overlapping conversations and the occasional laugh as the afternoon crowd ate their lunch, spread out around the tables.

Already preparations for tonight's party were in full swing, decorations being pinned in place and some performers were warming up, others checking the trapeze and ribbons to ensure nothing could go wrong.

Quin was at the bar, speaking with the barkeep who listened with an attentive frown. She gave an understanding nod and Quin tapped the bar with his palm, smiling in languid satisfaction.

He then noticed your approach, smiling easily at you as he turned to face you, leaning back against the bar, elbows braced on the bartop. He looked just as confident and in control as a king might on his throne.

"Sweetheart, what brings me the pleasure of your presence?" he asked as you approached. Today his outfit was as blood red as his lips, accented with black and his jewelry glinted gold, the rubies looking like drops of blood that hung from his ears and decorated his neck and hands.

"I'm going to return your shoes," you said and he waved you off when you presented them.

"I don't remember where I got them," he said with a shrug. "Leave them by the door if you like. Someone will pick them up at some point."

"Oh." You were about to step away again, Quin's attention already moving on, the conversation over in his mind, when you paused. You knew he said you had paid already, even if you had no idea how or when or with what, but it didn't feel like enough. "Let me take you out to dinner."

His dark gaze snapped back to you and from the corner of your eye you noticed the barkeeper openly gawk at you.

"Are you asking me out?" he sounded bemused and the faintest bit baffled. Realizing how your offer had sounded, you floundered for a moment, then shrugged awkwardly, waving around the shoes as you gestured.

"Just...I want to say thank you properly." When he was about to speak, you quickly added, "I know, you said I paid already, but I still want to do this. You did more than you had to that night."

The barkeep downright stared at you now, looking gobsmacked that you had interrupted her boss, her gaze bouncing between you two. Quin tipped his head, earrings glinting in the light that fell through the window. Then he smiled and shrugged.

"Alright, why not." He pushed off the bar, gesturing for you to go ahead. "Besides, what fool turns down a free meal? Lead the way, my dear."

You left the shoes beside the entrance beneath the coat rack, like he had suggested. A carriage was waiting outside, the one you had taken to this place and the driver was visibly uncomfortable when Quin smiled at him as he helped you inside with a slightly exaggerated bow.

"Fancy," Quin said with a toothy grin as he sat down across from you and you knocked against the roof, the carriage lurching into motion. "I can't say I've been asked out like this before."

"You did mention having trouble to make people fall for you," you found yourself saying and he blinked, then threw his head back as he laughed.

"Oh, I think I like you," he said, eyes looking even darker than before, his smile sharper. "This might be a fun outing after all. Say, where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise," you answered and he leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees as though the carriage wasn't jostling the two of you around slightly.

"Can I guess?" he asked and at your shrug, he began to list places, starting with some waterholes you had heard the worst kind of stories about and ending with places so fancy and expensive only nobility would have been able to afford them.

You had to laugh at his latest suggestion and the carriage slowed to a stop a moment later. "Alright, we're here."

You got out first and offered your hand with the same exaggerated bow as he had and he grinned down, accepting it with over-the-top aplomb. Then he looked up, face brightening. "Oh my, you have chosen unexpectedly well."

You smiled and led the way inside. It wasn't easy to get a table in this place on short notice, but you had been lucky. A patron had cancelled their reservation just moments before you had shown up.

The server showed you to a table that had a good view of the stage and while he was polite, you noticed that he seemed unable to meet Quin's eyes.

All the patrons around you seemed uncomfortable, turning tense and quiet as the two of you sat down. You noticed some whispering and two people subtly getting up and hurrying away. If Quin noticed as well, he made no mention of it.

Just after ordering food and drink, the first musician showed up and the strangers around you stopped mattering. There was no need to pay attention to anything else when people sang and played their instruments so wonderfully. Quin seemed more than happy to watch the performances as well.

"I think I have to see if I can poach some of them," he mused quietly during an interlude. He was half done with his meal and you were certain it should have grown cold by now, but it was still steaming slightly.

He turned back to you, looking thoughtful. "Are you trying to butter me up for something? Are you in need of a deal now that your future prospect has been...scattered." He said the last word with the sort of smile that felt like it should drip blood down his chin.

"No." You knew just how damn lucky you were that he hadn't demanded a proper deal from you. That whatever you had given him that night, it somehow had been payment enough. You would not tangle with that again if you could help it. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"Hm." He watched you a moment longer, then cut into his steak again. "I believe you."

The performances resumed shortly after and it was quite a pleasant meal. When at last it was over and Quin and you got up, the other patrons hung back, giving the two of you quite a berth.

Quin was in high spirits, talking easily about what he had liked and enjoyed, gesturing and there was a small spring in his step.

"I have to say, that has been the best meal I had in quite a while," he said, offering his arm as you approached the stairs. You took it readily and he was still as warm as you remembered.

"I'm glad," you said. "I quite enjoyed myself as well." It had been unexpectedly easy to spend time with Quin. He clearly didn't care about impressing others or bothered to worry about what anyone thought of him and it was rather refreshing.

"Well, if you find yourself in need for a dinner companion again, you know where to find me," he said as he stopped in front of the carriage that had returned in time to pick you up. He helped you inside but didn't follow when you waited for him. "There are some artists I have to speak with. See you around, love."

He stepped back and you knocked on the carriage roof without looking away from him. You found your gaze lingering on him until the carriage rounded the corner. He had stayed where he was as he watched you leave, people still giving him plenty of space, their gazes averted.

*.*.*

Somehow, as the days and weeks passed, you found yourself returning to the Revelry again and again. You didn't always see Quin and sometimes he was too busy to do more than greet you, but that was alright.

His staff had grown unexpectedly fond of you, greeting you with smiles and offering free drinks on the house. Aside from the artists, you got to know Quin's hunters, as most people called them, rather well.

The hunters were the ones that wore masks and never showed their faces. The ones that everyone seemed uncomfortable around, though they seemed to find them slightly less unsettling than Quin.

Quin, whenever he had time for you, was excellent company. He made you feel warm and welcome and it was so easy to relax and be yourself in his presence. He made you laugh and let you lean against him, made your dreary days brighter and was well read and well educated.

You had both found yourself debating philosophical questions for hours with him and you had danced in the warm rain as summer began, laughing as he hopped through puddles with you, his make-up never once running.

He had made it far, far too easy to fall in love with him.

With his sharp blood-smiles and his dark eyes and delighted grins at all the joys the world had to offer. With his danger and confident grace and the good treatment of his employees. With the way he leaned in, breath warm against the shell of your ear, as he pointed things out to you or shared secrets.

"How come the boss doesn't bother you?" the barkeeper asked you one afternoon as you waited for Quin to finish a deal and join you for another outing. "It even took me a while to be comfortable around him and he's been nothing but friendly to me from the start."

You knew what she meant, you had observed the effect Quin had on people for some time now. Quin was dangerous and you weren't fool or delusional enough to not know that. To not know that you could easily have that danger turned on you should you threaten him and his.

But it was hard to forget the way he had caught you instead of letting you fall, that he had immediately offered to take care of a perceived offense that few others would have even bothered to acknowledge. That he had covered you with a blanket and gotten you shoes and hadn't asked you to sign any of the scrolls he handed to virtually everyone else that approached him for deals.

So you just shrugged and the barkeep left it at that.

"Love, how good to see you, thank you for waiting," Quin's voice drew your attention and he approached you, easily throwing an arm over your shoulders and tucking you against his side. "Where to today? The usual place?"

You had visited the academy inn you had taken him to a couple of times since, but you shook your head. "I found a new place. Come on or we'll be late."

"Oh, we can't have that, can we?" he sounded delighted, steering you towards the door and lifting his free hand in a lazy goodbye wave to his employees. "Until later, you scoundrels, don't do anything I wouldn't do," he called out, getting laughter and some hoots in return.

Hanging out with Quin had, faster than you had expected, turned into one of your favorite things. He had an ease about him that was part of anything he did and his presence had the added benefit that no one ever bothered you if you went out with him.

It was easy to tell Quin everything and he was a great confidante. Never once had he shared your secrets with anyone else and he never judged you for anything either. He spoke less about himself, but every little thing he revealed you found yourself hoarding like a jealous dragon who managed to scrape together a few coins.

Today, to your surprise, he ended up sharing more than before. Maybe it was the play you had brought him to, one that turned him quieter and more thoughtful than anything else before.

"I know you know I'm not human, not anymore," he said quietly as he watched the lead act fall to his knees in front of a demon, hands raised in supplication. "But you never ask about it."

"In all honesty, I don't care about what you are," you answered just as quietly. "I like you the way you are."

For the first time since you got to know him, he seemed to have no idea what to say. He reached out, offering his hand and you took it readily enough. To your delighted surprise, he laced your fingers together.

Then he brought your hand up to his lips and you found yourself unable to look away from him. From his dark eyes that began to glow ever so faintly like embers.

He brushed his lips over your knuckles. "I sold my soul to something far older than this world," he murmured, as though pressing his confession into your skin. "I never regretted it, I lead a life I very, very much enjoy after all."

He pressed a kiss against your knuckles, lips leaving behind red smears like blood, his gaze heavy. "But ever since I got to know you, I find myself glad for my younger self's foolish recklessness. I don't think I could have ever met you otherwise."

"We would have met," you found yourself answering, quiet but sure, certain in a way you felt in the marrow of your bones. "I would have found you."

You would have crossed paths with this man and you would have seen in him what you saw now. Someone who had shaken off the shackles of society, someone who was close to you in spirit. Someone who understood you in a way so few did. Someone who had grown so very, very dear to you.

"And I would have killed for you," Quin said, brushing one more confession against your knuckles before he let your combined hands sink down to the arm of his chair. "I hope you know that I would promise you what I promised this ancient thing years ago if I could."

You hadn't dared to hope, not when you had worried, just a little, that Quin didn't quite feel for you what you felt for him. But now your heart leaped high and soared and a happy grin appeared on your face. "I know now."

He smiled back at you and while you knew his smiles would never be soft and adoring the way you had seen other men smile at their lovers, you didn't want them to be. You liked his danger and his sharp teeth and the way he at times seemed two steps away from going unhinged.

Quin said nothing else for the rest of the performance, but neither did either of you let go of the other's hand. He held it all the way to the carriage, where he offered another of his playfully exaggerated bows while he held open the door.

You set a foot inside, only to lean over and brush a kiss against his cheek. "I had fun tonight."

"I think that's my line," he teased, looking up at you for once. "I'll take you out next time, how does that sound?"

"I look forward to it," you said and he let go of your hand, silver earrings reflecting the light as they swung softly when he closed the door.

He once again waited on the sidewalk as the carriage carried you away and you waved at him, watching him laugh and sketch another bow. The moment he was out of view, his words seeped back into your mind.

You mulled them over for days and slowly, bit by bit, you managed to tease more information out of Quin when you saw him. He never told you what sort of deal he made or with what being, but that was alright. You had access to a library after all and there was an old occultist that frequently visited the Revelry.

It was easy enough to intercept him one night and pull him aside while Quin was busy making deals. You got the man drunk enough to loosen his tongue and since he knew you and Quin were close, he seemed to have come to the assumption that you knew more than most.

You didn't, Quin had kept you firmly away from the sort of things he dealt with, but that assumption worked well in your favor.

Quin and you went on more outings together and despite his usual unafraid and near greedy claiming of the things he wanted, he hadn't done much more than share chaste kisses with you.

He was very content to take things at your pace and you found that incredibly charming, but you were ready to go further. So the next time you visited him, you leaned in and kissed him, deepening the kiss as he leaned against the bar, patrons and employees alike hooting and hollering as he returned the kiss eagerly.

"I think it's time we take this a little further," you whispered against his lips, knowing yours were stained blood red right now.

He was grinning, eyes glowing faintly when you separated. "Oh, love," he murmured in that low voice that seemed to rumble in the air itself. "You can have me as much as you like."

He kissed you breathless and took you dancing until you felt like your heart had soaked up enough joy and love to grow wings and take flight, the two of you never separating for long.

The next night you kissed him deeply once more and he led you through a night of delight, leaving you gasping and breathless and grinning as wildly as he did.

"Why didn't you ask for a normal deal when you met me?" you asked him that night when you were half asleep in bed with him, his hand tracing shapes across your back. "What was it that I gave you?"

He was quiet for long enough that you were almost fully asleep when he answered, quiet like it was an important secret, "You gave me trust in a way no one had in far, far too long."

You fell asleep with a smile while he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You loved him more than ever and when your parents brought up the topic of marriage again a couple of days later, you firmly told them you had chosen your own partner this time. You were done with catering to their desires and wishes. Never again would you let them control your future like they once had.

Especially when, instead, you could spend it with Quin and the Revelry.

It took you another couple of weeks, summer fading to cold autumn, until you at last had everything ready.

A day later, on his birthday, you tumbled Quin into bed while laughter drifted up from the tavern a floor below. Laughter was caught between your lips as you kissed and he made you sing in the best of ways, curling around you afterwards, sated and delighted.

You were reasonably certain that Quin needed next to no sleep, considering that a hunter had once mentioned that he only went to his rooms to read or when you were with him. He did sleep around you, or at least something like it. He always was a little too still when he did it, his breathing just a bit too deep to be normal, his heartbeat that unsettling extra second too slow.

You waited until he grew still and deep and slow and then you snuck out of bed, slow and careful. He didn't wake, not when you pulled pouches from your pockets. Not when you drew in chalk on his floor, not when you set up candles and lit them and not when you approached him with the dagger, metal etched with symbols that made no sense to you, but you knew were correct.

He didn't even wake when you carefully pricked the tip of one finger, letting a single drip of blood fall onto the blade. That one drop swiftly filled all the carved in grooves and lines and now came the thing that had taken the longest to obtain.

It had taken you days to find people even willing to hear you out, never mind go on the sort of dangerous trip you needed to send them on.

But a group of slightly wild-eyed, hungry adventurers had taken you upon the offer and they had, after weeks, delivered. Bruised, blooded and broken but victorious, grins wilder than ever and their hunger sated. For now.

The heart looked unexpectedly small, barely bigger than half your palm, but it beat still and it was as black as tar. The last tether the ancient horror had to this world.

You placed it in the middle of the circle, Quin still deeply asleep on the bed. His mind was most likely at another place, maybe he was even with this ancient thing, listening to its demands for souls and years and emotions and whatever else he fed it. It was powerful, no doubt, but you also knew Quin was the only reason it got to eat at all.

He was the only one who had a contract with it, the first and only one in centuries who had stumbled across a half sunken tomb and had figured out enough of the symbols to cobble together a ritual. Even his hunters were only an extension of his deal with the old horror he had found.

He hadn't quite understood what he had done, what he had summoned and bound himself to, but he had whole-heartedly accepted it all the same. Unafraid as he was in everything.

There was no undoing what had been done to him, the occultist had been firm about that when you had asked. Quin had given up his humanity and reversing that would be his end. His soul and body and mind had changed too much already. Furthermore, he liked himself like this.

He didn't want to change, even if he wished he could be free of the contract.

His body bowed like a man possessed when you pierced the heart and a noiseless shriek echoed through the room. It wasn't sound but instead pressure, making the very air itself vibrate, floorboards groaned and walls cracked, windows rattled and shattered and for a second you thought you yourself would break too.

Your bones seemed to try to shrink smaller, your mind feeling like it got squeezed from all sides as fury slammed into you, your ears popping painfully. Fury and fear.

It was that last emotion, that gave you the strength to grip the dagger with both hands and twist it, rending the small, black heart in two.

It was like an outward explosion, as though something as big as a continent exhaled it's least breath forcefully, desperate as it lost its grip on life. The walls and floor cracked to the point where you half expected them to cave and crumble and all at once the candles were extinguished.

In the light from the full moon outside you watched the black heart turn to dust and then it got blown away by a faint breeze until nothing was left.

"What?" Quin's gasping inhale drew your attention and you realized you were shaking and sweating and feeling unnaturally cold.

He sat up in bed, eyes glowing like an entire fireplace full of embers. "Love," he said and his voice rumbled through the air, heavy with new power. "What did you do?"

"Happy birthday," you answered, slightly breathless. "Do you like my present?"

He scrambled out of bed, suddenly frantic and graceless in a way he never, ever was. His knees hit the ground and his hands cupped your face, glowing eyes roving over your face like he had never seen it before. Had never seen you like this before.

"You killed an old god for me," he whispered, his voice on the verge something reverent and awed as he gave off an air of power so much deeper and larger that his previous presence would have looked pitiful in comparison.

"You wanted to be free, right?" you asked quietly and when you smiled at him, you knew you still had his blood-red lipstick on your lips from kissing him previously. You knew it was dark enough with only moonlight in the room that it must've looked like real blood.

He laughed and it was half relief and half astonishment and then he was kissing you, fiercer and deeper than ever before. It felt like he was trying to pour the power you had gifted him into you, filling your veins the way you had filled his.

"I devote myself to you," he said breathlessly between kisses, each one as fierce and consuming and gifting as the last. "My soul, in light and darkness, shall be yours until my dying day."

You could only kiss back just as fiercely, gripping his hips and pulling him closer as he climbed into your lap, leaning over you and kissing you and kissing you until you felt drunk on it and his power.

"Move in with me," he whispered against your lips. "You're already a part of this place. The Revelry loves you. I love you."

"Let's adopt a cat," you whispered back and he laughed, sounding half delirious and delighted enough that it wouldn't have surprised you to hear him shout from the rooftops in a moment.

"A beautiful idea," he said, eyes glowing and blood-red grin just as dangerous as ever, his teeth looking even sharper than before. "I love you."

You couldn't help but grin back. "Neat."

He laughed, wild and free, wrapping his arms tightly around you and swaying back and forth a bit, his weight heavy and grounding and warm in your lap until the last of the unnatural chill was chased from your bones.

Then he held and kissed you until he got his newly gained power under control and someone knocked on the door.

It were his hunters and for the first time they had taken off their masks, glowing eyes staring at the two of you with barely contained hope and wonder.

"We're free," Quin said, still in your lap and his grin was delightfully wild and on the edge of unhinged. "You are free to stay or go and never again will you be trapped in a contract."

It didn't surprise you when they stayed, fists pressed over hearts and fealty offered but not demanded. Given, not owned.

"Marevlous," Quin said when they left again, pressing kisses against your face, leaving smears of blood red behind. "Precious, crafty, devious, mine."

You gripped his hips. "And you're mine."

"Until the end of time," he promised, hands still cradling your face and he pressed your foreheads together. His voice grew quieter, intense, a promise he would have never given that old god, no matter its demands, "For this life and all that follow, until this world crumbles to dust and all the stars have died."

A promise better than any wedding vow you could have asked for. "In each one I will find you," you answered his promise, feeling him press even closer, heat and weight and danger and power. "My soul will always recognize yours."

"Thank you," he whispered, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "Thank you, for this gift and for trusting me when you met me. For never shying from me when others didn't even dare to look me in the eye. For giving me everything I ever wanted. For loving me."

You smiled and hugged him back tightly. He already knew that he had given you everything you could have asked for the night he killed for you. All without asking for anything. Without ever taking anything from you.

He had set you free from more than a lethal marriage contract. And now that he had shucked his shackles to an old god, now that he was free and still very much not human, you felt like everything was complete.

You couldn't wait to get that cat and to wake up to love and blood-red smiles for the rest of your life.

#my writing #short story #a long ass short story #fantasy #deals #jester #yo this became so damn long #i had so much fun writing this #I hope someone enjoys reading it!#implied murder in this one #heavily implied #also #this is a bit darker than my usual stuff #hope you guys like it!#have I figured out how tagging works by now?#absolutely not #I hope I didn't overlook too many mistakes!#thanks fyrenwater for giving me that one pass to write whatever I want #romance

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