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#coming from the girl that watches nothing ever
princessbrunette · 1 day
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frat!gooner!rafe is weird and icky.
occasionally he’ll follow you into the bathroom at his place, crowding you from behind with his hands on your hips so you don’t shut the door in his face as he eases you into the room to do your business. you’re used to him, unbothered as ever as you innocently pull your panties down and pee in the toilet, the watchful boy stood before you with a wide stance in grey sweats and parted lips, staring at the little pudge of pubic meat that peeks from between your legs.
the sound of your tinkle fills the room as you swing your legs, looking up at him curiously. “cute… can hear how tight you are just from the sound…” he has no shame in the way he says it, looking down right at you as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. for something said in such a flirtatious way he sure was off putting at times. “you ever like… pee’d… pee’d on a dick while its fuckin’ you?” his voice is rasped, drawled, like he’s already horny at just the mere thought. you shake your head.
“only ever had sex with you, remember?” you blink dolly eyelashes up at him and he nods, fixing the backwards hat on his head.
“oh shit, yeah. aha…”
only later on he’s following you back into the bathroom to see what else you’ll get up to. it’s later in the evening, and you’ve headed to brush your teeth. when you’re minding your business, the tall fratboy looms over you and takes the toothbrush from your mouth, taking over for you.
he grasps your chin with his fingers, seemingly concentrated as he works the bristles over your teeth. it’s seemingly innocent at first and you even giggle, in which he responds with a distracted ‘hm’ with a smile. but rafe being rafe, he gets carried away fast— making sure to really scrub at your tongue until you’re grasping at his wrist with wide slightly panicked doe eyes and a furrowed brow, toothpaste frothing and drooling out your mouth at the corners as you gag on the plastic device.
“yeah… fuckin’ sexy even like that.” he mutters to himself, before he’s had enough of it and lets go, leaving you coughing and wiping your mouth, departing with a slap on your ass. “hurry up n’ come to bed already.”
he’s also the type to randomly start jerking off whilst the two of you are watching tv. it’s nothing special, you’re rewatching gossip girl and when rafe gets disinterested — he puts his hands down his basketball shorts, thumbing at his cock until it’s hard. he leans his head back, staring at the ceiling in a daze as he does so, and you only notice he’s doing it when he pulls it out, jerking it at its full stiffness.
“rafe!” you widen your eyes, startled. he licks his lips, completely unfazed by your reaction.
“what?” he has the audacity to sound mildly irritated by your surprise. “s’a very normal thing, alright?”
“you just caught me off guard.” you pout, head tilting in curiosity as you watch the way he works his fist over himself, unable to help yourself from mentally taking notes. he looks at you, chest rising and falling with slow deep breaths as he touches himself, and after a few seconds he speaks.
“well are you going to keep staring or do you wanna help me out here? this dick won’t suck itself, fucking unfortunately.”
you shuffle closer, huffing out your nose with a frown. “you know i’ll always help.” you argue at the insinuation and he presses his lips together in a smile, both arms now resting along the back of the couch as you lower yourself between his legs.
“thats why i like you sweetheart. me n’you are just the same, isn’t that right?”
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babyleostuff · 2 days
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fluff 𐙚 established relationship 𐙚 idol!seungcheol x fem!reader 𐙚 wc: 613
. . . just cheol being cheol (aka him freaking out because of your fever)
natalia’s note: very much self indulgent, i came home with a fever all of a sudden like a week ago, and ever since im in desperate need of choi seungcheol
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“i’m not dying, you know?” 
“i know,” cheol huffed, and threw what had to be the tenth blanket over you. 
“then why are you acting like i’m about to pass away?” you laughed, seeing your boyfriend’s focused expression. according to his logic, if the blankets weren’t all sprawled out properly, you’d freeze to death, and his furrowed dark eyebrows alongside the crease between them showed how serious he was about it. 
you could hear him mutter something under his breath. he was always like that when you were sick - too worried, and too overprotective. that’s why sometimes you didn’t even bother telling him you were ill, especially with his busy schedules - you didn’t want to burden him even more (he’d probably strangle you if he heard you calling yourself a burden). 
to be honest, you didn’t even have to be sick - the second cheol would notice you acting differently than usual he’d be all over you asking what’s wrong. but while usually you were very grateful for his caring nature, now was not the time. “i’m sorry for being worried about my girlfriend coming home with a fever,” he said, looking offended. 
“cheol, baby. it’s just a fever,” you quickly grabbed the pills from his hand to get his attention back on you. “i’m sure it’s not even a proper fever, i’m just feeling a bit under the weather, that’s all. there is no need for you to be worried.” 
your “illness” was nothing that a long session of cuddles with him and kkuma couldn’t solve, but it seemed like your boyfriend didn’t share your optimism. “fine, do whatever you want,” he grumbled, his pout on full display, and left the room, leaving you too stunned to speak. 
with a loud sigh, you fell back against the stack of pillows cheol fluffed up before forcing you to lay down. of course you didn’t mean to make him think you didn't want his help, you loved how big of a caregiver he was (especially when it came to you), it’s just that unlike him - for you, being sick wasn't the end of the world, and you didn't need him to babysit you. 
not wanting to argue, you stood up from the bed with a soft groan, throwing off all the blankets cheol covered you with. you knew it wouldn't be hard to appease him, he wasn't really angry, more disappointed that you were rejecting his help.
you entered the kitchen and immediately saw him cutting up some food, probably preparing dinner. “cheollie,” you said quietly, hoping he would look at you. unfortunately, he stubbornly continued to cut the vegetables. "baby, please, i didn't mean to upset you." you walked around the kitchen island and hugged him from the side, burying your head in his neck.
you saw his pout out of the corner of your eye, so your suspicions that he wasn't actually angry were correct. “i was just worried about you," he finally said after a while, and put the knife down. "there's nothing fun about seeing your girlfriend come home all burning up with fever."
“i know love, i know,” you mumbled, and kissed his bicep, running your hand gently over his tummy. “i really appreciate everything you do, but i’d rather cuddle with you and kkuma. we could watch something, and you’d get to hold me, hm?” you smiled, seeing the corners of his mouth turning up a little. if there was one thing cheol could never decline, it’d be a cuddle session with his girls. 
“you’ll take the medicine, though,” he said sternly, kissing your hot forehead. “now get your ass back to bed, i’ll be right back” he added.
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cjayius · 2 days
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FEELS LIKE — NISHIMURA RIKI
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SYNOPSIS. the three times nishimura riki almost told his best friend he loved her, and the one time he actually did.
pairing. bestfriend!riki x f!reader wc. 0.66k tw. kissing , reader is kinda oblivious genre. fluff ( CATALOGUE )
the first time riki almost told you he loved you, you were in the school library. your chin was propped up in the palm of your hand as you exasperatedly stared down the physics problems before you.
a smile tugged at his lips when you furrowed your brows in frustration, groaning out for the tenth time that hour.
he shook his head at you, pulling your pencil from your tiny fingers. " you're doing it wrong. look, " he could have sworn he stopped breathing when you lifted your head to look at his book, quite literally invading his breathing space.
vanilla and coconut; that's what you smelt like. though it was a bit creepy to smell you, riki promised it wasn't on purpose.
" riks ? did you fall asleep ? " your fingers snapping in front of his eyes made him fall out of his daydreams. your hand brushed gently against his and he tightened his grip around the pencil. any tighter and he would have broken it.
the second time riki almost told you he loved you, he was watching you dance at prom with another boy. he felt a pang of hurt crash into him as he watched you giggle and smile at the boy's words. you only ever laughed like that with him.
" ni-ki, calm down or soon, the whole school's going to know you like her. " heeseung's hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him grounded as he clenched his jaw at the sight in front of him.
he ignored your calls as he turned and left without a second thought. he was going to go absolutely insane if he kept these feelings inside any longer.
the third time riki almost told you he loved you, the two of you were watching the sunrise after your graduation. he stared at you in awe; the sunlight striking your face and hair made you look ethereal.
you giggled at the way he was obviously admiring your beauty before turning back to the wonderful view. " i'll miss you when we go off to college, riks. a lot, i mean. "
riki, of course, had thought about it longer than anyone else.
but for now, he opted for wrapping a hand around your shoulder and pulling you close, trying his best to enjoy the moment. he would miss you the most. he would miss his bestfriend.
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three years apart had done nothing to the feelings riki had been secretly harboring. the distance had only made them stronger. now he was fresh out of college, and at the moment, watching you run towards him at a scary speed.
" riks ! " he had come to your house even before putting any of his things back; he had to see you. he chuckled as he felt your arms wrap around him, hugging you back without hesitation.
both of you had grown. riki was now taller than the eiffel tower, as you put it, and you had grown into your features. but you were both the same people.
he was the same riki that fell in love with you, and you were the same girl he fell in love with seven years ago.
now, he watched with a smile as you downed a bottle of soju, wiping your chin. the two of you decided to visit your spot, the place you always hung out at when you were still in school.
it was like deja vu, he thought to himself. yet again, he admired you as the wind blew your hair across your face, your face glowing in the evening light.
before he could even think about what he was saying, the words fell from his mouth. " i'm in love with you, yn. " he glanced at you, you paused your actions midway to look at him in shock. " you ... what ? "
no take backs now. mustering up all the courage he had, which was basically none right now, he delicately took your soft hand in his considerably rougher one.
" i love you. i have since freshman year when you hit me in the head with a ball and smiled at me like an idiot. yn, i- " he had never felt as much relief as he did right now, when you pulled him closer and pecked his lips lightly.
" you idiot, why have you never said anything ? all these years i felt like an idiot for falling in love with my best friend. " he breathed out a sigh, finally being able to embrace you, his head resting in the crook of your neck.
his only regret was not telling you he loved you those three times.
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eldritch-thrumming · 8 hours
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galaxy brain shit incoming
robin has to move when her mom marries wayne munson. it’s not that bad, her new stepbrother, eddie, is pretty cool and has decent taste in music. they actually have a lot in common. but the new school doesn’t have a gymnastics team like her old school did, so now she has no choice but to join the cheerleading squad if she doesn’t want to lose her mind here in a sea of endless blondes with their dad’s credit cards.
she thinks the cheer team’s captain is gonna be the worst of them all. she’s only been here two days and already she’s heard the rumors about ‘stevie’ and who she’s fucked and who she hasn’t and what parties she threw over the summer. robin’s rolling her eyes all the way to the gym for tryouts.
so imagine her surprise when stevie actually turns out to be steve, who’s honestly not so bad. he asks her to do a full routine and when she does it without breaking a sweat, steve smiles at the pretty blonde sitting next to him behind the folding table before saying “welcome to the team.” the blonde sitting next to him is also smiling, totally ignoring the other two teammates sitting behind the table who are clearly upset with steve’s choice. but all it takes for them to shut the hell up is steve holding up his palm, effectively silencing them. they cross their arms and say nothing else.
steve and the blonde—chrissy—seem to be working as a team… co-captains, even. they run their practices like boot camp and honestly? it’s a lot more serious and demanding than robin could have thought. they practice together constantly, watch training videos, and even start having sleepovers. robin doesn’t miss the weird stuff happening between steve and her idiot step brother, who can’t help but show off every time he sees that steve is over. but robins a little preoccupied with trying to figure out if chrissy likes girls or not.
until steve comes to robins doorstep, crying, talking about his college girlfriend, nancy, who dumped him because he wasn’t “serious” or “studious” enough. and robin’s not the greatest with feelings or comfort or words so all she can do is wrap steve in a blanket and cuddle him on the couch. she gets up to fix them a snack and when she comes back, eddie’s snuck into the living room and taken her place on the couch and steve is laughing for the first time all night. she gives them half an hour, camping out in the kitchen, before she walks in on them and interrupts their first kiss. eddie’s got a shit eating grin on his face and steve’s blushing so red robin thinks if she got a little closer she’d be able to feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.
the three of them spend friday night and all day saturday watching movies together. they’ve just ordered pizza when steve turns to robin and asks her if she’s ever gonna make a move on chrissy cause chrissy hasn’t stopped talking about robin since tryouts at the beginning of the year. robin grins and goes to invite chrissy over for their second movie night in a row.
then they go to nationals or whatever and win their competition and robin and chrissy get to kiss for real with the trophy in their hands. when they head back to the locker room with steve, they run into eddie with a bunch of tulips—steve’s favorite flowers—in his hands… and robin rolls her eyes at the gooey look in steve’s eyes. robin and chrissy, holding hands, leave the two boys to do whatever it is two boys do after a cheer competition.
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straywrds · 1 day
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achillea millefolium | four of wands chapter three
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pairing: witch!hyunjin x f!reader | wc: 21.7k | genre: adult romance | warnings: mutual pining ; angst ; heavy fantasizing ; occult sciences and mentions of sex magick. This work & chapter contain dark/adult themes and strong language. This work is for adult audiences as it includes sexually explicit content. Reader discretion advised. See detailed + nsfw warnings here.
──── There were times you thought Hyunjin was a dream, that he wasn’t even real. Other times you convinced yourself he was just a guy, no different than anybody. And sometimes you truly believed he had otherworldly abilities. You couldn’t explain how—maybe there was something in his DNA, the perfect formula to make him like that. Whatever it was, he had bewitched you. Because you had never felt like this before. Nothing had ever been this easy.
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You used not to remember your dreams. Hell, you used to think you never dreamt at all—you just assumed that whenever you fell asleep, your mind became a void where you were granted a few hours of respite from life. You used to believe that nothing happened when you fell asleep. That it was darkness, and nothing else.
It had never been easy for you. Sleeping. As a baby, your parents regularly had to take you on long car rides at night just to lull you to sleep. As a child, you stayed up past curfew to read books under the light of a flashlight which was in fact merch from The Lion King movie that your uncle gave you one Christmas. As a teenager, you’d lay in bed with your headphones and listen to Linkin Park, Nirvana, or Slipknot, but you’d also read sometimes, or masturbate. 
As an adult, you binge-watched TV shows or documentaries, or you worked. If you were going to be awake all these hours on a given day, you wanted to make them at least a little productive. If that didn’t work, you still masturbated in the hopes it would help you relax. You had a white noise machine that was still in its original box and you kept a blue light filter on all of your screens. And yet, for years, you struggled, watching the night sky become morning through the windows of the bedrooms you occupied. And when you did sleep, there was nothing.
Then there had been Daehan. While you dated him, you’d take random over-the-counter medicine just to make yourself a little sleepy. Anything that caused drowsiness was good enough—melatonin, yes, but mostly allergy meds or nighttime cold medicine. You couldn’t see it while it was happening. That you desperately needed to escape. That the cold, empty void of your sleep was better than sharing his bed. You used to take the pills early just to maximize the amount of time you didn’t have to worry about whether he was texting other girls or sending them pictures of his dick. Sometimes, he’d get into bed and wake you up by pressing his hard cock against your ass. And it made you feel like you mattered. Being his docile cumdump made you feel cherished. To let him shove himself inside your cunt. You were usually asleep again by the time he was done, which was not very long, and you drifted to sleep again with his cum leaking out of your bored cunt.
You used not to remember your dreams. 
And then you moved to Heron Lake.
» Read the full chapter on ao3. (You don't need an account to access the work, just click the link!)
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author's note: Thank you are always the first words that come to mind when I sit to write these little notes. I have always said and continue to say that I have the absolute best readers in this entire fandom and maybe even website. I’m blessed. I’ve been lucky. And this is why I am always terrified I’ll disappoint too many of you too badly at one point, if I haven’t already. If this day is today, I hope you can forgive me. I have missed Heron Lake but I simply couldn’t make the plot progress without giving our MC the proper time to process the changes happening in her mind and her heart. I think, maybe, because there are a lot of things in my heart too these days and it’s hard to make sense of them. I’ll say it again: thank you. Thank you for choosing to read my story, thank you for your kindness, for every ask, reblog, for all the love you’ve given me and my little fics. Thank you for allowing me to experiment and for wanting me around. You guys take care, ok? 🤍
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amjustagirl · 19 hours
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title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list
a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.
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Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 
He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 
It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  
“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 
Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 
“That’s cos she’s amazing -”
“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”
“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 
“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 
Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 
“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 
He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 
“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  
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Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 
Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.
Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 
As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 
Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 
Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 
“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 
You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 
Did you say something to him last night? 
It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 
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Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 
“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 
“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 
“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 
He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 
“Tetsuro?” 
He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 
He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.
Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 
Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 
You’re gone. 
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Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.
He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 
“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  
His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 
You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -
Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 
It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 
Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 
He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 
“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 
“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 
Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  
He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -
“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 
You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 
“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 
“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 
You don’t seem to hear him. 
“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 
You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    
“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 
The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.
You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   
He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 
“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”
He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  
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Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.
The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 
He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 
“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 
“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 
“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 
“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 
“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 
Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 
“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”
He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 
Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “
“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.
“Guys, I’m fine - ” 
“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 
Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 
Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 
“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 
“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 
“But I didn’t know -” 
“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”
 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 
Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 
Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 
“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”
“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.
“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.
“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 
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Step one. 
He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 
His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 
Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 
“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 
He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 
“The girls?” you ask. 
He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 
You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 
That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 
That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 
“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 
You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 
“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 
That gets your attention. 
“Really?”
He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 
“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 
“I won’t”, he promises. 
It’s time for him to level up.  
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Step two. 
He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 
“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 
He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 
You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 
In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 
“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 
In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 
“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 
You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 
“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 
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Step three. 
To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 
“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 
His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”
“What made you fall in love with her?” 
“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 
“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 
“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 
“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”
“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 
Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,
“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 
His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 
He can do that. 
“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.
That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 
But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 
“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 
“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 
He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 
The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 
His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 
“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 
A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”
“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 
He will. He will. 
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Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 
He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 
“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 
You goggle at him. 
“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 
You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 
Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 
“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 
His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 
Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 
“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 
He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 
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“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 
“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 
“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 
His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 
His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 
“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 
He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 
He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 
When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 
“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 
He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 
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His nights are still plagued by nightmares.
Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 
Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 
You’re there, until you aren’t. 
It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 
He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 
“What’s wrong?” you frown. 
He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 
“You’re - you’re still here.” 
You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 
He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 
“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 
The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 
Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 
It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 
“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.
He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 
“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”
He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 
“Tetsuro -” 
He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 
“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”
“You don’t”, you agree. 
He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”
“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 
“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 
“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 
The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 
“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 
He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 
“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”
You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 
 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 
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“Is this what flirting is like?” 
He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 
“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 
Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 
“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 
The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 
“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 
He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 
You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 
The girls giggle, but he protests. 
“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 
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Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 
You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 
Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 
You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 
“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”
“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 
It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 
He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 
“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 
“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 
“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 
“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”
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He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 
A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 
Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 
You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 
“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 
He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 
“You kissed me second!” 
“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 
You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.
“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. “They must be newlyweds.”  
Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 
“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 
There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 
“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”
Both of you are doing alright.
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a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?
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freelancearsonist · 2 days
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in shades of gray and candlelight
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➔ Marcus Pike x fem!Reader - 7.2k
➔ Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.
➔ artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily [please let me know if i missed any at all :)]
➔ this is my (first 😈) submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! i really did mean for this to be a drabble especially since i didn't know anything about marcus before receiving this prompt but he has my whole fucking heart and mind now 😩 thank you so much for the challenge lovely kel, and special thank u to my baby @fhatbhabie for betaing and screaming with me ily <3 (dividers by the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics)
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You meet Marcus Pike on a Friday night and it’s obvious from the start that he’s going to change your life forever.
He looks a little disheveled when he enters the gallery–brown hair ruffled and standing up in places, tie loose, top shirt button undone. There’s an alluring five o’clock shadow burgeoning across his jaw and cheeks. He looks like he’s had a long day, and it’s only going to get longer. It’s all part of the plan, of course. He’s supposed to look like a standard blue collar worker, and he pulls it off with ease.
It’s the exhibition’s opening night, so it’s a little more packed than the gallery normally would be. It works in his favor–he’s able to collect a plastic cup of champagne from the refreshment table and blend seamlessly into the crowd.
His eyes are diligent as they scan the faces that come and go. He tries to commit them all to memory–the tall woman with the slight limp, the short guy wearing the Hawaiian patterned shirt. There’s dozens of people that pass by, and so many of them are forgettable. It’s exhibitions like these that make him dread undercover work.
The art on the walls isn’t exceptional, but it’s not bad. Nothing that seems worth stealing, that’s for sure. But his source is good, and his source said that this place was getting hit tonight. So he keeps his watchful eyes vigilant and pretends to sip the champagne in his hand.
Until he finds your exhibit.
There’s a depth to your art that he’s come to be familiar with–something he sees often in work of high value. Anyone can make abstract art, it’s as simple as flicking paint at a canvas. But few can charge it as emotionally as you have. To convey feeling and passion and heart through abstraction is a separate art form all its own, and it’s one you’ve mastered.
He’s seen original Rothko’s, Van Gogh’s, Kandinsky’s; he’s held their frames in his own two hands. But nothing’s ever made his breath hitch in his throat quite the way yours does.
He stands in front of a canvas simply labeled “Waves In Motion” with your name printed neatly underneath, brow creased with a concentration that seems a little unnecessary given the subject matter of the painting. It’s all shades of blue and violet, swirling together in a way that seems partly sensuous, partly violent. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he takes a step closer. That’s when he notices it: a single dot of red paint right in the middle, a focal point of all the swirling cobalts. So small that he wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t close; so small it could almost be interpreted as a mistake.
But he knows without having to ask that it’s not an answer. He wonders who that dot represents: you, the artist? Most likely.
Without meaning to, he smiles. It’s been a long time, years really, since a piece of art provoked such thought. 
“Hi.”
The voice Marcus hears next to him is soft, dulcet. He doesn’t turn to the noise quickly–from the tone in that word alone he senses a hesitance, as if you’re a fawn that’s lost its mother and you’re bound to run if he makes any sudden movements.
And, truth be told, part of him thinks he might not be able to look away even if he tried right now. There’s something so beautiful about this painting–and underneath, something so ominous. There’s an air about the work that says he might unlock the secrets of the universe if he just keeps looking.
“Hi there.” He keeps his eyes trained on “Waves In Motion” as he responds–playing the game. He’s here to brush shoulders, after all; to be the right amount of forgettable yet memorable. 
“This is my best, I think,” you murmur while taking a step closer. “It took the least time of all of them, surprisingly. But… I think when you know exactly what you’re trying to convey, it just comes to you easily.”
“These are yours?” There’s admiration in his eyes and an air of something akin to disbelief in his voice as he takes in the group of canvases proudly displayed on the plain white gallery walls.
And then he turns and lets himself take you in. More specifically the curling strand of hair that falls out of your updo to frame your face, the deeply plunging neckline of your dress, the way your calf muscles work even standing still in your high-heeled shoes. You’re a work of art in your own right; the most beautiful piece he’s seen in a long time.
“Yeah.” You duck your head–shyly, modestly–and he’s hooked. There’s one thing in this building that deserves awe and reverence more than your painting, and it’s you. “You know, you’re only the second person who’s come over tonight.”
“No way. They’re all just working their way back here,” he whispers before he can calculate a more articulate response.
But it works in his favor–your giggle is gorgeous, if a sound can be described that way. Sweet and syrupy, it seeps over him as if he’s standing under a cracked honeycomb. He hasn’t actually taken a drink of his champagne, and yet he can feel his nervous system tingling. You’re just that intoxicating.
“The gallery closes in half an hour,” you tell him–a little wistfully at that. “In my defense, I don’t have any family or friends in the area. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show, not with so many other talented artists here.”
It seems so indignantly unfair to Marcus. That you’re shoved into the far back corner of the gallery, that people haven’t come in droves from all over the country to see your work.
“Where are you from?” He asks as his mind finally starts to clear from the haze it’s been in the past few minutes. With only half an hour left on the job, he allows himself a small sip of the drink that he’s been cradling all night.
“New York. This is actually only my second exhibition,” you explain, and you almost sound shy about it; as if you need to be embarrassed about being young and fresh-faced in the art industry, as if you aren’t the most talented artist Marcus has ever met in person.
He hums in response, eyes unconsciously dragging over you once more. “You came a long way for this.”
You smile so prettily up at him, and in that moment he sees something in your eyes. He can’t describe it–maybe it’s something akin to longing. Something incomplete, unexplored. It’s familiar; it’s the red dot from your painting. Solitary amidst the swirling, lost yet not hopeless.
And just like your painting, he finds himself wanting to get lost in your eyes.
“Well, it’s not every day a gallery wants to host you,” you say after another sip of your drink. “Plus, I’ve never been to Texas before, and I needed a change of scenery.”
There’s something so charming, so boyishly intoxicating about the smile he graces you with. “How are you liking it so far?”
“It’s hotter than I’m used to,” you say with a chuckle that he echoes. “And I haven’t been able to do any exploring yet, my flight only got in a couple hours before I had to be here.”
“That’s a shame,” he hums in a tone that reveals deeper meaning. “How long are you here for? Do you have any plans?”
“A week,” you murmur. Subconsciously he leans in closer, on the edge of his proverbial seat. To seal the deal, you lean in too. “And not a damned one.”
There’s no air between you and Marcus. You exist in a vacuum for this moment–unable to breathe, choking on anticipation. He’s so close, yet way too far away. You want to be consumed by him–for him to be swirling blue; and you, a single speck of red in his midst.
The moment shatters with an audible sound–a deep, penetrating voice. “He’s still not here, huh? I don’t think your boyfriend’s coming. If he even exists.” There’s something strange in the raspy voice that drawls these words–something strange enough to immediately put Marcus on the alert.
You flinch at the sudden intrusion into your vacuum, but you recover quickly. You have to, because this intrusive stranger is standing way too close and has way too much alcohol on his breath.
And then something strange happens–you worm your arm around Marcus’s waist and press yourself firmly into his side.
“Actually, he’s right here,” you say. There’s a quality to your voice that wasn’t there before when you were just talking to Marcus–it’s firm, clipped, bordering on hostile. “He just got held up at work. Isn’t that right, babe?”
Thankfully, Marcus has always been one to think quickly on his feet. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, unconsciously moving an inch or two in front of you. Protecting without really meaning to. “I’m sorry, honey. I got here as soon as I could.”
The man–burly and balding, probably a good twenty years older than you–scoffs. “Unbelievable.”
“Is there a problem here?” Marcus draws up to his full height–towering a good few inches over this strange intruder.
Whoever this guy is, he’s not completely stupid. He senses this isn’t going to be a fight he’ll win, so he backs off. “Not at all, man. Just didn’t want little miss standing here all alone the whole night.”
“Thanks,” you say with bitter reprehension. You wind even closer to Marcus–closer than this sudden farce demands. “But we’re fine now.”
He nods once–curt and unhappy, but seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to get what he wants. “Have a good night, ma’am. Sir.”
Marcus takes a mental inventory of the man as he storms off, committing his physical description and his outfit to memory. He doesn’t look like a casual art viewer, and he doesn’t look like a collector. He’s exactly the type that Marcus came here to look out for.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you step out of Marcus’s personal space. “He’s been hovering all night, asking me who I’m going home with and shit.”
“That’s the other guy who came over to talk to you?” It brings a deep frown to his face, a crease forming between his brows. It certainly raises a red flag–if the guy has any eye for value, of course he would be drawn to your exhibit. And if he has an eye for value, he could be the guy Marcus came for.
“Yeah.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and avert your gaze, as if you should be embarrassed for drawing that guy’s attention. “It’s not been the greatest night.”
Marcus hates that. He hates that you came all this way to be let down, that this is only your second exhibition and you’ve had such a bad experience with it. More than anything, he hates that he can still see the spark in your eyes when you look up at him, and he can tell that it’s dimmed.
“Gimme just a minute.”
He doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but he wants to make it quick. He hustles to the single-stall men’s room and tugs the radio out of his inside jacket pocket to call in the man’s description. Then he turns it off, tucks it back into its concealed pocket, and goes over to the sink.
He thought he looked perfect for the part he had to play when he left his house to come here. Now, he’s too disheveled. He wets his fingertips and tries to tame the mess on top of his head; he re-buttons his shirt and tightens his tie. He looks flustered, and he’s not even surprised by it. You’ve got his heart pounding with anticipation in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before.
Butterflies fluttering on in his stomach, he emerges from the restroom to resume his position by your side.
Except you’re not by your exhibit anymore, and the crowd has thinned considerably. He checks his watch and realizes there’s only five minutes before the gallery closes for the night. Maybe you’ve decided to cut your losses and leave early.
He hates the way his gut twists with disappointment, but then he reminds himself that he didn’t come here for you. He’s working, and he needs to stay vigilant. No distractions, no complications.
“You’re still here.”
There’s a wave of relief that washes over him as he hears your voice, and this time he’s not too timid to turn towards you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Thought I might’ve scared you off.” There’s a fresh cup of champagne in your hand and a hint of vulnerability in your voice, and it makes his heart pick up pace just the slightest bit. You duck your head–that shy, modest gesture again. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that without permission.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, more earnestly than he’s ever said anything in his life. “I didn’t mind at all, I swear. Just had to hit the head.”
You look so deeply into his eyes he almost wonders if you aren’t looking through him. But whatever you find, you must like it.
He clears his throat and tries to not show how thoroughly unraveled he is by your gaze. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.” You pause for a moment, and he can tell that there’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue–so he remains silent in hopes of drawing it out.
“Do you have someone to go home to?”
There it is–the invitation he was both dreading and hoping for. He should really lie. He’s here on a job, after all–he’s supposed to avoid complications, and some instinct tells him you’re going to be much more than a simple distraction. But he’s told you the truth so far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.
“No. No, I don’t.”
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This is everything that Marcus has never even considered doing. It’s late, it’s dark, it’s a little chilly for spring in Austin. The alley is grimey and drafty–your hair blows in the breeze even as you kneel down before him.
All he can do is stand there, dumbstruck with his back up against the rough brick wall, and stare down at you. 
He’s still breathless from the way you’ve been kissing him–all heat and passion, fire and brimstone. Your hands ran through his hair and undid the effort he put in while in the bathroom, and his hands clutched your waist in a futile attempt to ground himself. Your lips are so soft; he thinks he could kiss you forever and never get tired of it. He was certainly planning on finding out, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.
“You… you don’t have to–”
But the way you look up at him through your lashes makes his throat close up around whatever protest he was going to try.
“I want to,” you assure him–more of a purr than a spoken statement.
And this really isn’t the place. He shouldn’t let you do this here. But he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him harden in his boring gray work slacks.
Marcus has never been about excitement. He’s always strayed to the comfortable and familiar–he falls into the sweet, caring companion role with grace and ease.
And tonight doesn’t have to be that different. If you’re going to suck his dick in a dark, dingey alley, he’ll let you. But he’s going to lay his jacket down on the ground so you don’t scrape up your knees first.
You keen at the thoughtful gesture and grace him with a grateful smile as your adept fingers work his belt open. He’s straining against the seam of his pants now, begging for the attention that your gaze promises him.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re every bit as eager to get his trousers and boxers down as he is.
And Lord help him, he delights in the gasp you emit when his cock springs free from its confines.
“Fuck, Marcus.” Your lips actually part as you freeze for a moment, just taking him in. He’s thick, maybe an inch longer than average, swollen head peeking through uncut skin as if begging for your waiting mouth. He curves to the left just a little bit, and you can almost see his pulse thrumming through the prominent vein that runs along the length of him.
“S’not that impressive,” he mumbles, and you know that he knows that he’s full of shit.
Your fingers almost don’t wrap all the way around him, and suddenly you’re second-guessing this back alley stint, too. You want him in bed. You want him deep inside you, kissing your face as he fucks you, hands all over your body, thrusts hard yet slow. You want it languid, you want it desperate, you want it any way he’ll give it to you. You don’t want to blow him and say goodbye.
He calculates your hesitation as something other than pure unadulterated lust, and he lifts your chin gently with his index and middle fingers.
“Hey, we don’t have to–”
Again, you cut him off–this time, by dragging your tongue from the seam of his balls all the way along his length to swirl messily around his tip. You taste every heady inch of him and then moan at the salty foreshadowing on your tongue when you catch a droplet of precum leaking from his slit.
Your hand springs into action with a long, slow stroke along his cock, and then you sink your mouth around him and he moans. Without caution or pretense, like you’re not in an alley that anyone could walk down at any moment. It’s a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be and his head thumps back against the brick wall hard enough to hurt, and even still he’s never felt so overwhelmed with pleasure before in his life.
Your nose meets the neat patch of hair at his base and your free hand comes up to his hip, effectively pinning him against the wall when he tries to buck greedily even further into your mouth.
No one’s ever taken him so relentlessly before. You’re insistent, pressing onward even as you gag on his length, and it makes his balls tighten in a way he’s never felt before. It’s like you’re hungry for him; like you’re doing this more for your own pleasure than for his.
Marcus Pike has been a giver his whole life. Tonight, with you, he finally decides to take.
He’d be embarrassed about how fast he comes if you weren’t so eager for it. You moan around him and push yourself as deep as you can, throat working around him desperately not to choke on the size of him. Before he can warn you he’s spilling into your mouth, maybe more than he’s ever come before, thick and salty but undeniably sweet too. You allow yourself a moment to savor him as he pulses in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head of him in a way that makes him shiver and whine.
He’s panting, nearly light-headed, when you finally pull off of him and press one last gentle kiss over his slit.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs, because there’s nothing else to say.
You giggle, and he realizes with a strange wistfulness that he would do anything to keep this girl–a girl he’s just met, a girl who’s leaving to go back to her home on the other side of the country in just a week–smiling and laughing the way she is now.
“My hotel is only a couple blocks away,” you tell him as he helps you to your feet. “Would you like a nightcap?”
You pick up his jacket and dust the grime off it–it makes him chuckle. Everything about this encounter has flown in the face of what he’s used to. 
He’s never felt so alive.
“I would love a nightcap.”
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Your senses wake up slower than normal.
First it’s your eyes–they tune in on the bright mid-sunrise light streaming through the open balcony blinds on the far wall. It falls in slivers and shards over the rumpled white hotel-standard bedding–the second thing your senses tune into. Everything is so soft and light, but it’s a little cold too. Especially the other side of the bed; there’s no heat remaining there at all.
You push yourself up with a grunt and let the sheets fall away from your bare torso, tired eyes scanning around the room. You notice clothes scattered all over the floor while your ears wake up enough to hear water running in the bathroom, and you can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads over your face. He’s still here.
Marcus lets the too-hot water wash over him in scalding waves, muscles still a little sore after a long night tangled together with you.
He checked his phone first thing this morning, and the gallery was quiet all night. They think the suspect he radioed in was the guy they were looking for, but they weren’t able to apprehend him. The running theory is that he might’ve recognized Marcus and decided low-value art wasn’t worth the hassle, but one guess is as good as the next until they can bait and catch the guy.
It’s the weekend now, and Marcus is thanking his lucky stars. Not only does he have a successful mission to celebrate, but he has the most beautiful woman in the world to celebrate it with.
He emerges after a few minutes, wet hair messily scattered over his forehead and wide hips straining against a low-slung hotel towel. He’s a languid Saturday morning wet dream on two legs.
“G’morning,” he hums with a smile–he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down to hungrily take in your naked torso.
“Good morning, Marcus.”
He stalks towards you slowly, eyes darkening with each advancing step. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize he didn’t get his fill of your body last night, but you’re certainly not complaining.
He’s already starting to harden as he drops his towel and crawls over the foot of the bed, surging forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. If last night was desperation and passion, this morning is syrupy and sweet. He explores your mouth slowly, tongue sweeping between your lips and tracing every curve and ridge he can–almost like he’s trying to commit you to memory.
There are universes in the depths of his dark eyes. He may not say exactly what he’s thinking, but you can see it playing out in those baby browns of his. There’s something simmering underneath the surface–something more than just lust or desire.
Something dangerous.
You tug him closer and cup his face in your hands, enjoying the gentle scratch of morning stubble underneath your palms. He surges forward and presses you into the pillows as he settles himself comfortably between your spread legs. 
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs through kisses scattered along the length of your jaw.
You know you probably look like you got run over by a bus–you toss and turn in your sleep, and it always leaves your hair a matted mess. And that’s not even mentioning the slight tremble in your thighs, left over from Marcus’s enthusiastic attention last night. But there’s so much sincerity in his voice; you don’t think he would waste his breath saying it if he didn’t mean it, and that fact alone makes your heart pound with desire.
There’s a syrupy slowness to the way he moves down your body, lips leaving behind heavy wet kisses as he works down your chest and over your stomach.
And it’s almost like he senses the protest working its way up your throat when you feel his hot breath on your thighs, because he looks up at you and there’s sternness in his gaze. You got your fill last night, and now it’s his turn.
“May I?” He looks up at you from the apex of your thighs with big, round puppy eyes that are impossible to refuse–so you nod eagerly and don’t even try.
If you were eager to have him in your mouth last night, he’s desperate.
There’s no hesitation, no build-up. It’s almost aggressive, the way he buries his face in your heat. He laps like a dog at a bowl, hips canting into the mattress involuntarily as your taste floods his mouth.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls into your sopping cunt. “You taste incredible.”
You keen at the praise and card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the damp, spiky strands when his tongue laves heavily over your sensitive clit.
Marcus’s greedy hands grip underneath your thighs and push them as far as you can comfortably spread them. You’re still so sensitive after at least three orgasms last night–you lost count after a point–and it serves to wind your nerves tighter than they’ve ever been wound before.
One hand slides to the junction of your thigh and his thumb comes to take over the pressure on your clit as his tongue plunges between your soaked folds. It’s even more overwhelming like this, and there’s not a thing in the world that you want to do more than let him have his fun. Especially when that hand and his tongue switch spots–his lips seal and suck around your clit while he presses two achingly thick fingers into your waiting entrance.
It actually makes your muscles tighten and your back rise off the bed as he curls his fingers just right to find that spot that makes you fall apart for him. 
He can tell you’re getting close–he’s already so intune with the way your muscles twitch, the change of pitch in your moans. You whine and cry for him the tighter he winds the rubberband, and he’s eager to make it snap.
“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says over the overwhelming flutter of his fingers scissoring and curling inside you. “Let me have it.”
You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly as pleasure wracks through your body that you can see constellations. Large hands come to pin your thighs open as his tongue keeps working, lapping and gliding against your cunt with ease as a wave of arousal gushes from your entrance.
You’ve never been so wet in your life, and he’s just getting started.
He trails open-mouthed kisses up your body as you catch your breath–his slick-soaked lips coat your skin with your own arousal as he works his way up to allow you a taste of yourself.
The first wet lick of his tongue into your mouth makes you moan. It’s not the first time you’ve tasted your own slick–you’ve had a moment or two of curiosity–but it’s never been quite as enjoyable as it is on his tongue. It pairs so perfectly with the minty tang of toothpaste left on his breath and makes you hungry for more.
He moves fluidly under your direction as you push him onto his back and roll to straddle his lap all in one graceful movement. It’s perfect like this–he doesn’t have to support his weight so he can run his big meaty hands all over every inch of you, and you can kiss him as deep as you want while you grind down on his aching length.
“Shit, baby,” he pants against your lips. Those aforementioned beefy palms grasp hard at your asscheeks to guide your hips, pulling you into a slow, long grind that bumps the head of his cock against your clit deliciously.
Your pulse thrums with desperation until you’re seeing white–no more teasing, no more preamble. You take his girth in your hand and give him a firm stroke; if you had a little more presence of mind, you might be embarrassed at how wet his dick is simply from grinding against you for a few seconds.
“Go ahead, baby, take it when you’re ready.”
He gasps at the first press of his cockhead against your entrance, head flopping back against the pillows as his hands squeeze your asscheeks with bruising force.
“Shit, you’re tight,” he murmurs, throat working around a thick gulp. “You can take it baby, I know you can. Did so good for me last night.”
You think you would honestly do anything he asks of you so long as he just keeps talking like this.
It takes a moment for you to work your way down his length–he’s so mouth-wateringly thick and the curve of his cock hits the most delicious spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed.
“Atta girl,” he praises breathlessly as your hips settle flush against his. “Just sit there for a minute. So pretty on my dick.”
God, he makes your entire body flush with heat. He turns your blood to molten lava with his words, lighting every inch of skin on fire. You’ve never felt a sensation like this–so overwhelming yet so intoxicating.
You start with slow movements as his hands trace up and down your sides sweetly–it’s more like you’re grinding on him than anything else. His thumbs rub abstract little patterns into your skin as his hands work up to your tits; when he finally takes them in the palms of his hands and squeezes all pretense of soft, sweet morning-after sex flies out the window.
You drop down hard on his cock and it nearly punches the wind out of him. 
“Yes!” He growls darkly. His eyes flash with something dangerous–it’s the only warning you get before his hand slaps the meat of your ass and grabs a greedy handful. “Just like that baby, use my fuckin’ dick.”
And maybe, if he was someone else, you wouldn’t be nearly as eager to follow instructions. But with Marcus, you’re nothing if not obedient.
Last night was exploration and discovery–hours into the early morning spent learning each other’s bodies, finding what makes the other squirm and whine and beg. This morning is in perfect juxtaposition to that sweet, soft, probing sex–you know what drives each other crazy now, and you each use it to your advantage. Aggressively.
He surges up to suck a pert nipple into his mouth as you set a hard pace on him, long fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He lands another sharp smack to your ass when your thighs start to shake–a reward for using his cock exactly how he asked.
”M-Marcus—”
”I know, sweetheart,” he purrs through a guttural moan. He cants his hips up to meet your thrusts at just the right moment—he hits something so devastatingly pleasurable that your vision prickles white around the edges. “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can let go. Come for me.”
There’s a condescending note to his voice that only makes you squeeze harder around his cock, and within seconds you’re hurtling uncontrollably into ecstasy.
He fucks you through the telltale fluttering of your cunt even when your hips stop moving; strong hands hold you in place and work you through the ebbing waves of pleasure that wrack through your entire body.
”M’so close, honey,” he grunts with a particularly sharp thrust upward. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Where do you want me?”
”I-inside,” you gasp. “Come inside me, Marcus.”
He fills you as soon as he has your instruction—hard thrusts punctuated by breathy moans as he pumps you full of his release.
There’s a long, silent moment where Marcus pulls your bare chest tightly against his own and you pant into the crook of his neck while trying desperately to even-out your breathing. His fingertips dance across your skin-feather-light, soothing.
The sun is higher in the sky now and meets your eyes with blinding rays through the balcony shutters when they finally open again.
”That was amazing, honey,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s caught his own breath now, but he doesn’t make any attempt to let you go. “How’re you so perfect?”
”M’not perfect,” you mumble into his shoulder; but even to your own ears, it sounds half-hearted. The truth is, he’s so earnestly honest that you believe him.
He hums his dissent with a kiss pressed to your hairline. ”You are to me.”
And you so desperately want to believe him that you don’t even try to argue.
You bask in this warm, lovely afterglow for a few moments longer before Marcus gently taps your hip. ”Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you breakfast.”
You pull off of his softened cock with a whine and try not to get worked up all over again at the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. ”Th-there’s a free continental breakfast downstairs.”
”Oh, then I’ll definitely pick up the tab,” he jokes with a smirk—all you want to do is kiss his goofy, stupidly handsome face.
He pulls you into the bathroom and starts the water running to fill the tub—he’s never really been a bath guy, but your legs are a little too shaky to endure a shower. He’s so attentive—from running a damp cloth between your legs to helping lower you into the water. He doesn’t complain in the slightest when you catch his hand and ask him to join you; he just shuffles you forward and slides in behind you like it’s a casual act that he performs with every hookup.
It’s intimate. That’s really the only way to describe it. You sit between his spread legs, back to his chest, head rested back against his shoulder while his fingers ghost idle paths over your skin. You don’t talk; you don’t really need to. Somehow, you fit together like souls who have known each other for years. Like all you’ve been missing is each other.
You drift off in his arms as he traces soap over all the curves and ridge of your body, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.
It breaks his heart a little bit to wake you—the fact that you’re so comfortable with him, that you trust him with such vulnerability, makes his head spin a little bit. But the water’s turning cold, and the last thing he wants is for you to come down sick or something.
He rouses you with gentle, feathery kisses scattered over your rosy-scented shoulders and neck.
”Mmm… what time is it?” You grumble, pressing your sleep-addled face further into the crook of his neck.
”Just after noon,” he whispers into your hair after glancing up at the clock on the wall.
He can feel the way your mouth shifts into a pout. “Shit. We missed breakfast.”
The adorable downward tilt of your frown as you lift your dad to look at him makes his heart flutter. “Let’s go out, then. The first farmer’s market of the season is going on downtown. I’m sure we can find something good for brunch.”
”Kinda sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” you hum with a slight smirk dancing at your lips.
”Maybe I am.” His tone is light, his meaning clear—he knows this goes beyond a one-night stand, and there’s no harm done if you’re not wanting to cross this boundary. He’d understand not wanting to get too serious about someone who lives thousands of miles away from your home, of course. He’d never blame you.
You give him your best appraising look, staring deep into those constellation-filled brown eyes. ”You’re not sick of me yet?”
”I have a feeling I couldn’t get sick of you if I tried.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. He genuinely wants to spend time with you, even if there’s nowhere for this to really go.
You hum thoughtfully. “I do love farmer’s markets.”
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You’re with Marcus more often than not over the course of the next week.
He takes you sightseeing to some of his favorite spots around Austin, brings you to his favorite restaurants, shows you his favorite movies. But he multitasks—while teaching you about himself, he learns as much as he can about you and picks activities he knows you’ll love, too. 
He’s a pragmatist; he knows your time together is short, and he wants to make himself unforgettable. If he never sees you again, he wants you to think about him every once in a while and look back on this time fondly.
You spend your days while Marcus is at work painting or drawing or lingering around the gallery, and you fall asleep in his arms every night. With shades of gray moonlight and candlelight cast over your hotel room, it almost feels like this could go on forever.
He tells you to wear something nice before he picks you up on the last night–he wants to celebrate in style, which starts with reservations at an up-scale restaurant. 
He’s so achingly handsome. He’s in a matching gray suit over a white button-up, top two buttons undone and no tie to be seen. His face bears the slightest five o’clock shadow and your eyes gravitate to the curve of his lips–the instant smile that takes over his face when those gorgeous brown eyes of his land on you.
If you never see him again, this is exactly how you want to remember him.
“Wow,” he whispers reverently. “You look amazing.”
It’s not the most impressive dress you own, but he looks at you like you’re wearing something worth millions–like you’re worth millions.
You lean up and kiss him, and everything feels right. His hands rest on your waist and it’s so easy to pretend that you won’t be on the other side of the country twenty-four hours from now.
The restaurant is beautiful. Dimly lit and romantic, tables spaced enough to give you some privacy. He takes your hand on top of the table and holds it the entire meal. The conversation is light and airy–you’re both stubbornly dancing around what really needs to be said.
Dessert is cleared and the wine bottle is empty by the time Marcus finally works up the courage to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
“I don’t want you to go.”
You knew this would be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You avert your gaze, instead focusing on his large hand wrapped around yours and the windshield wiper motion of his thumb tracing back and forth over your palm. No one’s touch has ever sent such electric tingles through your nervous system the way his does.
You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all.
“Look, I…” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine a little bit, hand leaving yours to gently cup your chin. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he breaks your heart. “I think this could really be something, if we gave it a shot.”
You haven’t lied to him yet, and you don’t plan to start now. “I… I think it could, too. If I didn’t have to go back.”
“Don’t go back then.” There’s a firmness to his voice, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that he’s begging if he actually got down on his knees. “Stay here with me. We’ll figure this out. Just… don’t go.”
And here–with his earnest eyes on yours and his gentle, loving touch on your skin–it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.
He takes you back to your hotel room and sheds you easily out of your dress. As cliche as it sounds, it’s not just sex this time. Things that it’s too early to say are buried deep within every kiss, every thrust. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes while he fills you and you’ve never felt so overwhelmingly connected.
The thud of his heartbeat is insistent in your ear as you come down from your high–so calming, so heartbreaking. You lay on his chest while his breathing evens out and soak up these last few moments of bliss. And then, once you’re sure he’s sound asleep, you carefully worm out of his grip. There’s one more thing you have to do before you go back to New York.
Loud, insistent ringing pulls Marcus from the depths of sleep. He tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but now that his senses are alert, the sound in combination with bright Saturday morning sunlight won’t allow him the luxury. He presses his face deeper into the pillow that he’s somehow wound himself around in his sleep, but that damned ringing won’t stop.
He sits up slowly and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes–and that’s when he notices the empty sheets next to him. Your side of the bed is long cold, and he knows. Before he even sees the note on the dresser and your room key next to it, he knows you’re gone.
He finds his trousers discarded halfway between the bed and the door and pulls his blaring phone out of the pocket.
“The gallery got hit sometime early this morning. They took everything. Every goddamn piece. You need to get here now.”
His body moves on autopilot as he pulls yesterday’s clothes back on, fingers numb to all sensation as they work to button his shirt. This can’t be happening. It can’t be you.
He notices the note on the dresser as he’s threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, and his gut twists with a sickening sense of foreboding.
I really did fall for you, Marcus. But nothing good starts in a getaway car.
He’s not sure if you knew who he was the whole time and this whole thing was calculated, or if you just got lucky. He doesn’t want to believe you’re that cunning and cruel. He wants to believe that this is just a misunderstanding, that you’re out for ice or something and you’ll walk back through the door at any moment.
But you don’t.
The note is enough of a confession for him. He’ll have the power of the FBI on his side to find you–and he will find you. What he’ll do when he does, he’s not sure. He guesses he’ll know when he sees you.
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lilgoblinbitch · 3 days
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rick grimes crm h.c.
18+. first time writing headcanons, and first edit i ever made below (please do not steal or copy) ☻
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆
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imagine sergeant major rick grimes training you, how he places his hands on your waist which would inevitably send shivers down your spine. he lightly grasps your arms as he positions your body in the right stance. every time he did this, your knees wobbled.
"good work, soldier." you'd blush from hearing him praise you after getting his instructions right. eventually the longer you trained the more skilled you became, and rick didn't have a reason to guide you anymore. you ended up missing his hands on you, and the proximity of his body behind you. but you know that physical touch from rick wasn't gone forever, because at least three times a week he'd come over to your apartment and touch you in much more intimate ways than he did during training...
you are always wet for this man. it's like he has some sort of spell casted upon you. and he was invariably aware of his effect on you. sly bastard.
but you also had a strong effect on him; the way you wrapped around him when he pounded into you, the melody of your sweet moans like a siren song pulling him in, how you always invited him into your apartment just from that look in your eye — he truly couldn't get enough of you.
when you're a good girl for the sergeant, he would gift you with his tongue dancing around your sweet hole and his finger flicking your throbbing clit. he would plunge two fingers into your hole and hit that same spot every time. "so good for me, sweetheart," he'd coo after you came on his lips.
if you 'misbehaved,' as in snap at him or misread his orders, your nights of loving turned into nights of rough fucking. "you need to learn how to follow orders;" or, "you can't be behaving like that, in front of everyone. fuckin' slut, bending over like this-" to which he'd fold you over the table with his stiff crotch pressing against your ass. regardless of the incident, rick just had to reiterate how serious he was about his authority over you.
i cannot stress this enough — rick is an ass man. he's always finding a chance to sneak a gander at your ass. whether you're purposely bending over in front of him at training or when he's fucking you from the back, his eyes are glued to the way your ass ripples with each thrust of his hips against it. and he absolutely loves giving it small smacks any chance he gets.
sometimes during missionary he likes to hold both your wrists above your head. he loves watching you squirm beneath him, fiending to anchor onto him while he fervently plunges into you.
nothing but sex fills the room, always; skin on skin and breathless whimpers from you, and rick would repeatedly mutter pure filth to you; "this pussy is mine," or "go 'head, sweetheart, let everyone know how good i make you feel." it always brought you closer and closer to climax.
rick loves grabbing your neck, too. something about the way you melt into him just from the feeling of his hand lightly squeezing your neck — made your head mushy in the best way. it was like his way of making you submit to him immediately.
whenever you are close to climax you mewl: "rick, 'm close," or when you can barely let words out from how overwhelmed your body is feeling from pleasure, your moans switch to more urgent whimpers.
rick will let you cum first if he's rewarding you for hard work that day: "that's it, baby. let it all go, sweetheart." otherwise if it's one of those rough nights he tells you: "hold it f'me, i know you can."
when rick is in a shitty mood, or if he's overly stressed that day, you are at his service. you can tell by how he paces the room or always places his fingers on the bridge of his nose that it may be time for you to bring him back to life by sucking his cock. his groans when you bob your head back and forth and how you confidently tease his tip which elicit strings of "fuck" and "my good whore".
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theprettynosferatu · 2 days
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I mean, it can’t hurt, right? Just… as an experiment. Yes, an experiment! I have been practicing a lot lately, after all. If someone had told me how hard it is to actually edge, to reach that perfect point and just… stop, I’m not sure I would have started doing it. But I AM getting better at it! If he could see me it would be sooo… but I’ll have another session soon, and I want to be able to tell him that I’m doing it, I’m following the program, that I’m doing well in therapy for once, that unlike all those other hacks he made me better…
I’m tired, and I know it’s harder for me to hold back when I’m tired… but at the same time I have to be able to control myself. That’s what he said. It’s all about impulse control or something… and if I fail and go over? No, I can’t be too hard on myself. But at the same time he would be disappointed. I don’t want to imagine that. Not that he ever tells me he is disappointed, but I can tell. I could almost imagine him looking so sad the few times I accidentally came… I need to make him proud. I need to train more. Sure, I have to work tomorrow but one edge, just the one…
Fuck, I love social media. It’s like… the algorithm knows how to push me deeper and deeper… and I feel less alone, knowing there are so many people gooning and edging and encouraging one another. To think I was ashamed of the stuff I liked before! Like, admitting that watching a girl being spanked turned me on would get me red like a tomato. Now… a spanking does nothing for me. I need more, and the screen delivers. It’s so fucking good to see so many good girls, drooling and edging like me and writing on their skins what willing fuckholes they are… The words come to me and I’m muttering them… cunt… useless toy… living cumrag… I’m not sure I can stop myself from mumbling anymore. I watch them smile before getting their stupid mouths fucked by a huge cock, shutting them up and turning them into the useful dolls they are…
Jesus! That was close. I didn’t expect to hit the edge so quickly! My pussy must be more sensitive lately. Makes sense. Two weeks without cumming is a long time… but he looked so proud of me last session… no way I can throw that away for a moment of relief. I’m in control. Not my body. Me. 
Okay, I did it. Time to get some much needed rest.
Fuck…
Turning in bed. My cunt is soaked and it’s insistent, demanding. I have to work tomorrow. I can’t… I put my pillow between my legs. I don’t know why I feel like it will calm my pussy down a bit. I’m making no sense. Fuck, thinking that made me wetter. I’m making no sense. I’m dumb. I’m stupid. I’m just a horny bitch in heat…
My hips move on their own. I’m not entirely awake, not entirely asleep. I’m almost… not there. Like I’m just watching my needy body hump the pillow, like I’m merely a passenger and my stupid, horny body is taking over…
No. No. I’m in control. I won’t cum. I won’t…
That was too close. Much too close. But I did it. I stopped right at the edge. I didn’t cum. 
I was a good girl.
Good girls edge. That’s not something the therapist said. At least I don't think so. I saw it online. But he explained edging to me, so he must want me to be a good girl for him, right? No, that’s silly. He’s a professional. He’s teaching me control. I want to learn from him. I want to be a good girl for him. I want him to…  
It’s two in the morning already. Time slipped by like… like it was soaked by my pussy juices. I like that image. My needy cunt is so permanently wet even time gets slick. I might be going crazy. I need to snap back to reality. I need to focus. Tomorrow I have to work, and I’m already going to be running on like, five hours of sleep.
Well, I’m going to be fucked tomorrow either way, right? Not much difference between five hours of sleep and four. And I do have a few audios saved…
One more edge. That’ll be all.
God, I love how audios make me feel. As soon as I put the headphones on and that low, barely audible pulsing sound comes on, I can feel a tingle snake all over my skin. And her voice… It’s so soft, so gentle, so caring… and so desperate at the same time. I don’t know how many times I’ve listened to her, but it always makes me feel… like she’s holding me. Guiding me. Telling me what I am. What I could be. What I should be.
I know I’m saying the words out loud. I couldn’t stop myself from doing it even if I wanted to anymore. The girl in the audio and me, we are one and the same. I can’t tell where the audio ends and my mind begins. Her words are my words. The only part of me that remains is the watchful eye that’s always alert now, always ready to pounce and stop me from going over the edge.
Edging makes me better. Edging makes me sluttier. Edging makes me prettier. Edging makes me more obedient. Edging makes me a slave to my cunt. Edging makes me better. Edging makes me sluttier…
I can feel him railing me in his office. I can taste his cum on my tongue. I can see the pleasure in his eyes, the way it gives me purpose…
Shit! That fantasy almost got me. I can’t be the only one that thinks about their therapist that way, right? No, no judgment. No shame. That’s what he says, so surely he wouldn’t begrudge me a little kinky fantasy starring him… 
I wonder if I should tell him. Fuck, that would be amazing. To look into his eyes and tell him every detail that my mind conjured up, how I want him to take over my mind, to tell me what to think, what to wear… who to be. 
Twenty past four in the morning. Four-twenty. I should sleep, but come on. Timing’s too good. One joint, one more edge, and that will be it. Weed always makes edging better, anyway. I feel so… happy. I don’t have another word for it. Bubbly. Happy. Slutty. Maybe I should make someone else happy like me… 
I should probably buy like, a mask or something, just to be safe. But I don’t have one now and I want them to see all of me… I want every inch of my body to be porn, to make someone happy… It doesn’t matter who. I need to be useful. I go on the website.
I blame the lack of sleep and the weed. I’m not dumb. I’m… it’s just… good girls are porn. Fuck, that feels good to say. I log on and…
There it is. Of course, first try. A stiff cock. I can’t see the owner’s face, and I don’t care to. I vaguely remember a time when I would have felt disgusted. Now I can’t think at all. Mu pussy clenches in anticipation, and my hand rubs it softly, insistently. We share the moment in perfect peace, masturbating as one, both mindless and entranced by our own bodies…
Suddenly, the fear comes. I want to be useful. I want… I need to make that cock cum. That’s my purpose. That’s all I want to be. But what if I can’t? How can I know exactly what kind of slut this cock wants to cum to? What if I’m not… good enough?
Then, the man starts typing and the fear melts away, replaced by a warm blanket of peace. He tells me what to do. Suddenly, I don’t need to try anymore. I don’t need to think. I don’t need to worry. I don’t need to be anything but an extension of that wonderful cock. I don’t think I even read the words in any meaningful way. They bypass my brain and go straight to my body, and obedience is instantaneous. 
I’m on all fours, stretching my buttcheeks apart, struggling to look at the screen. I want to see it. I want to feel worthy. 
I barely catch myself. Seeing it tense up, hearing his moan, seeing his cock shoot cum for me, just for me… it almost makes me break my edge. I feel… proud. I feel perfect, as if I’ve found the exact corner of the universe that exists just for me to occupy, that wonderful purpose… He ends the video chat quickly. Maybe he’s embarrassed. It only shows me the dangers of cumming. Cumming brings bad thoughts. But edging…
Dawn arrives. I’ve been… away. I’ve become whoever, whatever the person on the other side of the screen needs me to be. I’m fuzzy. I know I’ve called someone daddy and begged him to sneak into my room at night… I know one woman made me spank myself with my hairbrush until I cried, and she came to my tears. I think I danced for a group of older men, but I can’t be sure. Maybe I… fell asleep at some point? I don’t know. Nothing feels real. I don’t feel real. I feel like a beautiful fiction. 
The alarm goes off. I should shower. Have a coffee. Go to work. Be a person.
Sure, I’ll do all those things. I just need one more edge to start the day…
Just one more…
I know I’ll have an amazing therapy session in two days.  
Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu
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kneelingshadowsalome · 15 hours
Note
I am politely asking for a bit more on Königs son the angst is so yummy 🥺
König loves his baby boy... Until it starts to talk.
He absolutely adores the baby when it’s born, he can’t sleep at nights because he has to go and check if the boy is still breathing in the crib. König loves to hold him close and rock him in his lap, wants to give him baths and even changes the diapers, is so invested in the little chubby nugget that it’s a bit perplexing to see him so babbly cuddly towards someone who isn’t this poor Prince’s mother.
But when the boy doesn’t need him so much anymore, when he starts to show independence and express his own will, starts to walk and run and hide and talk back to him, it makes König uncomfortable.
He’s not in control anymore, he’s not needed. He’s the one who’s always away, he’s the unfamiliar face, the stern voice, the “strange man”, the one who makes the boy look angry or afraid. He becomes the bad guy.
It’s not bullying if his own son doesn’t prefer him, König knows it. But it still hurts to feel like an alien in his own home. It feels like a personal insult to be the last choice once again.
König’s son sees his father as a judge, a tyrant, a competitor because every time he’s home, mum’s all hearts and smiles. The parent who’s supposed to represent the whole world to our Prince suddenly becomes weak and clingy and needy.
And for what? For some big foreign man who stares him down as if he’s nothing but dirt under his boot. Asks him if he’s been nice to mum and if he’s helped her with the chores. When mum’s not in hearing distance, König tells him he shouldn’t trouble her with his crying and whining... If he’s nice and behaves, König will bring him toys from his “work trips”.
He rarely brings any because “he couldn't find anything”. Mum is the one who gets foreign delicacies, perfumes and the like. König’s son soon understands it doesn't matter how well he behaves because it will never be enough.
In his dreams, he tries to kill König every now and then. The old bastard only laughs. He laughs, even in his dreams because he’s weaker than him, not a threat at all, only entertaining when he gets mad… He laughs and just won't die.
Mum comes first, always. Whatever she says is the law. Whatever she wants, she shall have. The way his father worships this woman is eerie, disturbing, and invokes so much jealousy that König’s son is not sure who he’s even supposed to be jealous of. This stupid fucker or his mum who seems to lose brain cells every time this dick returns home and disturbs their peace?
Girls are both Madonnas and whores to him after he has watched this tyrant become a babbling, spineless mess over an upset woman. The world quakes everytime his mum is unhappy because her happiness is paramount. The only time he has seen König in tears was when his mum refused to talk to him one evening: the argument was about him, of course, and how König should apologize to their son, not to her. It takes manipulation and a passive aggressive lioness to make König say he’s sorry, but it does nothing to help the situation, quite the contrary. Who would give a fuck about a forced apology?
König’s son becomes a covert people pleaser who feels lonely wherever he goes. He’s a mama’s boy whose father seemingly hates him, an angel and a demon in one man, someone who believes his worth is measured by the things he achieves in life. How well he performs, how much money he makes, how independent he becomes. With women, another one always bites the dust, with work, he never seems to find his passion. And wherever he goes, whatever he does, nothing is ever enough.
The only way for these two to find a common ground is if the poor Prince manages to settle down with some patient, loving woman who gives him a child. A grandson or a granddaughter would make König fold and become a babbling mess once more; he's so pathetic and harmless with the baby that no one can be angry at him even if they wanted to. König would kill anyone and everyone who tried to hurt his family, even a blind man can see that.
Reconciliation happens slowly but surely, even if it's another kind of hurt to see the old man give this child all the love his son would've begged his knees bloody for. But beggars can't be choosers (and apparently a king's son has no crown), luckily König becomes softer in the head as he ages so a time may come when he thinks back on what he's done and finds the balls to wholeheartedly apologize. Might demand a touching family Christmas dinner and some whiskey though.
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johnpriceslamb · 3 days
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Hi! I love your how you write and I wanted to ask if you could do Javier Escuella x middle class reader? Something like Arthur and Mary case…
Thank you <33
𝓴𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 ,
❥ You’ve sent a letter to Javier asking for ‘help’. Just a day later he shows up at your front door.
𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ꒰ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . VERY SUGGESTIVE . No actual NSFW . 1k wrd count. ꒱
❥ Javier Escuella x fem! reader. (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ?)
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“You came.”
The air around is hot. Hot enough to be able to dry the wet laundry which clings on the thin clothesline with a peg. The sun showed no mercy among the people in New Hanover, and it blazes through like a forest-fire. There’s no fire, but you could practically feel the radiating heat from it.
“I did.”
Was Javier a fool to travel all the way from Valentines to Saint Denis in the blazing hot? Perhaps.
For you- was it worth it? Absolutely.
You’re still as pretty as ever despite the arid drought. He wonders how you manage to stay tall and well through this.
He wonders if the tint on your cheeks was from the heat or from seeing him. He hopes it was the latter.
Slowly does he creep forward. Your eyes almost shines and glimmer as he approaches, you feel that giddy part of you rising in your stomach as you watch him carefully.
“Needed help with the.. plumbing, you said?” He has that same charming grin he’s always had when you two first met. It’s always allured you, every time. His hand reaches to his pocket unconsciously, fiddling with the letter which was stuffed messily into the small compartment.
“Uhuh,” You smile, feigning innocence as you tinkered those dewy lashes of yours up at him. Oh, dear.
“Mhm.” He rests his weight by leaning on the door-frame, crossing his arms as he looks down at your demure figure. Gosh did he just want to take you right there, right then.
“Why don’t you, mm.. Show me where the problem is? I’m sure I can fix it.” He suggests with that lustrous smirk of his.
“Right, then. Please follow me.” You smile prettily, plump lips purposefully jutting out just a little bit to get that same effect he had with his smirks and grins.
As you lead him to the bathroom, you don’t notice the hungry stare which was coming from him. Half-lidded eyes size you up and down multiple times as he takes in that corset of yours which defined your waist oh-so prettily. That soft, dainty colours of multiple cream coloured pearls which were connected on a thin string which clasped around your neck, a beauty to behold.
You were nothing like him. Dainty, pure, cladded with luxury only daddy could afford.
As soon as you closed the door to the bathroom, your back was forcefully met with the wooden panels which encased the whole room. A soft gasp escapes your lips, which lead to a string of multiple curse words muttered in a language you weren’t familiar with.
“Dios mios,” He lets out a low growl, mouth near your ear as his hot breath hits your sensitive skin, “Me vuelves loco, ¿lo sabías?” He slams his lips on yours, a knee positioned right between your legs to help stabilise yourself. Your little ballerina flats hover over the ground from his management.
“Making me travel so far to help you with something which never even needed mending in the first place.” He kisses your neck multiple times, “Cheeky girl.”
You needily press your lips against his, leaning into his warm touch. Finally, finally. After so long.
“Missed you,” You babble with a soft whimper, the feeling of his teeth teasingly sinking down just a bit, “Missed you so— Oh..”
You let out the most softest whines as he gently sucks your skin, “J—Javier— Hnn.. Daddy’s right next door..”
“I’ll be quiet, mi amor.” He murmurs, pressing another soft kiss on your neck, “You don’t know the effect you have on me.”
A hand slowly travels down, another coming to cup you from behind. “For now, let me enjoy what i’ve missed.”
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vainvenus · 3 days
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⌲;꒰ Drunk words are just sober thoughts. ꒱
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Pairing :: JJ Maybanks x Fem!Reader
Synopsis :: You and JJ are best friends. Nothing more, nothing less. At least, that's what you thought.
Includings :: CW for EMETOPHOBIA (puking and talk/mention of it), best friends to lovers, mutual pinning, jealous!JJ, drinking, almost violence, pogue!reader, drunken confessions, hangovers, mostly fluff, kisses.
An :: Finally got into Outerbanks so I'm obvi taking requests!
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You and JJ had been best friends for as long as anybody could remember despite how the two of you were kind of opposites.
JJ was a wild card, there was no telling what he would do in any given moment. He was rambunctious and impulsive. It seemed that no matter where he went trouble liked to follow.
You were the perfect balance to that, you were careful and logical. If there ever was an issue you were quick to think of a way to get him out of trouble or to at least keep him out of it as long as you could.
The two of you were a perfect duo, balancing the other one out. And you weren't total opposites all the time. You sometimes gave in to his stupid ideas and he sometimes followed your advice when brewing up a particularly horrible idea.
The two of you were also the most well known duo in the OBX. You were almost always together. Wherever one of you were, the other one couldn't be too far away.
So everybody was a little, if not a lot confused when JJ arrived at the Boneyard for another party that John B was hosting and you weren't at his side or on his back.
Pope's brows furrowed as the blonde grabbed a beer from one of the coolers, popping it open as he took a seat next to him. "Where's [Y/n]? I thought she'd be trailing behind you as soon as you got here or vice versa."
"She had to take somebody's shift." He replied, his tone having a bit of bitterness to it before he took a couple of sips from the bottle.
"And why do you seemed more pissed than you should be about it?"
"It's with Chris."
Pope nodded, it seemed that almost everyone was aware of JJ's true feelings towards you except for you. It was ironic and honestly funny if it didn't seem to cause JJ so much distress.
"Chris again, huh?" And JJ had rolled his eyes, setting the now empty bottle aside. "Yeah, Chris again. It's like witchcraft how they always work the same shifts. Even surprise ones."
Pope shrugged his shoulders as he watched the boy grab another drink. "She's probably not into him man, I wouldn't stress it. And if she was, don't you think she would say something about now?"
JJ only shrugged as he downed the second bottle of beer.
When you finally did arrive to the party you had Chris attached at your hip and JJ was on his fifth bottle of beer. A mixture of events that was bound to end in disaster.
JJ's nose scrunched up as he looked at you and Chris exiting from your car, his lips turning into a scowl as he watched the ginger rush around the car to help you out from the driver's side.
"Great. She brought him with, he should know he's not wanted here." JJ murmured to Pope and John B who were trying to coax him out of grabbing another drink. Pope muttered. "Everyone's allowed to be here technically..."
JJ rolled his eyes again as Kie made her way over to the two. Kie grabbed a water bottle that was deep down in the cooler, buried under a couple of beers. She twisted the cap and looked over to the blonde. "What's wrong with him?"
"His girl came here with her coworker and now he's all jealous." John B said and JJ narrowed his eyes at him. "Not my girl." He muttered which caused the group to roll their eyes.
"Well you better fix your face because here they come."
JJ almost crushed the can in his hand as he saw you walking over with Chris, holding on to his arm as you brought him over to your four friends. And you were giggling, just what could be so damn funny?
"Look who finally decided to join us and with a plus one." John B hummed, holding out a bottle/can of [f/drink]. You smiled, humming out a 'thank you'.
"Oh right, this is Chris. Chris this is John B, Kie, Pope and JJ!" You introduced with a wide smile on your face, trying to ignore how JJ seemed to to be glaring into Chris's soul.
If looks could kill the ginger would be six feet under.
Nonetheless Chris gave a smile as he waved to everybody. "It's nice to finally put a face to all these stories [Y/n] tells. Especially you, she talks about you the most." He said, gesturing to JJ.
"Oh really?" JJ hummed, a smile on his face that seemed to mock the one that Chris had. "Good things, I hope."
"If having a killer right hook is a good thing, totally." The ginger chuckled and JJ got up and nodded his head with a small chuckle. "Yeah. That's me. You wanna see it in action?"
Chris's brows furrowed and before he could fully understand the question you had grabbed JJ's right hand which was balled in a fist and gave a strained smile to the boy.
"I'm gonna take JJ home, he's had a bit too much to drink tonight. He doesn't think straight and ends up making extremely dumb choices." Your tone grew harsh at the last two words, sending a glare to JJ as your grip tightened around the his wrist.
Chris nodded, brows furrowing a bit. "Oh, okay! Are you coming back?"
"Probably not..unless you need a ride back home?" You offered.
"No, it's fine. Stay safe and uh..it was really nice meeting you JJ!"
"A pleasure." The blonde hissed as you dragged him away to your car.
You opened the car door, pushing him into the car's passenger side as you reached over his chest to put on his seatbelt which he mumbled something under his breath about them being stupid.
You ignored his mumbling, sitting in the driver's side as you drove away from the Boneyard. You took your time, not wanting to drive fast and upset the boy's stomach but just in case you kept the window down.
"I don't like Chris."
JJ finally spoke after the entire ride of silence until you pulled up to your home and helped him get out of your car. You were lucky your parents had been out for the night so JJ could stay over just until he was sober and his soon to be hangover hit.
"And why is that? He hasn't done anything to you." You retorted as you helped him up the stairs, walking as slow as possible since he almost fell face first when you attempted to rush up them.
He was about to argue as he leaned against the banister but his breath was coming out in short huffs and he was holding his stomach. Your eyes widened as you rushed him to the bathroom.
You quickly flipped on the light he rushed to hang his head over the toilet bowl.
You grabbed the few strands of his sunkissed blonde locks, holding his hair back as he emptied most of what he had drank out into the toilet.
You would have cringed, wanting to puke yourself but since this wasn't first time you had taken care of JJ when he got drunk like this you had basically grown use to it.
You patted his back with your free hand as his head leaned back over the toilet to throw up again. "Mhm... there you go." You hummed.
When it seemed that he was finally finished you wiped his mouth with a warm face towel and got him a pair of clothes to change into, one of the many pairs he kept at your house since you insisted it would come in handy.
And per usual, you were right.
He had changed into a random graphic tee and a pair of sweatpants, tucked into your sheets with your soft covers thrown over him and the fan on it's highest setting since he complained about his skin burning.
You left, shortly coming back with a bucket next to the foot of the bed just in case he had anymore to puke out in the middle of the night.
You left the room again to grab him a cup of water and aspirin. JJ mumbled something incoherently as you handed him the aspirin and he quickly swallowed them then downed them with the water.
He pulled the cup away from his lips but you shot him a glare.
"The whole thing, JJ." He groaned again and reluctantly drank the rest. He set the empty cup by the counter, getting back comfy under the the covers.
"I hate him, y'know."
"Who?"
"Chris."
"Oh we're back to this." You hummed, moving a few strands of his hair from his face and he nodded as he leaned into your touch.
"Why don't you like him? Tonight was the first night you even met him." You questioned with a small frown and JJ didn't seem to care as he huffed.
"Don't care. He's trying to take you away from me. Did you see his hands all over you?"
"It's time to go to bed now." You said, ignoring his complaint. You could talk about this when he was in a much better headspace. As you tried to pull your hand away from his hair but he grabbed your wrist in attempts to keep you there.
"Wait! Please don't go.."
"I'll just be downstairs on the couch like any other night." You reassured, confused at his sudden clinginess. He shook his head again.
"Please. I don't wanna be alone right now. I..I love you. That's why I really hate Chris or any guy you talk about honestly." He continued.
"Jealousy is so gross, wish there was some sort of medicine for it..." Word vomit. Much more easier to stomach than actual vomit but you new it was just him drunkenly rambling although this was the first he confessed he loved you.
"JJ. You're drunk. You don't love me, you're just saying whatever right now. We'll talk about this in the morning, if you even remember." You pulled your hand from his, putting the covers back over his body.
"When I'm sober and say it, will you believe it?"
"Mhm. Sure. See you in the morning." You muttered, obviously not paying attention to anything else that was leaving his lips as you left your room.
|★|
JJ groaned as he woke up, rubbing his head before he ran his fingers through his hair to get the stands out of his face. His head was pounding as his eyes squinted from the sun peaking through the blinds.
The smell of something cooking filled his nostrils as he scratched the back of his head and tried to remember the events of last night.
Then everything hit him like a freight train as he sprinted to the kitchen.
He saw you standing in front of the oven and making pancakes, his favorite hangover remedy food. You looked over your shoulder and smiled.
"Well good morning, sleeping beauty! Asprin's on the table. You can take them after-"
"I love you."
There was a moment of silence as he got closer to you and he spoke a little louder.
"I love you, [Y/n]. I meant it last night and I really mean it now." He restated, only putting a few inches of space between the two of you.
"So you were serious?" You asked and he nodded his head so fast you were sure it could've fallen off.
"Yes! C'mon! You said you would believe when I'm sober! Do you not feel the same? Because if you don't I'd like for you to save me the em-"
You grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you pressed your lips against his and his eyes widened in slight surprise before he leaned into the kiss to reciprocate it. You smiled against his lips before pulling away.
"I love you too JJ." You placed another kiss on his cheek before muttering; "Now go take a shower, you smell like fucking a morgue."
"Yes, ma'am." He chirped, giving you a two finger salute as he walked back up the stairs towards the bathroom.
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lenoraslament · 2 days
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Infatuated (Tom Riddle X y/N Reader)
Part of @thatdammchickennugget Hogmarch challenge. Prompt 5 “amortentia” and “is that why you did that? Back there?
2.8k words Comedy/Angst/Obsessive Romance/Toxic Love
For all my fellow delulus
You have been Tom’s friend for years, waiting patiently for him to notice you. Completely obsessed over him. Finally at a party you spill all your secrets...
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His letters are long elegant strokes, you lick your lips as his fingers move across the page. His dark brows are knitted together over his perfect eyes. The way his lips purse in concentration, makes the breath in your lungs hitch.
Unwittingly you put your thumbnail in your mouth, gnawing softly as you try to resist the urge to launch yourself across the study table and beg him to touch you.
Your eyes are still studying his hands as they write in his notebook. You consider what they may feel like wrapped around your hair, your throat. A thumb dragging across your lips or nestled between your thighs softly stroking your-
“Quite alright Y/N?” his voice is calm, soft so unlike the raging heat inside of you.
“Yes. Quite Riddle” you say with a flustered smile as you quickly snap back to. You turn the page of the potions textbook in front of you.
You dare not meet his gaze, instead you return to the mask you’ve kept around him. Uninterested, bored even. That’s how you managed the rarity of his company.
Most girls threw themselves at him willingly, eagerly. Flirting, sending him love notes, even daring to be forward enough to ask him out. Fools.
He laughed in their face, raising his eyebrow and shaking his head. The attractive outliers would end up in his bed, being politely swept under the rug in the morning.
You however, have outlasted all of them. You, his study partner, his constant companion, his friend. You knew a measured man like Tom Riddle needed to be approached with careful grace and finesse.
Years you had laid in wait. Waiting for him to notice you across the library table, sitting at his side in the great hall. Pining for any crumb of attention he tossed your way, never enough to keep you fed. Only making you hungrier.
Small moments gave you hope. Fingers brushing over passed books, genuine smiles through laughter, once he stopped down to tie your shoe when your hands were full. His finger brushed your ankle, he looked up at you with a grin as you held in a scream.
Now you sit with him at the library, closer than any other conquest has ever gotten. Breathing his air, pretending to listen to him talk about potions theory this week when you’re really trying to count the flecks of green in his eyes.
Regulus, Enzo and Theo approach the table. Your mouth tightens at the intrusion, they give you an amused glance before turning to Tom.
They invite him to a party tomorrow night in the Slytherin common room, he gives a noncommittal answer. They banter back and forth. No one seems to remember that you’re also sitting there.
They laugh and talk about the party from two weekends ago. You watch boiling jealous rage brewing underneath your calm, stoic face.
Especially when Tom mentions a certain blonde Ravenclaw who he hooked up with. You glide your tongue over your teeth as you press your quill into the page indenting down so harshly, the paper splits.
Enzo, one of the kinder boys of the bunch, extends an invitation.
“Oh yea Y/N, if you want to come…you’re welcome to…” he says in such a polite tone, you almost roll your eyes.
You also give a soft “maybe”, your eyes quickly flicking over Tom’s face trying to read his expression. Does he want you there? Should you go? You try not to stare to long as you dig for some sort of sign in his face. But there is nothing.
Disappointed at his flat affect, you sigh. Too loudly. Fuck. He looks up at you.
“You should come” Tom says with a gentle smile.
“I might” you say as you stare at the textbook instead of him, absolutely mortified at your own behavior.
Theo, Enzo and Regulus leave whispering to each other out of earshot.
“Holy shit why did you invite Y/N!?”
“She’s Tom’s friend”
“More like Tom’s pet. She follows him around like she’s on a leash and she is fucking WEIRD”
They break into laughter, unbeknownst to you. You’re too enthralled in your study session.
“Please?!” You lurch over Pansy’s vanity, her eyes are unsympathetic. She takes an appraising look at your jeans and raggedy sweater.
“No.” She says bluntly,”you’re not used to wearing nice things, you’re going to ruin it.”
You groan and continue to plead your case.
“But I don’t have anything to wear”
She continues to stare at you unimpressed.
“It’s my first party!” You whine and she smirks.
“Why would you think I care?”
She had a fair point. You were hardly even cordial with her much less friendly.
“I’ll do your potions homework. For a week. Two weeks!” You say slamming your hand on her desk desperately.
She sighs loudly and stands up quickly. Her hand plunges into the closet where she retrieves a little black dress. She throws it in your face.
“Three weeks. One stain and I will Crucio you.” She snaps as she sits back down fixing her eyeliner.
The hot singe of your curling iron bit your finger and you suck on the sear mark. Damnit. You were near close to giving up but you looked in the mirror.
You looked…good. You managed to do a decent smoky eye with some lip gloss. You only had three curls left to make after burning your hand about a dozen times. Pansy’s dress fit you like a dream. The only thing that ruined your look was your low conservative heels. They were all you had. You really weren’t much of a going out sort of girl.
You make your way to the common room, the fingers of green neon light are reaching into the hall. The music vibrates under your feet, as you enter the common room you swear you’re transported into another planet.
Your classmates are spilled out all over the common room. Taking shots, laughing loudly, swaying to the music, bodies pressing closely together. You feel like you recognize everyone and no one.
Suddenly you’re overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people and activity. You feel small and alone. Am I experiencing ego death? You wonder but then a familiar voice makes jump.
“Well if it isn’t my big brother’s little stalker.” Mattheo’s voice crept up on you, your eyes widened as you looked around him to make sure that Tom wasn’t nearby.
“Quiet Mattheo” you snap as he gives you a wicked grin.
“You never come to parties,” he says ignoring your ourburst,”You look pretty hot….hoping to play interference?” He teases as your cheeks burn.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie,”I come to parties all the time”.
“Mhm”he grins watching your face.
“Oh look there’s Tom now” he says gesturing with his chin. You flip around quickly surveying the crowd.
Mattheo bursts into laughter,”You are so easy to fuck with”.
You turn back to him and smack his arm as he dies of laughter.
“Come on crazy,” he says with a chuckle,”let’s get you a drink so you can mellow out”.
He tugs your arm through the crowd and you reluctantly follow.
He hands you some punch that is actually delicious. You quickly finish your first cup and then two more. Anxiously sipping as Mattheo talks to you, not that you’re listening at all. Back and forth your eyes begin to hurt from squinting into the dimness of the party; hunting for Tom. You’ve never been this drunk before and you can feel your edges dissolving.
Finally you spot him, some girl a grade below you leans on wall. His forearm is pressed above her head as he leans over her, flirting. His hand brushes some hair out of her face. You’re not used to seeing him like this. Your stomach smolders in pain, for a moment you worry you’re having a heart attack. You can feel it splitting in your chest.
Mattheo’s hand presses into the small of your back, it’s the first sensation to register outside of the despair. You gasp and he gives you a funny look handing you your fourth cup of punch. You don’t even taste it, only tip your head back chugging while Mattheo stares at you in disbelief.
“You okay Y/N?” He leans over to you but you slap the empty cup against his chest handing it to him wordlessly. He takes it and tries in vain to stop you as you start walking towards where Tom and that usurper are standing.
“Hiii,” you say loudly as they both look at you, Tom with surprise and amusement. Her with horror and disgust.
“Hey Y/N, wow look at you…” Tom says raising his eyebrows , “Are you having fun?”
“Sooo much fun,” you slur batting your eyelashes. An awkward silence that you don’t pick up on ensues. You only grin dizzily” Tom. Can I talk to you?”
The girl looks perturbed at your intrusion, but Tom leans and whispers something in her ear making her smile.
He leads you to a corner of the party, the music dulled just enough so you don’t have to yell. The room spins a little but you focus on his eyes, his gorgeous eyes. Then his mouth and jaw. You sigh as the room spins again and it hits you all of a sudden that you’re talking. You’ve been talking this whole time. Your words collide, you have no idea what you have been rambling about. Tom nods patiently at you.
“So any way, I think that’s why we should be together” you finish knowing in your heart you must have made perfect sense. Because Tom Riddle is smiling.
His eyes are unreadable but his mouth is a grin.
That’s answer enough for you. You launch yourself forward, pressing your lips onto his. You can taste the fire whiskey on his mouth and you let out a soft moan as he catches you. Ten seconds of pure heaven before his hands on your shoulder pull you back gently.
He leads you to a chair and sits you down, stooping so he can meet you eye level.
“Wait here okay?” He asks his voice garbled. You nod with a slovenly smile
“Okay...I love you!” You yell after him loudly and he only chuckles and disappears.
To your dismay, it’s Mattheo who comes over to you a few minutes later.
“Alright cuckoo bird, time for bed” he says balancing a cigarette in his mouth as he pulls you up. His hands snakes around your waist.
“Where’s Tom?” You whine as he helps you out of the party. Your feet tripping over your heels.
“He wanted me to make sure you go to bed,” he mumbles as he tries to steady you.
“Awww he really cares,” you sigh dreamily. Mattheo rolls his eyes and leads you to your dorm. Halfway there he gives up on you balancing and throws you over his shoulder. Mattheo unlocks your door as he hums in agreement to your psycho babbles about his brother. He drops you on the bed and unbuckles the straps of your heels as you barely sit up sleepily.
“You okay?” He asks but you only curl onto your bed falling asleep. He sighs and turns the light off leaving back to the party.
No. No. NO! You sit up, stupid party dress still on. Your head pounding. No hangover can come close to the whirlwind of shame that pushed your head back into the pillow. You wanted to cry but nothing would come out but a muffled scream.
“Shut up!” you hear your roommates complain as you pulled the blanket over your head.
You wait an hour but the world refuses to crumble around you. So you reluctantly sit up and go shower. You finally cry in there.
Everything is ruined.
Right?
Could you play it off?
No. Stupid girl. You literally told him you loved him. You sob into your hand. Oh the inhumanity.
You dress and comb your wet hair. You can’t even make eye contact with the mirror.
As if you hadn’t suffered enough, you bump into a very freshly showered Mattheo in the hall outside of the bathroooms. He’s only wearing a towel around his waist, when he sees you his grin is devilish.
“There’s the little lush,”he said putting his tongue between his teeth.
You scrunch your nose at him,”Oh go put some clothes on. No one wants to see that.”
He may have water dripping from his curls, cascading down his impressively cut chest and abs, but you hate him. For the simple fact that he is not Tom.
“Oh am I happy to see you,” he teased leaning on the wall next to you,”so tell me, when you shamelessly admitted your love to Tom last night. Did you show him his name scribbled all over your notebook? Or did you wear the sweater you knitted out of his hair?”.
Your face crumpled into rage,”oh screw you Mattheo”.
You sigh when you wonder how bad it was, you don’t remember every thing you said. Although Mattheo is only joking, you know you do have a notebook with “y/n riddle <3” written on it from third year.
Mattheo bites his lip as he suppresses a chuckle,”Well, if you’re ready to go plan your wedding; he’s sitting in the common room right now”.
It takes 64 steps to walk from the bathroom to the common room. You know this because you have doubled back twice trying to build up the courage to finally see Tom. You can hear his quiet words muddled by the loud laughter of Enzo and Theo. Suddenly you feel a someone nudge you.
Regulus and now dressed Mattheo walk past you. Mattheo tosses you a wink as he speaks up.
“Hey look who I found!” He says loudly as he walks in the common room. You hiss for him to shut up as you follow him in.
Your face is already burning as you feel all their eyes fall on you. Okay….none of their eyes fall on you. Especially not Tom’s, his are pinned to Theo and Enzo who are discussing something intensely.
“Did you hear? What happened last night? So fucking crazy man” Theo says to Regulus and Mattheo.
Regulus sits on the arm of a chair,”nah what?”
“Someone handed out amortentia candies!” Enzo said laughing.
“Huh..really?” Mattheo said suspiciously. He looked over to you with an evil grin,”speaking of love…”
You cut him off, “Armortentia candies really?!” You say a little too loudly.
Enzo’s smile turns into a smirk,”Oh yea…chocolates. They were a rogue batch, it intensified love for the first person you saw”.
You don’t know what to say, your mouth hangs open and then shuts.
Tom turned towards you with a look of shocked realization,”Is that why you did that? Back there…”
You stand slack jawed, the idea rippling through your mind like heavens gate opening.
Tom only raises his brow at your silence,”at the party?”
“Yes!” you say eagerly feeling the weight of the world lifting off of your shoulders.
“I did have some chocolates at the party,”You continue and ignore Mattheo chewing on his tongue in the corner, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously.
You take a couple step towards where Tom stood next to Theo,” I must have um, yes and you were the first person…I saw ” you said trying not to blather on as the pieces of your lie came together.
He gives you a curious glance as if trying to read your expression.
You sheepishly shrug,”Gosh I am so humiliated”.
Is he falling for it? You can’t tell, your eyes peer into his searching.
Tom only put a friendly hand on your shoulder, “Forget about it” he said gently.
You nodded with a grateful smile,”Thanks Tom”.
“I was going to the library, care to join?” He asked removing his hand leaving you wanting as usual.
“Yes…let me get my books from my room,” you say. What luck. You can’t believe how close you were to ruining every thing. Fate itself must have made those Amortentia chocolates.
What you didn’t know is that Tom was watching you as you walked away. He knows perfectly well you didn’t eat any amortentia chocolates because there never were any. He started the rumor last night before he left the party.
Tom quite enjoys the little game you’ve been playing. He realized early on just how in love you were with him. At the same time he realized you couldn’t recognize when someone was using legilimency on you.
He loved to listen to the infatuated rantings in your head as he sat in the library with you, your mouth twitching as you lusted over him. The cute smile you would get as you strategized on the ways you could get him to notice you.
He remembers the day he bent down to tie your shoe, having to hide his own smile as he listened to the nuclear meltdown you had in your head as he purposefully grazed your ankle. It was so fun.
One day, he supposed, he would finally make a move on you. Sometimes it was hard to resist, as he listened to all the dirty thoughts spewing in your brain in the middle of class Iike his own personalized erotica. Last night at the party you finally snapped so he had to come up with the perfect excuse for your silly behavior. It wasn’t time for that yet.
Yes, one day he would finally take advantage of the crazy crush you’ve harbored for years. But not any time soon. He was too busy enjoying your quiet devotion, your obsession. No, Tom was not near ready to let that go.
______________
(Hehehee I never intended this to be more than a TMR one shot but I’m getting interested in exploring Mattheo’s relationship with Y/N in this fic 👀 any interest?)
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madzandmore · 2 days
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2005 bill x female figure skater , but she’s like really good , Olympics good? and he’s watching her skate and he just falls harder for her. (THIS JUST HAPPENED TO ME DVEJIEIE)
you’ll never know who I am💩
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BILL - FLUFF
this is such a cute request. Going to be short but sweet.
Bill Kaulitz - Wandering Eyes
My best friend, y/n, invited me to see her first ice skating competition. I was so excited because I’ve never seen her skate and I know she’s a pro at it.
She’s been skating her whole life and I’ve been dying to see her work her magic. And today is the day I will be watching all that she has been working for.
“Hi bill! Are you ready to see me skate?” He little feet walked toward me. Her outfit covered but th oversized jacket she had on. I will admit, it’s pretty cold in here.
“Hi, and yes I’m so excited. I can’t wait.” I smiled wide, her eyes lighting up as I looked at her.
“Okay we’ll get a good seat, in up in 10.” She jogged off, going to the back to get ready.
In the meantime I decided to get some flowers from the nearby shop. Opting for pink and red flowers, her favourite kind and colour. I hid them in front of my chair so she couldn’t see.
“Next up y/n!” The whole crowd cheered, even me.
The spotlight shot to her body. The beautiful light pink leotard she had on with her white skates. God, she was truly a magical girl. The way her hair flowed in the high ponytail she styled it in.
She skates to the middle of the floor, getting in position and waiting for the music to start. When it did her arms moved, her legs going to skate backward. Nothing I had ever seen before.
As she skated backwards her speed quicken and she suddenly jumped into the air. The whole crowd gasped at her moves, awning in sight of her.
I couldn’t believe my eyes, she was THAT good. All of the precise and perfect moves she made were flawless.
Her body language was graceful. Very carful and delicate, like a feather. She was so carful and soft with all her moves, but sharp enough to make a statement.
She slid her body to one side of the floor, the music dying down a little bit. I watched in awe, waiting for her next move. She stopped for a sloppy second before quickly speeding up and doing a backward flip in the air.
My eyes were taken aback. How? All these thoughts flowing through my mind as she skated so perfectly. I stood up, clapping and cheering her on as she ended her routine.
I love her so much, I hadn’t realized it till now.
“Oh my god, y/n. You were amazing!” She gasped as I picked her up, spinning her around in her praise.
“Haha, thank you Bill, I really appreciate you coming to watch me skate.” I put her down, staring intently into her eyes.
“But truly, you were so beautiful out there.” I saw her eyes light up, blush creeping on her cheeks as she looked down at the ground.
“Awe, you’re too sweet Bill.” She pushed my shoulder a little, blushing at my words that meant so much to her.
I pulled her into another hug, her coldness fading away as she collided with my worm body. “I love you.” My voice was quiet, close to a mumble.
“What was that?” She questioned, pulling away and smirking.
“I said, I love you.” My cheeks are sure to be bright red. Looking down, waiting for her burning answer.
“I-I love you too, Bill.” She grabbed the side of my face, rubbing her thumb across my cheek.
My gaze was brought back to her, seeing her eyes follow mine. Until she came closer, closing the gap between our bodies and connecting our lips into a kiss.
I melted into it, my hand holding her waist as she kept hers on my face. It was off, passionate, and heartfelt. I never knew she felt like this about me.
Disconnecting I felt refreshed, something that I didn’t know I needed was given to me. From behind my back I pulled out the flowers, she gasped, grabbing them and instantly smelling them. “Bill! You didn’t have you, thank you.”
Once again she pulled me into a hug, my stomach being filled with butterflies. “You deserve it.” I replied back.
“I truly love you, Bill.”
so cute omg. Love you guys.
BYE BBYS <3
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roseghoul26 · 3 days
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Charles Smith x gn!Reader
"Keeping your hand on his cheek, your lips brushed the shell of his ear. 'Although, I do think you looked rather beautiful.' He practically shuddered, a pleased smile on your mouth as you leaned back again. Keeping only a few inches between your faces, you watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips before returning up. 'Yeah?' You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low." Synopsis: A brush with hypothermia forces you and Charles to camp out in an abandoned cabin. Having to resort to some more intimate means of survival, will you be able to keep your feelings in check for the hunter, or will the proximity force you to confess?
Tags: Fluff, Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hypothermia, Huddling for Warmth, yes this is a cuddle for warmth fic, idc if its cheesy, Oral Sex, Gender-Neutral Reader, Fem Anatomy for Reader, Face-Sitting, Love Confessions, but in a twist its not the reader who gets frozen, surprise!
Author's Note: listened to chappell roan the entire time while writing this (hence the title). i also got so distracted by stardew valley my addiction has returned also, there’s a moment where the reader touches charles’ hair. as a non-indigenous person, i’m not fully educated when it comes to hair and the importance it holds in native american culture. i did research, but i could still be wrong. if i have made any errors, please let me know, and i will change it. 
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If you never had to see snow again, you’d die happy. 
Tightening the fur coat around your body, you tried to preserve what heat you had left in you. The cold air of Colter was like a leech, sucking you dry of any warmth and joy. And it wasn’t just affecting you, you noticed. Glancing around the room, everyone seemed to be in a similar situation, with as many furs and clothes on their bodies as they huddled around the laughably small fire. 
The gang had been in Colter for about a week, hiding away from the law after the disaster that was Blackwater. You don’t remember much from that day, most of it a blur in your memories, but you remember the bloodshed. Pointless, ruthless bloodshed. You hoped you’d never see something like that again. 
Shivering, you almost regretted giving your extra jacket to Abigail, who had wrapped it around Jack. You were only feet from the fire, but it might as well have been hundreds of miles away with the way it was doing nothing to warm you. With a huff, you rubbed your fingers together, simply sitting and passing the time until someone asked you to do something or you had to go back on guard duty. That was all you could do, really, the snow and remote location making it impossible for you to do your normal robbing and thieving. 
There were many times during this week that you’d debated leaving the gang after you all made it out of Colter. You’d only joined about a year and a half ago, Dutch personally inviting you to his group after hearing about your notoriety across the states. Sure, it was nice to have a group like this, but this wasn’t what you signed up for, especially the events at Blackwater. You were promised opportunity and freedom, not brutality and hiding and cold-blooded murder. You wondered, would it be easy to slip away?
Sighing, you slumped forward, and your  legs were numb from sitting on the hard floor. You were on the precipice of coming to a decision, but there were still some things preventing you from taking the leap. You’d become somewhat close with the members of the gang, your lone wolf attitude dissipating as you created bonds with the others. It was easy to get along with Arthur, the two of you becoming fast friends, frequently doing jobs together. You spent most nights chatting with the girls in camp, chatting until late in the night. You respected Hosea, and even Dutch for some time, the recent events shattering that respect for him. To some degree you’d created a connection with each member of the camp, keeping you tethered to one place. 
There was one person in particular, however, that kept pushing those thoughts of leaving out of your mind. Charles Smith, the taciturn hunter that you’d become weirdly fond of these past few months. You’re not sure what you’d call your relationship with the man. The two of you were friendly, maybe even friends. When Dutch sent you out on jobs together, it always ended well, working together quite decently, if you’d say so yourself. 
Still, you wished you were closer with him, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. You found it hard to try and initiate conversation with him, never quite knowing what to say that wouldn’t make you seem like a fool. And when you would talk to him, it felt like you were just talking at him, but if he was annoyed by you, he never showed. He’d just politely nod along, adding a few words here and there. 
But you knew he didn’t dislike you, finding him frequently looking at you around camp, just silently observing. Whenever you’d catch him, he’d just give you a polite smile, before turning away to do something else. Every time he did it, you found yourself grow bashful, your heart skipping in your chest. His starting was certainly not helping the infatuation you had with him.
Yes, your stupid heart had fallen for him, making it hurt to even entertain the idea of leaving. It was ridiculous and irresponsible to have feelings for him, and you knew that. They’d been there since he joined, and you figured that they would’ve gone away by now, but that was months ago. You’d never met a man like him before, someone so strong and fearsome, yet honorable and kind at the exact same time, and you figured that’s why you were so drawn to him.
Arthur knew about your feelings for the man, drunkley telling him during a night out at the bar in Blackwater a few months ago. He almost said something to Charles, who was somewhere in the same bar that night, claiming that ‘this life is unpredictable’ and ‘you gotta do somethin’ before it’s too late’, but you quickly shut that down with a swift kick to the shins. But that didn’t mean he stopped asking you if you’d done anything yet, and each time you’d respond with ‘no’. 
You knew that Charles didn’t think of you that way. You’re unpredictable, reckless, fiery, everything opposite of what Charles is. Where you were chaos, he was calm. Fire, water. And you didn’t want to ruin what relationship you had with him, so you kept your mouth shut (and never got too drunk around him).
A gust of sharp cold wind and the creak of a door broke you from your thoughts, a shiver wracking your body as you turned to see who just entered the cabin. In some cruel timing from the universe, the man who had just been haunting your mind walked in, a fresh dusting of snow hitting the ground as he shook out his jacket. A chorus of greetings came from the group collected around the fire, a gentle smile coming from you before you turned back to face the fire. Charles calling out your name had you slowly turning to him again. 
“Will you go hunting with me? The deer me and Arthur caught didn’t last as long as we’d hoped.” You now noticed the bow in his hand, along with a small quiver of arrows.
“I mean, sure,” you stood up, your cold muscles aching as you stretched, “but I ain’t much of a hunter, ya know. I usually end up scarin’ away animals instead of catchin’ ‘em. The others might be more well-suited for this.”
“But I’m asking you. And I can’t exactly do it myself.” Charles held the bow and arrows out for you to grab. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.” Not like I could ever say no to you, you thought as you took the weapon and slung it over your shoulder, and secured the quiver on your hip. “Let’s go.”
With a nod, Charles opened the door, holding it open to let you step outside into the harsh Colter weather. Wincing at the bright light bouncing off the white snow, you were temporarily blinded as you made your way to where your horses were, Charles not far behind you. A light snowfall came down around you as you walked, not terrible visibility wise, but enough to be obvious. You just hoped that it wouldn’t pick up later. 
There was probably a good foot-and-a-half of snow on the ground, making your movement sluggish and awkward. From what little you knew about tracking, though, it meant that it would be easy to pick up an animal's track, so for that you were somewhat grateful. 
It didn’t take long for you to reach your horses, and you went to mount up, only to notice that your horse just wasn’t there. Spinning around, you looked to see if maybe she got unhitched and wandered somewhere nearby, but there was nothing. Whistling, you waited a few moments, seeing if you’d hear the sound of hoofbeats and winnings, but there was nothing. She was just gone.
As Charles mounted, looking equally as confused as you were, you turned and  looked to see who was currently on guard duty, thinking maybe they had seen something. “Javier!” You called out, the poor man nearly jumping out of his skin at the sudden loud noise. “Where’s Hera?”
“Arthur took her!” He shouted back, and you couldn’t help groaning in annoyance. I’m gonna kill you, Arthur Morgan. 
“And you let him?” Javier had made his way over to you now, and you saw him open his mouth to respond, but you stopped him with a wave. “Nevermind, it’s not your fault or your responsibility. I’m just… frustrated.” You took a deep breath, and a cloud left your lips as you exhaled.  “Where’d Arthur go?” You heard the ground crunch behind you as Charles approached on Taima. 
“I dunno,” Javier shrugged. “Him, Dutch, Micah, and Bill went out a few minutes ago, he’s been borrowing everyone else’s horse since his died. Guess it was Hera’s turn.”
“Well, shit,” you sighed, crossing your arms. “You don’t reckon they’ll be back soon, right? Maybe they forgot somethin’?” You missed the way Charles let out an amused huff, your back facing him as you conversed with Javier. 
Javier lightly chuckled. “Look, if you need to go, I’ll let you use Boaz for a bit. It’s not like I’ll be needing him for a bit,” he gestured to the repeater currently in his hands. “If anything happens to him though…” he threatened, gesturing again to the weapon in his hands.
You were about to respond, but Charles beat you to it. “Or you could ride with me. If you’d like.”
You tried to keep your face neutral as you turned to respond, but you had to stop and glare at Javier who was sniggering. Apparently your facial expressions weren’t as subtle as you believed. Thank God you had your back turned, then. 
You turned again, and when you weren't so rudely interrupted by Javier’s childish antics, you responded to Charles. “Are you sure?”
He extended his non-injured hand to you as he nodded. “We gotta get moving though. Only a few hours of sunlight left.”
“Alright.” You linked your hand with his, letting him help you on to the back of his horse with ease. Javier had long since left, already halfway back to his guard post, not before giving you a knowing smile. As you wrapped your hands around his waist, you tried and failed to keep your breathing even, your heartrate picking up substantially. 
Sighing, you refrained from resting your head against his back. This was pure torture, but you knew you were going to enjoy it.
Thank you, Arthur Morgan… I’m still gonna kill you, though. 
─•~❉᯽❉~•─
He wasn’t quite sure why he offered to let you ride with him on Taima; he was just making it harder for himself to stay away from you. He scolded himself, because someone else had your heart, and he would just end up hurting his own if he kept doing things like this. 
The two of you had sped out of Colter, Charles setting a brisk pace that made the air bite at his skin. The pain was good, as it distracted him from thinking of you. You, who subconsciously shifted closer to him to shield yourself from the air. He felt you adjust behind him until his larger frame was shielding you entirely. 
He expected you to have started talking by now, making some comment about the weather or cursing Arthur out. When you didn’t he felt himself start to grow a bit panicked. Did I make you uncomfortable? Is this too much?
He kept his voice steady, and he gently called out your name. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I figure that must come as a relief.” 
I could listen to you for hours, he thought. I don’t ever want to stop hearing your voice. “Are you alright?”
He felt you shift behind him, your hands tightening where they sat on his waist. Your touch wasn’t even improper, yet he still found his breath hitching in his throat. Charles just prayed that the howling winds around the two of you drowned it out. “I think so. It just… this place is really terrible.” When he nodded in agreement, you continued. “And I’ve got a lot on my mind. Blackwater, the gang, my future… It's a little bit overwhelming.”
“Do you…  want to talk about it?” He offered, and you sighed. 
“I… I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout Blackwater, ‘bout everything we did wrong, what we should’ve done differently, the choices we made. But I especially can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout that girl that Dutch murdered. The way he killed her, no mercy or falter, I ain’t even seen nothin’ like that from him before. Or maybe I chose to look away before…” you trailed off.
“You’re not the one who pulled the trigger. Dutch is the only person guilty of that.”
“Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger, but I’m sure as hell ain’t innocent. I could’ve- should’ve done somethin’. There was plenty of time for me to.”
“Don’t go beating yourself up about the past. The only thing we can hope to do is learn from it and continue on towards the future.”
“But the future is just as terrifying as the past! I’m scared for the gang, for its future. We’ve become so bloodthirsty, and now all Dutch talks about is revenge.” Your voice was becoming more and more distressed. “Is that what we’ve turned into? A bunch of no-good killers who think with their guns? I ain’t- I don’t wanna be that. That ain’t what I joined up for.”
Charles didn’t know how to respond to that. He’d noticed that shift in the gang over the last few weeks, the members become quicker to jump to violence and bloodshed. He wasn’t a saint, the blood on his hands equal to yours, but he was even becoming disturbed by the amount of unnecessary killings happening. 
“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout leaving.” Your voice was barely a whisper, like you were ashamed to say it. Charles stilled, shock running through his system. “Once we get out of here. This… this isn’t what I wanna do. I don’t wanna be associated with the Van Der Linde gang if it’s gonna continue heaidn’ in the direction it’s goin’. And I don’t wanna find myself at the end of a lawman’s barrel, noose ‘round my neck.”
“Oh.” Charles found himself at an impasse; did he just keep his mouth shut, or say something that might reveal too much? If you truly wanted to leave, then he didn’t want to guilt you into staying by revealing his true feelings. He understood why you wanted to leave, those same thoughts frequenting his mind as well, but he’d found a reason to stay: you. He hadn't told Arthur that when he asked why Charles was still hanging around a few days ago. His conversation with the other man when they hunted had solidified his stay with the gang, for better or for worse.
Did you feel the same way? You fool, Charles chastised himself. They don’t want you that way.
“Does anyone else know?” 
“No,” you sighed. “You’re the only one.”
A selfish part of him was glad that he was the only one that knew, but he quickly pushed those thoughts away. “Well,” he began, “the only thing I can say is to not do something that you’ll regret… and just know that there’s a lot of people here that will really miss you if you decide to leave.” I will miss you so much that it hurts.
He felt your head connect with his back as you slumped forward, and he jolted at the contact. “Why can’t you just make the decision for me, Charles? I trust your judgment.”
Stay. Please, stay, he screamed in his head. “I can’t tell you what to do, how to live your life. Unfortunately, the decision comes to you,” was his reply. 
“You’re right. You’re always right, Charles,” you laughed half-heartedly. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. Still got a ways until I have to.”
“Whatever decision you come to, I’ll support you.” Liar. “Just… don’t leave without saying goodbye, you hear?”
“I promise. Now,” your usual chipperness returned to your voice, “where are we headin’?”
He explained that he was taking the two of you to Lake Isabella, following the Spider Gorge down. The lake had started to melt, meaning animals were more likely to start coming out as the weather warmed. As the two of you rode, you kept close to him, significantly closer than you were when you left. 
Charles pretended not to notice.
─•~❉᯽❉~•─
There wasn’t much to look at on the ride down. Everything was white, splashes of black rock breaking up the monotonous landscape, and the occasional tree made itself known. There weren’t any animals, not even a rabbit. It was like you and Charles were the only living souls in the area.
You only spotted a couple of buildings, two of them a small cabin that could house one or two people. One was absolutely destroyed, time and weather causing the ceiling to collapse in, only a skeleton remaining. The other still stood, smoke coming out of the chimney, but you had no idea if the occupants were home or not. 
Taking a mental note of the building, before returning your attention back forward. Charles seemed to be content with just riding in silence, so you settled against him, your head nearly resting on his shoulder. You hadn’t meant to spill so much to Charles, and you certainly hadn’t meant to tell him that you thought about leaving. It’s just that you felt so comfortable with him that you couldn’t help the words from coming out, and you felt ten pounds lighter because of it. 
You didn’t want to drag another person into your troubles, especially over something so trivial in comparison to what the rest of the gang was going through. A part of you wanted this to be the moment in all those cheesy romances you read where the love interest confesses their feelings in order to make the main character stay. But this was real life, and this was Charles you were talking about, the man who would put everyone’s needs before his, even if it hurt. And besides, Charles had never done or said anything that gave you the impression that he had feelings for you. From what you could tell, he saw you as a friend, and nothing else.
Right?
God, you were so desperate for the man you held on to. 
He made no comment when you did actually rest your head on his shoulder. If he did ask why, you’d just say you were cold. You knew you just wanted to pretend that he was yours. 
Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. It did little to calm your erratic heart. 
Eventually, the partially frozen Lake Isabella came into view. This area wasn’t too unfamiliar to either you or Charles, having been there a few days prior to dispatch a group of O’Driscolls. Having opened your eyes a few moments prior, you were able to make out a few deer drinking from the newly exposed lake water. You gestured to them, but Charles had already seen them, bringing Taima to a halt behind a large bush.
By this time, the snow had begun to pick up, the sheets coming down obscuring your view ever so slightly. But it wasn’t enough to force you indoors. 
Dismounting as quietly as you could, you readied the bow in your hands, letting Charles lead the way as he snuck closer to them. It was almost supernatural, the way he was able to move so silently. For someone of his stature, you’d never expect him to be able to move so quietly and with such ease, yet here he was. You tried your best to move like him, taking a bit longer as you followed in his footsteps. Charles led you around the edge of the lake, the shore edge mere inches from your feet, occasionally splashing against your shoes. 
Luckily, the deer hadn’t noticed either you or Charles, still drinking without a care in the world. He had stopped by now, moving to the side to let you move ahead. The deer were in range by now, and you only needed to move a few feet closer, making you halt underneath a large tree. The branches drooped under the weight of the snow, a few globs falling off and hitting the ground around you. 
Weirdly enough, you felt at peace. Not because of the hunting, but because of the man who stood a few yards behind you. You felt safe under his gaze, like nothing could hurt you. As you drew the arrow back, you let out a confused noise as the deer suddenly scattered, spooked by something you couldn’t see. 
You turned to look back at Charles, but you realized then that you probably shouldn't've had your guard down so much. A large weight dropped on you from the tree, too heavy and too warm to be just snow. You let out a startled cry, blocking out Charles shouting out your name, panic seeping into his voice. 
Whatever fell on you landed on your back, your face pressed in the snow as you lay on your stomach. It clicked now that there was someone on you, a hand yanking your head back by your hair, warm breath assaulting your face as your attacker spoke. You couldn’t quite make out what exactly he was saying, snow and shock causing your hearing to be spotty. All you were able to make out were a few curses, the word “kill” multiple times, and some racist phrases aimed toward Charles.
Even before the initial shock had worn off, you were fighting back, squirming and moving desperately against the man’s grip. He just laughed, then you heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. He rested the barrel against the back of your neck, the cold metal pressing against the exposed skin. Dread washed over you, numbing your senses far beyond what the cold could do. With the way the man gripped your head, you couldn’t move it, and you strained your eyes as you looked around, desperate to find Charles. Is he alright? Please, let him be alright. 
You saw a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye, and as soon as the weight was on you, it was gone. An alarmed yell left your attacker as he was tackled off of you, being pushed a fair distance before falling onto the frozen Lake Isabella. Rolling over, your hand fell into the cold water, and you quickly pulled it back.
Standing as quickly as you could, the world spun for a moment, your body confused with the many different orientations you were just in. Pressing your back against the tree for stability, you watched as Charles and your attacker rolled far across the ice. You saw the distinct green handkerchief around his neck, and you couldn’t help the exasperated groan that left you. No matter where you went or what you did, you couldn’t escape the O’Driscolls. 
Shouts from behind you had you spinning around, quickly drawing your revolver, the bow long since discarded on the ground. Three more O’Driscolls came running from the woods, only a few yards away from you now, their cries of alarm coming from the two bodies of their members lying in the snow, which you had just noticed. Keeping your aim steady, you took three shots, the gunshots cracking through the still air. The first one hit right in the heart, the second one finding a home between his eyes, and the third one hit the final O’Driscoll right above the shoulder, merely grazing the skin, and the only non-fatal shot. Still, it caused all three of them to hit the snow.
With the final man falling relatively close to you, you ran over to him. Pulling him up by the scruff of his shirt, you held your revolver right below his chin, the hot metal burning his skin. He could not have been more than eighteen years old, a sliver of childhood innocence still left in his eyes as he stared up at you, fear and pain rendering him mute. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You snarled, pressing the barrel harder into his skin. “Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here, boy?”
Your words seemed to go in one ear and out the other, a few tears leaving him as he stared at you blankly. He was shaking, and you wondered how long he’d run with the O’Driscolls for. He was obviously young, and if this was his reaction to being held at gunpoint, you gathered that he didn’t have a whole lot of outlaw experience under his belt. Against every instinct in your body telling you otherwise, you felt yourself loosen your grip on the boy, a pang of sympathy running through you. 
Sighing in exasperation, you holster your gun, a relieved noise leaving him as you did. Glancing forward, you saw two horses hitched to the trees, seemingly the rides that they came in on. “Go,” you waved. “You ain’t even grown.”
“Th-thank you!” He nearly wept, getting to his feet shakily. 
“But if I ever see ya again, especially as a damn O’Driscoll,” your hand hovered above your weapon. “I’ll not hesitate to put a bullet in your head. You hear me?”
“Y-yes.” He clutched at his shoulder. 
“Now go!” you shouted. “Get outta here! Before I change my mind.” As soon as he sped off toward the horses, you turned back toward the lake. Charles stood above your attacker, beating the life out of the man, his face pure crimson. He was using his injured hand, but he paid it no mind. Blow after blow, Charles’s strikes hit true, the thuds echoing across the water.
You really should not have found it as attractive as you did. 
You let yourself watch for a few moments longer, before you were snapping out of it. “Charles!” You called out. Immediately, he was looking up at you, the man below him no longer even on his mind. Wiping away a smear of blood on his cheek, he slowly made his way toward you, his steps slow across the ice. 
Concern etched across his features as his eyes raked over your body, looking for any injury or hurt on you. “Are you alright?” You asked, trying your best to push down the flush of your cheeks as he stalked towards you. He had an almost murderous glint in his eye, his movement predatory; you especially should not have found that attractive. 
“Did he hurt you?” He completely brushed off your question, his eyes wide with panic. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this disheveled and worried before. 
“Only my pride.” You sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Charles opened his mouth to respond, but was promptly cut off when the ground beneath him gave way, the weakened ice no longer strong enough to hold him. Immediately, he was submerged under the water, but luckily he was close enough to the shore that it wasn’t too deep. He reemerged seconds later, sputtering and coughing. 
As soon as you heard the crack of the ice, you were running toward the edge, stepping precariously on the ice. In retrospect, it wasn’t the smartest idea, especially when you started walking towards where Charles fell through, but at the time you didn’t care. All that mattered was getting him out. 
Scanning around, you quickly assessed the best way to save him. The hole that was created was way big enough so he could get his arm up, but as soon as he pressed at the ice it shattered, unable to hold anything. As you stepped closer, you felt it begin to break as well, and you quickly moved back to the shore. 
“Fuck…” your hands went to you head, your gloved fingers pulling at your hair. A large stick from the tree you assaulted jumped down from sparked an idea. Grabbing it, you started chipping away at the ice, smashing and breaking it until a path big enough for Charles to go through was created. Standing at the shore, however, you realized  that neither your arms or the stick was long enough to reach the man, who was starting to get dragged down from the weight of the water in his clothes. 
Quickly unhooking your lasso from your belt, you created a loop for him to grab on to, throwing it at him with an accuracy from years and years of practice. It landed right in front of him, and he grabbed on to it as quickly as he could, his movement sluggish. Wrapping it around your hands, you began to pull him to shore. “Hold on!” you shouted at him, and he let out a noise in response. You’d take that over nothing.
It wasn’t incredibly hard to pull him closer, the water helping carry him over. But once he got to the shore, and you discarded the rope, pulling him up onto the land proved to be almost impossible. Grabbing underneath his arms, you pulled with all the strength you had, the muscles in your back and shoulders crying out in pain, but you paid them no mind. It took an incredible amount of effort, but eventually he was fully out of the water, laying splayed out in the cold snow. 
You didn’t let yourself get a moment to recover, instantly running over to his side. Turning his head toward you, you let out a sigh of relief when you say his eyes flutter open. He was absolutely drenched, his heavy winter gear made even heavier with water, and you watched him begin to shake and his teeth begin to shatter. And, if your luck wasn’t already terrible enough, a full on snowstorm had started, causing cold blasts of snow and wind to pelt your bodies. Chalres shivered even harder, and you let out helped sit him upright. “We gotta get you indoors, and soon. You ain’t gonna-” a lump formed in your throat at the thought. “It ain’t gonna be good for you if you stay out here. I’ll need your help, though. I can’t lift you on my own. Just… just find what energy you can to get up. Please.” You couldn’t help the panic in your voice. To say you were scared would be an understatement. 
You’re not quite sure he fully comprehended what you said, but he started to get up, and you forced him to lean a bit of his body weight against you as he did so. When he was up, you slung his arm over your shoulder, nearly sagging under his weight as he nearly collapsed. You called for Taima, whistlin the same pattern you’d heard Charles use for her. 
Within seconds, the sound of neighing and hoofbeats filled your ears, his loyal steed coming to a halt right in front of the two of you. She let out a worried snort, and you reassured her with some soothing noises. “Alright, Charles. Here comes the worst part.” It took quite a bit of maneuvering and effort, but after a minute Charles sat where you did on the ride there. 
His eyes, which were onced unfocused and confused, had regained some clarity to them, and you heard him mutter out your name. You smiled as reassuringly as you could, before you were mounting up on Taima, sitting in the saddle and the reins in your hands. “Hold on, darlin’.” You were too panicked to notice the name slip out, and you took the gasp from Charles as being from the cold. 
With little urging, Taima moved forward, almost immediately breaking into a gallop. You led her back up the trail, heading toward the cabin you saw on the way down. It would take too long to return back to Colter, and with the way the storm raged around you, you doubted either of you would be able to make it. 
As you rode, you felt Charles slump against you, exhaustion taking over his body. You reached behind with one hand, grabbing his knee and shaking him awake. “I know you hate me right now, but I need you to stay awake for me… please.”
He grumbled something in reply, his speech slurred and indecipherable. 
“I’m gonna talk at you, like I always do,” you tried to joke. “And you’re gonna do what you do, which is nod along and pretend you care. Just… just stay awake. You hear me?”
“I care…” you heard him protest, and you just shook your head.
“Uh-huh.” The wind was biting into your cheeks, and your eyes were watering, but you didn’t dare slow. You filled the couple minute ride with your voice, telling stories of your childhood, or random anecdotes you’d picked up from your travels, to recounting the bar fight you’d gotten into a few weeks prior. Charles, despite being exhausted, kept alert, giving one-word responses from time to time. 
He shivered the entire time, and you couldn’t tell if that was worrying or comforting. Panic was steadily bubbling in your chest, finding it hard to keep focus on your stories. Halfway through the ride, much like you did, he rested his head on your shoulder, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. You suppressed a surprised noise as you felt the freezing skin against your own, his nose and lips unnervingly cold. 
“Stay with me, Charles.”
─•~❉᯽❉~•─
It was cold. 
Everything was cold.
Could hair get cold? It sure felt like it. Charles had never felt such coldness in his life before, and he never wanted to experience it again.
He should’ve never gone on to the ice, his brain was screaming at him.
But he had led with his heart, shoving the man off you and following him on to the ice. As soon as he had seen you go down, the other man on top of you, it was like time had slowed down. He had seen red, the two men attempting to hold him down quickly meeting their ends at the hands of his fury. 
He prided himself on being able to keep calm in situations, his anger rarely ever taking a hold of him, and it had never happened since he joined the gang. Guess that streak was broken now. Not that he had any regrets.
Well, he had a few.
He should’ve registered the footprints in the snow leading up to the base of the tree. He should’ve noticed something was wrong, should’ve not been so distracted by you. He should’ve said something.
Maybe none of this would’ve happened then.
But he’s just a man, and man is selfish. He was glad this happened.
Without this happening, he wouldn’t have his arms wrapped around your body, his face buried into your neck breathing you in. Without this, you wouldn’t have called him darling, causing his heart to thump erratically in his chest. Without this, he wouldn’t have been able to pretend right now that you and him were more than friends, a fantasy that he had played out a million times in his dreams.
You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make the words out. A shiver wracked his body, and he burrowed deeper. God, he was so cold. And so tired.It would be so easy to just close his eyes, to let unconsciousness wash over him… 
He was jolted awake by a hearty shake of his knee, and he heard your voice break through the fog of his brain. 
You had such a lovely voice. He hated how worried it sounded, and all because of him. Or maybe he was happy you were worried about him. He couldn’t tell. Everything was unclear. The only thing he was certain about was the fuzzy feeling in his chest that grew with each glance and each soft word from you.
He was in love with you.
Stupidly in love, in fact. 
He couldn’t stop himself, the words tumbling from his lips like a freefall. But it came out as gibberish, and he felt you shake your head, unable to comprehend him.
That’s alright. He’d repeat it as many times as you needed. 
And as another shiver tore through him, he felt you rub his thigh reassuringly. Despite the thick material of your gloves, he could feel the warmth of your skin, practically burning against his frosty skin. The butterflies in his chest bubbled to life, and he couldn’t stop the small laugh he let out. 
He was infatuated.
─•~❉᯽❉~•─
The short ride felt like forever, the monotonous landscape that had once been soothing now tormenting you as you searched for the cabin you saw prior. The smoke trail was impossible to spot out in the snowstorm, so you used what limited navigation skills you had to get you there. 
Eventually, the frame of the cabin broke through the sheet of snow, and you nearly cried in relief. You were starting to freeze, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how Charles was feeling. Taima huffed as you brought her alongside the entrance, the steam from her snout dissipating instantly. Quickly dismounting, Charles nearly fell off when you moved, slowly slipping into unconsciousness. 
“Oh, no you don’t,” you snarled, roughly shaking him awake. Yes, you were threatening the hypothermic man. No, you did not care. You were almost inside, and you were not going to lose him. “Do not pass out on me, Charles Smith. Now, let’s get you off Taima.”
Charles muttered out an apology, his eyes reopening as he struggled to get off. His clothes were starting to solidify, clumps of ice forming across his jacket. You helped as best you could, catching him when his feet made contact with the ground, nearly sending you both to the snow. Again, you slung his arm over your shoulder, your other arm holding your gun as you entered the cabin, ready to clear out any homeowners. 
A blast of heat hit both of you as you creaked the door open slowly, and you heard Charles sigh with relief. A quick scan around proved that it was empty, and you gently set Chalres in front of the still burning fire. You realized now that the occupants were probably some of the O’Driscolls that just jumped you, and the cabin now stood empty for you and Charles. Relaxing slightly, you put away your gun, then added a few more logs to the fire pit, the flames lapping at the wood eagerly. 
To call the cabin small would be an understatement. It was large enough to fit both you and Charles comfortably, but you can’t imagine that the few O’Driscolls camping here temporarily had a lot of legroom . A single twin sized bed was lined up against the wall, cloth and other materials covering the windows beside it. There was a fireplace, a small stewpot, a nightstand, and a chair. Extra sleeping bags and rugs adorned the floor, a few cans of fruits and vegetables scattered across the floor. You saw the occasional empty bottle of alcohol, and you even found a pack of cigarettes. 
Charles seemed to wake some, the warmth of the fire breathing some life back into him. You saw him look around, body still shaking. He looked even worse than you thought, his normally warm-toned skin devoid of any color, and his hair was plastered to his face. As you crouched down in front of him, you went to push back a few strands, your gloves long since discarded, but you refrained. 
“A-Are you alright?” You heard him ask again through chattering teeth, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Even though he saw freezing, likely suffering from hypothermia, he was more worried about your well being.
“I’m not the one who fell into the freezing lake. What were you thinking?” You weren’t angry, your words surprisingly gentle despite the fear in your heart. 
“I-I wasn’t… I-” his body cut him off, shivers wracking his body. 
“We gotta get these clothes off of you,” you picked at the offending garment, the material barely budging. You started to work the heavy coat off his shoulders, the roaring wind outside the only noise.
Suddenly, Charles was grabbing at your wrist, stalling your movement. You were halfway done with taking it off, the water melting off of it coating your hands. “Taima…” you heard him say.
“I’ll go make sure she’s secure,” you quickly rose to your feet. “Just get undressed. We need to get you warmed up.”
Stepping outside, the gusts hitting your body caused you to let out a curse. Taima was  still where you left her, stomping impatiently in the ground, shaking out her coat as she tried to keep warm. When you clicked your tongue, she came prancing over, ready to get out of the wind. 
You led her to the attached stall, which was in pretty decent condition. It blocked out a lot of the wind, and it shared a wall with the fireplace, letting some of the warmth to the horses as well. There was some hay left scattered on the ground, and you took off her saddle, setting it on the stand. You left the horse blanket on, giving her some extra protection. 
When you were done, you moved to leave, and you felt Taima brush affectionately against your head, nuzzling her snout into your shoulder. Laughing, you pet her neck affectionately before she removed herself to continue eating at the hay. Making sure the gate was secure, you headed back into the cabin. 
Charles was still undressing when you entered, his back to you. Even his undershirt was soaked through, the material clinging to his body like a second skin. It was at that point it clicked that the man you were infatuated with was going to be bare before you soon. You found yourself turning away, uncharacteristically embarrassed, shrugging off your own jacket and laying across the back of the chair. If it was any other person, you’d’ve not reacted this way, your lifestyle not allowing for much privacy. But of course it had to be Charles getting undressed in front of you, and you found yourself growing quite warm. 
Taking the lasso from your belt, you strung it across the room, making a makeshift clothesline to hopefully dry his clothes faster. His jacket, which was a wet pile of fur, was the first to be hung up, the rope creaking precariously under the weight. Luckily, it held, and you added each new item as he took it off. 
You made sure not to look directly at Charles, and you saw in your peripheral vision as he worked off his shirt. Your throat was suddenly dry, hands shaky as you continued to hang items up. Why, out of all people, did it have to be Charles? It was like God was tormenting you, giving you what, but keeping it just out of reach. 
You must’ve made a noise, because Charles was turning toward you, concerned. You finally let yourself look at him. He was partially done unbuttoning his shirt, the collar open, but you saw that he was struggling with the small buttons, his fingers barely working. “May I?” you asked, gesturing toward his shirt. The sooner he was out of the wet garment, the better.
He paused for a second, contemplating. “Yes,” he consented, lowering his hand at his side. Stepping forward, your hands resumed his work, quickly undoing the rest of it. Do not make a big deal of this, you repeated in your mind. You were simply helping a friend not die from hypothermia, not unbuttoning the shirt of the person you were hopelessly in love with. He shrugged it off, practically peeling it from his body. You were especially careful to only look him in the eye now, not daring to look at his newly exposed chest. 
Turning your back to him to hang up the shirt, the unmistakable clang of his belt hitting the floor had you stilling. Exhaling shakily, you heard him take off the remainder of his clothes, all making themselves comfortable on the floor. You didn’t dare turn around to grab them. Instead, you headed towards the bed, pulling off the heavy duvet. Walking backwards, you held it out to him behind you. You heard him murmur out a small thanks, taking the blanket from your outstretched arms. 
You gave him a few moments. “Are you… decent?” you asked, keeping your gaze up even with your back turned. When he gave a noise of confirmation, you finally turned back around. After situating his discarded clothing, you gathered some of the canned goods strewn about before setting your boots next to Charles’ beside the fire. You sat down next to him on the various furs and bedrolls. Charles had the blanket wrapped around his body, and you tried really hard to not concentrate on the fact that he was completely bare under the duvet. 
You opened one of the cans with your knife, tossing the lid of it behind you and handing it to the man beside you. “Eat. You need to get your strength up.” You saw him open his mouth to protest, but you cut him off before he could. “There’s plenty of food for the both of us. Now, eat.” You pushed the can of what looked to be sweetcorn in his hand, and he finally took it, tipping it back into his mouth and eating slowly. 
He was still shivering, but he was slowly becoming more and more alert, and his teeth had ceased their chattering. Quickly finishing the can of food, he placed the empty can beside him, rubbing his hands together beneath the blanket. You were looking into the fire, and you could feel his eyes on you. He didn’t say anything, just observing you like he normally did. 
This time, however, it felt like his eyes were picking you apart, like he could see every secret beneath your skin. Clearing your throat, you stood up, gathering up the remainder of his clothing and hanging them up. You were scared that the longer you sat by him, the likelihood of you having to confront your secrets would increase tenfold. “You need anythin’? More food? Water? Coffee?” You asked, drying your hands on your pants. 
“I’m g-good,” he responded. 
“Have you warmed up at all?” He shrugged in response, the action barely noticeable with the heavy blanket around his shoulders. You didn’t bother to hide the concerned frown on your lips as you crouched beside him. Running the back of your hand, you winced when you were met with deathly cold skin. “Shit…” you cursed, pulling your hand away, and you failed to notice Charles chasing after your warmth.
Standing up, you began to pace the room, trying to keep the dread you felt at bay. Your mind was running wild with thoughts, all ending in worse case scenarios. Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to keep calm, just for Charles’ sake. You wouldn’t do him any good if you were freaking out. You tried to think back on the basic first aid you’d learned through the years. Most of the things you’d already done, like getting him out of wet clothing, getting him food, getting him in front of a fire. Was there anything else you could do? Or did you just have to sit and wait and pray that what you did was enough.
You knew Charles was watching you pace, doing nothing to calm your racing heart. You ran your fingers through your hair, a gasp leaving your lips when you finally remembered. Body heat, which means… oh. 
Goddamn it all. 
You hoped you didn’t look too alarmed. It’s not that you were opposed to the idea, but it would make it significantly harder to bottle up your feelings. In fact, doing this might just smash the bottle all together, causing you to spill your heart to him. “So…” you began nervously. How the hell were you supposed to ask this?
“So…?” Charles repeated, raising a brow. 
“I-I… well…” you ran your hand over your face. The wall was looking quite interesting right now. “I was wondering if you’d like… I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anythin’... if you’d like for me to share my warmth?” That sounds so weird. “It’s just, you’re not gettin’ any better… and I don’t want anythin’ to happen to you. I couldn’t bear it.” The last part you whispered, and you doubted he even heard it. 
Something flickered across Charles’ face, too quick for you to recognize. He looked conflicted, and you chewed nervously on your lips. Did I cross a line? Oh God, did I make this weird? He’s gonna hate me-
“I’d like that,” his voice cut off your minds’ rambling. 
Letting out a breath of relief, you gave him a small smile, which he returned. Okay, this is happening. Again, do not make a big deal of this. This means nothing. Your hands, which weren’t steady, began to work at your button up. Charles slowly looked away, his eyes darkening slightly. “I’m not gonna take everythin’ off,” you reassured, taking the look in his eye as concern. Taking your gun belt off and setting it on the bed, your pants and socks were off next, joining the belt, leaving you in only your undergarments. 
Slowly, you approached him, your steps uncertain across the bedrolls and furs. You tried to keep calm, but the reality of what was going to happen quite soon was causing your heart to pound against your ribs. He watched you approach, head turned back around. You couldn't imagine it was comfortable for his neck, but he didn’t seem to mind. 
Finally, you stood in front of him, partially blocking the fire, which caused your shadow to cast over Charles. Without breaking eye contact with you, he pulled the blanket back, inviting you in. Your shadow, thankfully, blocked out any newly revealed skin, but you still found a blush creeping up your neck. 
Without giving yourself a chance to back out, you sat yourself on his lap. With your legs wrapping around his hips, your ankles were barely able to interlock. His following sigh sounded pleased, and you found yourself smiling as he wrapped the blanket around the two of you, creating something akin to a cocoon. He kept his hands braced on the ground beside him, refraining from touching you.
Charles was indeed freezing, and you let out a discontent noise at the contact. “Sorry,” you more felt than heard him say, your faces mere inches apart. 
“I should be the one who’s sayin’ that…” you sighed, and you rested your hands on his shoulders, beginning the process of warming his body back to a normal temperature. “I should’ve been payin’ better attention, then we would’ve never ended up in this mess.” Not that I’m complaining too much. 
The two of you sat together for a few minutes, letting Charles simply enjoy your body heat. “I don’t think either of us were expecting an O’Driscoll to come falling out of a tree.” You heard him say.
“It certainly wasn’t on my list of things to happen today,” you laughed, your hands moving down his shoulders to his biceps. Having him under your touch like this really put into perspective his sheer size. “And neither is this. Any of this. I’m sure you weren’t plannin’ on takin’ a bath in Lake Isabella today.”
“Can’t say I was. But, you-” Charles cut himself off, his eyes widening the tiniest bit. If you weren’t so close, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. You gave him a confused look, and he just shook his head. “It’s nothing. I almost said something foolish,” he tried to dismiss, embarrassment evident on his face.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say somethin’ foolish the entire time I’ve known you.” You tugged at one of his arms, bringing it between your bodies after he shifted his weight on to the other arm. You clasp his uninjured hand between yours, blowing hot air and trying your best to return some life back to the ice cubes that were his fingers. “You know I ain’t gonna tease you for what you say, right?”
“I know,” Charles sighed, but he didn’t elaborate further. You didn’t push, not wanting to wreck this moment between the two of you. You felt him flex his fingers between yours, a relieved noise leaving him as more feeling returned to them. Eventually, you let go of his hand, but it seemed like he didn’t quite know where to put it, hovering a few inches above your waist before returning back to the ground. “You can touch me, Charles.”
You held back a content noise when you finally felt him grasp your waist, his fingers resting on the waistband of your undergarments. Occasionally, his fingers would brush your bare skin, your undershirt having rid up when you had sat down, and you felt goosebumps erupt across your skin. 
Moving to his injured hand, you eyed the now wrecked bandage, blood and water causing the material to practically dissolve. You tsked disapprovingly, and began to peel off the old wrapping, discarding them across the cabin. You were expecting to see the wound completely reopened, especially because of the punches he threw at the O’Driscoll, but were pleasantly surprised to find a pretty much healed injury. It was slightly irritated, sure, but it must’ve been healed for at least a day or two.
“And here I was scared that we’d have to chop off your hand,” you joked, flipping his arm over as you examined the now scar. “This has been healed for a day or two now. You’re probably only gonna have a light scar from this.” Realization dawned on you, and you chuckled. “Charles, you could’ve gone huntin’ on your own today.”
“I could’ve.” He didn’t even bother trying to deny it. “Still, I did want to do it with you, but I could’t just ask. I needed an excuse.”
“You never need an excuse, Charles. I’ll gladly go huntin’ with you, injured hand or not.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You felt him squeeze your hip gently, a playful grin on his face. It had your stomach doing somersaults, and you tore your eyes away to begin warming up his other hand. It was strange, seeing him so carefree like this. It was a look you’d never really seen on him, but you rather enjoyed it. “Only hunting?” he asked.
“Maybe,” you teased, drawing out the syllables. “Whatcha have in mind?”
“Not quite sure yet. But it’ll just be us.”
“Like a date?” You joked, trying not to sound too hopeful. 
“Sure. Like a date.”
A giddy smile cracked across your lips, and you gingerly kissed the back of Charles’ hand before letting it go, where it immediately joined his other by settling on your waist. Your ears were burning, a flustered blush growing across your body. Here you were, sitting on a naked Charles’ lap, only the thin material of your undergarments separating the two of you, but the thing that made you bashful was him asking you on a date. 
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you rested your head on his shoulder. You felt him chuckle, the hands on your waist moving up your back, keeping your body pressed close to him. The digits were still a bit chilled, but you didn’t mind. The blanket around the two of you was barely hanging on at this point, and you tried your best to keep it around him. Like he did on the horse, you felt him bury his face in the crook where your neck and shoulders connected. 
Although it was significantly less cold than the last time, you still shivered at the contact. You felt his lips brush against the skin, and you could barely feel the light kiss he pressed there, gone in an instant. So many thoughts and emotions were running through your mind at that moment. You mostly felt relieved, your feelings for the man no longer feeling so one-sided. Your mind was so loud, in fact, that you barely heard him mumble something against your skin. You realized that he was thanking you, and you responded with a confused noise.
“You saved my life today. Twice. I haven’t thanked you yet.”
“I wouldn’t’ve just left you, Charles. I couldn’t. I…” you trailed off, a confession ready to leave your lips. The bottle had cracked, its contents spilling out as you tried to damndest to keep it all contained. “If I remember correctly, you also saved me today. Nothin’ good would’ve happened if you weren’t there today.”
You felt him tense, an almost pained sound leaving him. “When I saw you like that… I don’t ever want to see that again.”
You moved back so that you could see him again, and you cupped the side of his face with your hand, relieved to find the skin significantly warmer than it was moments ago. “I’m alright. Thanks to you, I’m safe.” 
He relaxed slightly, but his eyes were filled with so much sadness that it had you frowning. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared before,” he whispered, resting his own hand atop yours. “The best thing in my life, and I almost lost it today.” Both of you seemed surprised by his words, but you didn’t let him backtrack.
“But you didn’t. You are the one who got that man off me, and showed him the error of his ways.”
He chuckled at that, but then another frown adorned his lips. “I didn’t… unsettle you, right? I… I saw your eyes widen after you called me off him. You’re not-”
“Never. I know you’d never hurt me.”
Relieved, you felt him go fully lax under your touch. His whole body had returned to a normal temperature, you noted, the heat under the blanket beginning to become sweltering. With your thumb, you stroked his cheek, feeling the raised skin of the scar across his cheek. He let go of your hand, moving it back to the ground to keep the two of you propped up as you leaned forward. The duvet fell slightly, exposing his shoulder to the air, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Keeping your hand on his cheek, your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Although, I do think you looked rather beautiful.”
He practically shuddered, a pleased smile on your mouth as you leaned back again. Keeping only a few inches between your faces, you watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips before returning up. “Yeah?” You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low.
You nodded, the fingers on his cheek moving to brush a few strands away from his face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown out but not because of the low light. “I always think you look beautiful,” you murmured. 
He hummed in response, and you felt the hand on your back creek up, resting at the nape of your neck. He didn’t pull you forward, he just held you. “Next to you, however, I imagine I look quite plain.”
“Oh, hush,” you chided while smiling. 
“I’m serious.” You felt him play with the hair at your neck, fingers running lightly through the strands. “It’s distracting, how beautiful you are. Whenever I walk into a room and you’re in there, you’re the first thing I look at, and I can never bring myself to look away. At night at camp, you look so at ease, the fire illuminates your face in a way that makes you look ethereal. I can do nothing but watch you, too stunned to speak. You plague every waking thought, and you haunt my dreams. You’ve unknowingly burrowed yourself into my heart, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You were at a loss for words, your mouth moving but no words actually came out. Choosing to ignore the way your heart celebrated, you let out an airy chuckle. “I think that’s the longest I’ve ever heard you talk.” 
He laughed. “I can keep it short, if you’d like?”
“I didn’t mean that,” you scoffed. “What could possibly condense all that?”
Charles gave you a look, like he couldn’t believe you hadn’t caught on by now. A part of you knew what he was going to say, but you wouldn't believe it. You needed to hear it from his lips. The hand playing with your hair stilled, the only sound being the crackling fire behind you. 
“I’m in love with you.” 
He said it like it was the simplest thing ever, like it hadn’t just completely flipped your world upside down. He had taken your bottled up feelings and opened it himself. Taking your responding silence as a negative thing, you felt his hand fall slightly, a worried look crossing his face. You didn’t give him much time to worry, pulling him closer with the hand still cupping his face. Your foreheads connected, and your lips were almost brushing. “You mean it?” 
“Of course.”
“Well… for how long?”
“How long have I been with the gang?”
Surprised, you laughed lightly, and he visibly looked confused. “So this entire time, you felt the same way?”
It took a second for him to process your words, a wide grin appearing when he did. “I guess so.” He paused for a moment, and you felt him take a deep breath. “You love me?” He asked, his voice small and uncertain. 
You moved your face back an inch, giving you room to nod. “I do. For the same amount of time, too. I was too scared to say anythin’, I didn’t wanna ruin what we had. And I kinda thought I annoyed you to death,” you chuckled. “But if today reminded me of anythin’, it’s that this life is too unpredictable to have regrets.”
“Arthur gave you that lecture too?”
You rolled your eyes. Of course he didn't heed your warning about not playing matchmaker with you and Charles. But still, you might have to thank him later. “Despite what he claims, he’s a nosy bastard.”
He hummed in agreement, and a silence hung over the room, anticipation heavy in the air. With the lightest touch, you felt him bring you forward with the hand on the back of your head. “I wanna hear you say it,” you heard him ask. 
“I love you, darlin’.” Both hands now cupped his cheeks, and you hovered your lips above his. “Kiss me?”
“Gladly.” You felt his hand move to cradle your head, pulling you in the final distance until your lips were colliding. There was only a hint of chill left on his skin, easily melting away against your warm mouth.  His lips were soft, softer than you imagined, and you let out a pleased sigh. It was a surprisingly quick kiss, and you sucked in a breath when you felt him pull away, his eyes blown out. 
He was also panting, and his fingers wove into your hair, like he was grounding himself. Moving forward, you tried to reconnect your lips, but he moved his head so that your lips collided with his cheek instead. A jolt of panic shot through your body, thinking you horribly misread the situation. “I want… I want this,” he reassured. “But I want to make sure you want this. That you want… me.”
You’d never met a man like Charles Smith, and you’re sure you’d never meet another like him. Never, ever had you heard of or met a man explicitly asking for consent like this, and it got you more excited than you thought it would. “I’ve wanted this for a while now,” you admitted, resting your touch on the junction where his shoulders and neck met. “I’ve dreamed of a moment like this more times than I can count. I want you, Charles. I need-”
In a complete switch up, he crashed his lips against yours, muffling your words. If the first kiss had been gentle and hesitant, this one was hungry and confident, lips eagerly moving against yours. He was practically devouring you, like he couldn’t get enough of you. With every small noise that left you, he seemed to grow more bold, and you felt the fingers in your hair tug slightly. It didn’t hurt, but it caused your lips to part. Within seconds his tongue swept into your mouth, eager to explore you. 
The blanket had long since fallen off, bunched up on the ground surrounding the two of you. Pushing him lightly on his shoulders, you eased him on his back. Your hands planted on his chest when he made contact with the furs, your lips not separating for a moment. He was a pleasant temperature under your fingers, his skin surprisingly soft, just like his lips. You were straddling his waist now, your hands barely keeping you from laying your entire weight on the man. 
He had let go of your head, his hands moving to your waist to keep you secure. His grip was strong, but not enough to leave a mark. A part of you wanted him to, but you didn’t say anything. If he wanted you like you wanted him, then there would be a next time.
Rocking your hips, you felt a growing hardness barely separated by your thin undergarments. You felt him groan when you did so, and he tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth. When he moved his head away to suck in some air, your hands snaked back up his neck, nearly covering his ears. You’d thought your attempts at warming him up were fruitful, but when you felt how cold his ears were, you made a concerned noise, your lust temporarily forgotten. “Your ears are freezing…”
He looked like he couldn’t care less, but then a mischievous smile crossed his face. “You gonna warm them up, then?”
“What do you think I’m tryin’ to do?” You giggled, and you made sure that your hands fully covered them. You had easy access to his lips, and you gave him a quick kiss. 
“Not with your hands, my love.”
You smiled at the endearment, but his statement confused you. Cocking your head to the side, you moved your hands off his face, settling them back on his chest. “What-?”
You didn’t get to finish your question, the hands on your hips effortlessly pulling your up toward his face. Your knees now straddled the sides of his head, your thighs practically where your hands were, covering his ears. You looked down at him with wide eyes, a flush creeping up your neck at the implications. Surely he doesn't want that, right?
Charles let out a satisfied noise, and with his hands now on your thighs he eased you on to him. You let him, but you kept a few inches between his mouth and your body. He genuinely seemed upset by that, and you felt him press a quick kiss to the inside of your thigh, causing a shiver to run through your body.
“Please, let me taste you,” he pressed another kiss to the inside of your legs, this one closer to your aching center. If he moved any closer, he was bound to feel your wetness through the fabric. “I want you to fall apart on my face.”
You exhaled shakily. “You want to?” You asked, almost in disbelief. This man was unreal.
He nodded, the action causing his chin to brush against your center. “Let me make you feel good, my love.” When he pulled you down again, you didn’t keep any distance between the two of you. You felt him press a kiss to your clothed center, a smug grin on his face when he felt your arousal. He didn’t say anything, just pulling you down closer to his face until your legs were fully wrapped around his head, no space between the two of you. 
You felt his tongue flick out, simply tasting you through the damp fabric. He did it again, and again, and his hands tightened on your thighs. He was indirect with his tongue, but each swipe had you letting out small moans. A mix of his saliva and your arousal was causing the fabric to become even more wet; they were most certainly going to be wrecked. 
The small kitten-licks were nice, but you needed more. Charles knew this too, and you felt him work his fingers under the material of your undergarments, pulling them down your ass and thighs. It took some awkward maneuvering, but eventually the garment was off, being tossed somewhere to the side by you, leaving you in only your undershirt.
He wasted no time, pulling you back down onto his face with a growl. Parting you with a pass of his tongue, he let out a pleased noise, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. Charles was insatiable now, lapping and drinking you like you were the best goddamn meal he’s ever had. His eyes were hooded, drunk on you. When his broad strokes turned into concentrated flicks on your clit, you moaned loudly, your thighs turning vice-like around his head. 
It spurred him on, working your clit with markman’s accuracy, bringing you closer and closer to your climax in record time. You heard him groan something under you, and you let out a breathy sigh when you realized he was groaning your name over and over again.  
This entire time, you had kept your hands to yourself, but you were growing more and more desperate to touch him. Reaching down, your hands tangled in his hair, and then almost immediately releasing it like it burned you. For a second, you panicked, thinking yet again you crossed a line, which seemed to be a repeating event this evening. You knew his hair was an important part of his culture, and you would never forgive yourself if you did something to upset him.
Without even slowing down a beat, you felt him grab your hand, leading your back towards his head. He closed his eyes when he felt you weave your fingers through the locks, his hips bucking when you tugged slightly. 
You were getting close now, and you felt yourself moving against his face in time with his tongue. “Charles,” you whined, and he hummed in response. “I’m- I’m gettin’ close, darlin’,”
As you neared your release, you heard the sound of skin-on-skin from behind you. Turning around, you saw Charles stroking himself, getting off to eating you out. “Oh my God… Charles…” you breathed out, barely able to tear your eyes away from the beautiful sight behind you.
His eyes were hazy with lust as he peered up at you from between your legs, and you could feel yourself begin to tip over the edge. Sighing out his name, you felt him grin. Before you could even process it, he sucked on your clit, pushing you over that edge as you came hard on his face. You were crying out his name, but your voice sounded distant to your ears, temporarily out of your body as you orgasmed. Charles kept his tongue moving as you came, drawing out every bit of pleasure from your body.
It took you a few moments to recover, and the first thing you were able to hear was the obscene noise leaving Charles’ mouth as he drank in your release. Secondly, you realized you had a death-grip on Charles’ hair, and you quickly let go, and you tried to apologize, but your words were jumbled. He continued to lap at you, but it quickly became too much, your body beginning to feel overstimulated. You rolled off of him, being mindful of the fireplace even in your post-orgasmic haze.
Glancing over at Charles, you found him already watching you, just like he would do in camp. With a soft smile, you scooted closer until you were pressed into his side. He gave you his arm to la on, and you felt him kiss the top of your head. It was silent between the two of you, simply taking the moment to catch your breaths and recover. 
You couldn’t help looking down, though, having to stifle a gasp when you saw how big he actually was, having only gotten a glimpse of him early. He was going to feel good, but you knew you would be sore for a few days after. Not that you cared. 
Looking back up at him, you let your fingers trail up his chest, resting right above his heart. It was beating erratically, just like yours, and you heard him let out a noise when your fingers “accidently” brushed over his nipple. You heard him whine out your name, and you slowly sat up. You were able to see him clearer now, and he looked like a mess. His face was covered in your slick, glistening in the firelight, and his hair was all tousled from your fingers. But the best part was the pure bliss on his features.
It was almost comical, the way his eyes snapped open when you pulled off your shirt, exposing your chest to him. “You’ve got somethin’ on your face,” you tried to joke, but your voice was quite hoarse. You tossed your shirt at him, giving him something to wipe his mouth with. He merely set it to the side, unbothered with the mess. Propping himself up with an arm, he offered you his free hand, pulling you forward when you took it in yours.
You nearly fell right on top of him, your muscles pure jelly. Laughing, you were just able to get upright before he was kissing you. It was weird, tasting yourself on him, but you found you didn’t mind. You didn’t keep your lips on his for too long, moving down his jaw, then down his neck. You weren’t straddling his hips, so the positioning was a tad bit uncomfortable, but you didn’t care. 
Moving down further, you trailed kissed across his collarbones, then down his sternum, his breathing growing uneven as you went lower and lower. A hand now rested on the back of your head as you continued downward, reaching a patch of hair that started at his belly button. It surprised you, the rest of his body being relatively hairless, but you weren't complaining. In fact, you were imagining seeing it peek out from under his shirt as he stretched, his clothing riding up with his arms. Even though it was relatively innocent in the light of everything else the two of you were doing, it had you pressing your thighs together, trying to relieve the returning ache between them.
Following the happy trail, you ran your fingers through the hair as you adjusted closer to his member. His was achingly hard at this point, and his breathing stilled when you ghost your lips over the tip. Leaning over him, you flicked your tongue out, licking up the bead of precum. The hand and your head tightened into a ball, and you could tell he was fighting every urge to buck himself down your throat. Next time, you thought. 
Moving down further so that you sat between his legs, you spit into your hand before you grasped him. He was velvety soft as you slowly began to stroke him, a mix of your name and a moan leaving his lips as you did so. With heavy eyes and part lips, he watched you pleasure him. “You feel so good in my hand,” you murmured, “butI think you’ll feel even better in me, no?”
His response was slightly incoherent, but you could tell he was agreeing with you. “In a second, darlin’. I wanna taste you, too.”
“You don’t need to do that.” Charles found his voice again, although it sounded very strained.
“But I want to. Don’t make me beg for it.” You weren’t really intended to suggest anything, but the look on Charles’ face at your comment had you grinning. “Unless you want me to?”
“I-” he was stunned, but you could tell he was imagining it, and liking it. 
“Please, darlin’, let me suck your cock,” you fluttered your lashes at him. “I bet you taste so good… just let me taste you, please. I need it so bad, darlin’. I need your cock-”
“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Charles cursed, which was more arousing than you thought it would be. “Yeah, go ahead, my love.”
Pressing one last kiss to the tip, you flattened your tongue and ran it up his length, and you heard him moan. You did it a few times, receiving a similar reaction each time. Eventually, you slowly took the tip of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around while doing so. Taking more and more of him into your mouth, you were only able to take him halfway before he was pressing against the back of your throat, and you relaxed as best you could, not wanting to trigger your gag reflex.
Taking the rest of him in your hand, you began to bob your head up and down. Hollowing your cheeks until you reached the tip of him, you then ran your tongue across the slit, before moving back down his length, keeping your tongue flat. You repeated this action for a while, falling into an easy rhythm. You felt him buck up a few times, but other than that he kept his hips relatively still, letting you have your way with him. His hand didn’t push you further down him, he just simply held you, moving back the hairs that tried to fall in your face. 
You heard him moan out your name, and you groaned. “You feel so good, my love,” he praised. His words turned into a surprised moan, whe, with your free hand, started moving slowly up his thigh, moving inward until you brushed against his balls. He nearly jumped with the contact, causing his cock to go further down your throat than you'd like, causing you to rear back coughing. 
Immediately, he was apologizing. His hand was now on your cheek, wiping away the spit around your mouth as you recovered. “Are you alright?” He asked, and you nodded, not trusting your voice at that second. You could tell that he still felt bad, and you pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. 
“I’m alright,” you managed to get out, and you cleared your throat some more. “Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”
“So did you, touching me like that” he teased, his earlier concerns dissipating when he saw that you truly were okay. “I wasn’t gonna last long even before you did that.” Pulling you up to him, he kissed you, and you finally straddled his waist, his cock resting between your bodies. 
You weren’t given much time to savor his lips before your world was quite literally turning as he flipped you on to your back. The furs nestled nicely against your skin, and you locked your legs around Charles’ waist, grinding yourself against his member. His head fell against your chest, and you felt him brush feather-light kisses across your skin, much like you did. But a new eagerness had overtaken you, and you grinded again against him, and you felt him chuckle. “Patience, my love.”
“I’ve waited long enough, Charles. I need you in me.”
“You think you’re ready for me?” If those words came out of any other man, you would’ve laughed at the arrogance those words held. But you knew it came out of a place of genuine concern for your wellbeing, scared of hurting you. He was large, and you knew that it was probably going to hurt when he entered you, but your lust fueled brain did not care. You need him in you now, consequences be damned.
“Please,” you whispered, and he adjusted so that his face was level with yours. 
“Alright, but if at any point-”
Kissing him quickly, you smiled at him, brushing back a long strand of hair that fell in his face. “I will. I trust you. Now,” you kissed him again, “fuck me.”
He didn’t respond, pressing a kiss against the tip of your nose before you felt him press into you. He kept his eyes on your face, gauging your reaction as he slowly entered you. The initial breach was always the worst part, and you couldn’t help the slight grimace that crossed your features as he breached your entrance. He halted, but you urged him further by pressing your heels into his back. 
The stretch was unlike anything else you’d ever felt, satiating a need you didn’t know you had. Tangling your hands in his hair, you pulled your face against yours, resting your foreheads together. “God, you feel so good,” you panted as he pressed himself deeper into you. You were certain that he was going to ruin you for any other man. 
Hearing him chuckle made you realize you said that last part aloud. “After this, you’re stuck with me, my love.”
Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, and you were curious to see how deep his possessive side went, you pushed further. “Am I now?” Yes. 
For a second, it seemed like Charles couldn’t tell that you were teasing, but when he saw the playful glint in your eye he played along. “Do you think anyone else could make you feel like this?”
He was nearly fully sheathed in you, and you fought the urge to just pull him the rest of the way into you “I dunno. If I remember right, I asked you to fuck me. It sure don’t feel like you’re doin’ that.”
Finally, he was fully in you, your hips flushed together. You both let out content moans, and Charles gave you a moment to adjust. “You want me to fuck you?” He confirmed, and the words sounded even filthier coming from his mouth. 
“If you don’t, I’ll find someone who will.” 
Letting out something akin to a growl, he pulled out of you quickly, leaving only the tip in before he was slamming back into you, hands gripping your hips tightly. He set a brutal pace, and your head rolled back, your moans and cries filling the air. With the way your head was, it caused your back to arch, meaning your breasts were right in his face. With zero hesitation, he took one into his mouth, sucking and toying with the nipple in his mouth. Releasing it, he switched to the other one, making sure to give both apt attention. 
Tugging at his hair, you brought his attention upwards. Smashing your lips against his, your kiss was open-mouth and messy, more tongue and teeth than anything. His hips were snapping against yours, incessant as he pounded into you. 
“Yes! Charles,” you wailed, tearing your lips away from his to do so. He kept his lips busy, nipping and kissing the skin at your jaw and neck. A particularly hard bite had you gasping, and you felt him smirk against your skin. Your senses were completely overwhelmed in the best way; all that you could register was him, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he looked. 
He leaned over you now, broad arms caging your head in. His dark hair fell in waves around him, blocking out any other visual in the room. All you could do was look at him, and he was a sight for sore eyes. Color had long since returned to his cheeks, the skin there darkening with exertion. His eyes were locked on to you, dancing around your face and chest like he couldn’t quite figure out what he wanted to look at. His plush lips were parted, soft gasps of air leaving him with each thrust.
Another snap of his hips had you grasping at his back and shoulders, pleasuring washing over you as another orgasm began to build up. Your nails dug into his skin, no doubt leaving marks, but it didn’t seem to deter him. In fact, he let out a low moan, and it had your cunt clenching around his cock. 
Babbling his name, your nails ran down his back, leaving in its wake angry red lines. “You feel so good… like you were made for me.”
“My love…” he sighed, and one of the hands at the side of your head cupped your face,  bringing you right to his lips. His length was reaching places in you that you didn’t know existed, filling you deep and hard, just like you wanted. You were going to become addicted to him. 
“I’m so close, Charles…” Releasing one of his shoulders, you snaked your hand between your bodies, moving to start touching yourself. You weren’t expecting him to quickly grasp your wrist, bringing it out of the way and replacing your hand with his much larger one. He began to rub at your clit, slow circular movements that juxtaposed the fast in-and-out of his cock. His ministrations had you seeing stars, and you felt yourself reaching completion again that night. 
“Charles, I-”
“I know. Let me feel you fall apart.” He pressed a quick kiss to your lips.
His slow movements turned rapid, groaning when he felt you clench around him. With a cry of his name, you came, pleasure rolling over you in waves. This one was stronger than the first, feeling like every nerve in your body had been set aflame. Your eyes rolled back, the world temporarily turning dark as your eyelids shut. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, a reverent look in his gaze. With the way your walls were fluttering around him, and the quickened pace of his hips, you knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer either.
His arms went back around your head, continuing to move as he chased his own release. You heard him gasp out, quickly pulling out of you, and you let out a discontent noise as he no longer filled you. He stroked himself a few times, hand moving fervently up and down his length. If you weren’t so fucked out of your mind, you would’ve had taken him in your hand yourself, wanting to feel him as well. Moaning your name, you watched as he came, his release spilling over your stomach. His hips canted forward a few times as he worked through the aftershocks of his orgasm.
You loosened your legs that were wrapped around his waist, and silence hung over the two of you as you both processed what just happened. A small laugh left you, breaking the trance, and you saw him smile back at you, mirroring his laughter with his own. You watched him grab the blanket that was still bundled up on the floor, and he tore off a section of it, the sound of fabric ripping startling you slightly. 
Wiping his release from your skin, he tossed the soiled cloth to some corner of the room. It’s not like this was your place, anyways. Opening your arms, you invited him to lay with you, and he gladly accepted. He was careful to keep his full weight off of you, but he still lay partially on top of you, his head resting on your chest. It was comforting, and you felt yourself begin to grow a bit sleepy. “Are you warm yet?” You teased, running your fingers soothingly through his hair, and you felt his chest rumble with laughter.
“I think so,” he responded, bringing the blanket around your bodies. The fire was starting to die down, but neither of you moved to add fuel to it. He murmured something, and you gave an inquisitive sound. “I love you,” he repeated, his brown eyes filled with emotion as he stared up at you.
“I love you, too.”
He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he quickly shut it. “What is it?” You asked, and he sighed, his warm breath tickling you.
“Does that mean you’ll stay?”
In all honesty, you had completely forgotten about your earlier conversation. The vulnerability in his voice had your eyes watering, and it didn’t take much thinking to reach your answer. Sure, you were scared for the future of the gang, and you were scared that with each passing day you’d find yourself closer and closer to finding your end at a rope or a barrel, but none of those fears mattered, not anymore. Not when you finally had all that you wanted in your arms. And who knows, maybe you’d end up leaving in time, but you knew you wouldn’t be leaving alone.
“Yeah, I’ll stay. Besides, you still owe me a date.”
His responding smile solidified that you had made the right decision. Whatever the future held, you knew it would be easier with Charles by your side.
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undeadgf · 19 hours
Text
Needy
Summary: movie night with your friends turns steamy when your boyfriend has an idea.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female!Reader
Warnings: cockwarming, semi public acts of sex, unprotected p in v sex, car sex, biting, scratching, breeding kink.
AN - Happy Belated birthday @jamdoughnutmagician ❤️ I hope you enjoy my small gift to you and sorry it's so late 🫶
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It's movie night with your friends and your boyfriend. Your boyfriend gestures for you to come cuddle up on the seat with a blanket, adjusting you to sit in his lap.
This isn't uncommon with Steve. He's always been very touchy with you, and you settle in against him to watch the horror movie Eddie most likely picked.
You feel his rough palms on your thighs, pulling them apart so you're straddling him as they travel up your skirt to push your panties aside.
You make no movement or sign that anything is happening, knowing if you do, he'll stop. You can't stop stop the flush rising to your cheeks but hope the darkness of the room should make it unnoticeable.
You feel like you stop breathing as you feel his cock smack against your thigh as he releases it from his jeans, biting your lip to keep in the moan you want to let out.
Your eyes wander the room, checking nobody has noticed what's happening, and are happy to see them all focused on the film. You lean back to make the angle better for Steve, and he slides right in, like he belongs inside you.
"Now you behave baby and I'll fuck you so good in the back seat of my car. Might even let you cum." His breathe feels hot against your ear as he whispers to you.
You nod back, holding your tongue wanting to tell him you want to be his good girl.
"Good girl." He bites on your earlobe and then goes back to watching the movie as if nothing is happening.
You spend hours feeling so full of him with the burning need to have your womb filled so good in the way he only knows how.
His palms on your thighs feel like they're burning you in the best way possible as he kneads at your skin every so often, whispering to you about how good you are and how he can't wait to breed your cunt later.
You can barely pay attention to films playing and answer your friends' questions as if in a daze, hoping they don't notice your odd behaviour.
The night ends and Steve pulls you to his car, parked down the road and shoves you into the backseat. He's quick to get back inside you groaning at how good you feel around him.
"'S so good, Angel." He buries his face into your neck, fucking into you roughly and with a need that he only ever seems to display towards you.
You wrap your legs around him, adjusting your hips to pull him impossibly closer as he fucks up into your guts.
You meet each of his thrusts perfectly as you both chase your orgasm, wanting to come so badly after hours of teasing.
"I'm gonna come. Come for me." Steve moans against your skin as he speeds up.
You both fall over the edge together, your fingernails digging into his back through his shirt.
"Gonna fill you up, breed you so good honey." Steve bites into your neck as he rides you both through your orgasm. His thrusts pushing him cum deeper inside you.
"Please, please, please." You babble out, entering a blissful state, happy and knowing he'll take good care of his girl.
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