#this will flop so hard but my baby girl is worth it

[georgiapeach30513]

Inside Her Fantasy, Part 1

Summary: Ransom was a sweet playboy, and you are America's sweetheart. Two opposite people that met in an unlikely way. Things move fast when you're in the spotlight, and you fell more everyday. He was happy he had someone who he could trust with his vulnerable side. You were happy to have someone who could stand tall and not be irritated by your own fame. Fast love and living in a fish bowl isn't always easy. But can you and Ransom beat the odds?

Pairings: Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating: fluff

Warnings:  none, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.5K

Series Masterlist

*Dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Early morning muffled giggles, and the pitter patter of feet make Ransom stir in his sleep. His face burrows deeper into the pastel pink ruffles. Feet hanging off the edge of the bed, but his eyes remain close.

“Daddy,” a giggly voice echoes in the hallway as she covers her mouth with her hand. “Uncle Ranny is in my bed again.”

“Is he,” the big beefy man picks up his littlest daughter, throwing her in the air. “Why are you sitting in the hallway?”

“Because,” she points a finger to her bedroom before covering her mouth with her hand. “I think he has twinkle toes!”

“Not the twinkle toes! Why weren’t you in your bed last night?”

“Uhh,” she draws out, shrugging her shoulders. Usually she didn’t sleep in her room on nights before her parents had to go to the hospital. “I — daddy, I slept in Maevey’s room. And then I wake up to go play, and Uncle Ranny is drooling on my satin!”

“Oh, dear. Let’s wake Mr. Twinkle Toes up, okay?” She responds with an okay, nodding her head while he walks into the room. Ransom let’s out a loud snore, hugging onto one of the little girl’s Squishmallows, and she giggles again.

“Ransom,” her father says, but Ransom snores lower. “Ransom!” He kicks the bed, and Ransom shoots up immediately, groaning before flopping back down on the bed. “You’re drooling on the princess’ pillow.”

“Yeah! That’s my pillow. Why do you always sleep in my bed when you have twinkle toes.”

“I don’t have twinkle toes,” Ransom harrumphs, flipping over to his side. He hugs tighter to her stuffed animal, giving her a peek. “Why are you up so early?”

“You do have twinkle toes! You always drool with twinkle toes!”

“Charlie, baby, I,” he stops talking looking at his best friend and teammate before nodding his head, “Yes, princess, I had twinkle toes, and pranced right in here. I’m sorry, but I’ll buy you a new squishy thing,” Bucky clears his throat, and shakes his head. “I’ll buy you something.”

“Ahh! Daddy, I need to see Maevey. Put me down,” she wiggles out of her daddy’s arms before darting towards her sister’s room.

Bucky gives a long look to Ransom before leaning up against his daughter’s dresser. “Yeah, I had twinkle toes, which by the way, why does your wife call it that?”

“Next time we’ll tell the kids you got shit faced, and stumbled into our house because you used my kids as an excuse to call a cab for some girl of the night,” rolling his eyes, Ransom turns his back to Bucky. “You deserve more than one night stands. Ones you can look at without your beer goggles.”

“Not all of us are cut out to marry our highschool sweethearts.”

“You think it was easy for us?” Bucky sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “She had Maeve when she was sixteen. Pregnant when she was fifteen, and yeah, we struggled and made it work. But you…”

“Grew up in a life of privilege. I didn’t buy my way into the NFL. I worked hard to get there,” Bucky sighs, watching his friend. It had become a frequent pattern with Ransom coming to his house to hide from his problems. The extra help with the kids was nice, but Ransom wasn’t living his life.

“Didn’t say you did. I’m saying those kids love you, and you adore them. You’re worth more than being a fake uncle,” yawning Ransom turns to look at Bucky with an unreadable face. There is zero emotions on his face as he looks at his friend. “There’s going to be some woman who the kids love, and she’s going to send you on a whirlwind. You two are going to fall so hard for each other.”

“Why are you in here, Buck?” He responds pitifully. Ransom was never much into love. It was a made up word that very few could ever hold in their hands. They made excuses and claimed they loved or were in love, but people always disappoint you.

“You’re in my house, and in my daughter’s bed. But Nixon has an appointment. We’re staying overnight, and the girls would rather…”

“You don't have to ask. I don’t want them with anyone else anyways. They’re the only women in my life that don’t make my life a living hell,” Charlie’s bedroom door squeaks open, and the little girl runs onto Ransom’s lap, while the oldest bashfully walks in. She looks at her dad before back at Ransom.

The tall man looks towards the teenager, narrowing his eyes, and pursing his lips. He’s seen this look more than once in his life. “What do you want, Maeve?”

“So, you know my favorite artist right?” Her voice is nearly a whisper. Almost embarrassed to ask Ransom this.

“Picasso?”

“No, recording artist,” she giggles, shaking her head. She whispers out your name, and looks back at her father quickly. “Umm, she’s playing Gillette tonight. Mom already said we could go, but…”

“Who is that?” Ransom asks, confused. “She…what do you mean she’s playing Gillette?”

“Well, she is the number one artist in the world right now. She’s doing this stadium tour, and she’s going to be here for a few days. I think the itinerary I got online is correct. I know you can’t always believe everything you see on the internet, but I really want to go. Charlie likes her, too,” her little sister nods her head, and whispers into Ransom’s ear about how pretty you are. “It would mean everything to me.”

“Maevey, if she’s as big as you say she is, I might not be able to get us in,” there was only one way he could get the girls in, and he really didn’t want to go down that road again.

“You’re literally the starting tight end of the Patriots,” Maeve wasn’t going to give up without a bit of a fight.

“Your dad is the quarterback.”

“And didn’t you date some…”

“Ahh! I didn’t date her! No, absolutely not,” Ransom decides quickly he isn’t going to ask his ex about tickets to one of the biggest concerts of the year. But then the littlest girl looks up at him, sweetly asking pretty please with a cherry on top, and he can’t say no.

You bite at your lip, getting a little slap on your wrist by your makeup artist. She hates when you ruin her work. Your lipstick was already on, and now she has to go back and fix it. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you hardly recognize that girl anymore. She’d been through hell recently. Bad breakups are never easy. Worse when the world can watch.

Sighing, you look towards the door. There is always something that bothers you about this talk show. She was invasive, and played up what the tabloids said. You couldn’t keep a man. You just date around to write songs. You were seeing just how many notches you could get. It was insulting.

You are sure you’re not the only woman in the world to date or date around. What you did just was viewed by the world. Growing up in front of the camera may not be ideal, but you didn’t know anything else. This life was all you knew. It gave you the world, while also taking away so much. You loved it, and feared it. You welcomed it, and also wished you could turn it off sometimes. There was never a break.

Someone knocks on the door, and whispers out your name, letting you know it was time to go on to the set of Leslie Locke. Your team always wanted you to put in a good face for this show. It was fun, and the fans enjoyed it, but too bad the press enjoyed your humiliation more.

You squint from the lights as you walk onto set, greeted halfway by Leslie when you take a seat in a chair opposite her. Her blue eyes give you a strange look, and you look out to the audience awkwardly. She was up to something. You just knew it, but what is the question?

“So you had a pretty rough start to the year,” you smile at her, and give her a nod. She was already starting in on you and your relationship. “But the good thing is I’m sure you got some good songs out of it, right?”

“I’d say most writers use their life experiences to tell a story. How is it any different than a writer of a book?” Leslie isn’t used to you snapping back. With age comes a need to protect your peace. Her mouth goes tight as she looks at the camera and then back at you.

“But aren’t authors embellishing the story?” With the breakup came a new realization that you had the power and voice. You didn’t need someone to protect you. You could do it yourself. “We all embellish. Even when I talk to my girlfriends, I’m embellishing the story.”

“So you admit that you use your songs to make yourself look better in the breakup?” She always twisted your words. It was her schtick. You smile, shaking your head no, but have no intentions of elaborating. It wasn’t worth the argument.

“Well, I want to play a game with you,” oh good grief. She loved these stupid games. “Since you’re back on the market, I thought it would be fun to show you some single men,” you turn to look towards one of the cameras with a deadpan look. “No, this will be fun. They’re hot men, just not your usual type.”

“Okay, fine,” you sigh, knowing that it would be easier just to agree.

“Good, good,” she holds up the first picture, and you roll your eyes, shaking your head rapidly. “What’s wrong with Dayton White?”

“I don’t date race car drivers.”

“You mean you haven’t, but you could?” This is a hard no. You wouldn’t date him. “Okay, what about this guy? Big, tall, buff, and he’s a boxer,” you wait a moment for her to give you a name. “This is August Walker.”

“I don’t like the mustache. I like mean without too much going on with their face. Clean cut, ya know?”

“Well, that leaves out these two. Okay, so he’s a football player,” you scrunch up your nose, already looking disgusted. Why would you date a football player? “He’s 6’5”, tight end for the New England Patriots,” not interested. “Blue eyes, all of 265 pounds of man, and a bit of a wild card,” your ears perk up because of course they do. You love those men that have that slight toxicity. They are your weakness. And you hate it.

“Completely baby faced, and he does love going out,” please be ugly. Please be ugly. “You have no idea who Ransom Drysdale is, huh?”

“Ransom?” She flips the card over showing you what he looks like, and you’re a goner. “Oh,” you stutter, trying to look away from his face. “Oh, he’s kinda cute,” the fact that he was holding a small little girl, while hugging another. It made him even more attractive, if his angelic face wasn’t enough.

“Kinda? That is one hell of a man,” yeah, he was. You can’t even imagine how big he would be next to you.

“He’s got kids?” They were adorable little girls. You didn’t think you wanted to date someone with kids, but he could be worth it. You had never dated someone with kids. No, it didn’t matter anyways. You weren’t going to date this man. You were going to look him up. Maybe check out a few pictures of him.

“No, these are his teammate Bucky Barnes’ daughters. He’s very close with the quarterback on the team,” sure he was. He didn’t have kids, that was better. You loved kids, but weren't ready for that. But him being good with kids is a good quality. “You have no idea what the QB does, huh?”

“He throws the ball? Catches it? Tackles?”

“Football isn’t your thing, I see,” she didn’t even answer the question. Fine, you made a public declaration of finding him attractive. Great. You can already see the tabloids writing some stupid nonsense. He is cute though. And somehow loving kids that aren’t his is making him more attractive. It shows he could be a father, but was smart enough to prevent it. Ugh, you can’t be thinking about things like this. You just know his name. But a name is a start. No! Not this one. You will not fall into this trap again.

Maeve plops down on the couch, sighing as she looks out the window. Ransom was running late, and that only meant one thing. She wasn’t going to the concert tonight.

“Maevey!” Charlie says, bouncing on her older sister’s lap. “Don’t be sad. Uncle Ranny is watching us tonight, and she’ll be at Gillette tomorrow night, too. Can we make bracelets again?” Maeve wants to say no, until she sees her sister’s dark green eyes pleading up at her. “Pretty please?”

“Fine, go get the stuff. I’m sure Ran will just have pizza delivered. And…we’ll watch her interview on Leslie Locke’s today,” it wasn’t the same as actually seeing you in concert, but it would be fine. Maybe you’d talk about some upcoming music. Maybe you’d talk about a new project.

Charlie runs into her room to grab up her beads and elastic. Anything to play and spend time with her big sister. Bringing it back with the biggest smile on her face.

By the time Ransom walks into the house, he gives Maeve a regretful smile, shaking his head, “Maeve, I did try. Me and Candy didn’t end well, so I didn’t think she would help me out. And hey, your dad is the QB, shouldn’t he be able to help?”

“They’re sold out,” her voice is flat as she returns to stringing on a bead. “She’ll be on Leslie’s soon.”

“Leslie Locke’s?” Ransom groans, sitting on the floor with the girls. “All that woman wants to do is hook people up with another celebrity. She’s obnoxious, but she asks questions that nobody wants to ask. You guys really watch that trash?” Maeve shrugs her shoulders, adding another bead to her current bracelet. “What is this?”

“I love friendship bracelets! Here, Uncle Ranny, you start one. You gonna get twinkle toes this weekend?” Snorting, he shakes his head no. Giving a groan when the Leslie Locke theme song plays in the background. It is like he was getting irritated by just the thought of having to hear her voice. “I like when you get twinkle toes. It means we’re going to wake up with you here.”

“I’m here now to watch you because,” he pauses, looking up at Charlie whose eyes darken a moment. “Nixon will be okay. They think there’s a new…”

“Ran, don’t,” Maeve pulls Charlie over into her lap, giving her tiny sister a kiss on the head. “He’s going to be okay, sissy.”

“Of course he is, princess. Nixie boy is going to be so strong, and going to be the best linebacker that the east coast has ever seen,” reaching out his hand, he gives the little girl a tap to her nose, “I promise, Nixon will be okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Hey, look! Maevey! There she is. Oh, she’s so pretty, huh, Uncle Ranny?” Both girls turn to look towards Ransom, and he is only staring at you as you wave to the camera. Giving the audience the prettiest smile. He’s notices the fake smile you give Leslie. He’s done it a few times.

“What do you think?” Maeve leans towards him, bumping his shoulder. “You have just as much chance as those normal people. But she has this tendency to,” Maeve’s words turn into mush as Ransom watches you. He hadn’t ever seen anyone more beautiful. He isn’t sure why he hadn’t ever thought to look you up. Especially when there was the rumor you would be singing at the Super Bowl.

Your fake little giggle as you look at Leslie is even adorable. He isn’t paying attention to whatever little game Leslie is playing with you until Charlie sees it.

“That’s me!” Charlie shouts, jumping out of her sister’s lap. “That’s me! Maevey, she’s looking at us.”

“Oh, my god,” Maeve chokes out, hearing you mention how Ransom was cute. “Oh my god! She’s seen my face. She…she’s — Ransom, do you understand what this means?” Ransom can’t think of anything other than the fact that you are staring at a picture of him.

“I have an idea. Ran, I have — Ransom Drysdale! She’s going to be at the children’s hospital before her concert. Ransom! Ransom, pay attention to me.”

You thought he was cute. You smiled a genuine smile looking at him. His phone hadn’t rang. Leslie wasn’t trying to put her meddling nose where it didn’t belong. He could call his people, and get them to call your people. This could work. One date. One night.

“Ransom!”

“What?” He asks, finally looking at Maeve.

“I have an idea, and you won’t have to get anyone’s teams involved. It would just be you and her. It’s perfect, and she loves simple things. She loves little sneaks. And I think she kinda liked the idea that you don’t have kids, but you’re around them. Ran, I know what we need to do.”

Performing was the easy part of your career. Having moments to tell your stories with a guitar in your hand. Nothing else matters. Just you and the movement of the lyrics. Looking up to see the children’s faces makes you smile.

You wanted a family. One day you would have some of your own. Even though you’re sealed up in a studio alone, this is one of your favorite crowds to perform for. Big beaming smiles as they hang on to every word that you say. They always called you powerful, but they were the powerful ones. Always able to have a smile on their face.

Smiling despite whatever was going on in their lives. Enjoying life regardless of what their diagnoses were. Simple. Peaceful. Looking back down at your guitar, you close your eyes for a moment, and just feel the music. Everyone always had something going on in their life. Money couldn’t buy you everything. Definitely couldn’t make bad stuff from happening to you.

Opening them back up, you look out into the small audience and choke. Having to look away from the handsome man that was standing in front of you. You had only just seen him in a photo recently, and there he was. It was like the clouds had opened up, and the sun shone right on him. His blue shirt setting off his eyes even more. And those jeans made his legs look days long. He is staying casual, even a brand new pair of Nikes on. He wasn’t even remotely your type, and still you feel drawn to him.

“Uncle Ranny she saw you,” Ransom shakes his head no. He imagined the crack in your voice when you looked up at him. He has to hold Charlie up, so she could actually see over the crowd in front, and Maeve leans over on his shoulder. “Yeah huh. She did. Or it was me.”

“It was definitely you,” Ransom responds without looking away from you. You looked delicate in that room all by yourself. Strumming on a guitar and peaceful. He didn’t have the best reputation in the NFL. The reputation of a perpetual playboy. Love them and leave them, so if you wanted to even talk to him, you would have to accept that. And from what research he did on you, any male in your vicinity was automatically your Prince Charming.

Two people from very different careers, and rumors that ruled your careers just as much as your talent. The rumors aren't always true. Some nights Ransom doesn’t even go home with those women. He crawls into a tiny little twin sized princess bed with pink ruffles. The tabloids could write what they wanted to. But this — this is an intimate setting, and he’s never seen anyone more beautiful than you.

You might not realize it, but you look at each child that is watching you perform. Giving them a moment of joy. There are no cameras, and nobody to see what you’re doing but these kids and family. And then he realizes he must look like the biggest asshole because he was here.

“We should go,” he whispers, and he swears he sees you shake your head no. Could you read lips, and were you asking him not to go?

“No, we can’t,” Maeve whispers, her eyes staying on you the entire time. “You have to give her what you made.”

“Maeve, this is silly,” she gives her quasi uncle a quick pinch on his forearm. Something she’s done most of her life. Her silent way of letting him know that she wasn’t going to change her mind, she needs to see this through. “I can just get…”

“She doesn’t like setups like that. She wants things to be organic.”

“I showed up at the children’s hospital to see her,” and saying it out loud sounds even more absurd than it felt. He was crossing a line by coming here.

“You are just bringing us to our parents, so we can check on our little brother because he’s going to have another surgery. This is as random as you can get,” Maeve’s words stop in her mouth as you smile at the three of them. Your eyes looking back to the kids in the front. You aren’t sure why they are there, but you aren’t entirely upset about it either.

He looks more handsome in person. And the way those girls are so comfortable with him. A quick Google search told you how close he was with his QB. How he spent a ton of free time with him, and his kids. You hope that they linger. You always want to give time to everyone before they are shuffled back into their room. Hoping a smile towards them, and holding up a finger, asking them to give you a minute will be enough.

You know it isn’t going to be long before you are going to be ushered away in preparation for the show. Taking a deep breath, you go to hug each and every one of them. Watching your PA from the side who is constantly checking on the time. Hopefully Ransom and his nieces understood it wasn’t being rude. She was always conscious of your time.

As soon as the last person is pulled away from your side, you stand up straight to look at Ransom with whatever smile your social battery will allow. Your PA says your name, and motions you with her head it was time to leave, “Give me ten more minutes?” She looks at Ransom and the girls, and holds up her whole hand. Five minutes was better than nothing.

“So,” you huff out walking towards them. Having to gulp when you realize just how massive Ransom is. No wonder the little girl looked tiny in his arms. “Uh,” you giggle, not knowing exactly what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“My brother is here,” the oldest girl blurts out, and pulls at Ransom’s arm. “He has something for you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes. You do. He’s on the Pats. He tried to get tickets to your show last night, but they were sold out. I’ve always wanted to see you. I’m your biggest fan. My little sister, Charlotte, loves you, too. She’s just four, so she doesn’t understand all the lyrics. But I do. I love how you kinda tease your fans, and give us little Easter eggs in anticipation for your next album, or sneak things into your videos. It’s so cool,” panicking she looks up at Ransom. Realizing she had word vomited all of that to you. This wasn’t how she imagined meeting you would go.

“Maevey, breathe,” the little girl giggles, before hiding her face on Ransom.

“She talks a lot when she’s nervous,” Maeve gives him a pinch to his arm, and if you weren’t standing right in front of him, laughing a tiny bit, he wouldn’t do what he was about to do. “I did try.”

“Well, what if I told you that I have a few extra tickets to the show. I always ask for a box at these stadium shows to stay empty for me just in case. It’s still empty,” both the girls squeal, and Maeve tugs on Ransom’s arm a bit. “I should probably go, honestly. But…I’ll have my people call yours?”

“Uhh…where is,” You point over to a few hidden areas in the hospital. You had people everywhere. He’s sure most are for security. But still one could figure out what it was Ransom needed to do to get to the stadium. Maeve gives him another pinch to his arm, and he grunts as you start to turn around.

“Uh, me and the girls, we uh — we made you something.”

“That’s adorable,” you preen, looking between both of the girls. Ransom reaches his giant hand into his pocket, and pulls out a crude bracelet.

“We made friendship bracelets last night instead of watching your concert. I just brought them here to see their parents and baby brother.”

“This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” you’ve had sweet things given to you. But there is something about envisioning this man on the floor with two girls, and making a bracelets with those thick fingers. “Thank you. Honestly, I want to see you guys in the box tonight. Jared will get you all the info that you need.”

“Yes. Yes, you will. Ransom has nothing to do. Nothing at all,” you liked the teenager with him. Even when nervous, she still said what she thought.

Ransom sighs as you walk away. Thankful you hadn’t looked at what the bracelet said while you were in front of him. He could breathe again, but you couldn’t. Walking with your PA, your fingers play with the bracelet until you are helped into your car.

“June, he’s so hot. Like hot hot obviously. He’s so big and wide, and the way he delicately held Charlotte? Oh my god. That was the sweetest thing, and I need them at the show tonight.”

“Don’t let him be a distraction.”

“I won’t,” you roll your eyes, finally giving the bracelet a look. He was smooth. You stuff it back in your pocket. Smiling from ear to ear, and knowing that when you go alone, you were going to pick up your phone, and make sure that he had your number, too.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @fenixstar @astrorogers @musingsfromthemitten @patzammit @stillthatbetch

#inside her fantasy #ransom drysdale #football player!ransom drysdale #football au #football alternate universe #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x fem!reader #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale fics #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfic #chris evans #chris evans character

[silentglassbreak]

Fragmented

Noah Sebastian x OFC

The next chapter of Noah & Leena's story

I was so on the fence about writing a sequel, yet here we are. I saw the sequel in my head, and decided it was worth the write. This story is told from Noah's perspective. This time, I'm going to put warnings in on each individual chapter, as some may not need any. Also - something worth mentioning; the names of each part in the first story were obviously Bad Omens song titles. This time, they will be titles from songs that just inspire me. If you're here, thank you for reading! Leave me your thoughts, and let me know if you'd like to be tagged. xo

Warnings: Just some gool ol' fashioned smut with some kinky stuff added in. (Also mention of marijuana smoking)

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12 @poisongirl616 @missduffsblog @reidsblessing

Part 1 - Shame On Me

I've been a morning person my entire life. Even before I was active, and in the shape I'm in now, I was usually risen with the sun. However, after having spent the vast majority of my days the last year running on fumes, I found myself still laying in bed, hugging my pillow, letting my brain drift comfortably in and out of consciousness.

That is, until I felt something tugging at the edge of the blanket I had draped over my midsection.

I rolled over, eyes cracking open, seeing the miniature fingers grasping at me, Addison's eyes bright with a smile plastered across her face.

"Da da da da!" I smiled back at her, sitting up and lifting her onto the bed, flopping her down on the pillow next to me. She giggled wildly and I pulled the blanket up over the both of us.

"Five more minutes, baby girl."

Her tiny hand was pulling at the hem of my tank top, trying to 'wake me up' as I laid there, dramatically snoring.

"Da da!" Her voice was getting angrier, and I laughed.

"Da da's tired, Addie! I get to sleep in!"

"Nooo!" I snorted at one of the few words she had come to learn very well.

"No?!" I grabbed her sides, pinching and tickling her, causing a roaring laughter to burst out of her. Her onesie was wrinkled and nearly popping open at her diaper from how hard she wriggled under my grip. "You don't get to say no to me, lady! I am your Daddy!"

She thrashed her head back and forth, gasping for air between happy squeals.

"Addie, would you let your Daddy sleep?" Mileena's voice floated in from the doorway.

I turned my head, and my hand stopped the torment on Addison. Leena was stood in a pair of black leggings, white crop top exposing her belly button, and her dark brown faded hair now pulled up in a messy bun. She looked so comfortable, so unkempt, and absolutely fucking delicious.

I reached an arm out toward her, earning me a small grin when she walked toward me. She placed a hand in mine, and I pulled her close to me. She bent down, her face stopping only inches from mine.

"Happy Birthday, Noah." Her voice was even, but her eyes were hungry.

With everything we had been through the last few weeks, with shows, Addie's first birthday, a bout of the flu, and Laura announcing she was getting a divorce, there had been very little time for us to be alone. I knew she felt it, but we weren't there yet. We needed to get through today, the Halloween party/birthday celebration, before we had any chance of spending time together.

"Thank you, my love. Happy Halloween."

Leena's eyes lit up. Halloween was her favorite holiday even before her and I met, so getting to have a huge celebration was right up her alley.

After Addison was born, it became abundantly clear that living with a newborn and all of the band members was no longer ideal. Addie was as colicky as they come, keeping everyone up at all hours of the night. The constant crying, mess, and general irritation that it caused made our living arrangements difficult. As much as Uncles Nick, Jolly, and Folio loved baby Addie, they needed a change.

I had offered to move us out, buy a new house, but Nick insisted that they would get a place - promised to be close by - to allow us our space. I was eternally grateful, and will never be able to pay him back for everything he had done for me. Eventually, they moved out, and the house was left for just us.

Aside from the struggle that being new parents took on Leena and I's sex life, it also took a serious toll on our recovery. Nothing sounds better to take the edge off from three-day long sleepless binges than a rum and Coke. Leena confessed her drink of choice was Vodka, and she nearly broke down once, driving to the liquor store, but never making it inside.

We both went back to our meetings once Addie was old enough to be babysat, spending a few hours at a time with either Laura or the guys.

After spending a few more minutes smothering Addie in kisses, I finally began getting out of bed. Leena was folding laundry on the dresser, putting it away meticulously.

"What time is it?"

"Almost noon. Laura will be here in a few hours to pick up Addie for the night." She folded one of my pairs of pants, placing it neatly in the dresser drawer.

I turned my attention back to my daughter, wiggling my eyebrows at her. "Nah, I think she's going to stay here with me. Hang out with Daddy on his birthday!"

Addison squealed, her legs kicking at me. I grabbed her hand and began pretending I was going to eat her fingers.

"As fun as that would be, I don't know that her being here when the sheer amount of musicians in our house come by is such a great idea."

I didn't look at her, still pretending to take bites out of the baby's arm. "What do you mean? Andy loves kids! Oli does too, said Addie was the next Stevie Knicks!"

Mileena shook her head and snorted. "Yeah? Are you referring to the last party, when she was kept awake most of the night, and we had a miserable day afterwards because she was so tired?"

I narrowed my eyes back at her. "Listen, Folio promised he wouldn't play drums this time."

She gave me a look that told me I wasn't winning this.

"You sure she isn't old enough to trick or treat, yet?"

She shook her head at me. "Honey, that's what the trunk or treat last night was for."

I pursed my lips. "Fine, but tomorrow, I'm taking you guys somewhere. Just the three of us, yeah?"

I was standing now, shirtless, and pulled Addie down onto the carpet. She immediately crawled toward Angel laying on the floor.

"That sounds fun." Mileena was bent down, putting one of her shirts in the drawer in the bottom of the dresser.

I walked up behind her, my hand grazing the back of her thigh, coming to rest on the curve of her ass. My touch startled her, making her stand up straight in a flash, her back bumping into my chest.

I took the opportunity to wrap an arm around her middle, pulling her back into me. "Mmm," I hummed into the skin just below her ear. "think Addie's going to nap today?"

Leena pressed her ass against me, pushing into the fabric of my shorts. She leaned her had back against my collarbone, eyes closing comfortably.

"Probably not." Her voice was breathless. "She slept in."

“That’s too fucking bad.” I kept my voice low, glancing at Addie, who was leaned against Angel’s sleeping body, holding her feet in wonder. “Because it’s been so long.” I let my hand graze over the hem of her leggings, slipping a thumb in the waistband.

She groaned. “Noah, don’t start something you can’t finish.” As annoyed as she sounded, she was still pressed against me, hands now gripping my arm where it held her in place.

“Oh, baby, I’m finishing it. The second I get you alone, I’m ripping you to fucking shreds.”

She giggled then, pulling away and turning to peer up at me, her eyes as dark as mine.

“Yeah? You always say that. Yet, somehow, I can still walk afterwards?” Her smirk was devious, and I raised an eyebrow at her.

She chuckled, and picked the laundry basket up from the bed, making her way back toward the hallway.

Oh, she was dead.

-

The living room was buzzing with energy, music playing over the speakers, and conversations filling the air. I stood, leaned against the bannister of the staircase, hands in my pockets. The smell of marijuana permeated the air, which was to be expected.

Hearing we were having ‘dry parties’ didn’t sound like much fun, until people learned we made other accommodations. Although Leena and I didn’t partake, we weren’t opposed to others having a good time.

Speaking of my girl, I had lost her at some point in the night. When Ronnie and Saraya showed up, she had excitedly grabbed the latter’s hand and drug her off to the backyard, where her garden was flourishing. The girls were undoubtedly gossiping. They usually did.

I made my way through the sea of bodies toward my kitchen, where I found Jolly and Nick, ripping a joint, laughing about something I hadn’t heard.

I had to raise my voice for them to hear me. “You seen Leena?”

Jolly exhaled his smoke, a rough cough coming out as he passed it back to Nick. “Last I saw, she was outside talking to Oli.”

I nodded, heading for the back door. I stopped at the dining room table, catching sight of her. Her floor length black, unforgivably tight dress hung so beautifully off of her frame. The sleeves reached her wrists, the neckline plunging disrespectfully. Her, now freshly dyed, black hair was pulled up into a ponytail, the length falling down her back. I drank in the sight of her.

My gaze was disrupted when I saw her hand reach up, grabbing an arm. It was a thick, muscular arm covered in tattoos. I then realized that she was, in fact, talking to Oli. Her lips were pulled in a smile, her teeth flashing. She was laughing. And she was touching him.

He was towering over her. Oliver was nearly as tall as me, his frame poised so you could see the ripples of his chest under his shirt. Something inside me tightened. I didn’t like it.

Stepping outside, I consciously kept myself calm as I approached them. Oli saw me first.

“Hey, there he is! Birthday boy!” His thick accent made me smile, my primitive rage fading slightly.

“Hey, what’s going on guys?”

Leena turned, her body pressing close to me instinctively. “Hey! Oli and I were just talking about that tour you were on with him in Europe?”

I nodded. “Fun stuff, man. Cant wait to do it again.”

Oliver nodded, a lazy smile spread across his face. “Oh yeah, we had that crowd eating out of our hands, man. What a fucking rush.”

Leena giggled at Oli’s excitement, it made my spine stiffen, and my blood run cold.

She shouldn’t be laughing like that, not because of Oliver. That giggle was so high-pitched and squirrely. I didn’t care for that at all. It felt flirtatious.

I knew before Leena and I even got together that Bring Me The Horizon was one of her favorites, of course Oli being, by extension, one of her favorites. However, she was also a huge Falling in Reverse fan, but she sure didn’t giggle like that around Ronnie.

Ronnie was also not Oli Sykes; a big British brute with a natural sense of seduction, whether he was trying to or not. Regardless, I still did not like that laugh, not when it wasn’t pointed at me.

“Hey, could I borrow her for just a few?”

Oliver nodded, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Well, of course, man! Listen, I’ve got to get out of here anyways, got to head back to the motherland in the morning. Early flight and all that.”

He reached an arm around me first, pulling me into a tough, tight hug. “So good to see you, mate. Come see me on the other side of the pond some time, right?”

I slapped his back while embracing him. “Of course, man. I appreciate you being here.”

Oli excused himself inside the house, leaving Leena and I stood on the patio, alone.

She smiled brightly at me, but I still had this unnerving itch. She must have noticed my stiff demeanor, because her face fell some and she raised an eyebrow.

“You alright, babe?”

I exhaled. “Yeah, why?”

She took a step back, putting a hand on her hip. “Well, you asked Oliver if you could borrow me? And you look irritated?” Her eyes were soft, which contradicted the sass in her stance.

“Mm.” I sucked my teeth and glanced back toward the house. “How is Oliver?”

Anything soft fell right off her face, her eyebrows scrunching together. She saw right through me.

“He’s great.”

I inhaled deeply.

“What did you need to borrow me for, Noah?”

I looked back at her then, realizing I didn’t have a reason to pull her out of her conversation aside from disliking the way she was touching another man. Running it back in my head, it felt stupid.

“Oh, uh,” I ran a hand over my mouth, thinking. “just wanted to see if you heard from Laura? How Addie’s doing?”

She wasn’t buying it. “Addie’s fine, like she always is with Laura. Last update I got was an hour ago, when I came and found you.”

This wasn’t going well.

“Well, good.” I pulled at the skin of my bottom lip with my teeth.

“Noah?” I looked back at her. “What’s going on?”

Shaking my head, I tried to look clueless. “Nothing, why?”

She crossed her arms. “Cause you’re acting weird.”

Something about her tone, her body language, I couldn’t put my finger on why, but it irritated me. She was feeling up on someone else, and I’m getting questioned?

I mimicked her and folded my own arms over my chest. “I’m not the one acting weird.”

Eyes narrowed at her, I held my face even.

“And how is that?” She didn’t falter. Leena was one of the only women I knew who could give my poker face a run for its money.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you not just getting all grabby with Oli?”

Her eyes widened then in disbelief. I knew, because when I heard it come out of my own mouth, I realized that was a pretty big stretch. She grabbed his arm, not his cock.

But still, we were already here, and I wasn’t in a place to back down. Not right now, feeling this attracted to her when she was pissed off.

“Grabby?!” Her voice came out louder than I expected, and I whipped my head around to see if anyone else was outside. “How in the hell was I being grabby with him?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Well, it was pretty clear to me.” I was digging myself a hole, I knew it. So did she, but now she was waving her hands around, and her tits were bouncing in her dress, no confines of a bra. My mouth was watering, so I doubled down. “Was it really necessary to be grabbing his arms like that?”

My tone was cool, which contrasted her face that was now turning a shade of pink with rage. Was I proud? Not exactly… Maybe a little.

She’s so fucking sexy when she’s mad.

“You’ve lost it, you know that?” Her voice was filled with incredulous frustration. She then began trying to walk away, forcing me to reach out and catch one of her wrists in my hand. I was too tired, too depraved. I needed her so badly, but the idea of her being spitting mad at me made it worth the effort. I wanted her so angry that she was damn near ready to rip me apart. The idea made my dick twitch in my slacks.

“Leena,” She looked down at where I held her arm, then looked back at me with narrowed eyes. Oh she was enraged. Excellent. “I-“ I wanted to say sorry, tell her I was being dumb and to go inside and enjoy the party, but I just…couldn’t.

Something in her stare told me she had figured me out, and her eyebrows lowered, her lips twisting up in a menacing grin.

“Are you…jealous?”

I was taken back. Jealous? Of Oli? Nope. Couldn’t be me.

“No.” I said through grit teeth. “I just don’t want you to forget who you belong to.”

That was it. That sent her over the edge. She ripped her arm out of my grip, standing back defensively.

“Belong to? Like a piece of fucking property?”

I didn’t respond, just shrugged.

“You son of a bitch!” Twitch.

“How dare you speak to me that way?! As if you own me?!” Twitch.

“I don’t give a half of a fuck who I’m talking to, or grabbing. You don’t own me.”

Maybe this was going too far. Maybe.

But then she stormed inside, and I was barreling after her. She was already halfway to the staircase when I grabbed Nick by the sleeve on my way after her.

“Everyone out. Now.” No one needed to hear what I was about to get into.

The bedroom door slammed when I was about a foot away. I could hear bodies shuffling out the front door, but I didn’t care. I just burst into the room, not surprised it wasn’t locked.

She stood between the bed and the dresser, fists balled at her sides, baring her teeth. Oh it was lovely, seeing her so fucking hostile. I nearly fell to my knees in front of her, begging her to do whatever she saw fit. I didn’t, however.

Instead, I slipped the door closed and turned the lock carefully behind me. My face was stoic, doing my best to keep my own composure. It was taking every bit of self restraint, but I could feel it faltering. We were going down soon, I could feel it. My brain was sizzling just looking at her.

“I don’t care how much I love you, Noah Sebastian. I will not be treated like a piece of meat.” She was waving a finger at me, manicured and perfect.

I took a step toward her. She didn’t allow me the space to speak.

“I’m not sure where you found all of that fucking audacity, but I will tell you, it is so out of character for you.” Her voice had fallen some.

“Is it?” My words came out low and slow.

She couldn’t believe me. As if I had no idea the inconvenience I had caused her.

“Why would you do that?” Her face was now pulled into something that looked like confusion. “I can’t think of one good reason why you-“

She didn’t get to finish, my control finally slipping through my fingers, and my hands grabbing her and pressing our mouths together. She stilled at first, but when I pressed my tongue against her lips, she melted, her anger being fed through her grasp on me.

Mileena pulled at my blazer, ripping it down my shoulders and tossing it on the bed.

In a moment of absolute primal agitation, she growled at me, which sent every drop of blood in my body down to my crotch.

When her fingers began pulling at the bottom of my shirt, I wrapped my hand in her hair and pulled her backwards. She stared at me, all venom and lust, and snarled. I smiled, licking my lips. It was unbelievable. I used my free hand to rip the front of her dress open, her breasts falling out, and capturing my attention. My hand loosened on her hair, sliding down her face, neck, and reaching for her chest.

She used this opportunity to wrap a hand around my throat, which took me by surprise, my gaze lifting. She was controlling this, which was new.

Her teeth ground together, and her fingers squeezed me, the tips of her sharp acrylics digging into my skin.

“On your fucking knees.”

I scoffed. “Or what?”

Her hand tightened even further, and her other hand came up to grab me by the cock, gripping the fabric of my pants in an almost uncomfortable squeeze.

“Or I walk away, right now.”

That sounded like misery in the highest degree, so, naturally, I sunk down to the floor, sharp eyes glancing up at her. The hand on my neck was now running through my hair. She was looking down at me with an almost loving look on her face.

“You were so fucking mean, you need to make up for it.”

My hand grabbed her ankle just above her heel, sliding up the back of her calf, to her thigh. When my fingertips reached her hip, I noticed something that made me nearly fall backwards. She wasn’t wearing any panties.

Using the slit up the side of her dress skirt, I moved the fabric over to see her, already visibly wet. She loved this as much as I did. I only peered up at her for a split second, seeing she now had her head leaned back, waiting, anticipating.

Catching her off guard, instead of starting slow, building her up, making her whine and beg, I attached myself to her core, drawing a sharp breath out of her.

“Fuck, Noah!” She pulled at my hair, looking down at me while I worked her over, feeling the moisture running down my chin. “Ugh, you look so fucking cute when you do that.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t detach. I pulled her one leg so her thigh balanced on my shoulder and dove in deeper, sliding my tongue up and down her folds. I saw her tits bouncing up and down as she bucked into my face.

I settled in, intending to let her finish before I took the reins back, but I was interrupted at her pulling me upward by the hair. The unfamiliar sting on my scalp made me wince, but I still stood up in response.

“Lay the fuck down.” She pushed me down onto the bed. “Pants off.” I smirked at her, not moving an inch. “Now.”

Her voice was terrifying. I began unbuckling my belt, and popped the button open with one hand. She must have been getting impatient, because her hands ripped my pants down and off, her eyes focusing on the bulge in my boxers. I leaned back on my elbows, waiting for her to do whatever she needed to torment me further.

I truly did not expect what she said next.

“Touch yourself.” This confused me.

“What?”

“You fucking heard me.” She jumped up onto the dresser, leaning back against the wall, and let her legs fall open, giving me full view of her. My eyes followed her every move.

I reached down and palmed myself over my underwear, feeling vulnerable.

“C’mon now Sebastian, this is no time to be shy.” This made me actually fucking blush. She was enjoying this way more than I expected.

Hooking my thumbs in the band of my boxers, I carefully slid them down low enough to let myself free. My fingers gently grabbed my dick, tugging at it ever so slightly. The sensation was good, but it wasn’t her.

“That’s it, baby.” She spread her legs, her pussy sitting just above the wood of the dresser, putting herself on full display. “Nice and slow.”

I whimpered. I actually fucking whimpered. It wasn’t lost on her, either, her eyes darting to my face and licking her lips.

“See, Noah? This is what happens when you’re an asshole. You get treated like the fucking brat you are.”

Who the fuck was this girl and how quickly could I lock her in a room and never let her escape?

My hand worked up and down my shaft, my eyes falling closed and my breathing erratic. I could feel myself getting close just thinking about her.

“Stop.” My hand froze, and I opened my eyes, staring at her in defeat. “Don’t come yet.”

I was getting frustrated. “Why the fuck not?”

She sat up, crossing her legs, putting herself away.

“If you don’t wait until I tell you to come, I swear I will put on my sweats, go downstairs, and start cleaning.”

That was the threat that made any confidence I had falter. Once she started cleaning, it was over. She would hyper-focus, and I wouldn’t see her again until the entire house was shining.

I moved my hand off of my cock to resist the temptation and laid flat back on the bed, digging the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.

I stopped when I felt the bed dip on either side of me, and looked up to see her kneeling over me, now fully nude. My heart sped up as I felt her slide herself up and down my shaft, her slick pussy gliding so fucking deliciously. Instinctively, I reached for her hips, but my hand was met with a hard slap, which caused me to pull away.

“Not this time, baby boy.” I groaned, lavishing the feeling of her on me, the weight on my hips excruciatingly divine.

“Now, what do you have to say for yourself?” I looked at her, lost on what she was asking for.

“What?” My voice was a breath, an exhale.

“For treating me so foul?” She pulled back, and grabbed the base of my cock, pulling it forward to line up with her entrance but holding steady as not to let it touch her.

“Ugh, Leena,” I moaned,

My hips trying to buck. She pulled further away as I tried to press into her.

“Say it, Noah.” She demanded.

“Fuck!” My body was screaming, fire coursing through me as she ran her hand up and down, grazing the head. “I’m sorry! Jesus Christ!”

With that, she sunk down, enveloping all of me so fucking perfectly. My eyes snapped shut, trying like hell not to finish just from the edge of it.

“That’s right, honey.” Her voice was a soft moan, her hand coming up to wrap around my throat again as her hips snapped forward. My vision was turning white.

“Now, ask me fucking nicely.”

Wild that she could think I could speak, given she was cutting all my air off. It was unholy, and I loved every fucking second.

I choked, trying to speak, and I felt her fingers loosen slightly.

“Please, baby,” I breathed in hard. “please let me come.”

“Fuck, Noah, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” She let go of my throat, reaching down to circle her clit. I felt her rhythm become unsteady.

“Leena, Jesus fucking Christ, please, baby, please.”

She thrusted faster, her climax coming uncoiled, and I felt her tighten around me.

“Oh, fuck!” She fell forward, wrapping her fingers in my hair.

“Fuck me, Noah. Fuck me, please!” Did I need to be told twice?

My hands gripped her ass and lifted her, slamming my hips up and pounded into her. She still hadn’t told me yet, so I was fighting as hard as I could to hold it together.

“Noah, come for me.” She cooed directly into my ear, her voice so fucking sweet.

I think I may have had a stroke, the sheer velocity of my orgasm ripping out of me. I let out a hard, visceral scream.

Once we were both still, her body laid lazily on top of me, I left soft kisses on her shoulder.

“I really am sorry, baby.”

She chuckled softly. “I know, babe.”

I turned my head to look at her face, looking absolutely exhausted.

“You’re so fucking amazing when you’re angry.”

She lazily lifted her eyebrow. “Did you start a fight just to have angry sex?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. That was probably the better answer.

“Maybe.” I tried to be coy, and she seemed to buy it.

I didn’t know what had come over me in the backyard, or why I got so annoyed with her talking to another man. I’m not like that, I never have been.

But something inside me told me that the feeling was going to get me into trouble.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #fanfic

[fayes-fics]

Pas Quotidien

Pairing: Benedict Bridgeton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader (past & implied), Modern AU.

Summary: Modern AU. At 4am all sorts of things can arise…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, oral sex (m to f), flirting, bit of sexual tension, spot of brotherly competition, allusion to threesome.

Word Count: 4.7 k

Authors note: It's the baker Benedict AU no one asked for! This all started because of a hilarious typo with a mutual, so this is dedicated to them, ironic given they don’t eat bread. Unbetaed. I’m sure this is riddled with baking inaccuracies. Everything I learned about bread, is from Bake Off. Also yeah I know it’s not remotely sanitary. They’ll disinfect when they are done. Listen it’s fic, just go with it. Also yes the title is a play on the bakery chain Le Pain Quotidien. Well done for spotting.

It’s 4 am, and the bakery shines like a cosy beacon on this rainy night—the pavement outside glittering in the raindrops and the windows steamed from baking inside.

You push open the jaunty-coloured wood-framed glass door, the little brass bell above it tinkling delightfully as you do so. A warm blast of air bathed in the scent of baked delights greets you, and it’s like a soothing embrace around your chilled body.

He looks up, surprised to see you, or indeed anyone, at this hour as he stands towards the back of the space behind a huge marble counter, kneading dough. 

“Ben,” you greet, shucking your raincoat. His responding smile makes your stomach flip just a little. It really shouldn't; he's just an acquaintance.

“What in the hell are you doing here at… 4:13 am,” he queries good-natured, glancing at the wall clock. 

“Passing by on my way home,” you grin; some decadent carbs seem like the perfect thing to round off your late girls' night out. 

“I should bolt that damn door to stop drunken reprobates wandering into my shop before I open at seven,” he jibes lightly.

“Too late now, my friend,” you giggle and swipe a macaron from the display case, hopping up to sit on the serving counter. 

“Oi! That’ll be two pounds, please. And stop dirtying my serving space, if you don’t mind,” he chides affectionately.

“I’ll get the Dettol out myself,” you shoot back, not moving, and he rolls his eyes, exasperated.

You groan as you take a bite of the macaron, which melts in your mouth, a sugary almond explosion with tart raspberry filling.

“Fuck me, that's so good,” your praise muffled around the treat.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” he chuckles and keeps kneading. 

“You should. I’d marry this macaron; I’d have its bloody babies,” you declare, still slightly tipsy, finishing it with a second bite.

“But you just ate your husband,” his amiable laugh echoes on the pristine white subway-tiled walls.

“I'm a black widow baby,” you sing the line probably tunelessly, but he seems to enjoy it nonetheless.

“Dangerous,” he shoots back, and something in his crooked smile makes the room temperature creep a little higher.

“Maybe…” you simper and gesture for him to continue working, hopping down on the staff side and wandering closer.

Your eyes are drawn to him. Watching him work. A dusting of flour on his forearms, a streak on his cheek.  A black apron, almost white with flour, over a fitted T-shirt. You try not to stare at his arms as they flex, but you mostly fail. Lots of kneading makes for very shapely arms, apparently.

“What are you making?” you inquire, genuinely interested.

“Pain de Campagne,” he supplies, the French accent dripping perfectly from his tongue. A sign of those months spent chez Paris at patisserie school. And definitely not remotely attractive, No, not at all.

“Looks like hard work,” you offer casually.

“Always worth it in the end,” he assures with a wink, an errant curl flopping onto his forehead as he pushes on the dough. Oh, that’s not helping.

“I couldn’t do that,” you proclaim. 

“Yes, you could; it’s not difficult; it’s just a technique. I can teach you,” he shrugs.

“Haha,” you deadpan.

“I mean it. Apron’s hanging over there; the sink is there to wash up thoroughly,” he gestures around him.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope,” he responds, popping the ‘p’ rather obnoxiously. 

“Fine,” you throw your hands up, deciding this could be fun. You’ve certainly never done baking at this time of night (or morning, depending on your perspective) before.

Washed and aproned up, you move closer, and he stops kneading to turn towards you. 

“Well, you’ll need to remove your jewellery if you don’t want it ruined,” he laughs. “Also, roll up your sleeves. Then rewash your hands,” he lectures.

“Okay, okay, Mr Bossy,” you grouse. 

There’s that rich chuckle again, the one that seems to slide down your spine like honey. Instead of dwelling on it, you do as asked, leaving your rings by the sink.

“That’s better,” he smiles as you return to his side, and your shoulder bumps his arm with a smirk.

Flouring up is his next instruction, and you do so, ensuring your hands and wrists are well powdered. 

“Okay, so stand here,” he says, stepping back, and you slide into the spot he was just standing in. “Alright, now grab that dough,” he nods.

You do so, your finger sinking into it. It’s pillowy light.

“Oh my god, it’s so squishy!” you exclaim, and he can’t help his guffaw at your outburst.

“Yes, very apt. Squishy indeed. That’s the gluten; it’s what makes the bread rise,” and suddenly, he is standing right behind you. 

Two arms encircle you and cover your hands. They are warm, dry with flour, and so large you can no longer see your own. You try not to stare at the map of veins stretched over tendons as they curl around yours, guiding your movements.

“Now the key is to stretch the dough out and really get it aerated,” his voice is calming and patient but so close to your ear like that is, well, slightly throwing you for a loop.

As he guides your hands through vigorous moves, you feel his forearms over yours and his elbows bracketing your body. It seems so, well, there’s no other word for it; it’s intimate. His chin almost rests on your shoulder as he walks you through the motions. Your biceps begin to ache as the work continues, and you have a newfound admiration for what it takes to run a successful little bakery like this. You can’t imagine getting up at 2 am and doing this every day. You also really understand his arms now.

“I think it’s there now,” he remarks quietly, stilling your movements, his words soft beside your ear. You can feel his body solid behind you, not quite touching but so close you can feel the heat radiating on the back of your knees and shoulder blades.

“Are you sure?” you check, and you’re honestly not sure what that question refers to.

“Mmm hmm,” he hums, and it feels like it vibrates through you.

“What comes next?” you don’t mean it to be a whisper, but it is.

“Second proving,” he answers, and somehow it sounds sexy. “It’s got to rise some more. Get even squishier,” he adds with a wry smile that you see out of the corner of your eye.

“Are you making fun of me, Mr Bridgerton?” you narrow your eyes and lean back against him as if giving him a slight body check.

That was a mistake. He seems to curl around you even more. Heat seeping through the thin layers between you, the air feels even more humid as a trickle of perspiration runs down from your hairline over your temple. You see his eyes track the movement sideways on.

“You've not done it right if you’re not just a little sweaty,” his voice pitched low, and suddenly it’s not the only part of your body that feels damp.

“Applicable to so many things,” you assert, unmistakable in your intent, rocking back just a fraction. 

“Very true,” he opines. Then he guides your hands down onto the cold marble on either side of the large mass of dough. “This always cools me down,” he murmurs, his fingers sinking between yours and pressing onto the smooth surface.

“Delightfully refreshing,” you agree; your pulse is hammering as he seems to lean you further over the counter. The press of his body entirely wanted.

“Yes, it feels good on your skin,” he mumbles, and there is a flurry of movement as he expertly picks up the dough and throws it aside on the long wide surface. Then his hands are back on yours, leaning and pushing you forward until your elbow bends and your forearms rest on the cool marble.

“Is that helping?” He whispers, and now the message is blatant. 

“I still feel too hot,” you reply softly, biting your lip and shooting him your best flirtatious sideways glance.

“Then we will have to get more of your skin on this surface,” he lectures, and the hands move from covering yours to your waist, where the apron strings are tied around your front. You stutter his name as he expertly plucks the bow open.

“Tell me to stop,” he goads as the strings fall away, tugging them from around your sides. You clamp down on your lip, not wanting to make a single noise in protest.

There is a gentle snag on the underside of your chin as he lifts the apron up and around your head, then lets it fall to the floor as he drags you back upright against his body. His name is on your lips again, breathy and anticipatory. Almost disbelieving this is happening.

“Lock. The. Door,” he rumbles, his breath hot in your ear. Each word is a sentence that sets something alight in your veins even as he steps away. 

You scurry around the counter and bustle to the front door flicking the deadbolt. Behind, you hear him putting the dough into the large proving drawer and then the lights suddenly flick off, plunging the room into atmospheric shadows. All you can hear is the pitter-patter of rain on the street outside and the occasional swish of puddles under tyres as the odd car, mostly Ubers, drive by.

“Get back over here,” he growls, and your knees want to give way. 

Are you really going to do this? Let this delicious man lay you out on his marble worktop and do whatever he wants. There’s a screaming chorus of ‘hell yes’ in your mind as you do your best to walk with a seductive swing in your hips silhouetted by the window behind you. He has taken off his apron and now stands in a fitted t-shirt and jeans. Even in this low light, he looks so good clothed you almost don’t care if you don’t see him naked. Almost.

You squeak slightly as large hands grab your waist and pull you into him roughly, looking at each other eye-to-eye for the first time. It’s quite breathtaking how beautiful he is this close up.

“We have 45 minutes until we can make loaves.” The almost pun is not lost on you. “How would you like to fill that time?” he buzzes. 

“What do you suggest?” your voice cracks, slightly hypnotised by his stare.

A corner of tongue peaks out of his mouth, and you track it across his bottom lip, fascinated by the slick trail it leaves behind that glimmers in the streak of the streetlamp from outside.

“I suggest we cool your naked skin on this nice balmy surface and see what happens from there,” it's velvet soft and so rich you want to bathe in his voice.

“Okay…” you mutter, almost swaying now.

You watch large floury hands dust white trails onto your black shirt, popping each button. Your own breathing sounds too loud. Just as the last one relents, and your blouse hangs open a fraction, both hands move, cupping your jaw and tilting your head as his mouth descends. The slightly grainy texture of the flour on his fingertips against your skin adds a frisson.

The first brush of his lips on yours is electric. Tentative at first, it soon grows, heatedly mashing together in waves of intensity, mouths peaking open, and tongues touching. His hands move again, this time tugging your top from your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the ground. Just in your bra and jeans, you band your arms around his neck, sinking tighter into the embrace, revelling in the feel of those dusty hands sweeping down over the dip of your back. Your lips meet over and over.

He tastes of sweet baked goods - like almond croissants and madeleines - probably a batch he baked before you came in, and you sag against him wanting to swallow him and chase more.

“Ben…” you gasp into his mouth as a hand ventures inside the back of your jeans and grabs the bare flesh of your bottom.

“Get naked,” he commands softly  “you feel entirely too overheated in all this clothing,” he teases.

You chuckle; it’s only jeans and underwear you have left at this point. But then, the bakery is very warm, and all that dough work was very athletic. You fumble with your button and zip as his hand kneads your bottom with that firm motion he used on the dough. It feels wonderful, his lips trailing down your neck, his other hand helping peel your jeans over your hips. They hit the floor, and then you are being lifted off the ground and placed onto the marble, the cold, smooth surface making you squeak as it touches your bottom. 

“Feeling cooler already?” he asks, a lopsided grin tugging at his handsome face as his hands round your knees and drag them apart, stepping between, the metal fastener on the hip of his jeans catching the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

You nod in response as he moves in for another fiery kiss, your mouths at the same height now. His fingers curl around the back of your knees, pulling your legs up and wide as your hands sink into his hair, loving the baritone noise he makes over your tongue as you pull lightly on the thick chestnut strands. Those large hands slowly make their way up your thighs, caressing your skin, warm powdery tips setting your skin afire. As you kiss, they slide around your hips and up your back, winding delicate patterns until they reach the clasp of your bra.

“You still seem too warm to me,” his tone velvet smooth, “better take this off just to be safe,” he adds seductively and expertly flicks the hooks undone. He gently pulls the straps off your shoulders, and you can't help but giggle over his lips as he raises an eyebrow and comically flicks the bra away. It sails into the air, landing god knows where. 

“Much better,” he hums sensually, his lips back on yours, bodies pressed together, the slightly bobbled fibres of his top catching your nipples.

“Take this off,” you implore between kisses, tugging at his t-shirt. He smirks and half-steps back, whipping it off and throwing it to the floor.

“Baking does wonders for the body,” you sigh, trailing a finger down the divot between his defined abdominal muscles as he huffs a laugh at your statement.

Then there is no talking for a while as he takes your hand from his torso, kisses your knuckles chastely, then runs his tongue obscenely down to your fingertips, drawing all of them into his mouth as you stare wide-eyed, feeling the strength of suction on each digit, the lathe of his tongue. It's a blatant preview of what is to come, and you can’t stop your breath from becoming uneven.  

Your fingers fall from his mouth with a wet smack, and he is leaning in, driving your whole back onto the cold marble; he grabs your feet and places them wide apart on the countertop, your toes curling over the edge. 

He is staring down at you, a heavy gaze cataloguing everything from your kiss-dampened lips to your lacy underwear. With your legs spread so wide, you know he can see your arousal, can smell it in the air. The remnants of flour tickle your bottom as you curve your back upwards, looking at him entreatingly just to touch you somewhere, anywhere. 

“Please, Ben…” you murmur, and a trace of a smile ghosts the corner of his mouth. He leans right over you but doesn't make contact, breathing warm air over your collarbone, down over your left nipple and across to your right, pebbling painfully at just the wisp of sensation.

“Are you feeling colder yet?” his voice is deadly, gravelly and dark, skittering over your ribs.

“No…,” you admit, “Im feeling much hotter.” Your body flushed with arousal and anticipation.

“Hmm, what a shame,” he offers in mock sympathy. “I think the only remedy may be to remove these….” you gasp as his hand covers your underwear, and it’s so large that, as his fingers hook into the top of the material, the heel of his palm bearing down onto your clit, which he grinds a little for good measure.

Before you know it, he tilts your hips and drags the knickers away from your body, down your legs. You now lay utterly naked, exposed and almost shivering with desire, the hot steamy air from the ovens contrasting wonderfully with the chilly marble under your back.

Now he runs his nose over your skin as he skirts lower, inhaling almost obscenely, scenting your body. There's no mistaking the aroma in the air now, and he seems feral for it, his pupils blown wide as he tilts his head to look up at you. 

“Let hope you locked that door really well,” he banters and then you almost scream as he suddenly moves lower and ploughs his tongue roughly into your slit, groaning as he does so.

“Holy shit Ben,” you cry out and throw your head back; the only thing you can see now is the steamed window, upside down, rivulets of rainwater and condensation streaking like trails of golden thread under the yellow lamplight outside.

The prideful noise he makes at your expletive just ratchets you higher, and you know you are leaking onto his chin now. He sucks forcefully on your clit, his tongue rolling a wave that makes your toes curl harder around the counter edge and your fingernails scramble for purchase on the marble. You move one hand between your legs and grab his hair, scraping against his scalp, tugging, making him snarl. 

Then it’s a heady swirl of sensation as he expertly transports your body and mind away from the frisson of fear about passersby seeing this debauched tableau, should they linger on the pavement outside. To somewhere routed purely in your body and the way he conducts it like a symphony with his lips and tongue, one arm banded strong around your thigh, the other spidering up to pinch and tease your nipple. You know the whimpering noises you make are echoing loudly up the walls, but you cannot stop yourself. 

“Come for me,” he pants desperately; just as a long slender finger nudges you open and strokes gently inside you, you see stars.

“Don’t stop Ben, oh god, please, don’t stop,” you chant, feeling yourself spiralling higher, his tongue lathing at just the right rhythm to make your eyes roll back, just the right amount of suction to make your skin feel hot and tight, ready to burst.

He dangles you over the precipice for a few seconds, then, with an edge of his teeth, takes you over. Your body goes stiff, and he holds you down forcefully as you bear down against his face and writhe, staccato breathy cries echoing up the walls as you clench hard around his finger and blood pounds in your ears. 

For a moment, you just lay there whimpering as he gently caresses your belly with gossamer fingers and delicately kisses your inner thighs. 

“Fucking hell,” you exhale, “that was…” you trail off breathily, unable to form a sentence, and he huffs a warm bemused breath over your dewy skin. “Do you want to…” you almost feel sheepish offering sex for some reason.

“Oh no,” he chuckles darkly,  “I’m just getting started here….” His mouth is back on you, making you whine loudly, overwrought and still fluttering from your orgasm.

“I can’t again….” 

“Oh yes, you can,” he assures in a tone that is lethal.

You tilt to look down at his handsome face framed by your still quivering thighs when something makes your heart leap into your mouth.

“Brother, why on earth are the lights off?” an unmistakable voice rings out from behind the door into the kitchen area—Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict’s older brother, head of the family, CEO of Bridgerton Investments and very troublesome to your hormones. He must have entered via the back of the building. 

Your head shoots up, but Benedict puts a finger over his lips, signalling you to stay quiet, so you do. The menace doesn’t stop teasing you, though—licking a long, slow, decadent swipe up your folds as you breathe heavily and swallow your moan.

“Stay here, don't move; I’ll get rid of him,” he whispers, jumping to his feet, and with a wink, he pulls on his t-shirt and is off. 

You stare, incredulous, as he loosely hangs an apron around his neck to conceal a rather delicious-looking bulge in his jeans, then disappears through the kitchen door. Did he really just tell you to stay sprawled naked on his worktop?

“Brother,” Benedict’s greeting is muffled through the wall. “I was napping between proving rounds; hence the lights are off. What can I do for you?”

“I’m not staying, on my way to catch a flight, just dropping those keys we talked about,” Anthony replies as you lay stock still, too drowsy from bliss to do anything but take slow breaths. “I’ll just grab a croissant for breakfast and be on my way.….”

“No!” Benedict squeaks. “I’ve… I’ve run out!” he scrambles the lie.

“Please,” Anthony dismisses, “I know you run your bakery better than that. And I know they'll be warm; I can smell they came out of the oven less than an hour ago.” 

“Ok fine, but I’ll get it for you,” Benedict rushes out, and it sounds like he’s trying to block the door, but it’s too late. 

The kitchen door swings open, and Anthony is striding towards the display case, Benedict bustling behind him, trying to block the sight of you naked on the worktop across the room. Anthony doesn’t glance to the side yet, but you’re frozen. Your muscles just unable to move. The stupid part of your brain justifying in the dark, perhaps he won’t see you at all. It’s all happening so fast, and your heart is pounding again. 

“Switch the bloody lights on, will you?” Anthony gripes and reaches for the switch. Suddenly the shop is all lit up. And you’ve lost your chance to hide—to run.

“Fuckkkkking hell!” Anthony cries as he spies you over Benedict’s shoulder, his attempt to shield you unsuccessful.

Suddenly your body is responsive, and you jump down and curl into a ball behind the worktop, mortified, before he can see your face, see it’s you.

“Is this what you are doing at 4 am?? Fucking on your workspace? And with all these bloody windows?!?” you hear Anthony exclaim, sounding shocked.

“No!” Benedict defends, “I’ve never done anything remotely like this before I….”

The fact he admits that makes something in your heart melt just a touch.

“It’s unsanitary, brother,” Anthony cuts in. “It could get you shut down if you’re found out,”

“I know that!” Benedict decries.

Still, you hide, pulling on your knickers and top, head still fuzzy from the mind-blowing orgasm. You cannot find your bra for the life of you; glancing up, you see it hanging on a blade of a ceiling fan. Fucking hell, Benedict. You know you can’t hide forever, and your mortification will only worsen the longer you pretend this isn’t happening. So you slowly stand up, already wincing.

“Y/n?!?” Anthony splutters, and you want the ground to swallow you up. You also don’t miss how his eyes drop to your nipples, poking obviously through your shirt without your bra, then, as they come into view, to your bare legs beneath the shirt.

This is awkward. So awkward. About eight months prior, you had a drunken but amazing quickie with Anthony, but since it’s just been flirty banter, assuming that’s where it would stay. Thinking it was just harmless fun. But as you see a flash in his eyes now, it looks an awful lot like jealousy as well as desire. Damn, it’s attractive. 

“Anthony,” you nod, trying to appear nonchalant.

“You are fucking my brother?” he gusts, disbelieving.

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Well, what the hell is this then?”

“We… we hadn’t got that far yet,” you respond quietly, and Benedict looks agog at you.

“So this is the first time?” Anthony is grilling you as if his younger brother isn’t even there.

“Yes,” it’s timid.

“Why him?” Anthony growls, and something in your body is at war. You know he won’t ever hurt you, but seeing this man all physically riled up and bothered is, well, holy hell, it's hot.

“I like him,” you whisper.

“More than me?” he takes a step closer, and you see over his shoulder that Benedict tenses.

“I didn’t think there was anything between us”, you confess honestly. “Anthony, you've made no other move since that night months ago.”

“You had sex?!” Benedict splutters.

“Once,” you placate, meeting his eyes, “drunkenly.” It somehow feels essential to add that secondary detail.

Anthony scoffs, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“It’s not that you suddenly want me, is it? It’s that you don’t want him to have me, isn’t it?” you goad.

You know you’ve hit the nail on the head when Anthony goes for cutting. “I barely even remember it at this point,” he sniffs.

“Fine, then get out, so I can fuck him,” you challenge, nodding towards Benedict, intentionally using crude words to shock him, shock them both. Benedict’s face is a picture, but you also see traces of lust and victory. That perhaps you want him just as much, if not more.

You watch a vein throb in Anthony’s temple and know if he made a move to claim you in some stupid moment of male pride or familial one-upmanship, right now, you’d let him. Frankly, you’d let them both fuck you right here, and you’re not ashamed to admit it to yourself. You cross your arms defiantly, knowing your haphazardly thrown-on blouse frames your breasts.

“Don’t you have a flight to catch?” you retort.

Anthony takes a step closer, and the tension notches up, your chest heaving just a little more. You can’t look at him directly; you fix on a spot over his left shoulder. If you glanced over his right, you’d be caught in Benedict’s gaze, which also feels dangerous right now.

“Choose. Right now,” Anthony orders, low and slow.

You make a noise of derision, but he just stands there, raised eyebrow, hands flexing slightly at his side. You see, on the periphery of your vision, Benedict leaning in. Keen to know your response.

“Right now,” you exhale, “I’m choosing to leave.” You nettle, not appreciating being used as a power play on his little brother. But mostly, not wanting to admit you can’t answer that question.

You peek over at Benedict. “I’ll be back for my rings and my bra once you remove it from your damn ceiling,” you wink at him and enjoy the surprise on Anthony’s face as his eyes naturally shoot up.

Then you feel both of them watching you as you grab your jeans and shoes, stalking towards the coat rack and starting to dress to go out in the downpour.

“Okay, fine,” Anthony’s voice calls out in a loud sigh, “you don’t have to pick.”

You pause in the motions, turning back to them. 

“What are you saying?” you frown.

He looks over at Benedict, and some kind of silent shorthand is exchanged.

“It’s a private jet; it can wait for me,” Anthony states with a killer look.

“Many hands make light work?” Benedict adds bewitchingly.

Are they really suggesting… both of them? Together? Their eyes are both hungry, and their faces are hopeful. The spike of want and triumph in your veins is almost breathtaking. The pile of clothes drops loudly from your hands to the wood floor.

“Okay. I’m listening…,” you enunciate slowly, a smirk growing on your face as you take a pace forward.

There are two very seductive smiles back at you. 

This night is definitely ‘pas quotidien’.

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[doggone-devil]

By the Cover: Chapter 1

Behold! A secondary novel for me to write while I work on my other one XD No, but this idea has a chokehold on me so of course I had to write it. Pairing: Alastor x afab!Reader Warnings: none for this chapter~ Word Count: 2,517

"I waited for you my entire life and you were worth every minute." - Mark Anthony

Two lovers, hand in hand, facing the odds of the world around them. A poetic tale of how love triumphs over everything, not even the Universe itself able to keep them together. A romance little girls dream of as they watch their idols on screen, fantasizing about the day they'll be swept off their feet into a happily ever after. Such a beautiful hope, a goal they could one day accomplish, unlike you.

Wrapped in a well-worn blanket, you sit on your couch with your nose buried in the latest episode of your favorite show. The second you received the notification of its release, your were scrambling to go to the streaming site, the show queued in your favorites, ready to play. Giddy with excitement, you began to watch, engrossed in the plot as it furthered, the various characters building the hype of the upcoming climax. As much as  you loved seeing them, your eyes waited patiently to recognize one character in particular.

There.

An audible gasp escapes you before a high pitch shriek, your toes wiggling to try and exert some of the built up energy you felt just from seeing them appear. Red hair dipped in black, fluffy ears, and captivating red eyes. You swoon when they speak, voice filtered to sound like those old 1920s radio broadcast. Some fans find the voice annoying but you swore it was an angel speaking, your body shivering in response to their words. They were the love of your life, your hyperfixation, your absolute obsession.

Alastor was the their name, a very powerful Overlord and one of the main characters of your favorite animated show, Hazbin Hotel. It had appeared and swept many into it's fandom, becoming favored next to the other show released by the same creator, Helluva Boss. Granted, you still loved that show and watched it when the episodes came out, but this one - you squeal - this one had you in an iron grip and all because of the radio demon so graciously displayed on screen.

Granted, you realized your quick fascination with the character was a bit problematic. Firstly, he was manipulative, scheming, and in it for only for him. He didn't care, really, about the other characters, even having a near breakdown when almost dying for them. You were certain if he existed in real life, he wouldn't be as lovely as you dreamt him to be, but that didn't stop your heart from skipping when you saw him. It also didn't stop  you from spending your hard earn money on countless fan merch, his face decorating every pillow, blanket, and object you owned. Even the phone in your hand had his face on it, smiling at you with hooded lids. Yes, you had a problem but you weren't stopping any time soon.

"Another perfect episode," you sigh, letting your hands drop to your lap as you lean back into your couch. The credits roll and you happily stare up at your ceiling, thoughts already plagued by him. He was so cool this time, not that he wasn't all the time, but this time he had been so sassy. You were already thinking of ways to write about it, ready to tell others in the fandom how baby girl coded he was. You giggle, tossing your blanket off your legs. You stretch with a groan, looking back at your phone to note the time. Your stomach grumbles.

You hum as you walk to your kitchen, looking in the fridge for something to eat. You weigh your options of a ketchup sandwich or mayo sandwich. Tough decisions, both sounding very appeasing, but you opt for the third option. You grab your keys and hoodie, tugging it over your head as you slip on your flip flops. You may only have sixteen dollars left after purchasing that one Alastor keychain, but it was totally worth it. Besides, you only needed eight of it to buy an everything bagel and coffee.

Basking in the sunlight for a second once you step outside, you head down the sidewalk from your duplex home, steering clear of other pedestrians as they mosey about. It's clear out, the cold air leftover from winter barely noticeable with no wind, the sun warm as it hangs high in the sky. A very nice day to enjoy as you walk, wondering what it'd be like to take Alastor to a small café. You tilt your head down to keep others from seeing your goofy smile, unable to hide the joy you feel of imagining Alastor critique the food.

He would probably comment on the way it's processed, stating how homecooked meals were the way to go. Oh, how you'd give anything to taste a meal cooked by Alastor. From what you knew of his backstory, he loved to cook and enjoyed a good jambalaya. You weren't raised southern, nowhere close as you recall your hometown in Michigan. You grew up with cabbages and kolackies, a drastic difference from shrimp and gumbo. Granted, you have tasted the Cajun dishes, curious to know what they tasted like when you discovered Alastor's birthplace, but you wanted them cooked by a real southern man. No, you wanted them cooked by Alastor, otherwise they just couldn't be as good. Shame.

You're greeted by a barista as you walk into your favorite café, breathing in the air deeply, enjoying the favorable scents that assault you. It's just a small business a block away from your house, easy and fast to get to. It had the best bagels you've ever tasted and the coffee wasn't half bad, either. You step in line, eagerly waiting behind three other customers while you roam the menu above. You already know what you'll order but it doesn't hurt to see what's new, checking their daily specials. Today seems to be an in house blueberry muffin, complimented with a drink of the customer's choice. It's appealing, but you're not that big a fan of blueberries. Or muffins.

"Excuse me." You hear the voice before feeling the shove, a person squeezing in the line to get through. You step back to avoid them, yet your foot gets caught on the other. You begin to fall backwards until a firm body stops you. You turn to apologize as you regain your footing, but your words get caught in your throat. You see a man standing behind you, his hands fixing his bowtie, but that's not what makes you speechless. He's tall, very tall, with bright red hair and tan skin. As he looks down at you, your breath hitches. His eyes are almost as red as his hair and you wonder if they're contacts. They have to be, you think to yourself, no one's eyes are red. It's not a natural color but they look natural. You must be staring too long cause he clears his throat.

"Sorry!" you blurt out, quickly turning to face forward, realizing a gap between you and the customer ahead of you. You scamper to move up, nearly tripping over your feet, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. You try not to think about the man behind you or his stupidly good looks. Seriously, how chiseled does one jaw have to be? You could cut marble with it. You focus on anything but him, staring at your feet until the barista is asking for your order.

Bagel and coffee secured, you walk to your usual spot in the corner of the café, a window table with two seats. It's comfortable and spaced far enough away from the other tables to let you enjoy your food in peace. You shrug out of your hoodie as you sit, hanging it on the back of the chair. You take a bite of your bagel, moaning softly at the seasonings popping off on your tongue. It's simple and yet, to you, so delicious. Pulling out your phone, you go to scroll through some apps, but your attention is caught by a red coat passing by. You glance up and nearly choke on the bite you swallow. The man from before settles at a table close to yours, only a coffee in hand when he sets it down. He also pulls out his phone, paying no mind to anything around him. Unlike you, your eyes glued to him. You swear he seems familiar despite never seeing him before.

He's wearing nearly all red, minus his black pants. His coat is a deep red, matching his hair. The undershirt is white, however, and you notice black gloves on his hands. Huh, you chuckle to yourself. He almost looks like Alastor, the clothes very similar and even his build - You blink. 

Oh my god. Oh my fucking god, you think, eyes wider than the plate your bagel sits on. You quickly look away, your hand slapped over your mouth at the realization. You just compared a real person to a fictional character. 

You take another glance, trying to study him more. He's tall like Alastor, slender for sure, but you can't really tell with the coat on. He's style is like that out of the 1920s, just like Alastor. A tailcoat, collared undershirt, bowtie, and even dress pants completed with dress shoes. Just slap a monocle on him and he could be Alastor what with the slanted, bob haircut had had. God, if you had your cosplay Alastor ears and antlers, you'd ask him to wear them and call you darling.

No, wait, what's wrong with you? Ugh, you're so creepy and you need to stop staring so much and - oh my god, now he's staring back. Idiot!

You take interest in your bagel again, taking a rather large bite as you struggle to chew. You begin to cough as the pieces roughly slide down your throat, eyes watering as you reach for your coffee. You're gulping it down to help the food along, gasping for air. You hear a snorted chuckle and look up, seeing the man cover his mouth with the back of his hand, avoiding your look. You can see the smile and blush, realizing he watched all of that. Could this get any worse?

You sigh, wanting to bang your head on the table. Instead, you reach for your phone, knowing tumblr will distract you. Only, the Universe decided today was the day to pick on you and as you reach for said phone, your arm bumps your coffee. It spills. All over your table. All over you. You want to cry.

"Here." You see the man walk over to you, extending his hand to offer a handkerchief. You take it, sniffling with a pout.

"Thank you," you mumble, wiping at your now ruined top. It was white ten seconds ago, now stained brown. As you wipe, the liquid spreads. You sigh in defeat, knowing you'll have to throw it away when you get home. Thank god you have your hoodie.

"Here, let me," the man says, taking the handkerchief gently from your hands. You let him, too embarrassed and sad about your shirt. He smiles as he dabs at your shirt. "Wiping only helps the coffee to set. You have to dab for the best results." You watch him, slightly annoyed at the way he fusses over it like a dad would, but you're not angry. In fact, you feel kind of in awe as he moves, your eyes glued to his face. His nose is pointed and sharp, eyes angled like a cat. His lashes are long, complimenting those strange red eyes. You try to see if they are, in fact, contacts, but as you lean to get a closer look, they snap up to meet you. You jump back, knocking into the table. Your coffee cup sways but before it can spill again, he reaches out to steady it. You sigh in relief.

"Sorry," you apologize.

"You have a clumsy habit, don't you?" he hums, chuckling when you pout again.

"Not usually," you state, turning to grab your hoodie when he steps back. You can't help but feel so small when he straightens up to full height again.

"Really? I couldn't tell." It's a banter, but you're failing to think of how to respond. You're not use to actively conversing with people in the real world, most of your conversations being with friends online or AI chatbots. Ok, maybe you didn't need to think about the last one, but the fact still stands that you don't know how to talk to people. Especially people as attractive as he is.

"Well," you grab your bagel and what's left of your coffee, "as fun as was to bother you and embarrass myself, I have to go." You need to escape, more like it. Your social battery is already beeping in alarm, drained from the back to back events that was your attempted outing for lunch. You throw your trash away as you leave, not taking the chance to look back at the man.

As you walk back home, you can't help but think of how the scenario could've played out different. If you were a normal person, you could've held a conversation with the man, maybe even inviting him for coffee tomorrow. You could flirt and date until, one day, he would ask your hand in marriage. Then you would have kids, grow old together, and live a life well filled. At least, that's the person your mother wanted to be. A normal woman with a normal love life, finding a man to support you and give her grandkids. Sadly, that was never going to happen, you think as you step into your house. If the seven foot cardboard cutout of Alastor greeting you at your front door wasn't enough to deter potential mates away, then surely the numerous framed Alastor posters scattered across your walls would.

Maybe you should cancel that order for the Alastor cursed cat plushie…

Nah.

You toss your keys down and kick off flip fops, pulling your hoodie off to grimace at the disaster that is your white-turned-brown tee. Yeah, there's no getting this stain out and you weren't about to buy some fifteen dollar produce that claims to erase the stain. You shrug it off, opening your kitchen bin and tossing it away. It doesn't bother you too much, thankful it's not one of your Alastor shirts. Speaking of, you walk to your bedroom, going straight to your dresser. You rummage through your shirts before picking one and putting it on. This was one is black, Alastor's face printed on the front with the words 'Smile Like You Mean It' placed around him. It's one of your favorites.

Shuffling back to your living room, you decide to ease your stress with the one thing you know will put a smile on your face. Sitting on your couch, tucking your legs as you bring your blanket back over your body, you quickly open your phone to its browser. Archive of Our Own loads up and you quickly begin filtering through the latest additions to Alastor fanfictions.

Masterlist ... Ao3

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #the radio demon #alastor hazbin #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fanfic #fanfic #hazbin fanfic #alastor fanfic #alastor fanfiction

[shimmerwindow]

I Never Really

Part Twelve

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Cigarette use

Playlist | Masterlist

Tag list: @jazzyfigz @dont-go-home-without-me @poochiesworld @stardustcatcher @83rkblogs @jaketsguitar @dannys-dream @gretavanfan @do-it-jakey-baby @gvfpal @ignite-my-fire @gardensgatekeeper

Finals week turned out much better than you’d expected. You had sufficiently prepared yourself, and your hard work paid off in the form of A’s and low stress across the board. The minute you turned in your final test of the semester, you felt a horrid weight lift from your shoulders. This moment, right here, was what made the rest of it all worth it. You had a bounce in your step as you walked back to your dorm, for once not annoyed by the bustle of campus.

The building was as crowded as ever, with all of the students moving their things out all at once. A girl nearly ran you over with two massive suitcases as you tried to exit the elevator onto your floor. It was nice to not have such an interaction immediately set you into a mood of annoyance for the rest of the day.

You couldn’t help but smile when you finally flopped onto your bed, letting out a sigh that carried with it the finality of your stress. You knew it’d start up all over again in a few weeks, but for now, you would live in the moment. And that moment would start with a nice, long nap. The first you'd consciously allowed yourself in ages. In was dreamless, just a moment of unconscious, blissful peace.

You awoke in a daze an hour or so later, though time was not something you would stress yourself about during these weeks of rest. A text was waiting for you, with a familiar name. Sam.

hey! saw we aced that project, we totally need to celebrate :) want to come over?

The sense of jubilation over the end of the semester wiped any doubts out of your mind regarding whether or not you actually wanted to see him, or the rest of the men in that house, for that matter.

would love to!

cool, the guys are out so it'll just be me and u if that's ok

So maybe this was some kind of divine intervention to finally get the two of you alone, in a room, to talk. The words of the twins echoed in your mind once again – you needed to do this. As much as you would gladly run from him forever, you needed to talk to him. It would do you no good to cut him off with no closure.

that's chill!

He went on to tell you he’d already moved all his things out, but would swing by to get you whenever you were ready. Better to get this out of the way now. As you readied yourself for his arrival, you rehearsed a script in your head, spoke out loud the words you would want to say to him. The anxiety of it all was making your stomach churn and your palms sweat.

You headed down to the ground level, and watched his car pull around through the windows in the lobby. You could see his thumbs tapping on the steering wheel with whatever beat was coming through the radio. The two of you were quiet on the drive over, the music filling the silence. Though it was not uncomfortable, you still tapped your fingers together anxiously in the passenger seat.

The ambiance of the house felt different when you pulled up, in large part to the new set of decorations. Carefully curated by Josh, you figured. A flawless Christmas tree sat in the corner of the living room, its branches laden with a nearly obscene amount of ornaments, ribbons, and strings covered in all types of materials. Four stockings hung above the fireplace, hand-knit with the initials of the four brothers of the house.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, hanging his coat on the rack by the door. “You want anything? Water? Tea?…Tequila?”

You were certain nothing would sit calmly in your stomach right now. “I’m alright, thank you.” You took a seat on the couch, wrapping your arms around yourself. The cold from the darkened world outside had begun to creep in, casting a chill over the house. It was an old place, and clearly didn’t have the best insulation.

“Well, congratulations to us, huh?” He gave you a wide smile.

You shot back the best fake grin you could muster. “Thank god it's over.”

“I hear that. I need a break. You cold?” He pointed a finger at you as you curled into a ball on the couch.

“No, I’m okay–”

“Actually, it’s fuckin’ freezing in here. Any objections to a fire?”

“That sounds nice, actually.” With any luck, you’d be gone before the last of the embers burned out.

He vanished for a moment, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You rehearsed the words you planned to say for the millionth time, and sent up a silent prayer that they would come out properly.

“Cheaper than turning up the heat,” Sam said when he came back in the room. He smiled at you as he set down the carrier full of logs, fresh from the storage rack they kept under the eve of the house. “Jake gets pissed when the electrical bill gets too high.”

“Well, it’s not like you live here,” you commented.

“I do now,” he sighed. “For now, at least.” He pulled up the sleeves of his sweater and started up a fire. There was something so intimate about it, sitting in silence as you watched him work. The flames roared to life, under his skillful touch.

“So what do you feel like doing? And answer quickly, or I’ll start giving you a tour of the record shelf.” He turned back at you to smile.

The humor was lost on you, and you felt a deep guilt as the smile washed from his face and he turned away when you didn’t laugh. This was it. It was time to say those dreaded words. “Actually, I think we should…talk.” Your mouth was dry, and your heart pounded in your chest. Blood was already rushing to your cheeks.

“About what?” He turned his head back to you, still absently poking at the fire. Clueless, it seemed.

“Well, like…”

“Hey, if this is about that one day, where you passed out in–” his voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. “When you fell asleep. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d moved until–”

“It’s not about that.” You cut him off, not sure you could handle dwelling on that day right now. “I just wanted to know if…” you paused, thinking of how to word it correctly. You'd rehearsed this moment so many times, yet the words still stuck to your tongue like honey. “If I’m intruding on something.”

He stared at you blankly, his lips parted a bit. “What?” He laughed the word, only a small smile on his face.

Suddenly, you felt rather stupid. “I don’t know, I just saw you with that other girl–”

Everything around you screeched to a halt. You couldn’t even hear the crackling of the fire anymore. Other girl. It had come out so naturally, you hadn’t even considered the implication you were making with that single word. You suddenly realized just how many of those little implications you were making all at once. Foremost, that you and him were doing anything more than just being friends.

“Oh, her?” He stood, dusting off his hands, and sat down on the other end of the couch, his legs tucked beneath him and his fingers nervously fidgeting in his lap. “Just a friend.”

“That so?”

He couldn’t seem to meet your eyes anymore. “Yeah. Just something to pass the time, I guess.”

“Well, that's not a very respectful way to refer to a fling, Sam.”

“There I go again. Saying shit that makes me look like an asshole.”

“You seem to be pretty good at that.” It came out meaner than you’d meant, but it was cathartic nonetheless.

“Anyway. It's not that serious. You're not intruding on anything.”

It was both a wonderful and terrible feeling that washed over you in that moment. A thousand thoughts showed up at the front lines of your mind, warring against each other. So, it wasn’t serious. But serious enough that you didn’t even need to say a name for him to know what you meant. Something was telling you that you needed to get closer, now, while you had the chance. But you’d lost that right, given it up the moment you’d fallen into Jake’s arms.

“That’s good to know,” you said, quietly.

“Is that why you’ve been so distant lately?” He asked, his lips stumbling over the words like they were forced from his mouth.

You hadn’t done a very good job of hiding it, clearly. “Yeah, I guess so. And finals had been killing me. Just glad the semester is over.” The topic was starting to shift too close to home. “And you've been distant, too.”

“Well, I figured you just kind of…didn’t like me as much anymore. Not since Halloween.”

Your stomach dropped hard enough that you could feel a knot forming in your throat. He knows. It repeated in your mind like a broken record, loud and screeching. “Why would you think that?” Your voice was small and far away.

“I barely even saw you that night. You would just vanish any time I was around.” A profound sadness lingered behind his eyes. “And then you just disappeared. You didn’t even say bye before you left.”

You could almost physically feel your heart breaking inside your chest. This can't be real. All of it, all the pain you’d endured for the past months, was it really all over nothing? Had you really allowed yourself to be so easily swayed into hatred for him by something as simple as a few hookups? It didn’t feel real, nothing in the room felt tangible at this point. The heat from the fire did nothing to soothe the icy chill that crept into your veins and made you shiver.

You’d been backed into a corner, trapped into either lying, or telling a devastating truth. “Yeah, I didn’t feel great, so I went home.” The lie came out so effortlessly it made you feel sick. Even if he wouldn’t care, it would forever taint whatever you’d built with him if you were honest with him now. If it wasn't tainted already. He must be lying, you thought. There's no way he didn’t see the marks his brother had left all over you.

“You should have told me!” He gave you a tap on the arm. “I would have helped you. Or at least walked you home.”

There had been such unspoken animosity between you, that night after the party, when you’d seen him on the roof. Or, at least, that was how your mind had interpreted the interaction. You began to doubt every notion you had about him. Maybe you’d just taken it all the wrong way, maybe this had all just been a gigantic misunderstanding on your end.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, no longer able to meet his gaze.

“Oh, jeez, don’t be sorry.” Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him run his fingers through his hair. “I should have hung around you more. It’s on me.”

A part of you ached to just tell him the truth. The dejection that hung off of every word he spoke was killing you, slowly. With any luck, he would hate you, and you could go the rest of your life pretending he had never existed. But the mere thought of hurting him in such a way was so unfathomable to you, the truth may very well have not even existed to you. It would never leave your mouth, not even long after you left this cold, dreary town. A dirty little secret you would be forced to carry with you, forever.

“Oh!” He suddenly jumped, pointing a finger at you. “I almost forgot to ask! Speaking of parties, where are you gonna be for New Year’s?”

“Nowhere, really. I don’t really care about that stuff. I always just sleep through the countdown.” You sounded unbearably boring, and you knew it, but you also knew what was coming next. And you hoped to turn him off from it before he could–

“You’re coming to the party here.”

“Sam,” you smiled, shaking your head. “I–”

“Shush.” He held a finger out towards your lips. “You’re not spending New Year’s alone.”

It didn’t feel right. You came here with the intention to be having the exact opposite of this current conversation. Spend it with your waste of time, you want her more, you wanted to scream. This was not at all how you’d expected this to pan out, and it was giving you whiplash now having to change your tune.

The truth was dangerously close to your lips, stuck in your throat hard enough to make you want to gag. Instead, you choked out a “fine.”

“Bitchin'! Oh, we are gonna have iii such iii a good time!”

The knot of anxiety in your stomach started to unravel, seeing him so genuinely happy about your potential presence. You doubted yourself now, doubted your conviction to pull yourself away from this entire situation. Maybe there was a way out of it, a path you couldn't see just yet.

The night was easy, all of your original plans having been thrown out the window. By this time, you’d expected to be in bed, alone, crying yourself to sleep over a ruined friendship. The two of you caught up on your lost time, and he told you all about the strange and interesting experiences he’d had over the past several weeks. He seemed to be the kind of guy that attracted strangeness.

“It’s too quiet in here. Music?” He asked, bouncing up from the couch and making his way over to the bookshelf full of records against the wall.

“Sure.”

“How do you feel about…” his fingers danced along the frayed paper edges that jutted out from their wooden cubes. “Christmas music?” He raised an eyebrow at you, his fingers coming to a stop. “Are you a Christmas music lover or hater?”

“Uh–”

“Lover?” He cut you off with a laugh. “Perfect! I knew we were a good match.”

“Actually, I was gonna say–”

“How about this one?” He shouted above you, cutting you off once again. “What do you know about my man, uh…actually, I don’t know who this is. Hope it’s good.” He pulled a record from the shelf and set it on the small turntable that sat on what looked like an end table. “They just don't make album covers ugly like this anymore." He showed you the cover, clad in gaudy shades of red and green.

“Can I give my thoughts, or–”

“Only if they’re good ones!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics as the room was filled with the warm, crackly sound of the record playing. He picked up the fire poker, twirling it between his fingers for a second before using it to adjust a few of the logs.

“Any plans for Christmas?” He asked, as he absently poked at the fire.

“I was gonna go home, but the weather's not looking like it’ll cooperate.” A brutal winter storm was due directly over the path to your hometown, and you weren’t interested in fighting with multiple canceled or delayed flights.

“So you’re just gonna be here alone?” He dusted off his hands and he sat back down on the couch, eyes fixed on his handiwork.

“It’s alright. I didn’t go anywhere last year, either. I’ll see them when summer comes.”

You both sat in silence for a bit, lost in whatever trance the human mind entered when staring at a burning fire. You felt peace, for once, for the first time in a while. The blush finally left your cheeks, and the sweet scent of the fire clung to your body like a warm hug. There was something about this place that struck you each time you found yourself in it. Like it was somewhere familiar, down to each exposed beam in the ceiling and every scuff in the hardwood. The way the floor creaked when you walked across it, the feel of the antique door knobs in your hands, it all made you feel like you were always supposed to find yourself in a place like this.

You looked over at Sam to find he was looking at you, too. As if he’d heard your internal monologue, he gave you a smile. “Glad you’re here.”

“Better than the dorms.”

Without warning, he hoisted himself closer to you. “You look like you've lost some of that sunshine lately, miss eclipse.” His eyes scanned over your face, remarkably close, so close that if either of you leaned forward just a few inches– “What’s got you so down?”

Your voice came out as barely above a whisper. “Did you have to get so close just to tell me I look sad?”

“Just wanted a better view.” He looked you over one last time, and collapsed back onto his side of the couch. “Seriously, though. What’s wrong?”

You’re the entire problem. It’s all you, however I look right now, it’s because of you. Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been a bit exhausted from finals, that’s all.” Jake’s words rang through your head, how he’d pointed out your bad habit of saying that’s all when something was wrong.

Thankfully, Sam didn’t seem to have his older brother's sense of clairvoyance. “Well, it’s over. For now, at least. We can relax, finally.”

Relaxing was the last thing you would be doing in the coming week leading up to this party you’d so foolishly agreed to.

Despite the plethora of unsaid words between you, talking with him felt so easy, the way you both seemed to follow the progression of conversation so naturally. When your eyes began to feel heavy, and the fire began to die, a rising sense of unease in your heart became difficult to ignore.

“Want me to take you home?” Sam’s voice startled you out of a half-sleep you’d slipped into.

That was where the unease was coming from. You didn’t want to go home. You had no desire to return to the fluorescents, the uncomfortable bed, the bittersweet loneliness of your room in an empty building.

“Not really,” you mumbled, curling yourself up sideways on the couch. You’d inched a bit closer to him, and you could feel the tips of his fingers, draped across the back of the couch, lightly brush against your shoulder. “That place sucks.”

“You can sleep here, if you want, but…” He glanced at the front door. “The guys will probably be back tonight. Maybe, I don't know.”

An implication, heavy as the snow that had begun to fall outside, settled on both of you.

“I’ll sleep on the floor in your room,” you said, only half-joking. “Probably would still be more comfortable than those dorm beds.”

“You could always just sleep in my bed.”

“With you?”

Your eyes locked, and a sensation like sticking a fork in an outlet jolted through you. You could just barely hear the suggestion of a gasp from him, though it may have been from your own lips, you couldn’t tell.

“That’s not what I meant…but…”

Just say it. Say something. You’d never wished for him to make any kind of move before now, but it was unbearable how badly you wanted him to just do something. He was only one small movement away from you. You needed him to break this tension, say he wanted to kiss you, say he hated you, say he wanted to fuck you, anything.

“I mean–”

You cut him off. “Maybe I should just go home.” Ever the self-saboteur you were.

“Maybe you should.”

The record had reached its end, an eerily still silence befalling the room.

“That means I have to drive you.” He said it like he was hoping you would say something to the contrary.

“I can just walk.”

“It's freezing. And snowing. You're not gonna walk, you didn’t even bring a coat.”

“That’s true,” you mumbled. Now what? You were astounded at your own ability to put yourself in the most awkward positions. Go home, and wallow in what could have been? Or gamble your entire friendship on this one chance? As it would turn out, you wouldn’t need to make the choice at all.

“How long are we going to do this?” He huffed.

You blinked at him, clueless. “Do what?”

“Act like this.” he motioned between the two of you.

“Sam, I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“This…tension.” He sighed, his breath sounding shaky. “Am I crazy?”

“Tension?”

“Maybe I am just crazy. It just feels like every time I’m around you, we both get kinda weird, and it's like, there's so many things I want to say, but I don't know what they are.”

There it was again, that tone of speaking where his words tumbled over one another trying to leave his mouth as quickly as possible. You could almost physically feel your brain straining, trying to think of a way out of this. But every time, you circled back to the same point – there was no way out.

This was it. This was the peak that all your pining had been building towards. The fear of rejection was loud, but his words seemed to be saying something you'd pushed away for far too long. The thought that maybe, just maybe, he wanted you too. Though it wasn’t really a maybe, was it? The way he’d been so angry with you for thinking you’d hooked up with Jake, the darkness in his eyes when he saw the bruises on your neck, the way he’d looked at you when your head was in his lap, the little touches, the glances, the nickname, it all meant something. Something that you’d refused to even acknowledge as a possibility until this very moment.

Maybe he wanted you, too.

“Can I just–”

You moved fluidly in time with him as he leaned across the couch and caught your face in his hands. Your body worked faster than your brain, placing your fingers over his forearms. You were so close you could nearly taste him. There was nothing you could do to stop the small, surprised gasp that left your lips.

“This is it, isn't it?” He asked. “This is why you've been this way lately.”

“Sam…” the single word came out of your mouth in a pathetic, pleading tone.

“You’re…jealous, aren't you?”

It wasn't the first word you'd use to describe how you felt, but it was certainly one of them. But you didn’t want him to know that. Jealousy, in your eyes, was an ugly emotion you were ashamed of. Yearning was what you’d spent the last several months doing, not being jealous. Yet you were lying to your own face – you knew that deep down. There was no telling what you wouldn’t give to be his little waste of time.

You paused for too long, your thoughts blaring too loudly for you to speak. He spoke for you. “Look at you.” He paused, a smile slowly lighting his eyes as they darted across your face. “Can’t speak?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“We can just cut the shit and actually talk for once, how about that?” It was a brutal thing to say, but he was right.

“I thought you didn’t like me. Not like this.” You punctuated the last word by digging your fingers into his arms a bit harder.

“Who says I do?” He couldn’t keep a straight face when he spoke.

“Let go, then. Take me home.” You shocked yourself with just how calm and collected you sounded, even as your heart felt as if it may beat out of your chest at any second.

“We’re still not talking. We just keep going around and around…” he moved your face in a small circle with his hand. “In circles. Over and over.”

“Just say whatever you’re trying to say, Sammy. Please.” You couldn’t take much more of this, your willpower starting to crack at the seams.

“I don’t think I can put it to words.” He pulled you the smallest bit closer, and you went willingly. “Can I just kiss you?” The words left him first, though they may as well have come from you as well, given the way you leaned forward.

Your lips brushed against his. His fingers tightened their grip on the sides of your face. You wrapped your arms around his waist. A series of actions that seemed to happen in stop-motion, unbearably slow but all too fast at the same time.

There had to be some catch, you figured. Something would stop this, like a poorly-written movie. Someone was bound to come crashing through the door at any moment to spoil what was happening right in front of your eyes. But nothing of the sort occurred. Instead, you shut your eyes and let him come to you. And he did so.

Your lips felt perfect in his. A kiss unlike any you’d had before, he moved flawlessly in tune with you. He didn’t rush, only gently exploring the curves of your lips with his own. When he broke away from you to take a deep, shaking breath, you had to stop yourself from chasing him back down.

It was like the entire world had stopped, even the embers in the fire hushing their crackles to give the two of you a moment of silent reflection. It began to sink in. You’d kissed him. You kissed Sam. The taste of him flowed over you in waves, a taste you would never forget until the day you died.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“For what?”

“I didn’t wait for you to answer.”

It felt ridiculous that it would even occur to him to ask in the first place. As if the two of you hadn’t been dancing around this moment for months now, as if there was anything you’d wanted more.

You finally found the strength to open your eyes. The sight of him was breathtaking, in the most literal sense. Those half-lidded eyes and the way his hair framed his face, the way you were so close you could see the lightest hint of stubble on his chin, all of it was powerfully beautiful. You were suddenly struck by the sense that you would never be able to find the words to describe this moment.

You had no control over yourself as you gripped around his waist tighter, leaning back in, capturing his lips in yours. The softest groan rose from his throat, a sound so melodic to your ears you could hear it a thousand times and never get tired of it. “Yes,” you whispered between breaths.

“What?” His reply was cut off by another kiss.

“Yes, you can kiss me. And yes, I'm so jealous.”

Every other word between you was communicated in the way he pushed against you, laying you back onto the couch. His fingers wrapped in your hair, his other hand gripping the arm of the couch so hard you could hear his fingernails scratch against the fabric. He asked you how jealous? by pulling away from you a bit. You answered you have no idea in the way you chased him and pulled him back with a hand in his hair.

He wandered across your jawline, down to your neck, where he planted a few soft kisses before gently nipping at the skin. The whine that came from you caused both of you to pause. You were back in your body, but your head was so far up in the clouds you could barely remember where you were. You’d barely registered how his thigh had come to rest between your legs, and the way you were lifting your hips to grind against him. It was embarrassing, how desperate you were for contact with him.

A shiver coursed through your body when it finally clicked it was him. None of this felt real, at all. Sam was biting at your neck, your fingers were tangled in his hair, and it was real. It felt impossible to wrap your head around it all.

“How long?” You asked, before you could stop yourself.

“Hmm?”

“How long have you wanted this?”

“Since the day we met.” He sank his teeth into you, awarding him a gentle gasp.

So many firsts were transpiring all at the same time. You were quickly becoming overwhelmed, tears of excitement and joy and emotions you couldn't place prickling at the corners of your eyes. You pushed him back from you with a gentle touch, and he went so willingly it was as if he was weightless to you.

“Fuck, do you need me to stop? I’ll stop.” He was already climbing his way off of you, his eyes fixed on the tears welling up in your eyes.

“No!” The word came out broken, a sobbing gasp, pleading and desperate. “Tears of joy, I swear.”

“Needed it that bad, huh?” An obnoxious, cocky grin graced his features. A smile you’d seen before on a certain someone else. “We could have cut to the chase a lot sooner if you’d just said something.” He combed his fingers through your hair.

“You didn’t need me.” It hurt like hell to say it out loud. “You had your little waste of time, and I…” I had your brother. “I had myself.”

“I did need you, though.”

As if by some kind of grand comedic timing, the sound of tires crunching on asphalt broke through the silence, and headlights flashed through the gaps in the blinds.

“Shit.” He scrambled his way off of you, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix his disheveled appearance.

“Who’s that?” You asked, righting yourself on the couch and trying to come back down to earth.

“Don’t know. Thought they’d be at that party all night.” He ran a hand over his face, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t tell anyone you were coming over.”

“Are they gonna be mad?”

“Only if one of ‘em has a girl with them.”

Your heart rate climbed ever higher when you heard keys rattling in the lock, and the creaking of the door opening. A familiar face stared back at you through the mesh of the screen door.

“Jake!” Sam called, waving at his brother as he came in through the door.

You watched Jake’s eyes flit between you and Sam, his jaw set in a way that looked particularly pissed off.

“Hey.”

“Where’s the others?”

“In someone’s bed somewhere.”

The tension between the three of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the occasional pops from the dying fire felt like gunshots in your ears. You shot Sam a worried look as Jake hung his coat on the rack next to the door, but he looked unbothered.

“You didn’t say anyone was coming over tonight,” Jake said, digging in his coat pockets.

“I was just about to take her home, actually.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired,” you chimed in, though your voice wavered.

“Alright. Have a good night.” He made his way up the stairs, and you could feel your body relax once he was out of sight.

“Surprised he didn’t have a girl in tow,” Sam whispered to you once you both heard Jake’s bedroom door shut.

You forced out a small laugh, your head still spinning from the pace of everything that had just transpired. “Guess I’ve gotta go home, then, huh?”

He shrugged. “They wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”

Stayed, and…did what, exactly? Jake was here now. If you went up to Sam’s room, sharing a wall with Jake’s, he would know. Did it matter, though? You had the one you really wanted, now – but did you, really? You’d only kissed, after all. There had been no confession, no declaration of anything other than attraction. And you knew you did not have it in you to say it.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you muttered. “Just take me home.”

When you finally collected yourself and stepped out into the night, the frigid air felt refreshing on your flushed skin. He held the door to his car for you, a simple gesture, but one that meant the world to you. His hands gripped the wheel tightly as you stared out the windshield, trying to think of anything to say. Some kind of comment or joke to lighten the unbearable tension in the car.

“So…” he began, clearing his throat. “I’ll be gone for a bit. Next time I’ll see you is New Year’s.”

“Right.”

“We’re still doing the same shit.” He glanced at you, a small smirk on his face. “Not talking.”

You only hummed in agreement, not trusting any of the words that were lined up behind your lips. You could only replay the way Jake’s eyes had harbored a specific type of anger you couldn’t quite put your finger on. And the way he had barely acknowledged your existence.

He pulled the car up to the entrance to the residence hall and threw it in park, slinging an arm over the back of your seat. “I hope I didn’t ruin anything. Like, our friendship.”

You shook your head. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Sorry we were interrupted.”

You leaned yourself a bit closer to him, your elbow resting on the center console. “It’s alright. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah.” He caught the side of your face in his hand, his fingers trailing through your hair. “I’ll see you soon. And I’ll make up for tonight.”

He kissed you gently, just barely touching his lips to yours. It felt so sweet, and so right, to say goodbye to him this way. He leaned his forehead against yours, and you wished that this moment would never end.

You couldn't get yourself to pull away. You needed to say so many things, but the words simply would not come. It must have been written all over your face, from the way Sam smiled at you and nodded towards the door.

“Go get some sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, you pulled yourself away from him. “See ya.”

You couldn’t help but watch his car pull away once you were inside the building. It hurt, and you didn’t want him to leave, but you needed this night alone. It all started to wash over you, glimpses of reality hitting you like stray bullets with every step you took back to your dorm. All of that had been real.

The smell of him hung off of your clothes, that sweet incense aroma and whatever cologne he wore. Like he was still following you, even as you collapsed into your bed, not bothering to turn any lights on. This moment was supposed to be a somber one – you'd expected the literal opposite of where you were now. He’d offered to let you sleep in his bed. There was no doubt in your mind that if you’d taken him up on that offer, the two of you would have absolutely–

You brought your hands up to slap the sides of your face, knocking that thought off its tracks. That was far too much to think about right now. All you could seem to focus on was the warmth of his body on yours, the sweet taste of his lips, the soft sounds he had made against your mouth.

So, it had been mutual all along. A part of you was almost angry at him, for keeping it from you. But you were not innocent, yourself, as you'd never made any moves either. It was still unclear if he wanted anything more from you than your body, but even that would be more than enough for you.

It felt like starlight was coursing through your veins, a bright energy racing through all your thoughts. Every color seemed more radiant, every light seemed brighter. When you couldn't get yourself to sleep, and went for a cigarette on the roof, the stars seemed to be shining extra bright. Little points of light you’d never noticed before stuck out to you, and for once, you wished Sam was there beside you to point them out. With any luck, you had just walked through the one door you'd been searching for. And there was no turning back.

#warning: christmas music #greta van fic #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic #sam kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka x y/n #inr #i never really

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

Panty Dropper

@callm3senpaii was so kind tagging me in this and I know I should have been asleep but I couldn't stop thinking about stuff to write. Will I be tired today? I probably already am. Will it be worth dragging my ass around? Most definitely.

Things they do that have me throwing my panties on the floor and my ankles in the air:

TOJI :

~ The bulge in his pants and the scar on his lips.

~ When he stands, sits, when he's hard. Especially if he wants to hug me or pull me down onto his lap. And if he looks at me and licks the scar, I'm immediately flooding my pants. I don't know what it is about scars, whether they're on chests, arms, faces, backs (omfg backssss). They're just so fucking sexy to me. I want to lick them all.

~ He'll press that mass right into me. Knowing damn well what he's doing. Same with the scar, he knows wtf is up. If he wants my attention but doesn't want to have to say that he wants it, he'll just stare at me and lick the corner of his mouth until I'm dropping down on his face.

~ It gets worse the longer we're out of the house. Having to show self-restraint and not drop to my knees and rip his low-hanging pants from his godlike hips is not #1 on my to-do list.

~ HE IS, though.

REINER :

~ Jesus Christ. The way he would hold me all the time. How he can flip-flop between being gentle one minute to shoving my back up against any hard surface that was easily accessible, rolling and grinding his hips into me.

~ How needy he can be sometimes is so hot. Like, he can't fucking live another second without burying his face in my cunt or stuffing me full of his cock. Or tongue. Let's be real, the man loves to eat.

~ He's also emotional AND emotionally stupid. He tries to express himself and sometimes he just gets so pissed off that he doesn't have the words that he'll shut down. And I wouldn't be able to sit by and watch him beat himself up about some shit that happened 10 years ago. I'd have to climb up on his lap and start rubbing my ass all over him to get his focus to shift.

~ Watching him hold a baby would make every single good egg I had left drop down, ready to create life with him. He's so fucking big and seeing him hold something so small and fragile would make me insane with lust. (As if I'm not always DTF this guy). I'd whisper in his ear to give the baby back to her (yes, it would be a baby girl, all pinked out) parents because I need him upstairs shooting his hot load into me and telling me how much he wants to fuck a baby into me and watch my body change while nurturing life (WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM. LITERALLY WHAT. TF.)

~ His sweet gestures would kill me so softly. He would bring me a wild flower that he saw somewhere while he was out. Or he'd bring me a little succulent clipping that he snagged while he was at Home Depot getting stuff to make the rack to hold our sex swing that was going to be delivered in 2 days. 1 if the mail runs a little faster than anticipated.

~ I don't know how else to articulate this other than to tell you that we'd dance like they do in Dirty Dancing (the OG movie. Not the remake shit). You know how Baby and Johnny danced with each other when they'd basically straddle each others thighs and just grind while his hands were on her ass and she was clinging to him to keep herself from falling over backwards, even though there was no way in hell that he'd ever let go of her. And how he'd turn me around and have my back to his chest while we're just like, making our hips go in circles while we're in the living room listening to songs like "Cry To Me." Fucking shoot me now, please. I can't stand another minute without this guy.

Sanemi :

~ This motherfucker. His lack of personal space with me would be irritating at first. Like, he would always come to bed with me at the same time. Sleep smooshed up next to me, even during summer months when it's too hot to lay like that unless you have 3 box fans pointing at you (and I DO) just to take the edge off of the humidity swarming around you. But eventually, when he'd stay up to do something, video games or working out, whatever, and I go to bed alone, I definitely would just lay there and miss him. So I'd call for him and he'd come peek his head in the room and ask me what I need.

~ I'd admit that I need him because I'm so goddamn used to feeling his body next to me that I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not all tangled up in him. I just toss and turn not feeling grounded in my own bed.

~ So he'll turn off all the lights because he's a responsible electricity user and do his bedtime routine then finally come in and lay with me.

~ But he's not really tired. And he will turn over to face me and starts rubbing my thigh with his left hand, sloooowwwlllyy going higher until he's got his fingers dancing over the waistband of my --- wait, I won't be wearing panties. Scratch that. He'd play with the hem of my t-shirt and inch his way between my thighs until my knees are opening up for him.

~ "You still not tired?" is all he'd have to say to me in his deep, husky nighttime voice and I'd pull him over on top of me because I can't resist his voice, even in the daytime. But there's just something about his voice at night that does me in. It's heavy with the days weight and he wants to let go of everything. And I would help him with all that shiz.

LEVI

~ There are several things that he would do that'd lead to my clothes spontaneously disappearing.

~ If I walked in on him cleaning ANYTHING my pants would combust on the spot. There is something about a man who takes tidiness seriously. And no one takes it more seriously that Levi.

~I would try to get him to wear nothing but an apron to clean stuff up in, but he'd just call me a dumbass and continue his dusting.

~ When he is getting annoyed with me and his voice gets all disciplinary and starts yelling at me a little bit to "Knock my shit off", it's only going to egg me on more.

~ I would love to push his buttons until he was beating my ass over the kitchen table, counter, dishwasher, shower, closet, cat food dish. Idfc.

~ Also when he would drive us somewhere, he'd have his hand on my thigh and subconsciously rub and squeeze it whenever he'd get pissed off at the other idiots on the road.

~ It would be the way that he'd kiss me goodbye in the morning and then he would pull away only to lean in for a deeper kiss as his hands wrapped around my waist and pulled me into him.

~ The way the heat from his cock would warm me wherever it pressed into me as he was trying to leave for work that day. "I'm working from home today, yes. Yes, thank you. I'll be in tomorrow," he looks at me, "Possibly."

#levi ackerman headcanon #reiner braun headcanon #sanemi shinazugawa headcanon #toji fushiguro headcanon #levi smut #reiner smut #levi aot #levi attack on titan #reiner braun aot #reiner braun smut #toji smut #toji jjk smut #sanemi smut #demon slayer smut #jjk smut #kny smut

[wordsafterhours]

Songs About You - Chapter 13

Author's Note: Y'all!!!! Finally. It's been what, two months? Eek, I'm so sorry. I had a family loss and then I just couldn't write to save my life. So, long overdue, here's an update and I hope it was worth the wait. Honestly, it was meant to be double the length, but I figured I would split it into two chapters.

Word Count: 4.6k

Masterlist

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Aelin’s favorite time of year was just about here but there wasn’t an excited ounce in her body. No Yulemas cheer to be found. The decorations for the entire house still sat boxed up, forgotten and dusty in the basement. Several times she’d opened the doors to retrieve them but had found some excuse to not venture down the stairs. Today, was no exception. 

She was sprawled out on the floor in her library, a worn book in her hands, enjoying the warmth of the fire as it danced across her skin. Nothing productive had occurred since Aelin had gotten up but sometimes days spent doing nothing were exactly what one should do. Since Present Tense had been doing well, she had been able to take on an employee: Evangeline.  

Lysandra had met Evangeline through a youth outreach program a few years prior and the pair had formed an amazing bond in the interim, with Lysandra mentoring the young girl. Newly aged out of the system, Evangeline was having to learn to do life on her own, relatively speaking because Lys never strayed far from her side. 

Evangeline was a quick study, surprising Aelin with her knowledge of both fiction and non-fiction volumes. She hadn’t anticipated leaving her alone at the store, but it had become clear that she would call Aelin with any questions or problems. One week later, she was abandoning her baby, choosing to lay on the floor doing nothing. 

The excess free time had proved to be a detriment. Rowan’s steely presence had made her feel better and for days after their sleepover, she had been able to ignore the melancholy. Communication had been few and far between since then. While she wanted to ask him the reasoning, it felt like she couldn’t. They were friends, but not enough to where he owed her explanations or dedicated time for catching up. 

Yet, it’s the only thing she wanted: a meaningful place in his life.  

“This is stupid,” she chastised herself, flopping onto her back and staring at the ceiling. The pattern of seeking outside happiness was hard to break. ‘It hadn’t always been like this’ was quickly proving to be the tag line of her life. Seeking distraction, Aelin plucked her discarded phone from the floor and mindlessly scrolled through her socials. 

It all was a stark reminder of what she didn’t have: a successful relationship, a child, family… She supposed the last one was a quasi-lie. Her cousin and uncle were very much alive but after Arobynn’s deceit had come to life, so had Gavriel and Aedion’s involvement in the Vaults. It was unforgiveable. 

Mercifully, the familiar vibration of an incoming phone call saved her from sinking further into self-pity.

“Hello?” she answered quickly, not bothering to check the caller ID beforehand. 

“Aelinnnnn!” 

“Dorian! It’s so wonderful to hear your voice.”

“Well, you’d hear it more often if you ever bothered to check in,” he replied jokingly but not enough that she didn’t detect a small note of hurt.

“You’re right, I’ve been a shit friend lately.”

“The absolute worst,” Dorian confirmed with dramatic flair.

“To be fair, you didn’t call either.”

“I know, which is why I’m following up this phone call with an invitation to see my handsome, smiling face in person.”

“WHAT?” she yelped, jumping to her feet. “You’re here in Orynth?” 

“Specifically, 20 King’s Road.”

Mere seconds ticked by, just enough for his statement to sink in, before she was pushing through the library door, dodging the dog lying on her bedroom floor, and sprinting down the stairs. Aelin was in Dorian’s arms the moment she opened the door, clinging to him as though he were life itself. 

Not ready for her launch, the man stumbled backwards a few steps, but managed to stabilize them both as he held her close. “Hi, Ae,” he mumbled into her hair.

“It’s been too long, Dor.” 

She slipped from his grasp, taking a step back to take him all in. Dorian had this enduring boyish charm to him, and his laughter was infectious. Sometimes, she envied the way he seemed to have nothing weighing him down, like he hadn’t a single care in the world. He was passionate and loyal and always seemed to show up when he was needed. His black hair had grown longer in the year apart, touching his collar and following over his ears. Bright eyed as ever. 

“Are you done?” he jested, rolling his eyes. 

“I was just making sure I was still the most beautiful one in this friendship.” 

A pinched look appeared on Dorian’s face, and she knew he was internally trying to talk himself down from participating in this redundant argument. Both vain, both beautiful, and always trying to outdo the other. “I’m not doing this with you, not today. This is a pass because of what’s been going on in your life. Not that you bothered to tell me. I had to listen to my best friend go on and on about it. Let me tell you, after an hour, I was ready to be fed to a pack of ghost leopards.” 

The blonde did her best not to laugh, but a small chuckle escaped.

“Go ahead, laugh at my misery. There is nothing I could ever do or have done to deserve listening to that man whine drunkenly for the better part of an entire evening. It was pathetic really.” 

“Thank you for your service,” Aelin grinned, placing a reassuring hand on Dorian’s shoulder. 

“Don’t mention it… or actually, I know how you can repay me,” the raven-haired man announced, a devilish smirk tipping up his lips.

‘This, this is not good,’ Aelin thought to herself. Dorian was a level unto himself, and her current state would not allow her to keep up with whatever hairbrained idea he seemed to be concocting.  

Muscle taut, she braced herself for what his next words would be.

“You can come to Moonie’s with me.”

“Huh?” 

“Close your jaw and nod your pretty little head in agreement.” 

“How do you even know about Moonie’s?”

The rustic bar was not Dorian’s scene. He haunted places like Manon’s bar, The Thirteen; places with a certain ambiance and ability to have VIP section and service. He was very much a creature of luxury subsequent to his wealthy upbringing. 

“Why must everything be so difficult?” he whined, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I started my morning at your store, except to my surprise, you weren’t there, and a young, dark-headed girl was. Naturally, I introduced myself in attempt to discern your whereabouts when Lys came in and interrupted the conversation per usual. Anyways, long story short, I traded a ‘yes’ to the bar to catch up, for your location.” 

“Well, you’re in for a treat.” 

“Gods, where is this establishment? The Staghorns themselves?” her male counterpart griped from the passenger seat. 

“Oh hush. It’s not even been half an hour.”

“I’m going to murder Lysandra. Moonie’s is really code for ‘the woods’, isn’t it?” 

Aelin slid her gaze sideways, pinning Dorian with an annoyed look. A small fragment of her felt sympathy but another part relished in how distressed he looked, half his face pressed into the window and his bottom lip stuck out, pouting. As soon as they got to the bar, this would be Lysandra’s problem. There were beers and Fenrys awaiting her. 

Soon, she was parking her vehicle in the lot, pleased to have found up front parking. It was going to be a good night if the plethora of parked cars was any indication. The driver-side door wasn’t even shut before her turquoise eyes saw the back of Dorian disappearing into the bar. “No, that’s fine. Don’t wait for me,” Aelin muttered to the cold night air. 

The loud cacophony of Moonie’s patrons reached her ears before she’d even set both feet on the worn porch. Whatever she had been expecting, it was not this. There wasn’t an empty table to be found, with many groups of people standing amongst themselves, drinking and talking. The carved-out area of the dance floor was equally occupied, twirling bodies artfully avoiding one another as they moved about. Despite the somber mood that had gripped her most of the day, even in the presence of her giddy friend, Aelin found her pink lips pulling up into the ghost of a smile. 

Fenrys’ blond head was a glowing beacon up towards the bar, summoning her like a moth to flame. As she neared, an unladylike snort left her as she noted Dorian and him locked in conversation. The odds of those two finding one another should have been higher—for her sake, at the very least. 

“There she is, the only woman I’ll ever get on my knees for,” crooned Fenrys, hand out in expectation. 

Aelin’s cheeks burned, the drunkenly declared compliment making her feel as though the entire bar had heard him. Still, she took his hand, and he pulled her close, body flush against his. Dorian, grinning like a fiend, said nothing as he took sip from his glass.

“I see you move quick,” she observed.

“It’s not my fault you’re slow.”

“Dor, you practically ran inside. There was a dust shaped outline of you by the passenger side door.”

“I did not run in here like some degenerate alcoholic,” he asserted with a pinched look. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

“Gods themselves, remind me why we’re friends again?” 

“Because she’s perfect,” chimed in Fenrys, briefly squeezing her tighter. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Aelin admitted. 

“One of these days, you’re going to see yourself the way everyone else does,” the raven-haired man quietly acknowledged, dimming the playful tone of the conversation. 

Feeling awkward, she shuffled through her brain for a redirection tact. “I want you guys to tell me something—” Both their gazes on her, interest piqued as they waited for her to continue. “How is that you two singled one another out in the bar with this many people in it?” 

A coy look passed between the two. “Oh Aelin, didn’t anyone every tell you, like calls to like?” 

Raising her hand in protest, she was quickly shushed by Fenrys as he insisted that they go sit down. Still trapped by his arm around her shoulders, there was no choice but to follow. Before the night was over, the actual reason would come to light. 

Two long tables were shoved together to accommodate the gathering of friends tonight. Half a bench was open at one of them and Aelin sat, smothered between Dorian and Fenrys. At the opposite end, a familiar head of silver caught her eye. Subtly, she looked over; instant regret filled her veins as she caught him placing a kiss to Lyria’s lips. 

Unconsciously, her body must have stiffened, because suddenly Dorian was leaning into her, his lips brushing against the shell of her right ear. “You okay?” 

Not trusting her voice, she worried her lip, giving the best nod she could muster. His blue eyes appraised her heavily before flicking away. Steeling herself, Aelin joined in the conversation, doing her best to catch up with everyone and ignore Rowan and Lyria without seeming like she was. 

Every now and again, the boys would lean in, and ask her if she was doing okay. Or make small jokes and off-colored comments. Perhaps, because of their closeness, they could feel the unyielding tension in her body or sense that she wasn’t really engaged, interjecting at bare minimum… whatever it was, she was grateful for their check-ins. It also helped distract her from the feeling of eyes boring into the side of her head. 

“Fen, move, I have to pee,” she whispered, tapping his thigh.

“And here I thought you were trying to cop a feel.”

“If that ever happens, you’ll know,” Aelin declared. 

“You promise?” he waggled his eyes brows, laughing harder as her gaze narrowed. 

Flustered at being so easily ruffled, Aelin hurried down the dimly lit corridor to the bathrooms. Why they were so far out of the way, she’d never understand, but at least it was quieter here and free from intense stares. Worn frames with black and white photos lined the hallway. Until now, Aelin hadn’t really noticed their presence, whether it was from alcohol or general unawareness, she couldn’t say.

Smiling, familiar faces stared back at her. It was “The Cadre”, Rowan and his friends, in various ages and settings. Rowan wasn’t in the younger ones, but you would have never guessed from how well he fit into the ones he was a part of. His accent was a dead giveaway that he came from across the sea but in their conversations, exactly where had not come to light.

Wistfully, her fingers traced along the frames, chasing the feelings depicted within. Their happiness was palpable, seemingly leaking from the edges, highlighting emotions not privy to her for some time. 

“That was last summer,” a rough, lilted voice spoke from behind her, sending her heart skittering into rapid staccato. Hand to chest, Aelin refused to turn around, instead electing to remain looking the photo. All five were covered in mud, looking at one another and laughing—so carefree and present. It truly was a magnificent candid shot. 

Teeth, sharp, sunk into her plush bottom lip, reminding her to maintain composure as she felt him move closer, nearly flush against her back. It would take nothing to close the distance, something she wanted more than anything, but would not grant him the satisfaction. 

His warm breath fanned against her as he spoke once more. “We were helping one of my neighbors clean up their property. Too many felled trees and debris result in increased fire hazard. And last year, it had been dry, no rain and was windy the entire blasted month of June. I was afraid that if a fire happened, they would lose their house. So, the guys, they helped clean it up. The last day, it rained… Actually, it was a godsdamned torrential down pour. This was taken after it quit. To say we had fun would be an understatement.” 

Aelin could feel the joy of that day like it was her own. Rowan, he was a natural born storyteller. It didn’t matter with what he had to say was two sentences or twenty, she always found herself on the proverbial edge of her seat, waiting for what he’d say next. It seemed as though he was done when the silence lapsed from seconds into minutes. 

She could feel the large breath he loosed, the distance between them still so minute that he could have been touching her. “Nothing to say?”

Frustration clung heavy to those three little words. 

“No.” Succinct. No room for argument. 

“You and I both know that’s a lie. I can see how flushed your skin is. You posture is bone-breaking rigid. You’re tapping your fingers against your thigh.” It was the arrogance of his observation that burst the dam. 

“You don’t deserve my words, Rowan. Only my friends deserve my words.”

He snorted, widening the space between them, her body cried at the loss of his warmth. “That must be why you were practically in Fenrys’ and Adarlanian prince’s laps all night, whispering in their ears. I wasn’t aware that was appropriate behavior amongst friends.” 

First. How dare he. Aelin was seething at what the silver-haired man had just implied. Secondly, how did he know Dorian was the son of Adarlan’s governor? Had she been that checked out in the conversation? Thirdly, he was all over Lyria since she had sat down at the table. 

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Go. Fuck. Yourself. You literally slept in my bed, witnessed me at my worst, and then disappeared for weeks. I’ve reached out, you’ve not answered or give one- or two-word replies. What happened to ‘you can count on me’?”  

The telltale burning of tears had Aelin digging her nails into her palms, a poor attempt at redirecting her frustration and hurt. 

“I have a life, Aelin! I’ve been busy. I have a girlfriend. I can’t just be around 24/7 to hold your hand,” he barked angrily, throwing his hands up. 

Girlfriend. 

Girlfriend. That word echoed against the walls of newly formed cavern in her chest. She was going to be sick. 

“Well, excuse me for having taken you at your word. I am sorry to have wasted your time and you won’t have to worry about ‘holding’ my hand anymore.”

An unknown emotion flitted across his face as she used her hands to quote him. Not giving him the chance of rebuttal, she hit her shoulder hard into his as she passed. Fleeing into the bathroom, with barely enough time to lock the door, her knees buckled. 

She pressed the heel of her hands hard into her eyes, almost to the point of pain, quelling the tears. If her lids had to be taped shut in order for no tears to come, that’s what would happen. Despite wanting to give up, wanting to give in to the debilitating sadness and exhaustion, she could not go there again. There would be no one left on the other side.

Rising to her feet, Aelin walked to the sink, and splashed cool water on her face. Two swipes of a paper towel and her runny mascara looked immaculate again. Pale skin was marred pink, eyes a little swollen, but hopefully no one at the table would look too closely. 

Her heart lifted a little when she returned to the table to see neither Rowan nor Lyria in sight. At least she wouldn’t have to sit there, acting normal, after having her heart pulverized by his callous words. Both Dorian and Fenrys jumped to their feet when she came to stand behind them. 

“Aeeeeeee, you were gone for so long, I thought you left me,” slurred Dorian, throwing a heavy arm around her. 

“He acts like he didn’t want that,” Fenrys chimed in, pointedly looking at his new friend.

Dorian pinked up and looked away. “What did I miss?”

“An extremely interesting round of truth or dare.” 

“Well, fill me in,” she pleaded. A distraction was welcome, needed. 

“Oh no, no, no my dashing blonde friend. You snooze, you lose,” cooed Dorian, leaning his head against her.

“I’m sorry I have a bladder.” 

“Learn to hold it like the rest of us.”

“You know what, you can sit here with everyone else. Fenrys and I are going to dance.” She slipped out from his grasp, instead trading it for the golden male’s. Dorian made to follow them, but Manon grabbed his hand before he could get to far. Aelin smirked, mouthing thanks to her friend. She wasn’t sure what he was whining in protest, but from the overly devious look on the other woman’s face, Aelin was feeling quite satisfied and not the least bit sorry. 

The song playing throughout the bar didn’t fit the ambience of the establishment, but she supposed that it was one of the things that made Moonie’s so charming.  It was never what she expected. 

Rhythmic beats pulsed through the air and Aelin moved her body against Fen’s without a care in the world. Her back was flush to his chest, but not indecent enough that anyone could yell “get a room” at them. The male’s hands, came to rest on her hips, holding her close the best he could while also maintaining a decent hold of his drink.

Still, unfairly aware of her surroundings, her deft fingers relieved him of his drink. She downed it in an instant, grimacing only slightly as the unpleasant burn of whiskey gripped her throat. 

“Some of us were drinking that!” Fenrys remarked against the shell of her ear.

“It was very good, thank you.”

“Would you like another?”

She nodded, holding up two fingers to convey a double. 

Spinning, hands up in the air, Aelin laughed, not caring if she looked ridiculous. The alcohol was providing enough of a light-headed feeling that she no longer was noting every detail, cataloguing the people around, cycling through Rowan’s cruel conversation behind it all. 

By the next song, Fenrys was making his way back to her, drinks in hand and Dorian, looking a little worse for wear, trailing behind him. “Hi babes!” she joyfully (drunkenly) declared, throwing her weight into Dorian as she wrapped her arms around him. 

“I see you’ve been having fun.” 

She tucked her head in embarrassment, a sheepish laugh escaping her. 

“It’s about time you laughed. You don’t do it enough and it’s beautiful,” her other friend said from behind. A full glass of whatever whiskey concoction he had gotten her, appeared in her peripheral. She grabbed it, pushing away from Dorian, and quickly disappearing half the glass before anyone could caution her against it. 

It burned less, numbed more, and it was exactly the feeling Aelin was desperately chasing. The blurred state that only came with participating in reckless behaviors. As the glass touched her lips again, the weight of heavy stares caused her to pause. The two sets of eyes were so starkly different, a night and day contrast, yet both conveyed the same thing: 

You should slow down. 

“What?” she asked innocently, hoping no lecture or words of caution would result from it. 

The two shared a glance but neither spoke up, instead choosing to wash down their words with libations. 

The drink was gone, and they’d been idle too long. “Let’s dance!” she yelled, spinning away with childish abandonment. The group huddled together, moving to some electronic pop number. Fists in the air, they jumped up and down, careful not to knock into anyone else. 

Aelin felt weightless. Carefree. Untraumatized. Too long it had been since she had felt so unburdened from her life. This feeling was addictive and she wished that this moment could be bottled up, to be sipped on later when the heaviness of it all, was drowning her so relentlessly. 

They danced and danced and danced. Sometimes, she was sandwiched between the two boys, other times, they danced alone, or took turns spinning one another when a two-step song came on. Her legs would be akin to a new-born deer tomorrow, unlikely to hold her up. Perhaps, Fleetfoot would entertain herself… unlikely but with the high she was riding tonight, a small glimmer of hope nagged her thoughts. 

“Guys,” she said loudly over the music, “I think I’m going to go sit down for a second. Elide needs to come dance with us. I’m going to have to pry her off Lorcan.” 

“Goodluck,” Fenrys muttered whilst giving her a dramatic salute. 

Her legs felt like jello as she did her best to remain upright through her stumble off the dance floor. The lightheaded feeling created by copious amounts of alcohol was still present but not as severe as it had been. Her two dance partners where largely to blame for her current elated mood. 

Spying their table, her eyes roved over familiar heads, but disappointingly, Lorcan was present without Elide. Two others were also still surprisingly absent. Despite their earlier altercation, her heart still withered a little in her chest knowing he had truly left with Lyria. 

“Where’s ‘Lide?” Aelin asked of no one in particular. 

Vaughn pointed over his shoulder, “Taking someone for all their money in pool.” Loudly she snorted. Elide was a pool shark and was never suspected of it until halfway through a game. It was a good bit of entertainment on many occasions. 

The petite creature in question was leaning against a pool table, stick pressed against her face, animatedly talking to somebody sitting down. Two seconds away from barreling in unannounced, Aelin stopped dead in her tracks, as though an invisible wall had been dropped in front of her. 

“—the only remaining family she has was charged in connection with Arobynn and the Vaults. They later dropped the charges in exchange for information, but she never forgave them.” 

“Why not?” 

“You didn’t know her before. She was this bright flame, drawing everyone to her. Even when we were kids, you couldn’t help but notice her. A godsdamned force of nature with a penchant for sweets. She drove Rhoe and Evalin crazy… I think it’s why they just had one kid, ya know? And then, when Gavriel and Aedion moved to the city, she gained a sibling, and never looked back. The thing about her, is she loves with her whole heart—all or nothing. So when she gets let down, she really feels it.”

Aelin didn’t dare move, frozen in equal parts disbelief, anger, and uncertainty. How could her best friend be talking about her life like none of it was painful, private? Or hers to safeguard or disclose? Her cousin and uncle’s names still salt in raw wound. 

“After her parents, she recovered by leaning on the remaining men in her life that she considered family. But when Arobynn was found to be the reason they were dead and that her cousin and uncle had been involved in the underground operation he largely headed, it broke something in her. The fire dimmed. I think most days, it’s nothing more than a hot coal, barely glowing.”

A few beats of uncomfortable silence passed before the petite, dark-haired woman added, “Somedays, I think she’d be okay with laying down and never getting up again.” 

“I think you’re right.” It was the absolute pity in his lilting voice that spurred her into action.

Clapping down the triangular ball setter, Aelin took momentary satisfaction in Elide’s surprise and subsequent dropping on the pool stick. 

“I don’t know what hurts worse, that my best friend is talking about my life like it’s Friday night dinner conversation or that you’re listening like you don’t shit on my feelings every two godsdamned seconds!” 

Both looked shamefaced, standing next to one another, refusing to meet her gaze. 

“One of you has a right to my life because you’ve been here to see it. You knew my parents, my cousin, my uncle. You had a front row seat to me falling apart, wiped my tears when it became too much. You know better. Or you should. There’s stuff that you know that not even my ex-boyfriend of six years knew.”

Elide went to open her mouth, dark eyes finally rising to meet Aelin’s furious and hurt gaze. She nodded, holding up a palm before looking at Rowan, narrowing her gaze.

“And you! Are my feelings some sort of game to you? One minute you’re promising to be around, to be someone I can count on, and the next, you’re squashing me under your boot. You can’t have it both ways, Rowan. You either fucking care or you don’t. I don’t need your pity when it’s convenient.” Aelin had done her best not to cry, but the minute her voice cracked on his name, the tears slowly rolled down flushed cheeks. 

If someone had dropped a pen, it would have echoed. The bar’s merriment and debauchery had simply vanished in the wake of this unfolding debacle.

“Ae—” Rowan started in as he took a step towards her. 

“I think you’ve done enough, Ro,” Fenrys said from somewhere behind her. Soon, his warm hug enveloped her from behind. She sagged in relief. The silver-haired man took another two steps before he stopped, heeding whatever look her blond counterpart had given him. 

“You okay?” he whispered into her hair. 

Too tired to answer, she meekly nodded no. 

“I’ll take you home, Kid.” 

----------------------------------------------------------

Tag List:

@theresyourfireandblood @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories @morganofthewildfire @rowaelinismyotp @jorjy-jo @theresyourfireandblood @numbers-colors-fashion @swankii-art-teacher @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart  @stardelia @astra-ad-mare

Let me know if you want to be added on the tag list!

#rowan x aelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #elide lochan #fenrys moonbeam #Moonie's #rowaelin #rowaelin au #dorian havilliard #I kinda stan a dorian and Fenrys romp ;) #throne of glass #songs about you #romance #slow burn #will Aelin ever stop crying? #friends to lovers

[georgiapeach30513]

Soba 1000% is not making the cut when compared her age bracket.

All of the 20s actresses you’ve mentioned are talented. Varying levels of talent but all of them have done something memorable and worthwhile that brings their name to the conversation.

Soba only has her husband for clout.

When you compare her to all of the other actresses worth mentioning in her bracket, I dare say she is the only one who when you have to explain how do people know her? It’s not because of a role she played but because of who she married.

Remember, WN launched back in 2020. There was a whole season where it was on Netflix (internationally) and yet the only time CE fans even noticed her is because he followed her on SM and people had to google who she was and what she did. Sure WN had its own smaller fanbase but she was the star and still forgettable.

He inadvertently put her on the map (whether or not intentionally is still TBD) because his fanbase was the one who started to do the legwork and get her name mentioned in things like DM and other gossip fodder due to their incessant crazy stalking.

If anything, these latest pics at the restaurant are giving serious Ben and Ana vibes from 2020. Most of CE fans knew Ana because of knives out and there were some GP who knew her from blade runner 2049 and knock knock, but her dating Ben really put her on the GP map and during peak Covid. People were wondering who she was and while she was out being embarrassing with Ben on the daily, she paid her dues, walked away, and came back 200 fold stronger. Now look at her. Oscar nominated (though I have issues with that role and how it happened) and now a household name in her own right. She played the game right and with her own hard work - she earned that shit.

People may disagree with me but I personally see a lot of similarities between these two but the main difference is how these women will leverage their added publicity and fame.

Ana wanted to make a name for herself.

To me, soba is not currently showing much of that. She’s showing “wants to be a sugar baby” but pretends she’s feminist and wants a career. I could be wrong but from her own actions and especially how she’s quick to gallivant around the world on vacation and attending fashion shows, but extremely reluctant to come out and actually promote her own work and show up for work obligations, I’m not seeing someone who really wants to work hard. She wants fame and that’s it. She also wants the luxury that comes with fame and fortune but not the pay your dues part.

Just my take though.

🙌🏻 you get it. There is a lot of similarities between Ana and soba. Ana isn’t the most talented actress, but there is this beauty and poise to her. She is likable with a great personality. But what really sets her apart is her work ethic. That woman PROMOTES HER STUFF!! She knew Ghosted was a flop, and she promoted it daily. She repped herself so hard that she is a Louis Vuitton girl.

Hollywood is a tough world. It’s not easy to make it to it. Just because you get cast, and you act, your job isn’t done. Promoting and press is part of the job. It is tedious and boring and should be done. Ana got an Oscar nod very quickly in her career. Why? Because she wanted it.

Ana has my respect because she earned it. Acting is more work than people realize. Being an influencer is more work than people realize. For someone who has been given a platform, she knows fuck all to do with it. Again, she needs to be humbled.

[slaygentford]

I listened to every Beatles album in order so you dont have to and kept this record as I did. no one asked me to do this and honestly idk how I arrived at it it just sounded interesting after I exhausted the platters who I didnt think to record like this. also im at the point of school where you dont get homework anymore and I miss it so I made a report.

these are graded on a curve, that is, the ratings of each album are calculated in relation to the other albums. prior to this endeavor I had only heard the big beatles songs like in movies and on Wii rockband.

please please me: 3/5. highlight: twist and shout (sorry). lowlight: baby its you. thready ass vocals. leave it to people with talent with the beatles: 3/5. aesthetically identical to prev. highlight: you really got a hold on me. lowlight: please mr postman. why the fuck would you cover this. youre signing up to fail a hard day's night: 2/5. highlight: things we said today. lowlight: sadly, a hard day's night beatles for sale: im gonna keep it real. this sounds identical to albums 1-3 to me and I feel exactly no emotion about it at all. largely inoffensive. 2/5 help!: 3.3/5. highlight: help! killer bass. lowlight: the riff in I need you fills me with a burning, indescribable rage rubber soul: here we begin to experience the epic highs and lows of The Beatles discography. high highs: Norwegian wood and girl. low lows: literally everything else. 2/5 revolver: 3.5/5. these bitches finally woke up! highlight: I'm only sleeping, for no one, Eleanor Rigby is worth the hype, I want to tell you, tomorrow never knows. lowlight: dr robert -- flop attempt at satire. also whatever that one guy was doing to that poor sitar sgt pepper's: I came to a rude awakening when I realized that the wall would not exist without sgt pepper's. humbling. that being said, 0/5. I hated every single second of this. magical mystery tour: epic high following last album's epic low. 5/5. strawberry fields has a BASS DROP??!?!? no skips. I love this album. its such a time capsule as well of like one of the weirdest years in history. i can listen to this album and experience how my parents felt at 16. the callback to she loves you on the last track. I get it the white album: I dont get it. this album tested me like nothing else. I began to flag. I began to question the honor of my quest. I almost shut it off after nearly every song. but let me say: the highs are sweeping. SWEEPING. happiness is a warm gun. blackbird, Helter Skelter, while my guitar gently weeps, back in the ussr, revolution (which is satire which I just realized)... however, the lows are LOW. glass onion is bad; Julia is actually unlistenable (I broke and skipped it); wild honey pie is like getting a transorbital lobotomy; birthday has undone years of my therapist's work vis a vis suicidal ideation. Im so baffled by this I almost want to exclude it entirely. instead I calculated its good song to bad song ratio which landed the album as a whole at a solid D+ (69%)! but that seems like its ignoring the good songs which for any other band even ONE of those would be the song of their career. emotionally the experience was not unlike a bipolar mixed episode. 1/5 yellow submarine: this one was a movie soundtrack. something it has going for it is that it isn't the white album. 4/5 abbey road: yeah. 10/5. I cant even be flippant about this. you live a whole lifetime listening to this one. fine. let it be: set myself up to FAIL with this one. my dad was about to turn 18 the year this came out, which I only bring up because this is the only one of my dads beatles albums I kept. so of course I listened to the record and cried through let it be like a bitch. I like all the studio talking noise. 5/5 for sentimentality

rating overall: 43.8/65, about 66%. but I dont vibe w that honestly. I had a great time doing this and discovered some great music. I also cant ignore their historical significance and the insight it gave me into my parents' youth, which is probably the most interesting thing about the beatles. I choose to recuse myself from assigning a grade and instead, on a pass/fail scale, pass them.

reflection: they were so prolific in 10 years with wildly varying results, but it makes me feel like we need to all create more haphazardly and throw stuff at the wall and see what sticks instead of being so precious about it. because honestly, a monkey at a typewriter with that kind of output WILL eventually write something good. I also think it's the kill baby Mussolini principle in that even if you killed baby Mussolini there would still be the sociopolitical situation which gave rise to Mussolini. so if The Beatles never formed there would've been other band/s who evolved with the upheaval of the 60s who would now serve as this cultural touchstone. but this is what we got and thats quite interesting I think.

takeaway: I cant listen to another beatles song for at least 2 calendar years

#what an experience. wow. who should I do this with next

[anoncausewhynot]

A story in which i revert to crappy tropes

Carl X Dolos

“Dear god there's only one bed” Dolos crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the bed as if staring at it could make it morph into two. Lawrence had called the room across from them and Molly, being the little female dog she had decided it was ok to take the largest room in the house and the only one with a door that could lock. The other members of Samson's little group had to share spaces with each other and the only reason Lawrence didn’t was because he was ‘special’ or some crap and Molly was the only girl. I turned to Dolos, waiting for him to do something or yell or some shit. “Come on it’ll be fun, we can stay up all night and giggle and gossip” I flopped onto the bed and fixed my eyes on a specific place on the ceiling. “No thanks Carl” he sat down on the far side of the bed and took off his shoes. “Aw don’t be so upset, i’ll make this worth your while” I sat up and scooted closer to him poking his side. He let out a little gasp and smacked my hand away “Touch me again and i’ll break off all your fingers and force them down your throat” An empty threat of course but he’s so cute when he talks like that, like a little chihuahua. And just like a chihuahua I'd like to put a collar on him. Dolos took off his socks and I watched perplexed for a second on how a shadow thing could have provoked such emotions from me. He unfastened his cloak and threw it to the ground. “Oooo how much to take off the rest” I giggled. Dolos clenched his fists and looked just about ready to hit me. Not that i could tell, the fact that he doesn’t have any facial features besides for glowing, constantly color changing eyes that didn’t have pupils or whites made it very hard to tell what he was thinking. Dolos let out a shaky breath and clenched his fists. “Goodnight Carl” he stood up and pulled the covers out from the pillows they had been tucked under. He slid underneath and turned away from me. I stood up and turned the lights off before doing the same, slowly drifting off. 

Cold. Very cold. I sat up drearily and looked at my legs which had once been covered by a blanket. Dolos was all huddled up with it cocooned like a baby or some crap. I took one side of the blanket and gently forcefully yanked it out from under him. He awoke with a start and quizzically looked around. “You're such a blanket hog Dolos” I fake whined only causing a singular groan to come from him. He ripped the blanket from my hands and pulled it. I in response did the same. Ok yeah it was stupid. So stupid. He’s about 120 pounds and 5’5 and while good at defense and running, isn’t the strongest. I on the other hand, i’m 6’4 and definitely stronger then him so what i’m trying to say is. It tore. The blanket stores in half. And not evenly either. He let go of it and looked up at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen and let out a little gasp. I took both pieces of the blanket and threw them onto the ground. It was incredibly crappy material anyways and we wouldn’t be staying in this house for long. “C’mon newbie, let's cuddle” I opened my arms up wide and smiled, although I doubt he could tell since I was wearing my trademark mask. “Carl, i-” “Platonically, platonically” i held my hands out in front of me in self defense. He finally gave in and wrapped an arm around me, I placed both arms around his back and leaned into him, basking in his warmth. “Never speak of this to anyone Carl”

#lgbt #pride month #writing #fluff #ocs #oc #cute #art #one bed trope #gay #gay pride #i think about them way to much #awww they're so cute uwu #writing tropes

[clarkegriffins]

favourite characters moodboards • cather “cath” avery (fangirl) “no," cath said, "seriously. look at you. you’ve got your shit together, you’re not scared of anything. i’m scared of everything. and i’m crazy. like maybe you think i’m a little crazy, but i only ever let people see the tip of my crazy iceberg. underneath this veneer of slightly crazy and socially inept, i’m a complete disaster.

#fangirledit #bookedit #litedit #yalitedit #rainbow rowell #books #fangirl #cath avery #fcmb #booksociety #litcreators #storyseekers #chaptersnet #this will flop so hard but my baby girl is worth it #too bad i can't find emily browning with glasses #she's my perfect cath and wren #i will finish rereading fangirl and i will edit cath/levi #maybe even the characters of fangirl idk

[fivelakesinwriting]

Umm can we get a jj fic that's just making out while a movie plays in the background...? Like a makeout sesh not leading to anything...?

I love your writing and think you could make it so cute...😊😊

Author's Notes: It was hard for me to pick a movie, but I ended up picking one that I thought fit for JJ, and is a personal favourite (also shout out season 2 for the lil' homage) If this was your request I hope you love it. Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you xoxoxoxo

Warnings: Brief mentions of Maybank home life, Otherwise fluffy! Just kissing, and touching.

Requested? YES! Requests for OBX are OPEN!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

Slow. JJ Maybank could do slow. He could be the King of taking things slow. He could keep his hands to himself and keep his....in his pants for as long needed, if that's she wanted. He would be the most gentlemanly Pogue to ever walk the Outer Banks.

It was their Friday night routine. A movie at her house, too many snacks and then they crashed on the couch. Her parents were fine with him staying there, they knew it was the best place for him. And they trusted him, surprisingly. So they didn't care about having a giant, blonde boy sprawled out on their couch from Friday to Sunday.

Her dad always greeted him with a smile, and a pat on his shoulder when he let him in the front door. Always asked him how he was as he let him inside, telling him to kick off his shoes and make himself at home. It was always foreign to JJ, but he did it anyways.

That Friday, though, they were alone. Her dad didn't open the front door to let him inside, or tell him to kick off his muddy boots. It was his girl who opened the door for him.

"Hey, gorgeous." JJ smiled as he leaned against the doorjamb with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Hi, baby." She beamed up at him before she stood on her toes and tossed her arms around his shoulders for a tight hug. He pressed a kiss to the side of her face and then followed her inside the house, kicking of his shoes as she looked back at him expectantly. He didn't think he would ever get used to that.

"So, what movie did you bring me tonight?" She smiled at him as she flopped on the couch, her knees hung over the arm.

"Thought it was your choice this time." JJ replied as he grabbed her feet, pulled off her fuzzy slippers and wiggled the tips of his fingers against the arch of her left foot to make her squeal.

"You don't pay attention to the movies I pick." She giggled with a kick of her foot away from his tickling fingers.

"I will this time, promise. Pay attention to whatever rom-com trash you pick." JJ scoffed as tossed his backpack down beside the couch, then placed his hands on the arm of the plush piece of furniture and leaned over her legs.

"Well, you're in luck. Because I didn't want to watch a romantic comedy tonight." She smiled as she opened her arms, reaching up to him and inviting him to lay in her arms.

"No? What were you thinking?" JJ responded as he accepted her invitation and laid his body on top of hers, spreading his weight on his hands so he didn't crush her.

"Maybe a scary movie? I know you like those." She grunted as his chest dropped against hers, her hands resting on his shoulders.

"Well, you're in luck. I brought one just in case you picked something lame." JJ grinned as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her nose.

"I don't have a VHS player, JJ." She teased as she reached for the soft wisps of blonde hair beneath his solid blue hat.

"Shut up. I didn't bring a VHS." JJ scoffed, a blush creeping up his neck and colouring his cheeks. He pushed himself up from the couch, reaching down to his bag and pulling out an old DVD from the island video rental store he never returned. If that place was still around he would probably owe more than the HMS Pogue was worth in rental fees.

He popped the disc in the player, then turned on the television, making sure his frame blocked her eyes from seeing what the was putting on. He always liked it to be a surprised. Her exaggerated whines were his favourite. The way she'd toss her body into his when he put on something from the 80's that she swore she didn't like, but would watch in a trance the whole time. He knew her better than she thought he did.

A smile crossed his face as he pressed play then slowly backed up towards the couch to take up his usual spot beside her. He rested his arm over the back of the couch and let her cuddle up close into the side of his body, her knees against her chest.

"I knew you'd pick this one! It was only a matter of time!" She giggled as she grabbed the collar of his shirt then turned her body so she straddled his lap.

"Goonies are like Pogues. We never say die." JJ shrugged with a lopsided grin as he placed his hands on her hips. He thumbed at the belt loops of her shorts and let her toy with the ends of his hair.

JJ's girl only smiled as she twisted her fingers into his hair as it poked out of the bottom of his hat, leaning her body into his as the movie started in the background. He wanted to make a smart remark about how he had been trying to get her to watch this movie for months, and she was distracting him.

But he really didn't mind the distraction. He had seen the movie probably a good two dozen times. Maybe more.

JJ placed his hands on her backside and tugged her closer against him, the heat from her body engulfing him. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as he slid his hands in to the back pockets of her shorts, letting her play with his hair.

"You smell really good." JJ mumbled against her cheek, then began to press kiss after kiss along her jawline down her neck.

"Thanks, baby. You smell good, too." She replied with a smile, her hands resting on his shoulders as he pressed a prolonged kiss to the side of her neck.

"No. I don't. Been helping my cousin work on his car all day. I smell like oil, and grease." JJ laughed as he pulled his head back and looked at her face.

"What's wrong with Ricky's car now?" She questioned as she traced over his strong shoulders, her eyes on her fingers.

"I think a list of things that are right with Ricky's car would be easier to answer." JJ scoffed as he pulled his right hand out of her back pocket and placed it on her thigh, his calloused fingertips tracing his own patterns on her soft skin.

"You're a good cousin, JJ." She stated softly before she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

JJ released a slow exhale through his nostrils as he reached his right hand up to place it on her cheek. A low groan rumbled in his chest as she shifted in his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull herself close him. She was so warm in his arms, and she smelled so good - like the flowers outside of that library he used to visit as a kid. Fresh, but a little sweet.

"Take this off. I love your hair." She whispered as she pulled of his hat, placing it on the back of the couch then pushed her fingers up the back of his head and into his hair.

JJ smiled then leaned forward to kiss her again, not ready to let her go. He sealed his lips to hers in a firm kiss as his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, his own fingers twisted in her hair. He couldn't remember the last time he had spent so much time with a girl just touching her, kissing her, or learning who she was.

"JJ." She mumbled into their kiss, her eyes closed as his fingertips circled the back of her neck.

"Yeah?"

"My parents won't be home next weekend." She whispered as she dropped her forehead to his and smoothed her hands over his biceps, his skin warm and still a little sweaty from a day outside working on the car.

JJ leaned his head back on the couch and raised his eyebrows at his girlfriend. He had been with enough girls to know what that statement meant. Or what she was asking him, without really asking him. JJ placed both hands on her backside as he mulled over her statement for a moment.

"Where are they going? JJ questioned as his hands traveled from her backside to the sides of her thighs, her skin so soft and warm beneath his palms.

"A vow renewal on the main-land for some of their friends from college. I thought, if you wanted, you could spend the night." She didn't look at him as she answered, rather pulled her index finger through the collar of his T-shirt.

"Of course I want to. I always want to. But, you know that we don't have to, y'know, do anything. I'll spend the night next weekend just the two of us. But there's no like, expectation. We can just hang out and watch movies. Or I can build you a fire in that nice pit outside your dad never uses. Whatever you want." JJ replied, and he meant every single word. He could, and he would, wait for her.

"And if I happened to be naked?" She questioned as she thumbed at a piece of lint on his shirt, her eyes on his chest.

"Then I guess I'll be naked, too." JJ grinned before he pressed his lips to her cheek.

She held his face in her hands, her fingertips on his jawline, and turned her face to press her lips to his. JJ released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding in his chest and wrapped his arms around her middle again, keeping her flush against him. He licked at her bottom lip, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small smile as she whined a little and let his tongue slip inside her mouth. She reached to the back of his head, tugging on his soft, messy blonde hair as he dragged the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth. JJ breathing out a laugh as she rocked her hips on top of him.

"You make it hard to take things slow sometimes, pretty baby." JJ muttered as he removed his tongue from her mouth and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"M'sorry." She whispered as she twirled a strand of his hair around her index finger, her forehead against his.

"Don't be. You're worth the wait, and I kinda like just kissing you." JJ breathed as he placed a hand on the back of her neck once more to bring her lips to his.

In the back of his mind, JJ made peace with the fact that he wasn't going to get to show his girl one of his favourite movies that night. He figured there would probably be ample opportunity to show it to her again, and if she found herself in his lap again the next time The Goonies were on a treasure hunt...

Well, he wouldn't exactly mind then either. Whatever got her close to him.

Hotties:

@rafecameronspolo @barrysjumpsuit @barrysmanbun @vintageobx @fashion-fasting @drewstarkeysbitchh @babeyglo @pogueslandia @rottenstyx @whcclxr @soph0864 @beauvibaby @plutooryectors @futuremrsstarkey @multifandom-obsessed @siriusstwelveyears @drewstarkeysbitchh @mackenzielovee @glodessa

*tag list is open, please let me know if I forgot you or you would like to be added/removed from particular posts. I've removed the people that don't pre-populate :(

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much xoxo

Requests for OBX ARE OPEN!

#jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #protect jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fluff #outer banks fic #outer banks jj maybank #outer banks jj #outer banks imagine #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx jj #obx fandom #jj maybank x reader fluff #jj x reader #jj maybank fanfiction #obx jj maybank #jj outer banks #obx jj x reader #jj obx

[mha-princess]

Can I request headcanons with Iida, Kiri, Mina (if you do girls), and Bakugou where they get really jealous and they end up blowing your back out? 🥺 Also I love your work so much, your writing is so good I aspire to write as well as you<3

Them blowing your back out

A/N : Yes Mina blowing my back out is definitely what I need right now. I’ve never wrote for girls but I’m sure I’ll be fine. And thank you bby <3 I bet your a better writer than me🥺 - Anako

Characters : Mina, Iida, Bakugou, Kirishima

Bakugou Katsuki

Katsuki is the jealous type simple

He’s gotten better about it throughout your relationship though

But that doesn’t mean he can just put up with it

That being said whenever you get home he’s not nice

He’ll bend you over the coach, the kitchen counter, he’ll even push you up against a wall it’s doesn’t really matter as long as he can fuck you properly

In the midst of fucking you he’s in a heat of degradation

“What will those fuckers think if you if they saw you like this? Bent over spring out on my cock? Fucking whore.”

Your whimpers are music to his ears, music completely composed by him

“That’s it my little slut louder. I hope those fuckers can hear you all the way in here.” He grunts as he continues to thrash he thick cock into your sloppy pussy

“Katsuki I’m sorry. I’ll be more assertive n-next time!” You whine in between thrust.

“No need for sorries. Just remember.” He growls, increasing his pace. “Remember these fucking back shots. No one can give them to you like me.”

Tenya Iida

Iida isn’t one to get jealous over just anything

Actually it takes a lot to make Iida jealous seeing as he has a justification for most things

But when he’s at his limit he’s at his limit

When he’s frustrated with everyone hitting on you he’ll get very strict

Bye strict I mean he’s just barking commands as soon as you too get home.

“Bed.” He says throwing his coat onto the coat hanger.

“Bed?” You question confused by his sudden change in tone. He doesn’t indulge in your cluelessness rather he just ushers your to your bedroom

“Sit.” This time you comply sitting on the edge of the mattress. After unbuttoning a few buttons on his shirt he unbuckles his belt, shoving his pants and underwear exposing his hard on

“You are aware your mine right?” He says, gripping the back of your head pulling your lips to his cock. You nod before taking him into your mouth.

Right before he cums he bends you over the mattress spreading you open with the thickness of his hands

“I tried to hold back y/n I really did. But you need to know who you belong too. Who you belong with.” And without another word he shoves the entirety of his thickness into your cunt.

No prep no anything. His pace is brutal and it remains that way until you’ve learned your lesson

Ejiro Kirishima

Kiri gets defensive whenever he’s jealous

Definitely feels like he has something to prove

I really hope you didn’t like your hair when you went out because once he gets a hold of it it’s over

Genuinely pissed that some randos think that they were worth your time

I mean did everyone not know that you were his ? Apparently not because you wouldn’t be on the living room floor receiving carpet burn on your knees from his brutal thrust

“Fuck Ejiro please slow down.” You moan, fingers pulling at the carpet beneath you.

“No can do baby. I need everyone to know. That your mine! My baby, my fucktoy, my everything.” He retorts, leaning down leaving a long wet stripe on your back

A quivering moan falls from your lips as both of his hands grip the sides of your back and press your chest into the carpet

“Sorry baby, but I know you can take it.” He grunts as he continues to fuck into your shopping heat

Mina Ashido

I feel like she gets pouty when she’s jealous

So after a day of a bunch of assholes hitting on her baby she’s upset

Her upset is a sinister kind of upset though so as soon as you get home she drags you to the bedroom and plays innocent

You flop down on the bed as she walks over to your shared walk-in closet

“Y/N?” She says sweetly poking her head out of the closet.

“Um yes baby?” You respond concern lacing you’re voice.

“Pick a number between 0 and 12.”

“Uh, 10?” You respond sitting up.

“Perfect.” She squeals before disappearing into the closet once more. After a few minutes she emerges and your jaw almost hits the floor

There your girlfriend was fully nude except the purple strap hugging her waist

“Aww don’t look so shocked baby. You knew what was coming. Taking you out today made me so upset! But I think these ten inches can help me remind you of who you belong to.”

“Mina I- ”

“Strip Y/N, no need to justify.” She explains, spitting onto the purple cock before giving it a few strokes.

You obey her request and strip down to your bareness

“So pretty. Now get on your hands and knees. Make that arch beautiful. I’m taking away your walking privileges for the rest of this week.”

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#bakugou headcanons #kirishima headcanons #iida headcanons #mina headcanons #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #iida x reader #mina x reader #anime #bnha #mha princess #ejiro kirishima #bakugou smut #iida smut #mina smut #kirishima smut

[duskholland]

under the desk || prof!tom smut

professor holland has a special assignment for you...

wc ↠ 3k. warnings ↠ nsfw 18+ content. bj under the table, (unseen) exhibitionism, dom!tom/sub!reader, sir/good girl kink, a lot of praise, fingering, slight degradation, pinching, minor pain kink. messy rough against-the-table unprotected sex (please practice safe sex!!!). I don’t condone this form of relationship irl! be safe. a/n ↠ you know i had to do it to ‘em. thanks @darlingspidey​ for coming into my askbox and choosing violence. minors dni or you will be blocked!!!!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“You want me to what?”

The smirk on Professor Holland’s face is unmoving as he folds his arms across his chest. The tight sleeves of his suit bulge to accommodate the curves of his biceps, and you find yourself biting your lower lip despite his shocking proposition.

“I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock for the entire lesson, darling. I don’t understand why this is so difficult for you to understand. Thought you were my smart girl, eh?” He brings two slender fingers to your cheek, running calloused fingertips down to your chin. As Tom angles your face to look at him, his eyes hold nothing but dominance.

“But… What if someone sees?”

Tom is still caressing your face, and you feel yourself ease as he pushes his thumb into your mouth. He steps closer, caging you in until the backs of your thighs press into the hard line of his desk. As his warm breath fans out across your face, you shiver.

“No one will see,” he tells you, accent thick. His South London twang always comes out more prominently in times like these. “We’re too far at the front.” He brings his other hand to your waist, squeezing your flesh with a rough touch that makes you moan around his thumb. “Promise I’ll make it up to you, love,” he adds, voice a blend of sultry tones. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

When he swaps out his thumb for his index and middle fingers, you instinctively lap around the pads of his fingertips. Tom just smirks, knowing he has you right in the palm of his hand. You’ve done risky things with your professor before, but to hide beneath his desk and suck him off for an hour..? It sounds like torture. Yet, with the way his eyes twinkle so seductively, you find yourself leaning into it. You’ve always been a bit of a sadist, anyway, and it’d be hard to disagree with him when he looks like this—brown hair slicked back, face glowing with health, deep eyes like pools of honey.

Tom pulls his fingers from your mouth, but before you can complain about their absence, he brings them down between your legs. You’re already bare beneath the skirt—he’d spent a memorable five minutes ghosting his mouth over the front of your panties before ripping them off and devouring your aching slit with his tongue. You’re still wet now, your cunt cooled by the mix of his saliva and your arousal that slicks your thighs. Tom coos as he presses his fingers into your hole.

“Sir,” you whimper, reaching back to grab at the desk. You’re running hot, skin prickling with need. Your nipples press against the front of your shirt, aching and straining, moving with each heavy heave of your chest. As Tom curves his fingers and quickly finds your g-spot, your breath hitches in the back of your throat.

“You’re so wet, darling,” he murmurs thickly. Tom steps closer, thin lips biting at your neck as you whimper. He doesn’t need to be careful about leaving marks—both of you know the only person who will see you for the next hour will be him. “You want it, don’t you? You want to do this for me. You want to have my cock down your throat as everyone else sits up there, completely unaware of what you’re doing.”

You toss your head back, inching closer to a high that he’s only been denying you. “Yes,” you gasp out, knowing he’s right, knowing you can already feel the ache in your knees from the lecture hall’s carpet. “I want it.”

“Good girl.” Tom kisses your cheek before stepping back, his hand disappearing from between your legs. He ignores your whine of disappointment as he flops down into his desk chair, his thighs parting as he lazily unpicks his belt. He raises a brow towards you until you slowly sink to your knees, crawling between his legs and sitting at his feet obediently. The humiliation burns into lust as he strokes a hand over your cheek, eyes full of adoring arousal. “Such a good little thing, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widen as you see him pull his cock free, his length full-mast and his tip weeping. Without thought, you find yourself licking your lips. You sit forward, eagerly looking up to him and shivering as you take in the lust swirling in his eyes.

“Please, Professor,” you ask, voice hoarse. “Can I suck you off now?”

He melts like a candle to a flame, cooing as he nods softly and brings both hands to hold the back of your head. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t make me cum. You can touch yourself if you really can’t control yourself, but you better not even think about cumming.”

Once he’s finished outlining his demands, you nod. Tom scoots closer, the chair all the way beneath the desk now and obscuring his face. It’s dark down here, but you can make out enough—his watch-clad wrist, laying back on his thigh, the outline of his cock. With the hand still on your cheek, Tom coaxes you forward, a throaty groan leaving his mouth as you finally part your lips and take him.

The stretch of your mouth is familiar and needed, and you find yourself moaning a little as your lips part to take him. Tom’s heavy on your tongue, and you tease your tip over his slit to gather the white beads of precum. As his taste seeps over you, you whine, and the sound thickens when Tom roughly pushes you further down.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, lazy voice drifting down from above the desk. “Just like that. Keep that going. Mouth feels like fuckin’ heaven, darling. Such a good girl. So obedient.”

You hum in response, and slowly start to bob your head. You have an hour to kill, so you don’t go too fast, setting the speed gradually as he flexes the fingers on his thigh into a fist and holds your face with harsh fingers. The bite of the pain against your skin as he presses his index and middle fingers together just makes your arousal worse.

“People are about to come in,” he adds, voice low. “If you want to stop, just squeeze my hand, yeah?” When you moan in agreement, Tom hums. “Good girl.”

The noise in the lecture hall is quick to build as the clock approaches the hour. You stay beneath the table, your knees starting to hurt from the bend, but you like it. As Tom starts to present his lecture, you settle into a rhythm beneath him. You rest one hand on his knee for balance and keep the other between your legs, slowly playing with your sensitive bud as your mouth stays on his cock. You alternate between kitten-licking his messy tip and deep-throating him, concentrating immensely when you loosen your throat every time you press in closer.

Each time you push particularly deep, your nose ends up buried in the curly spring of hair above his pubic bone. Whenever that happens, Tom ends up losing his train of thought, stammering over his words as he pinches your cheek a little tighter. You keep it rare, only occasionally disrupting his flow, knowing better than to try and embarrass him in front of so many people. That’s not your objective, anyway.

Time loses meaning after a while, with everything fading that isn’t Tom. Tom—with his hand on your cheek, his legs warm against your front, his cock in your mouth. There’s a thick trail of saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth and your eyes sting with tears. Small wet noises occasionally rise from your mouth as your lips pull away from his cock, and they mix with the noises of your fingers between your legs. You alternate between fucking yourself and teasing your clit, only toying, knowing nothing will come of your actions until he’s finished his class. You shift slightly from leg to leg, and the jostling makes you strike your g-spot just right.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as your mouth falls away from him, your eyelids fluttering shut as you feel the edge approach. You don’t want to cum, but it feels too good to stop. As you wrestle with the desire to give in and add another finger to your clit, Tom clears his throat.

“—Let me just grab something from my bag,” Professor Holland speaks, voice eloquent and clear. He bends over, his hands leaving you as he pretends to rummage your bag.

Tom looks at you, raising a brow in question as his eyes meet with yours. He doesn’t say a thing, still with a microphone clipped to the front of his suit, but his piercing dark eyes say it all:

I didn’t say you could stop.

He continues to look at you as you hasten to sit forward, tender knees digging further into the carpet as you take his cock back between your lips. You moan softly to show your appreciation, feeling more spit fall down your wet chin as you take him deeply. Tom’s lips soften, an expression of enjoyment briefly fluttering across his face before he reaches out to pat your cheek softly. He pulls up a moment later, procuring a blank piece of paper from his bag at the last moment.

You wonder if he’ll give you a second one-on-one lesson to catch you up on all the content that you’ve missed.

For the last part of the class, you focus primarily on him. Professor Holland weaves his hand into your hair and guides you, calling the shots as he pulls you deeper whenever he desires. You end up adding in your hand, using your fingers to pump the top of his length and paying attention to his thick girth as you pump him. Tom gets tetchy, his hips softly rising up to meet your movements every time you work him deeper. You can almost hear the relief in his voice as he utters, finally,

“That’s it, everyone. Thanks for your time. I’ll see you all next week. If anybody has any questions, my office hours can be found online.”

Tom strokes his fingers through your hair as you listen to the babble of noise rise again. There’s the sounds of laptops closing, bags zipping, people trudging down the stairs of the theatre. You take him all the way, his tip brushing up against the back of your throat. Your lips ache, and your tongue feels numb as your nose brushes up against his warm skin. He makes you wait a very long time, your mind running wild, mouth salivating as you stay still and hold him on your tongue, shivering in anticipation. The slick between your legs is just as persistent as it was an hour ago, and you can feel your needy hole clenching around nothing as your fingers slowly stroke your clit.

“Fucking finally,” Tom mutters. A moment later, he grabs you by the hair and quickly pulls you off, your lips releasing his cock with a pop. He scoots the chair back and jerks you forward, a few tears falling down your cheeks as your eyes struggle to readjust to the bright lighting of the room. “Oh, darling... You’re all messy.”

He easily hauls you up to your feet, but you don’t need to linger on your wobbly legs for too long before he’s pushing you up and onto his desk. Tom drops down, briefly bending over to kiss both of your knees before giving you his full, undivided attention. His hands go to your face, nimble fingers taking care of the tear tracks and the mess of drool and precum sticking to your chin. Your cheeks feel hot as he tuts his tongue and inspects you, his cock pressing up against your lower body as he steps closer.

“You did such a good job,” he adds, soothingly. His lips come down over your forehead. “Sucked my cock so well, sweetheart. Felt so good.”

You smirk softly, parting your legs and leaning back. You dig your elbows into the cool wood of his desk, looking up at his face and enjoying Tom’s gaze on your figure. His hands go down to your skirt, and he flips it up, fingers gravitating to your slit.

“Please, sir,” you manage, voice slightly hoarse, words slurring. “Please fuck me? I need you.”

Tom chuckles. He wraps his hand around his length and guides it to your slit, the hard pressure of his cock making you whimper when he presses his tip to your clit. Anticipation swirls in the pit of your stomach, and you cry out as he nudges his bulbous head against your clit.

“Well… I did say I’d reward you, didn’t I?” he teases. Tom shifts his cock down to your entrance, and you buck your hips, trying desperately to entice him into your pulsing hole. “Patient, my darling. Tell me how badly you want me.”

His ego pushes forward, its presence heightened by the cocky eyebrow he raises at you. You clench your fingers into fists, too far gone to be above begging and both of you know it.

“Please, sir,” you whimper, tossing your head back as he continues to apply a teasing pressure to your weeping cunt. “Been so good for you, sir. Waited all lesson for you. Didn’t even cum.” Your voice is broken, weighing heavy with arousal. “Please fuck me. I need it. I need you—”

Before you can finish, Tom sinks into you, your flushed walls parting easily. You feel your cunt flutter as it envelopes his length completely, Professor Holland not waiting a second to start pounding into you. You cry out loudly, jaw slack and hanging open as pleasure sails across you, filling every part of you to the brim. Tom grabs at your thighs, pulling you nearer and using his grip on your soft flesh as leverage to keep you wrapped around him. Slapping sounds fill the air as he rocks into you, his crotch meeting your centre every time as you cry out.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “Fits like a glove. So wet, darling. Such a tight fuckin’ pussy.”

You can’t speak, so you let out a breathless whine in response which earns you a tight chuckle from Tom.

“Mmm, too good to speak, isn’t it?” he teases. He drops a hand down to your clit and your back arches off the table as he starts to rub feverish circles to the bud. “God… Such a good girl. Taking me so well, like you were born to do this. That’s right, isn’t it? Snug pussy made just for me.”

He hits every spot exactly like you crave, cock filling you completely. You’ve been edged and teased for so long that the slightest touch would be enough to set you off, and it’s as if your body doesn’t know how to process such an onslaught of sudden sensations. With every rut of his hips against yours, you get closer, his member catching slickly against your walls in the most delicious ways. As Tom’s fingers continue to wrangle your clit, your vision blurs with tears of enjoyment.

“Gonna cum,” you manage, voice thick. You’re shaking, writhing on the table, and if he wasn’t gripping your thighs so firmly, you know you’d be trying to move away from such an intense source of pleasure. It’s overwhelming, but you crave it, and when Tom drops his head down to suck at your neck, you cry out.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he groans, voice hoarse against your ear. “Let go. Let me feel how snug this cunt gets for me, darling. Want you to make me cum.”

Your legs clamp around his back as you finally spin over the edge, your eyes rolling into your head as your back falls against the desk. Your climax sweeps over you, blending with your moans and Tom’s low grunts as he picks up his pace and thrusts faster. Your eyes find the point at which your bodies converge, and the sight of his cock pounding into you only extends your enjoyment.

He follows suit a few moments after you, spilling into you with a loud cry of your name. As his lips speak such a familiar word, the inflexion makes you clench, your pussy constricting around his cock and causing Tom to groan louder. He doesn’t stop railing you into the desk until both of you are spent, at which point he pulls away and leans up to connect your lips.

A smile spreads across your lips as Tom kisses you, his mouth infinitely more gentle than he’s been with his hands. You sit up to meet him, your legs shaking against the desk. As you loop your arms around his neck and sink into his lips, he continues to kiss you, breaking up his long snog into a series of lighter pecks.

“Did so good for me, my darling,” Tom mumbles against you. He’s stroking your back with a warm hand, his breathing ragged but slowly recovering. When he pulls back, he stays near, the tip of his nose pressing to yours. “Are you okay?”

You hum softly, shivering a little when Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Perfect,” you reply. “Bit thirsty, though.”

He frowns, the expression darkening his face. Tom leans closer to kiss your sore cheek, lips lingering there for a few moments as he hums.

“Let’s go,” he suggests. “I’ll take you home. Run you a bath, make you some tea. I’ll look after my girl.”

You pout softly, your heart clenching. “Okay,” you reply. He helps you down from the desk, his hands quickly curling around your waist when your knees threaten to buckle. As he chuckles, you shoot him a glare. “Don’t laugh at me,” you whine. “It’s your fault I’m like this!”

Tom nuzzles his nose to yours as he plants a final kiss to your lips. “Mm, I know,” he growls. “I’ll repay the favour later.”

#closed for business #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader smut #smut #professor!tom holland #professor!tom #professor!tom smut #prof!tomfic