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notjustjavierpena · 2 months

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Swelter

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us

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windkonig · 1 month

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when people say "ok but x bug has no benefit to nature" I bet they can't even name 5 facts about the bug they're shitting on. so how could they Possibly know what its function is in the environment and if it's "useless" or not

wasps being the perfect example, I still get people saying "oh bees are cute and pollinate :) yay. but WASPS ARE EVIL and they don't contribute ANYTHING!!!" and it's like buddy. wasps pollinate too. they also control spider populations. they do a lot of great valuable things. but even if they didn't, they're still worthy of being here. I see SO much hatred toward wasps and I wish people would try to learn a little more about them.

I'm mainly talking about paper wasps here because these are common ones we run into in daily life and most commonly deemed "aggressive". but wasps have body language. and if you learn to read this language and learn how to properly act around them, things will go a lot better for you! wasps can be curious creatures and they may come up to observe you, especially if you're wearing something brightly colored. this can be startling for sure, but my best advice is to just be still, DO NOT SWAT or wave your arms. try to just back away or sidestep so it loses interest and leaves. swatting is just gonna make them feel as if they are being attacked and increase your chances of being stung.

many stings happen due to unfortunate but accidental circumstances. unknowingly getting too close to a nest, stepping on a wasp on accident, one getting stuck in clothing, etc. I got stung once while gardening, went to pull a weed and the wasp was on it, so I grabbed her without knowing and she stung me because she was scared. this doesn't mean "oh wasps are AGGRESSIVE and EVIL" it means you stumbled into an unfortunate situation where the wasps felt threatened and defensive. instead of being like "FUCK all wasps" go forward trying to learn about common nesting areas, be wary of holes in the ground, wear gloves while gardening, and if you do have to be around a nest, try not to make a lot of noise. if the nest absolutely needs removed, call a professional.

#michaelpost #bugs #insects #wasps #another bug rant post but this time i dont think people are ready to hear it #I see MORE hate lately toward wasps than I see toward spiders #and its very annoying bc wasps are an extremely diverse group of insects and have many functions and benefits #it sucks badly to see bees get adored but wasps get shit talked

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writer-komaru · 2 months

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Wild One’s Rodeo 𓃗

Warning✧ [explicit] Grinding, no protection, dubcon.

Characters✧ Boothill

Words✧ 1464

Summary✧ As a waitress for one of the most popular bars in penacony, you’ve met your fair share of strange characters. A smug man adorned in exotic furs who tried making a bet with the bartender, a sparkling knight who gave every lady in the bar a rose without even staying for a drink, even an enigmatic woman carrying a purple katana with eyes like a serpent who sat alone at the end of the bar. But never have you met a man like Boothill. A man of steel and whiskey, tying you in hemp like you’re nothing but a naughty cow he’s gonna tame. Give him a rodeo he won’t forget.

“Sorry for the wait, ma’am. Here’s your sundae,” you place a decked out desert in front of an impatient woman who snarls a crude thanks. You’d like to give her a good smack for making you fetch her four other deserts until she is finally satisfied but you had already been scolded two times already. You couldn’t afford to lose another job. Not in this “thriving” economy that had the lower class slaving away while the rich babbled over dozens of mugs of beer or road cars that sped down the busy streets like a comet streaking through the night sky.

You pushed away the unrealistic thoughts and got back to work. “What would ya like, sir?” “How can I help ya, ma’am?” “Would ya like a refill?” The thoughts buzzed and bounced around in your head like a hive of bees; it was beginning to drive ya mad. That was until they suddenly went dead silent.

You placed another tray of expensive alcohol (stuff you’d never dream of buying) onto the faded wooden counter when the doors of the bar flew open, almost splintering into pieces. A shot blasted out into the sky.

“YEEEEHAWW!! How’s all yall fiendin’ tonight?” He hollered out into the crowded bar catching everyone’s attention, including yours. Even though you’ve never seen this man before in your life, the guests erupted into cheers, some even standing up to greet him or share drinks. At Leary it gave you a few seconds to scope him out. He wore a tight, jet-black leather vest and pants, held up by a brown and heavy gold belt. Yet, that wasn’t the main thing that caught your eye. His vest appeared to be cut right above the nipples. But, strangely enough, he didn’t really have any. Instead, his entire upper body from the neck down to his feet and fingertips was entirely plated with titanium, or some similar shiny metal. Could he be some type of robo cowboy?

“Heyyyy little lady, whatcha doin’ on yer own?~” you gasped as he pushed you up against the counter, humming right against your ear with such a deep country accent you felt your legs tremble. He seemed to notice it too, his smirk stretching into a full on smile. “Oh my sweet darlin’, yer gonna fly away like a mayflower in May if ya keep trembling’ like that. Don’t worry babydoll, I got ya~” he chuckled with that rugged, sultry voice as he playfully stroked your hips, as if he was tinkering with some kind of machine, steadfast on fixing your loose legs. But his tinkering only wet your face ablaze.

Who even WAS this man?! You wanted to push him away and scold him but your hips were pinned so hard to the counter you could feel every inch he had. No, you can’t think such dirty thoughts about a guest, no matter how persuasive they were. And damn, was her persuasive.

“What’s with that look, darlin’? Scared I’ll bite?” Lets out a small laugh, “I might be gentle with it if ya say please, mister…~”

“P-please… mister.” you managed out breathlessly

“Awh, aren’t you a cute little lady~ why not we find out what these metal hands’a mine can do to those barrels yer hauling around, huh doll?~” his hands roamed up your body and gave your breasts a firm squeeze. That little move of his snapped you out of your lustful daze to deliver a fiery slap across his cheek.

He takes it like a champ and lets out a light whistle, “wow baby, you sting like hot iron~”

“Y-you can’t just jump on top of a stranger and have your way…” you cross your arms and turn around, peeking back at him to see his reaction. Any other waitress would have called the Bloodhounds of him. But you weren’t just any woman. You were dying for something actually interesting to your monotonous assembly-line ass job and this cowboy might be your ticket to freedom.

“Awwwhhh come on, doll face~ I ain’t mean no harm. When I saw yer curves dressed in that get up I knew I hadta show ya how to properly ride a bull~” he leans forward, taking your hand in his and kissing it with a flirtatious wink. He begins walking back to the door, your hand still in his, “if ya want some hands on learnin’, follow me, pretty thing.”

You immediately ripped off your stained waitress uniform and ran to his side, “Oh Boothill, I’ve been itching for this~”

“Have ya, now?~” he raised an eyebrow in amusement and pulled you into a nearby alleyway, “Well I know just the way to solve a pesky itch~”

“How will-“ before you could even finish your sentence he lifted both of your legs and swung them over his shoulders, your aching pussy pushed flush against his toned metallic abdomen. The hard surface sent electricity zapping through your wet folds; you were not sure if it was your desire or his robotic body sending out small shocks as if to warn you about the power it can showcase.

“Overwhelmed already?~ never been dicked down by a real man, have ya, darling?” He teases, stoking your flames.

“N-no, I have… m-many times…” you bluffed.

“You sure, babydoll? Cuz this cute little pussy down here’s singin’ a different tune and myyyy is it a sweeten’~” he bites his lip as he rubs his hips side to side, the hard as metal rod in his pants grinding against you so good you felt like cumming already and he wasn’t even inside yet.

“P-please….” You begged between gasps.

“Please what, doll?~” he smirked wickedly.

“P-please… p-ple… pl… ease….” You choked out each word, struggling to put them together.

“Two little words and I’ll stretch ya out so good your kitty’ll meow so loud they’ll call animal control,” he gave your chest another teasing squeeze.

“P-please… boothiiiiiilllll….” You cried out.

“That’s a good girl…~” his eyes narrowed with focus as he pushed aside your drenched panties and stroked your folds up and down.

“So sticky and wet… like a rich lil beehive overflowing with thick honey…” he once again rested his head on your shoulder as he aligned himself to your twitching pussy. Without so much as a warning, he rammed right inside, immediately hitting the deepest reaches of your womb, making you release an embarrassingly loud cry and a hot stream of cum all over his shiny abs. “Wowie…~ someone’s really been dying for a proper fucking, huh?” He gripped your hips tight and grunted as he attempted a deeper thrust, “I’ll milk this pretty hole for all its for.”

“Aaaaggh... nnnagggg… s-stop… n-no deep… we… aaACK!~” you choked out moan after moan, almost like you were a pent up teen again. No matter how much you begged, he only went faster and harder, with enough robotic accuracy and consistency you knew you’d be sore for days. It was like he filled each slap of skin with a silent promise to somehow, some way, get you pregnant.

He let out a particularly loud groan in your ear, “oh baby, if ya squeeze me like that… ohhhh doll…~ I just can’t take much more-a this.~ Ya ready? Ready for a real mess?”

“Y-yeah-ahh! Yeeaaaahhhh-Ahhh!” You cried out.

“Darn baby…. Oh… oh fu- f-fudge…. Hold on baby, I’m almost… oh darling, you’re perfect for me!~” with one last growl you feel a large burst of warm cum burst inside of you, dripping out onto the concrete of the secluded alleyway. But instead of giving himself even a moment’s rest, he bites his lip and shoves himself right back in, humping at you like a dog in heat.

“Shi-sugar baby, I just can’t stop breeding this pretty hole… And these massive tits here don’t make it any easier~” he gropes them a bit more before pinching your nipples with a naughty smile.

“A-aaagh!”

“Ohhh~ did someone like that~” he begins fucking you harder and licks your neck, “I didn’t know I had such a foxy lady under me~”

“P-pleasssseeeee boothill…”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll get ya to that edge again…. And again and again and again, oh, you’ll have so much fun with me,” he laughed before delivering a cheeky bite to your neck. Your moans began to soften as your vision darkened, which he caught onto almost as fast as he’s drilling into you.

“I’ve got ya, doll… just let the darkness settle in.” He whispers with a soothing groan as he litters a series of bites along your neck and shoulder, each one fading your vision faster until it is purely black. When the morning comes, you’ll definitely get an ear full from your boss. That is…. If you choose to awake from this beautifully sexy daydream.

Hellooo everyone, I’m so terribly sorry it’s been so long. My life’s gotten a whole lot busier and I haven’t had any inspiration to write in a very very long time. BUT!! Even though this ain’t much compared to my usual stuff, I hope it’s still enjoyable to you all. I love yall so much, looking back at all the kind comments and likes warms my heart more than anything. See yall soon! (I’d be down for a part two if yall like 👀)

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr smut #boothill #boothill x reader #Boothill smut #i’ve returned

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lovebugism · 10 months

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can I request steeb taking care of shy!reader who is upset after a bullying incident in school? I figured she would be a year younger (like robin’s grade) because I don’t think anyone would touch her if king steve was around. I feel like he’s be so soft with her but also reeling at the thought that someone hurt his girl!

thanks for ur request anon! idk if i can count this as a blrub because it's nearly 3k words but alas pls enjoy! tw for blood (knee scrapes) and j*son c*rver

You come to Family Video with a scrape on your left knee.

It’s not the weirdest thing in the world — you ride a worn-down bike that’s probably older than you are. Steve’s been begging you to get a new one for as long as he’s known you, outright offering to pay for the damn thing as long as he’s sure it’ll get you to him without getting hurt in the process.

You reject him every time. “It gets me where I need to go,” you always shrug. “What more could I want from it?”

And he wants so badly to be angry at the beauty you manage to find in mediocrity. But he can’t be, really. It’s why you fell in love with him in the first place, isn’t it? Why you took the heartbroken boy in your arms on Halloween night in 1984 and convinced him he wasn’t bullshit despite what he told you. He’d be an idiot to be mad at how kind you are.

But when you walk into Family Video, halfway limping with blood dripping down your knee, he knows it’s different.

Something more than a toppled bike hurt you.

“Oh, god, babe,” he winces from where he stands at the counter with Robin. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you shrug as he races over to you.

“You fell?” Robin scoffs. “Knock me out with a feather.” You know she’s joking, but it’s a little too monotone, and you’re a little too sensitive. Something in her words hurts more than your throbbing knee.

Steve, who knows you like the back of his hand, understands exactly what your diverted gaze means. When you look down to the floor, he shoots Robin a firm glare.

What? she mouths, obviously confused at the sudden silence.

“Can you get the first aid kit from the back? I think there might be some gauze in there,” he asks, deciding to change the conversation entirely. He wraps an arm around your waist and walks slowly with you to the counter. He meets your grimace with a soft smile. “I’ll clean it, wrap it up, and you’ll be good as new.”

You don’t give him anything in response. Not even a pity smile.

He sits you on the counter with the open first-aid kit beside you. Robin flips the store sign to closed. It’s barely five o’clock. She starts tidying up the store to go home, anyway.

Steve wipes up the warm blood with a napkin and cleans the scrape with an alcohol wipe. You hiss at the feeling — it’s like a hundred tiny bee stings. From where he sits just below you on a worn swivel chair behind the counter, he leans in to press a kiss just above the cut.

Without all the blood, it looks a lot less gnarly than before.

“See? It’s not so bad,” the boy smiles as he unravels some gauze. “I’ll patch it up, baby you for the rest of the night, and you’ll forget it ever hurt by morning.”

Again, you don’t even smile. You just purse your lips to the side and nod.

Steve’s heart stings, but he doesn’t take anything by it. He wraps the bandage down and over your knee in an even rhythm. He tries not to be so direct when he asks: “How’d this happen, anyway, huh? Did Ol’ Sliver finally give up on you?”

You shake your head, eyes on the gauze instead of the boy. The white cloth splotches with pink from where your wound still weeps. “No,” you answer quietly. “Just fell.”

“Just fell, huh?” he repeats quietly. A few caramel-colored strands fall over his forehead as he peers up at you with his chin tilted towards his chest. He tries his best to smile. “You’re givin’ me the sad eyes, babe. I feel like it was more than just a fall.”

“It was stupid…”

He scoffs. “Never.”

“A car drove by me,” you confess, only half-lying. You try to look down at him, but your gaze wavers along with your courage. “And the music was kinda loud, and it… It startled me a little.”

You don’t tell him that Jason Carver intentionally swerved on the wrong side of the road to scare you — or that he yelled mean things through the rolled-down passenger window before speeding off again. It’s easier to keep it to yourself. You don’t want it to become a whole thing.

Steve’s brows furrow as he tucks the end of the bandage to keep it from unraveling. “Were they going too fast?”

“I don’t know. Kind of.”

“It wasn’t those football assholes, was it? I swear to god, they need their license revoked.”

“No,” you answer, quick to soothe his rising anger. “It was— It wasn’t anyone. I just got scared, and I swerved off the road, okay?”

Even in your mousy voice, it sounds like you’re being stern with him. And you’re never stern with him.

“Well, that’s okay,” Steve assures with a shrug. “We all get scared. It’s better than you getting hit, I guess.”

“I guess,” you echo with a huff, a teasing smile on your lips.

Steve grins back, happy to see you less pained. He smacks a gentle kiss to your wrapped-up knee. “Go get in the car, okay? I’ll clean up here, put your bike in the trunk, and we can go home.”

You go shy as you peer at him from beneath your lashes. “Your home?” you clarify, secretly hoping he’ll say yes.

His answer isn’t surprising. “Of course, my home. You practically live there, anyway.”

You smile and brush a soft kiss to the scruff of his jaw, murmuring a quiet thank you there before leaving. You’re not limping nearly as badly as you had been before.

Robin waits for the door to ding shut before blurting: “I think it was Jason.”

Steve stills with the first-aid kit in his hands. He squints at her from where she stands between the horror and X-rated horror aisles.

“What?”

“I think that’s who might’ve run her off the road.”

“…Why?”

“He gives her a hard time sometimes, I don’t know,” she explains vaguely and with a sigh. “Normally, it’s stupid. Like, honestly, I just think he’s super shit at flirting. Maybe he was just trying to scare her and… got a little carried away…”

Anger burns red hot in Steve’s chest. It blooms just behind his ribcage like a flower with fire for petals.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks through gritted teeth, trying not to sound too angry. It’s not like Robin was the one who hurt you, after all — just some douchebag who wouldn’t have laid a hand on you if he knew who your boyfriend was.

Steve’s knuckles go white as his grip tightens on the plastic box.

“Because I thought it was harmless!” Robin agonizes as she rushes to meet him. Her deep ocean eyes swim with worry, frightened that he might be angry at her. “Seriously. Most of the time, it sounds like he’s just being mean to get into her pants. And, like, I don’t know if that’s how he landed Chrissy back in the day or what, but he’s obviously got no clue what kind of girl he’s flirting with because…”

She trails off at Steve’s hardened umber gaze.

Robin groans and leans over the counter, reaching for the boy’s wrist. “Please don’t be mad at me, Stevie. My heart can take that. I’ll be sick for days—”

“I’m not mad at you, Rob,” the boy promises. He sighs. “I just gotta… go beat up a kid now.”

—————

You’re too focused on the stars and the feeling of Steve’s warm hand on your thigh to notice he’s taking the wrong route home.

The car slows way sooner than you expected. When you come back down from the clouds, you find that you’re in a near-empty lot. The car jolts softly when Steve puts it in park.

“What are we doing?” you turn to him with furrowed brows.

Steve unclicks his seatbelt. “I’ll be right back.”

You look past him, at the large building lit up by amber streetlamps and the green door with a light in its window. Every so often, someone will whip by it wearing a white jersey. Your heart sinks.

“Why are we at school?” you asked, scrunched-faced in a mixture of anger and worry. You don’t know how he knows what happened to you, only that he does know.

“I need to take care of something here. It’s okay—”

“Don’t go in there,” you plead. “Please. Let’s just go home—”

“I’ll be right back,” he repeats. He leans over the console to kiss your cheek. You don’t lean into it like you usually do.

“Steve—”

The car door shuts and cuts off the rest of your pleas.

Steve has an easy time getting into the gym. The backdoor is propped open with a small wooden block like it always is. The coaches welcome him in like usual. They beam as the old team captain waltzes into the newly painted gym like he owns the place.

“Harrington!” the burly man calls over the sounds of squeaking shoes and bouncing basketballs. “Come to turn in an application, finally? I’ve only been asking you to be co-coach since you graduated.”

Steve smiles coolly. “No. Not yet… I, uh— I actually needed to talk to one of your players.”

The man shoots him a look.

“Jason Carver.”

“Oh,” the man chuckles, a deep belly laugh. “You only wanna pull my star player out of practice, huh?”

“It’ll take, like, two seconds. Tops.”

A momentary stare-off ensues. Steve knows the answer he’s going to get. Everyone at this damn school has got a soft spot for him. Perks of being Hawkins High royalty, he figures.

“Two,” the coach says in the place of any real answer.

He takes the green whistle from his neck and blows into it. The shrill sound echoes through the gym. Like trained dogs, the boys on the court still.

“Carver!” the man shouts, almost too loudly. Steve winces from beside him. “Get over here!”

Jason passes the ball off and jogs to meet them without question. When Steve says he’s got something to tell him, the blonde-haired boy smiles like it’s a privilege. Red-faced and out of breath, he trails behind Steve as they walk out into the hallway.

“Don’t tell me you’re coming to be assistant coach,” the boy says with an audible smile. “Coach Blair has only been talking about it for a year—”

When the double doors shut behind him, Steve whips around and shoves the boy into the lockers. They clang beneath his sudden weight and echo down the empty corridor. Jason’s smug face contorts into shock. “—What the hell?”

He tries to regain his footing, but Steve only shoves him backward again. His hands twist in the neck of his jersey.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Jason shouts.

Steve’s stern features never waver. He leans in close, eyes trained on the boy like a predator to prey. “Leave my girl alone,” he threatens lowly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know who your girl is—”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Steve spits in response. The lockers bang once more when he shoves the boy backward again. “Should break your leg for what you did to her. What would the star player do then, huh?”

Jason’s wide eyes flit between the both of Steve’s. He racks his brain for what he might’ve done so wrong and who he might’ve done it to. He gapes at the realization — “Bambi? Bambi’s your girlfriend?”

“Oh, that’s what you call her?” Steve muses in a monotone, feigning interest. “How cute.”

“I didn’t know, man. I swear. If I knew, I never would’ve—”

“I don’t care. And stop pleading, alright? It’s embarrassing.”

Jason goes quiet. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Steve’s hand loosens on his jersey. His ice-cold gaze never wavers.

“I don’t wanna know what you did to her. I don’t wanna know why you’re doing it, either — if you think she’s pretty, or if she’s easy-pickings for assholes like you — I don’t care.” He presses the boy further into the lockers, their noses inches apart. “But if I hear you’re messing with her, talking about her to your friends— if you so much as look in her direction again, I promise you won’t like what I do to you.”

Jason’s jaw clenches. He juts out his chin in a feeble attempt to make himself taller. “Yeah?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s real rich coming from someone who couldn’t even beat up Jonathan Byers.”

“I’ve learned a lot since then,” the older boy promises, weirdly composed. “Feel free to find out if you don’t believe me.”

The boy stays quiet.

Steve shoves him backward when he lets go of him. He gives him a final glare and one last warning before walking back toward the gym. “And plant your feet when you’re on the court, alright? It’d be a real shame if you broke an ankle.”

—————

The drive to his house is silent.

It usually is. Most of the time, you’re too zoned into the music or making shapes in the clouds to talk. But now it’s because you’re angry. Steve would be an idiot not to notice. He can feel it radiating off of you like steam.

He reaches for the console and turns the air-con up.

“Are you hot?” he asks in a feeble attempt to break the quiet.

With your arms crossed and your gaze out the window, you deadpan: “I’m mad.”

“I feel like that’s sorta the same thing,” Steve jokes with a weak, lopsided smile.

“I didn’t want you to do that,” you choke through a tight throat. “You’re just gonna make it worse.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have gotten so bad if you would’ve just told me.”

You turn to him with eyes glassy from unshed tears. A stoplight bathes the both of you in shades of neon scarlet. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d do something about it,” you spit.

“So you’d rather let some asshole run you off the road, huh? Is that it?”

He doesn’t mean to be so harsh. He’s just upset, and the adrenaline’s making him antsy.

Steve learned a long time ago not to be so forward with you. Even if he’s just joking around, even if he’s mad and saying shit he doesn’t mean — you’re not built for that. You’re made of something softer: marshmallow fluff and crocheted yarn and flower petals. It’s why you let Jason Carver pick on you for so long without saying a word about it.

“It’s not like that,” you argue quietly, blinking back tears as you turn away from him again.

Steve sighs. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean— I’m just upset, okay? I didn’t mean to yell.”

“I know…”

“I just wish you would tell me these things, you know?”

His hand is warm on the skin of your thigh as he smooths his palm over it. Your eyes flit to your leg and then to him. You nod. “I know. I just…” Your features crumple when you trail off.

Steve squeezes your thigh in reassurance. “You just what?”

“I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle myself,” you confess quietly. “Everyone thinks I’m so weak. I didn’t want you to think that, too.”

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Steve scoffs out a laugh, like he almost can’t believe you’d even think something like that.

Your brows furrow. “No?”

“No. Not even a little bit. But as your boyfriend— ‘cause I am your boyfriend, right?”

You meet his teasing gaze with a half-hearted scowl. You’ve only been dating for a year and a half. You nod to humor him.

“Exactly. So, as your boyfriend, it’s my job to help you through the hard shit, you know? Just because you can get through it on your own doesn’t mean you have to.”

Your chest swells. You try not to smile too wide, but it’s hard not to. You’ve never had someone who wanted to protect you before. It’s as strange as it is gratifying.

“Okay,” you concede with a nod.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeat with a giggle.

Steve leans over the console, moving slowly like his lips are made of magnets that drift to yours. Through the overwhelming urge to kiss you, he jokes: “Is it— and I’m just checking here— is it okay?”

You shake your head and lean to meet him halfway. “You’re such a dork.”

Your lips barely brush before a loud honk echoes behind you. You jolt apart from him, not noticing that the light had turned green until then.

Steve sighs and mourns your unkissed lips. His engine roars softly as he presses on the gas.

He’d noticed. He saw the light change about twenty seconds ago — how the bright crimson changed into a softer shade of lime that bathed you in its neon hues. He just loved the way you looked in green.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x shy!reader #stranger things fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble

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slash-me-please · 7 months

Note

Hi! Can I request a Fem!Reader x Pennywise Smut where pennywise uses his tounge to fuck reader?

Literallsfsdfsdfsdfsdsdsd yes you can. I haven't written for Pennywise in a GRIP.

I present to you:

Drops from a Nectarine

warnings: fem receiving oral, dub!con, cunnilingus

Sun pours in through the open shades fallen onto your bay window. Eyes fluttering open with an exasperated moan, you turn your head to the side to get away from your offender. They do not follow. Your head sinks into the plush, microfiber sheets of your full-sized bed and for once, you decide to stay. Your bliss isn't taken advantage of, dread filling your chest as the overwhelming feeling of an uninvited visitor overcame the morning euphoria.

"Good morning, Bee." He tumbled over his words. That fucking clown. You tense, legs curling up and away from the foot of your bed.

"Go away Clown..." You murmured, voice shaky and unstable as his gloved hands pressed down on your sheets. He was covered in a thick layer of grime, as he was always. The sewers were no place to live, and a sewer-dweller had no place in your room. But still, he insisted, mimicked knuckles spreading and pulling against your clean sheets and effectively ruining them from further use. You'd have to burn them later, it was the only way.

"Buzz... Buzz... Buzz..." His head twisted rapidly towards you, faintly jingling as he crawled up your bed with a twisted grin. Pennywise's puffy red lips dripped with saliva, you watched a little too long to be the perfect victim. "You always know where to sting." You turn away as he lunges, towering over your frail, be it in comparison, body. Your limbs begin to shake with fear, anticipation as he watches over you with a blank expression.

"Why are you here Pennywise." You ask, it comes as a plea, and you fall deeper into the plush safety of your dirtied sheets. He gives you a smile, a fake one, which has your stomach twisting with something evil. "I am... hungry." He replies to your question as if it had been a simple answer, not one you had tossed and turned for the last few nights. "I do not fear you."

Pennywise grips you by the thighs, claws breaking through makeshift gloves to rip apart your underwear to shreds. "I've had my fill on fear... I am satiated." He giggles, head tilting downwards to glare at your exposed cunt. "I need a different type of food." And so he leans, his claws pushing your legs backwards and into a position which had you gritting your teeth. One that would have him giggling his crazy little giggle again.

With that, his tongue extends and begins to lap at your swollen folds. He holds you down as he tortures you with a callous tongue. His head ducks further, spreading them open to reveal your aching clit- which he nudges with his large tongue again. Your hands find his hair as you arch against the bed, pushing your heat against his dripping tongue. He tortures your clit with a cruel precision, one that has you knowing he's racked up quite the body count in his thousands of years alive. You cannot bring yourself to care, a whimper falling from bitten lips.

"I told you not to come back!" You sobbed, legs involuntarily squeezing around his head. And his head drops further with that, tongue parting you to dip inside your warm heat. Pennywise moans against your cunt, eyes rolling back and teeth enveloping the lower part of your pelvis. It felt as if he was eating the soul inside of you, yourself slipping through the closed fingers of your spirit and falling into his mouth where you'd meet your sweet demise. His tongue pistoned in and out of you, sucking in your wetness with loud slurps and squelching. You'd never been eaten out in such a way, eaten like he wanted more than just your sex. Like he wanted you.

"God!" You cried, pushing against his head as his claws drew blood from your skin. It rolled down your thighs and into your sheets, the same ones you had ran your fingers through and grabbed. Pennywise jingled for a moment, tongue rubbing against the roof of your heat as you thrusted your hips against his mouth. "Mm close!" You gasp, fingers rubbing against his head as his hands hold you in place.

Pennywise chose not to respond, instead his chest rumbled with a feral growl as he pushed his tongue impossibly deep into your cunt, a gloved thumb moving to rub circles around your clit. And with a loud whine, you released into his mouth. He drank you in like you tasted better than any blood that had ever touched his tongue. Back curled over your pelvis as he held your heat flush with his face, his eyes were rolled back and his teeth had sunk deep into your skin. Fear erupted with the blossomed pleasure which ran hot through your veins and Pennywise audibly moaned.

"Let go..." You gasped, pushing lightly at his hands. You already wanted to go back to sleep. Luckily he obliged, pulling away from you and licking his lips with a lewd glare. It didn't take long before he dropped your legs and crawled over your shaking body. You pressed your hand against his chest and sighed. "You'll be back?" You mumble, and he slots his thumb between your lips. "Can't get enough of this cunt..." You release a hollow giggle, nipping at the tip of a gloved finger and pushing Pennywise away. He watches you slip underneath the covers and stays until you fall back into a restful sleep.

He'll be back.

#slasher x reader #slasher x reader smut #horror x reader #Pennywise #Pennywise x reader #pennywise x reader smut #it x reader #it x reader smut #horror x reader smut #it smut #pennywise smut

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underdark-dreams · 2 months

Text

It's finally here, all 7k words of it 👀 Thank you for everyone who read chapter 1, and waited so patiently!

[ch1]

Birds and Bees - Ch.2

Rolan isn't usually the type to accept help. In his defense, Tav is very persuasive—and he is very, very desperate.

Tags: Tailplay, Oral Sex, Biting, NSFW | Word Count: 7.7k [Read on AO3]

Rolan didn’t appear again for the rest of the day.

After their awkward exchange this morning, Tav felt she might be somewhat to blame. She tried to recall the bits of Tiefling etiquette she’d picked up from the Elturians; perhaps touching his tail had crossed some sort of line? Either way, the gesture seemed unthinkably forward to her now.

Then again…Rolan was the one who’d coiled his tail across her desk like that, its tip nearly brushing her hand as she wrote. She’d never seen him do anything like it before. If she didn't know him so well, she’d have found the move almost flirtatious.

At shop’s close, Cal took charge of locking up the front. Tav caught sight of the large iron keyring he carried and realized that it must be Rolan’s. So his brother had checked in on him today, at least—that gave her a modicum of relief.

Lia pitched in to help wipe down all her equipment and carefully fill the many waiting bottles with her cooled elixir. Tav held her tongue from repeating any of the worries she’d made after Rolan during the day—but it seemed her silence was just as damning.

“Stop fussing,” Lia repeated firmly. “Rolan’s just overdue for a rest. I mean, you saw his face.”

“I did.” Rolan had never been the type to slow down or show weakness easily. To Tav, the fact that he’d willingly taken himself to bed worried her more than anything. “Just promise you won't let him turn down a healer if he needs one?”

“If it comes to that, which it won't,” Lia said down to her work. “I promise we’ll find someone, okay?”

Tav kept her tone teasing as she packed away the sealed bottles in their crate. “Hmm, yes…if only you already knew someone with some knowledge of healing.”

Lia let out a bark of laughter. “Trust me, you’re the last person Rolan wants to see right now.”

The sting of those words took Tav by surprise herself. Lia caught their edge too; she pulled up with a grimace, letting a few drops of antidote dribble onto the desk. “Shit, Tav, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” Tav replied, making a fuss of sealing up the filled crate. The thought made her feel rather less than okay, which she didn't want Lia to see. “I think—I don’t know. I feel like I did something rude today, anyway.”

“Oh?” Lia’s tone was light, but she allowed a conspicuous pause to stretch between them. Tav pushed through a twinge of embarrassment to turn to face her.

“Lia, what would you think if I touched your tail?”

Lia glanced up with an eyebrow cocked. “What, right now?”

“No, just—say I did by accident.”

Lia straightened to take a thoughtful inhale. “I mean…it depends on the context. You and I are friends, I wouldn’t think much of it. Unless you grabbed it up by my backside or something,” she added with a laugh. “It wouldn’t be a big deal. If I’m walking somewhere crowded, lots of people might brush against it unless I’m careful.”

Tav had moved around to reset the rest of her clean glassware as she listened, feeling marginally relieved by the explanation.

Then Lia paused her work again. “Are you saying you touched Rolan’s tail?

“You what now?”

With impeccable timing, Cal skidded to a stop at the edge of the conversation, a heavy lockbox under one arm.

Tav glanced between the two of them. “Yes?” The word came out as a question somehow; her mouth went dry as they stared at her. “Like you said, I didn't think it was a big deal. He laid it on my desk while I was working, so I just kind of—” She mimed a little picking-up motion with her hand.

The siblings exchanged a significant look with each other.

“What?” Tav felt her face burning and knew the color must be noticeable to either of them. “How does it being Rolan’s tail make it different?”

Cal turned back to her with a frown. “What do you mean he laid it on your desk?”

“I don't know, damn—clearly I’m no expert!” She flailed her arms out a bit. “I just turned around and it was sitting there by my hand, all right?”

Another shared glance.

“That explains it,” Cal decided. It earned him a swift pinch on the arm from his sister. “Ow, hey—”

Tav looked between them again, trying to translate. “Explains what? Seriously, if I offended Rolan somehow, I want to kn—”

“You didn’t,” Lia cut in firmly. “This one here's just an idiot. It’s harder to control your tail when you're sick or tired, and Rolan’s been both, that’s all. I'm sure it was a mistake. And he shouldn't have minded you moving it,” she finished with a decisive nod.

With that, Lia snatched up the filled crate from her with one arm and grabbed her brother’s sleeve with the other. Cal stumbled slightly as she pulled him along, but he wisely held his tongue as they headed for the back stockroom. The hinges creaked shut behind them both.

Tav was left standing alone in the cavernous interior of Sorcerous Sundries, beside the desks that she and Rolan used to comfortably share—not sure if she should feel better or worse.

—

The next morning, Rolan was once again nowhere to be found.

He hadn’t even conjured his projection the way he usually did when occupied with research in the Tower. It was a shame; the shop was unusually busy by midday, and Cal and Lia worked without pause. When she could, Tav left her alchemy just to lend a hand with customers or make runs to the supply room.

She found herself worried to the point of irritation. Was Rolan really so stubborn that he wouldn’t take a potion? Or accept healing from someone he’d claimed was a trusted friend and colleague? She tried and failed not to be hurt by it.

Then again, Rolan had always been the type to shoulder his way through awful things alone while firmly turning down help—particularly from her. His apprenticeship, most recently. The memory made her radiantly angry on his behalf even now.

“Shit—”

Tav jerked away from the flask and sucked on her freshly scalded thumb. She must have the ratios off again; this recipe wasn’t new to her, but the nuances had escaped her all morning. These sublimates shouldn’t get nearly so hot when mixed.

Might as well admit defeat and review the recipe before she wasted yet another bunch of black oleander. Surely there was a reference text somewhere in Rolan’s library?

Tav glanced around to the front of the shop. Cal was recording a sale at the front desk; Lia was chatting with a very large half-orc over near the conjurement runes. Things seemed well enough in hand. Tav damped the flame at her station and quietly took the stairs for the portal.

For lack of a better word: the library of Ramazith’s Tower was absolutely magical.

Tav stood breathing in the quiet afternoon sunlight, taking an appreciative look up around her. The collection must be the best one this side of Candlekeep, with all sorts of books on spellcraft, Weave theory, alchemy, religion, the history of Toril—just to scratch the surface. She could think of no hands more deserving than the ones its ownership had fallen into.

Just as Lia mentioned the other day, Rolan had clearly been hard at work reorganizing the place. She ran her fingertips over the books’ spines as she walked around the perimeter of the main floor.

She imagined Rolan with his robe sleeves pushed to his elbows, enthusiastically at work in his book stacks, and bit back a grin. There was something so endearing about his passion for taming disorder. As she walked, she found her gaze drifting to the delicate staircase at the far end of the main floor. It spiraled upward invitingly.

She’d never been to the upper floors of Ramazith’s Tower—nothing past the library. Certainly she hadn’t stepped foot in any of the private quarters of Rolan or his siblings. She wouldn’t even know which door led to whose.

But her mind wandered readily at the thought of Rolan’s bedroom. What it might look like…smell like.

No doubt it was packed with shelves of books and scrolls, filled with the scent of fresh parchment and leather-bound volumes. That warm, bookish smell that seemed to be woven into his robes. The fresh hint of cedar from the way he kept his clothes meticulously cleaned and stored. And that other faint spice that she could never identify, but always picked up when he stood close to her.

The same scent that had filled her lungs with dizzy pleasure when he’d hovered close to her yesterday, chin brushing her shoulder and arm circled possessively around her waist—

She bit her lip as heat pooled between her legs at the memory. She couldn't help it—how very fucking nice it had been to feel Rolan’s elegant hands on her, casually and effortlessly touching, as if he was accustomed to touching her much more often and much more intimately.

It would do no good to dwell on that moment. If anything, the uncharacteristic gesture was just proof of how out-of-sorts Rolan must be feeling. He was her friend, and by all accounts, he’d been too sick to leave his room for days.

With a sudden burst of determination and a disregard for the consequences, she strode for the stairs.

Taking the curving ascent so rapidly left her dizzy. Tav planted her boots on the landing for a moment, holding onto the railing while she took in her surroundings.

This upper hall was also quietly sunlit, filled with fine carpeting and oak paneled walls; but the atmosphere was somehow less grand than the cavernous library below. More intimate.

Two doors stood on both ends of the hall. Hazarding a guess, she stepped to the closest one on her left. Its heavy oak panels swung forward with the slightest touch.

Not a bedroom at all, but a bath—and a tremendously fine one at that. All the fixtures seemed to be wrought from polished gold. Underneath a towering stained glass window stood the deepest, widest clawfoot tub she’d ever seen.

As she gazed around, Tav caught sight of her reflection in a large glass above the sinks. Her hair was all frizzy flyaways from a day over her potion work. Indulging a bit of vanity, she paused to tame it with her fingers.

One of Rolan’s many endearing habits was his dedication to fastidiousness. Never a hair out of place, horns polished and shining, robes immaculately pressed—knowing him, with a bit of the Weave.

She must look like some sort of wild hedge witch by comparison. Tav had never minded life in the wilds as a wayward adventurer, even after the Elder Brain was felled to the Chionthar. It was part of what drew her to the career of a traveling alchemist.

But there were moments…most of them in this Tower, with Rolan and his siblings. Sharing a meandering dinner at a real table with actual chairs. Sitting with Rolan out on the starlit balcony, discussing blood alchemy over a glass of wine as they watched the harbor.

Tav forced her hands still and stared back at her reflection.

“What do you want?” She muttered to herself. The Tav in the mirror had no answer. But in her mind, one softly bloomed.

Over the past months, her feelings had tumbled forward faster than she could keep up with them. Seeing Rolan, talking with him about anything and everything, working beside him in quiet moments—she found those were the moments she looked forward to most.

His offer to turn one of the Tower’s empty vaults into a greenhouse for her. Essentially giving her a permanent place in his home, if she wanted it. Was it stupid to hope that he wanted more, too?

As she stood frozen silent in the confines of her lavish surroundings, a muffled sound came from her right.

She hadn't noticed the second door past the bathtub; presumably connecting to one of the bedrooms. She realized it most likely led to Rolan’s.

She stepped toward the heavy oak paneling and raised a hand to knock. As she did, more muffled noises came from within. Tav hesitated, questioning whether she should—then leaned in to press one ear to the wood.

There were the sounds of labored breathing, as if from pain or exertion. She strained her ear harder. There was something almost…rhythmic in it.

And then—she could swear—she heard Rolan's voice groan her name aloud.

A shock of heat ran through her chest, prickling up her neck and diving between the cleft of her legs. The rapid, hot ache at her core made her gasp out in surprise, then clap a hand to her mouth lest he heard. She felt her cheeks burning with realization.

Whatever she had expected to find by wandering up here…this had never been on the list. All she saw in her mind’s eye was Rolan, sweating and panting and desperate. And that thought filled her with overwhelming want in response.

Tav pushed herself back from the door with a jolt. She turned and ran, not knowing or caring whether the ring of her footsteps on tile carried past the door. Her pulse pounded against her ears as she rushed out of the room and back for the staircase.

Even before Tav’s foot hit the third stair, she knew she was headed for the Elfsong. And a very stiff fucking drink.

—

Day passed to night and back to day again in a feverish jumble. Like a vessel adrift in a vast ocean, Rolan was passed along wave after wave of searing impulse.

Had his ruts always been this overwhelming, and he’d just forgotten? Or was there something different about the drives this time around?

Even the little dignities were stripped away, one by one. He began by conjuring mage hands at first, but his concentration faltered too many times at the cusp. He finally just settled for his own grip. Desperate sounds rose in his chest each time he neared his next finish, the likes of which he’d never utter voluntarily.

And he quickly gave up on clothes altogether. He lay naked and spread-eagle on his sheets and tried to sleep when he could, before his demanding cock inevitably twitched back to life again. The fever turned his dreams shockingly lewd whenever he did manage to drift off.

By sunset, another strong wave of need was pulsing through his core, demanding his attention. Rolan lay back against his pillows and groaned open-mouthed as he stroked himself.

Even slick with oil, the friction between his hand and the raw, overstimulated ridges of his cock bordered on painful. His finish danced out of reach to the back of his mind.

With an impatient growl, he flipped over to his knees and snatched up a feather pillow, folding it into a sleeve for his cock. A crude solution—but with his first few thrusts, the cool softness of the silk caused a moan of relief to rise in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as he fucked his own pillow in a desperate chase for relief.

And behind his eyelids, there she was again.

Tav appeared there so easily now. He’d tried to fight it at first—ashamed to be using her like this, without her knowledge or consent—but he found that nothing satisfied his urges so well as when he pictured her on his cock.

So he closed his eyes and imagined Tav…pliant, eager, hungry. Legs spread and center dripping with desire for him. The shameful depth of his need faded away as he fantasized her own. How her eyes might shine as she panted and gasped under him, calling him by name and begging him to fuck her and fill her and mark her as his—

What would she sound like as he took her? He conjured the timbre of her voice, always warm and musical, now canting to a whine as the ridges at his base slammed against her with each thrust.

Pressure coiled rapid and hot at his loins. Rolan slid off the mattress with legs braced, the pillow cast aside, and tugged frantically at his stiff length again. His tail arched and flicked behind him.

Through clenched eyelids he saw Tav laid at the foot of his bed, hair splayed in a messy crown against his sheets as she cried out his name. Her legs crossed behind his flanks to hold him deep inside her tight wet heat—

‘Rolan—’ She moaned louder, her heels digging into his lower back as he took her. Tav gripped two handfuls of the bedding underneath as he thrust relentlessly, chasing more of her heat around his cock, more of the delicious scent at her throat and between her legs—

“Rolan!”

“Fuck—” With a strangled gasp, Rolan’s hips stuttered one last time as his come spilled in ropes to the floor. Panting and shaking, he caught hold of the bed post with one hand as he frantically worked out the rest of his finish with the other. His head spun with the force of it.

But as he opened his eyes and his vision cleared, so did that cottony feeling in his ears. Someone was rapping insistently on the door to his room.

“Rolan, we need to talk—” Even muffled by the heavy wood, Tav’s voice was unmistakable.

“Fuck,” Rolan hissed again, this time with enough wits about him to panic. How much of that last performance could she hear through the door? He snatched up the nearest towel to wipe himself, then tripped away toward the pile of clothes on the floor that had lain untouched since yesterday.

“Go away,” he called tersely, nevertheless yanking the trousers up over his hips. Thank hells that last round had left him soft enough he could do up the laces for now.

On the other side of the door, she was undeterred. “I’m not leaving till I’ve seen you.”

Rolan cursed as one of his horns snagged the ties at the neck of his shirt. Once the fabric dropped over his torso, he whirled around to take in the state of his room.

Bedsheets pulled sideways from the mattress; pillows strewn across the floorboards; air thick with the smell of him. Absolute filthy shambles.

Using a rush of energy he couldn't afford, he cast a mass prestidigitation spell on the space. The improvement in the air was immediate. But the resulting light-headedness caused him to stumble forward; he caught himself with a hand braced on the door frame.

“I'm not joking,” Tav called loudly, unaware he was now much closer.

He could have yelled at her to wait outside for another week, then, if he wasn't so sure she was stubborn enough to actually do so. After all, this was the person who’d defeated an Elder Brain and taken on several gods in the process.

That…and he found he badly wanted to see Tav in the flesh. Hearing her voice from just beyond his bedroom door only increased that desire. Rolan’s tail lashed behind him in helpless frustration.

“What do you want?” He asked instead, lowering his voice. No use broadcasting any more of this conversation to the whole Tower.

There was a pause on the other side of the oak paneling. “I’ve barely seen you since I got here,” Tav’s voice replied, matching his volume.

“And?”

“And I'm worried about you…obviously,” she added. “Cal and Lia said you’re sick. But I’d feel better if we could talk face to face.” Even through the barrier between them, he could hear a strain in her voice. She wasn't lying.

Rolan rested his horns against his braced forearm with a sigh. “Tav, I swear I'm perfectly fine.”

“Then just open the door a moment. Please, Rolan?”

It was far too pleasant to hear her say his name outside of his own imaginings. Rolan glanced down at himself. Barefoot, shirt untucked, but technically presentable. And not pitching a tent for once in the past twenty-four hours.

“If I do, will you leave?”

There was another pause. “If you want me to,” came the reply. He unbolted the latch and drew it open to shoulder width.

The wave of Tav’s scent hit him almost before he registered her face in front of him. The sweetness of it overwhelmed his other senses for a moment. It tested all Rolan’s limited reserves of sanity not to grab her by the waist and pull her body against him.

Unaware of the silent struggle raging in his chest, Tav stood with face tilted up toward his. Her eyes had traveled over his figure immediately, checking him over with a worried little crease between her brows. Something at the side of his head caught her eye; Rolan realized his hair hung loose and rather sweaty, exposing the slender tips of his ears.

Her demeanor changed at the sight. Tav sighed, leaning her head against the flat of the door.

“You’re even handsome with a fever,” she told him softly.

Rolan blinked at her. Perhaps exhaustion and hormones were driving him to hallucinations. “What are you—”

Faster than he could react, her palms landed on either side of his face, and Tav pulled his mouth down to hers.

A burst of colors exploded behind his eyes; the sensation of her lips moving on his kindled the dormant heat in his body to wild blaze. She notched her hands upward as she kissed him, and her fingers slid up along the sensitive tapers of both his ears.

Rolan let out a hungry, animal sound against her mouth. Both hands landed on her back and crushed the line of her body forward into his, leaving no space between them. He could feel the soft hills of her breasts pressing against his chest through clothing. The warm scent rolling off her skin and hair surrounded him with dizzying force.

The higher part of his mind was screaming at him. Rolan desperately tried to focus on what it was saying; as he did, he caught the tang of wine on her lips. The discovery gave him just enough will to pull back from her.

And he did, with one jerking step back into his chambers. “You can’t be here.”

Tav stood panting through parted lips, eyes half-lidded as they traveled over him. Rolan felt flames lick his skin everywhere they moved.

“Why not?” She breathed. “I wanted to see you.”

“You’re drunk,” he told her. He rather felt that way himself, still reeling from the electricity of kissing her.

Tav pouted at that, and Rolan wished to bite that lower lip firmly between his teeth. “I’m not drunk,” she corrected. “I’ve had a drink. There’s a difference.”

“You wouldn’t be here if—”

“If what?” Tav watched him as she took a step closer. Rolan stepped back in tandem, reflexive. She was well over the threshold now. “If I knew what was really happening to you?”

Those words sounded much more knowing than he liked. Rolan stared at her, trying to read into her face. He swallowed against the dry lump of his tongue and went out on a limb. “Which one of them told you?”

Tav shook her head. “Cal and Lia have been nothing but discreet.”

“Then how could you possibly understand?” He demanded. The very recent discovery of how soft Tav’s lips were was making it very difficult to maintain this conversation. He could still feel the way her body had pressed into him.

One corner of her mouth twitched. “Rolan, I’d like to think I’m not completely oblivious. There have been…signs. And I’ve had a lot of time to think about them. I’ve been at the Elfsong all afternoon, just—thinking.”

At that, Rolan felt his tail twitching nervously behind him. “I see,” he replied. Pivoting, like an idiot, trying to pretend this was a perfectly acceptable conversation to have with the woman who occupied most of his thoughts when he was pleasuring himself. “And you think that I—that my—”

Tav made a quick twisting motion to get around the door. She latched it and drew the bolt closed behind them, then turned back to him.

“A lot of humans have heard rumors about Tieflings,” she confessed. “Some stupid, but some credible. I’m saying this is maybe not the secret that you think it is.” As he watched, a much deeper blush spread over Tav’s cheeks. She glanced away to the side.

“Rolan…I grew up in the Dales, remember? Around rabbits, and cattle, and oxen. Half my friends lived on farms.”

Her analogy couldn’t be clearer. To hear her lay it out so plainly—Rolan felt the last dregs of his pride shrivel up and die. He gripped two palms over his eyes and let out a groan of abject humiliation, turning away to the middle of the room.

How early had she connected the dots? The moment she felt him brazenly place a hand around her? Had she known all along that he was locked up here, rutting into every one of his pillows?

“Look, Rolan, I’m sorry—I didn’t know how else to say it—”

Completely overwhelmed by his embarrassment, he hadn’t heard her follow. When Rolan finally dropped his hands from his face, he turned to find Tav standing very close to his chest.

“And I’m sorry for kissing you before,” she blurted out. “I mean, I’m not sorry for it…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, to be honest. But it wasn’t fair. I just…wanted to know how you’d react.”

Rolan watched as her chest rose and fell heavily where she stood. The look in her eyes made his blood pound through his veins. He felt an urge to reach out and smooth back her hair to bring her in for another kiss, one he resisted.

“I care about you,” Rolan told her, before he could lose his nerve. “Our friendship. I respect you, Tav, it’s not worth—muddying things with this.”

He felt fingers lacing through the ones that hung at his side, and despite his words Rolan tightened his grip automatically. Her hand was so pleasantly cool against the heat of his skin.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Tav answered earnestly. “I care about you, too. If I can help, I want to. Please—”

She was so close to him; Rolan breathed shallowly, but the warm scent rolling off her skin and hair nevertheless swept past him with dizzying force.

“You don’t know what you’re offering,” he managed hoarsely.

She didn’t falter. “Then tell me what else you think I should know.”

His senses were growing clouded with her; the offer that had tumbled so easily from her rang in his ears. It made the thread of Rolan’s control stretch dangerously taut.

“I won’t be gentle,” he warned.

His inadvertent shift in tone changed something in the air between them. There was a crackling energy that hadn't been there a second before.

Tav licked her lips as she watched him. “Good.”

Rolan thought he might melt from the heat that spread across his skin. His tail snapped against the mattress behind him. If she moved a step closer, she’d feel how hard he was in his pants.

“Mating bites,” he went on hoarsely. “I’ll mark you. Quite a lot. I’ll try not to draw blood, but…I can’t promise it.”

Tav nodded. “What else?” She asked, encouraging him to go on.

Rolan swallowed against the embarrassment. But this was important for her to know. “This time for us, it’s all about…reproduction. We become quite virile.” He nearly choked, but there was simply no other way to put it. “For the urges to pass quicker, I need to come in you.”

Tav let out a throaty hum of approval. His cock twitched in his pants at the sound. “That’s fine, I take preventatives—it’s safe.”

They stood looking at each other for another moment. That shivery, electric feeling buzzed in the air around them. Rolan wondered if she could hear the way his heart drummed against his ribs.

Tav leaned in slightly. “Well…” She said, and her wet tongue passed nervously between her lips again.

That taut thread in his chest snapped in two. Rolan crushed her up against him with a whimper. Arms circling around her waist, he nudged a thigh between her legs and firmly ground their hips together.

Tav matched his eagerness. Their lips crashed together; at the back of his mind, he felt her grip cradling under each of his ears. Her fingertips licked like flame against his scalp.

Even through layers of clothing, he could feel the heat of her. Rolan jerked her hips forward harder against his thigh; the swelling length of his cock pressed against her soft, yielding center. Tav dipped her head back from the kiss, arching into him with a moan, and her fingertips laced at the nape of his neck.

It offered an irresistible angle at the column of her throat. Rolan’s claws raked back in her hair, pulling it to a tight ponytail. Then he tugged firmly, holding her open as his mouth descended on her neck.

He kissed and sucked along the band of muscle from her ear to the curve of her shoulder, then parted his lips to bite down firmly on her soft flesh.

“Yes,” Tav moaned in approval above him. Her hips rolled into his, grinding herself against the hard cock straining in his pants. Rolan felt her pulse skip against his mouth. Only when he tasted sweet copper did he pull away, laving his tongue over the crimson pin-pricks of his teeth into her skin.

He took only a moment to admire the trail of marks blooming along her neck. Tav was already pulling him in for another kiss. Their lips crashed together with bruising force; her tongue explored, tasting, searching for proof of her blood against his tongue and moaning against him when she found it.

Her scent filled his mind. Without breaking from her mouth, he plucked open the laces of her pants. Rolan slipped his hand under the waistband, beneath her smalls, and slid two fingers to dip down between her legs. Her folds were shining-slick; as he nudged her in circles, a trickle of her arousal rolled down his fingers. She shivered prettily under his touch.

“You’re soaked,” Rolan groaned against her neck.

“All because of you,” she breathed without hesitation. “Been wanting this, gods, wanting you for months. Your hands on me—cock in me—”

At the words he withdrew his fingers from her impatiently, then sucked them clean. Her sweet taste on his tongue made his cock ache. She scarcely had time to curse at the sight before Rolan gripped both arms around her waist to lift her into him.

With one quick pivot, he landed her down on the bed with his frame pressed into her. Her legs hung off the edge from the hip down, and he used the position to grind the stiff length in his pants against her cleft.

Even fully clothed, it was maddening. He could feel the wet patch between her legs, and when she arched further into him, a primal growl rumbled in his chest.

Tav’s fingers were brushing at his sides, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she panted impatiently.

Rolan tilted back to rip the garment up over his horns, immediately reaching for her own once his was free. He stripped her frantically, ripping her smallclothes in two before he could work them down her thighs.

When she lay bare beneath him, moaning and arching into everywhere he touched, he was overcome with hunger for more of her taste.

Rolan gripped her hips, dragging her with a jerk to the edge of the bed. With her glistening folds displayed before him, all he could do was drop to his knees and bury his tongue between them.

The sounds she made were like sweet music as he explored her. He sucked and massaged her slit with his tongue, then plunged it as deep within her walls as he could. His eyes rolled back in his head. Her taste surrounded him; his nose brushed her clit as he ate her, further overwhelming his senses with the scent of her arousal.

“Gods, yes, Rolan—” Tav moaned above him as her hands flew to grip each of his horns. She alternately tugged them and arched into his mouth, grinding her clit against his face.

He wanted to hear her say his name like that another thousand times. Rolan curled his tongue against her walls, determined to taste her even deeper, but to no avail. Without his sharp nails, he would have sunk two fingers into her.

Instead, as his mouth left her, the ridged end of his tail looped around to brush over her slit.

“Ah—” Tav gasped from the bed. One of her hands left him to prop up on an elbow to look.

He watched her face in adoration as his tail slid between her soaked lips, coating itself in a mixture of her arousal and his saliva. Once it was thoroughly wet, he let the heart-shaped tip push experimentally into her.

Whatever hesitation he had evaporated at the way she arched and keened. He pushed in further, inch by inch, hissing in breath at how tight and wet her walls squeezed around him. Rolan felt his cock leaking between his legs at the sight of his tail disappearing into her plush cunt.

“Taking my tail so well,” Rolan praised without thinking, then groaned. “Fuck, Tav, you’re so tight—”

“Don’t stop,” she demanded, breathless.

When he felt the tip brush the limits of her insides, he held it steady as she panted down at him. Her mouth hung open in anticipation as she watched him lean in again for her center.

But instead of landing on her clit, his mouth met with the soft skin of her inner thigh and sucked it firmly between his teeth.

Tav gave a little yelp of pain, but her walls constricted around his tail so hard he moaned against her flesh. He left two more lovely red marks against her thigh before withdrawing his tail from her, leaving only the tip inside her silk.

Then he thrust back into her and took up a forceful rhythm of stretching her open on his tail.

“Fucking gods,” she gasped, gripping both his horns again. He felt her use them as leverage as she bounced her hips down to meet him.

“Like this, don’t you?” Rolan urged her on, drunk off her desire. “Fucking yourself on my tail—” He leaned down to take another taste of her clit, swirling and sucking as the ridges on his tail dragged more wetness out of her with each thrust.

“Yes,” Tav moaned, shaking under him as his tongue worked over her clit. “Feels so perfect in me, so—ngh—!”

When he flicked the tip of it up inside her, Tav’s words stuttered to incoherence. He felt her inner walls clench and flutter, and repeated the motion over and over with each thrust.

“I’m—oh, oh ohohoh—”

She dissolved into soft cries. The muscles at her core tensed and shuddered as she climaxed against his tongue. Rolan withdrew his tail from her with a slick release, instead clasping his mouth over her to lap down the sweet taste that poured from her. His pants were so wet he was nearly convinced he’d already come, but he felt his cock straining against the fabric just as firmly.

When her thighs collapsed limp to either side, Rolan pushed himself to his feet for a look at her. Tav’s eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with arousal, her hair coiled out in wild tendrils that framed her like a crown. Their eyes met; with both hands on his arms, she pulled him down for a kiss.

Rolan landed braced on his forearms. Their tongues slid and pushed together, trading the taste of her release. When he felt her reaching between them to undo his laces, he pulled away to loose them and strip off the rest of his clothes.

Tav reached for his erection, and before he’d steadied himself, she gripped his length to drag the generous droplets of precum around his tip with her thumb. His hips bucked into her.

“Eager, aren’t you?” She teased softly.

“Yes,” Rolan groaned. Tav’s soft hand was around his cock for the first time; it was all he could do to locate words. He knew his face was flushed and tense with arousal, but Tav only looked up at him with appreciation from where she lay back on his bed.

When she guided his length across the wet of her core, he rocked his hips to drag his ridges across her. She shivered slightly, still sensitive, but rolled into him.

“Need you,” Rolan panted, not sure whether he was asking her or begging. “Tav—please—”

Tav’s hand lined him up with her entrance. When his leaking tip nudged inside her, Rolan pushed forward with one slow, determined cant of his hips.

The cool slick of her walls clutched each inch of him so perfectly. A low groan rose in Rolan’s throat—this was the closest thing to real satisfaction that he’d gotten in days, and he hadn't even started moving yet.

“So good,” Tav said under him, voice sweet and husky. “Keep going—”

Rolan braced his hands against her hips. He pulled out slowly, legs shaking beneath him, then pushed back into the tight plush of her.

His hips took up a firm pace, and Rolan couldn't bite back his whines as he plunged his cock inside her. Whatever his fevered imagination had conjured, it was nothing compared to this—he fell over her again, fangs skating against her breast as her body rocked under him with each thrust.

“Yes, yes, fuck—” Tav was just as breathless as her fingers gripped the infernal ridges on his shoulder blades. She tugged, egging him on.

Rolan took the invitation with enthusiasm. He nipped and sucked around the swell of her breast, breathing in lungfuls of the sweetness rolling off her skin.

“Harder,” Tav begged, the words vibrating against his lips. The hunger inside him surged in agreement.

Rolan’s lips fastened over one nipple. He sucked, hard, letting his tongue roll her against his teeth. Tav let out a whimper, but he felt her legs crossing around his hips as he continued to bury himself in her.

Rolan pulled away to look at her face. A mist of sweat dusted her brow; Tav’s lips were parted and twitching with silent words.

“Look at me,” Rolan ordered, still filling her with his cock in a steady rhythm.

Tav obeyed, her eyes shining and pupils blown wide. He straightened away from her, never breaking, and laid a hand each on her calves. Then he pushed up, folding her legs to her chest and opening up her cunt even deeper for him.

“You look so beautiful like this, Tav,” he told her, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping his pace slow and steady. “Folded in half in my bed. Stretched around my cock so perfectly.”

In response, Tav’s hands grabbed her knees, pulling herself open even further to each side. “Is this how you imagined it?” She asked wickedly. “All alone—wishing it was me and not your own hand—”

Heat prickled across his neck and shoulders, but Rolan was too far gone to feel shame. He couldn't resist breaking eye contact, however, watching the way his cock stretched open her dripping cunt.

“Just like this,” he panted in answer. She took in breath to respond, but he was already slamming back into her at a reckless pace.

The lewd, wet sounds of his thrusts filled the room, layered with their chorus of whines and moans. Rolan shuddered at how slick and tight she was around him, perfectly gripping each inch of his needy length. His cock throbbed in anticipation of a satisfying release, finally, after all these times of not quite enough—

“I’m close,” he panted, gripping her hips to pull her down deeper onto his cock. The tip of him nudged against the limits of her walls. “Where should—”

“Inside,” Tav insisted, still holding herself wide for him. “Only inside, Rolan, want you to fill me up—fuck—”

The imagery pushed him over the edge, and he did just that. With a throb of release, he felt his cock pulsing and filling her deepest walls with his seed. His hips stuttered into her as he pushed his spend as far into her as he could reach.

Tav clutched his shoulders as he came, humming and moaning out praises for him. Their hips rocked together, nudging his coated length back against her deep center.

Tav went tense under him. He forced his eyes open and saw her lips parted in surprise.

“I’m—oh—!”

She gasped in shock as her own climax gripped her. Rolan hissed in breath at the way she clenched and fluttered so suddenly around him. His length was still hard, and his ridges pulsed against her.

As she drifted back down, Tav’s eyes finally lit on him in a daze. “What…what was that?”

Rolan was abruptly reminded of how many ruts he’d spent without a partner. “I'm sorry, I should've warned you,” he confessed. It was hard to form his thoughts while still inside her. “During the cycle…infernal traits get stronger. Like incubi. Helps attract a partner.” Somehow this explanation was more embarrassing than any of the other filth he’d just spoken to her.

Tav stared up at him. “You're saying your come is going to make me come?”

“Essentially.” Rolan shifted inside her slightly, still not confident he was done. “I apologize—I didn't think to tell you. Is that a problem?”

“Rolan—” Tav let out a breathless laugh, and the sound went straight to his chest. “This is the exact opposite of a problem. Just a bit of a shock, that's all.”

The lovely sight of her happy and satisfied under him was too much to resist. Rolan leaned forward on his arms to kiss her, trapping her legs between their chests.

As her hand stroked softly under his jaw, Rolan felt a second ache settling in his loins. He released her lips for just long enough to push her legs out over his hips, then ducked back down for her mouth.

He rolled his hips into her slower this time, but it was somehow more intense. Their lips stayed connected as he drove into her deep. Her walls were slippery with arousal and his own seed, and they gripped like pure silk around his cock. Her opening slid over the sensitive ridges at his base with each thrust.

When he dipped a thumb between their bodies to rub circles over her clit, Tav broke away with a little gasp.

“I can’t again,” she said, panting.

“You can,” he told her simply. “Hold on to me—”

She did, wrapping both arms and legs firmly around him as if he was her anchor. Rolan dipped his head to her neck as he doubled his pace, their hips slotting together with each brisk slide into her. He breathed deep against the curve of her shoulder.

Still so hungry for release, it wasn't long before he came again hard. This time he just barely pumped his spend into her before he pulled out to look down.

Sticky white seed dribbled out of her slit, running down toward her hole. He dipped the thumb circling her clit down to swipe it back up across her cunt, painting his come across the bundle of nerves at her peak.

Tav’s thighs twitched under him, and she gripped his arm tight with one hand. She swore as he continued flicking across her clit with the wet pad of his thumb, then whined out his name.

While her next orgasm nearly doubled her in half, Rolan tilted his head to watch the sight between her legs. She was soaked, twitching, utterly intoxicating. Her contracting walls pushed more of his spend out of her; it flowed generously from her slit and soaked down into the bedding below.

Finding himself now utterly spent, Rolan collapsed on his back next to her. As he did, he realized his legs had grown fatigued to the point of buckling from the exertions. He let his body sink heavy into the mattress.

“I made a mess on your sheets,” Tav panted from beside him.

Rolan groaned at her descriptive language. The fact that his length continued softening was a sign his urges were finally giving him a reprieve, however. “It was mostly my fault.”

She only let out a weak breath of laughter.

Too tired to trust his shaking legs, he reached an arm blind over the side of the bed and snatched up the first fabric it touched. His discarded shirt.

Pushing himself seated, he gently reached to dry between Tav’s legs. One of her hands traced the ridges on his back as he quietly tended to her.

“How long before the next?” She asked him.

“An hour or two.” Rolan didn't look at her. “Tav, you've done more than enough for m—”

The mattress shifted as she sat up and turned his face into a waiting kiss. It was soft, just a chorus of little presses across his lips.

When Tav pulled away, she tucked the damp curtain of his hair behind one ear. “Rolan, unless you want me to go, I'm staying until it’s over.”

Rolan cast a glance over her. Despite the fact that she was naked in his bed and covered in blooming bruises from his mouth, she was very much the same Tav as ever. “Thank you,” he told her quietly.

She pushed him onto his back with a sudden laugh, landing with her chest pressed to his. “What an utterly Rolan thing to say,” she mused. “Need I remind you I just came three times?”

Tav was teasing him, and was of a mind to put her in her place—only he found that none of his limbs wanted to move at the moment. Instead, his only response was a deep hum as his eyelids drooped shut.

He felt the mattress shift as she rose and wished he could reach out to stop her. But a moment later she curled up next to him again, dragging a soft quilt over their bodies.

Rolan turned inward to rest his head on Tav’s chest—and fell into his first real slumber in days.

#spicy #rolan x tav #tiefling ruts #rolan smut #heat/rut cycles #female tav #bg3 rolan #tiefling biology #bg3 fanfiction #rebgrrl writes #underdark-dreams

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astralnymphh · 5 months

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im scared cus this is my first req buttttt.. ellie fucking u w a breeding strap but keep stopping to watch the fake cum ooze out and make her dirty comments 🫣

+bonus ugh it would be so hot if she made u suck it first then gave u a facial!!! or she gets carried away n it gets ALL OVER u (and in u lollll) like back thighs face UGH I NEED TO BE STOPPED

apologies for taking FOREVER but omg ELLIE GIVING YOU A FACIAL. lemme expand on this. MDNI. 𐙚

𐙚 ellie gives you a facial

"yeah–ha? too big for you?" she cooed in that conceited tone, the one she curls and swirls whensoever you can't take her in sheer size, hence now. a tone that ensues to badger you, inflame you, to thrust your throat faster. you bob your head, like all hell you bob with might– shaking fingertips pressing gently into her soft, pliable butt, inching her in further. her silicone cock, it's veiny shaft scrapes in tiny grooves along your gullet walls, puncturing the very depths with a brazen cockhead so feckly– you gag. a series of 'uuaghhs' and 'bhhhmms' that buzz like a bee on her dick ellie could only hope to phantom feel. cold, webby spit is all your taste buds could swill, a bland taste in frothy soaks. her cockhead presses against your inner–most gullet wall– uvula if you want terms, the bulbous mass getting you to gag once more, akin to thrusts and thrusts hence. you spit, detaching your pouty wet buds, "guuhh–ah, ack!" and tightropes of beady sap–like consistency leashes from your lips to your throat, laying like strings of spaghetti over the plush of your bottom lip. ellie giggles with smuggish pique, cooing at you more, "hehe– fuck babe, makin' me wanna fuck your pretty mouth.. ohh~" her brows pinch in rumination of that appealing enigma, to fuck your throat. you raise, throat clearing roughly, "I've been sucking it for minutes now, is it not go–" she cuts you off, large palm swinging around your head to tangle knuckles to knots in your locks, "scuse' me, m'not finished yet–" she slams your caving mouth over her cock, sheathing it wholly, "–that's why." she replies with wit staining that voice. goddess damn it. pump, pump, pump– the more your hair tousled, the harsher her pumps glide. those dauntingly sexy hips you cradle in two measly grasps fuck into your slobbering gob like there's no tomorrow. wetness amalgamates in bubbly drops in the pit of your lap, sweat cakes on your tense forehead, and your gags remain punted back by the force of her cocktip seeking a gushy release in harsh strokes. moans echo, they rattle your skull, flowing much like grunts of bestial nature– grizzling out of her lungs. "unhhh– yeahhh baby, take me in there, take me in– mghhh." it's ruthless, yet ruthlessly hot, not a big feat for ellie though– she has no qualms when it comes to being effortlessly hot. one tightly drawn squeal with grit, and she's cumming– everywhere. no use paying a cell of your mind to focus on the rivers of clear cum that trickle from her engorged pussy lips, because inversely, her stinging grip tugs your head off and slinks over to grab taut hold on her girth, oozing out all that delectable– pearly white serum all over your face. it saults beyond your brow ridge, groups of globs beelining for your chin. snail trails of sticky glue emissions paint you like an abstract canvas, dripping with strings onto your chest and your belly– and your thighs. ergo, everywhere. ellie continues to aim her cock in patterns, purposefully smothering you with her gloopy release– cause fuuck was it lewd to see you glossed like a glazed donut. a stifled, "cummin' all over that pretty face, yeah– take that." gusts through the tight gaps of her teeth, living as the only sound to overrun the squelching of her sleek bulging out of that cocks' tiny little hole. a final bead purls from the hole, diving straight for the tip of your nose. her grasp given, she loosens up, slinking a curved finger over to smear any leftover cum over her cock's size. giggling like a dork, in rasp, "oh god," fakely gasped, "she cum all over you? shit babe–" you scowl in feign at her, pursing brows, "you clearly intended to do that." you snap, to which she replies dumbly, muttering, "mh– noo, just lose control of 'er, fuckin' hot though right?" her thumb presses a dent in the rubbery thickness, slapping the cock down on your coiling lips. you giggle, "really fucking hot." with intentional foxiness pitching your words, thereafter flattening your tongue out for her to slap on– which she does, bouncing her pretty cock on your pretty tongue. ౨ৎ

ellie definitely enjoys this, too much.

will orbly write a fucking u w a breeding strap another day lol. gotta finish this fic!!

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writingjourney · 11 months

Text

a message from the bulletin board | cardinal copia x gn!reader

summary: the ministry’s bulletin board, ordinarily used for missing items or party announcements, contains a particularly interesting request this week – a lonely hearts ad.

content: 9k words, gn!reader, slightly suggestive at times, first date/first kiss shenanigans, sad lonely awkward cardinal fluff, you know the drill

Masterlist – Ao3 link

You ignore the knot of people in front of the bulletin board.

As much as the whispers and giggles garner your attention, someone else attracts it even more. Cardinal Copia, red cassock, red biretta, arms filled with two boxes worth of files and papers, is trying to push the door to his office open with his hip under a swell of Italian curses. Certainly, his hip swing is impressive on most days, especially on stage, but today it seems more like a helpless, uncoordinated bumping that the door is fighting with every ounce of its wooden strength.

Evidently, he’s struggling.

“Good morning, Cardinal, do you need a hand?”

His eyebrows shoot up when he hears your voice and he stops dead in his tracks, slowly turning his head until he catches you standing right behind him. Despite your announcement, he visibly startles, nearly dropping the boxes in his arms.

“Oh, eh… yes, if you could open the door for me, Sibling?”

“Of course.”

With your hand on the knob, you watch as he hurries inside of his office, wheezing under the weight and dropping the boxes onto his desk with a dull thud that echoes loudly in his mostly bare working space. Apart from books upon books strewn across and around his desk as well as an old weathered couch, there hasn’t been any love put into decorating the space. You wait patiently for him to turn back around to you, a hint of red dusting his cheeks when he finally does.

“Thank you,” he squeezes out, trying very hard to swallow his heavy exhales. “I carried them here all the way from the archives. Long way, you know, even for my…” He holds up his arm, flexing it exaggeratedly. “My strong, powerful muscles.”

You giggle and he perks up in delight, eyes wide and shiny. “No problem, Cardinal, I can imagine they’re very heavy.”

You smile at him and he smiles back, so sweetly, and you’re momentarily at an equal loss for words. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, down the prominent bridge of his nose. He brushes it away with a leather-gloved hand and you can’t help but stare as he wipes it clean on the heavy fabric of his vestments, shaking out his fingers once he’s done. You can’t look away as they flex and release, flex and release. They’re surprisingly long and so… nimble.

Copia’s violent cough startles you awake and you’re not sure if it’s his own nerves that make him clear his throat, if his overexerted lungs are protesting or if he caught you staring. Either way, you feel your own cheeks getting hot now, the moment of hesitant silence slowly transitioning into a gooey sort of awkwardness.

“So, ugh… I better get back to my own duties,” you say. “Lots to do, spring cleaning and all that.”

He nods. “Yes, yes, you are busy, of course. Such a busy little bee. Bzz bzz. Hehe.”

You awkwardly giggle back, trying hard to think of a clever joke. Maybe something that has to do with stinging? But before you can settle on one, the time for a witty come-back has stretched thin and so you just awkwardly wave at him, mutter a “see you later” and close the door.

With your back pressed to the wood, you let out a deep exhale, the butterflies – or bees – in your stomach making it very hard to breathe at a normal pace. Once you’ve recollected your wits, you notice that the hallway is still as busy as before, maybe even busier.

Like lions gathering around an animal carcass after days of starvation, what feels like half the abbey has been flocking to the big rectangular corkboard. You cannot possibly imagine what would warrant such intense interest. The most exciting messages on any given day are unusual sex requests, the invitation to a weirdly themed party or a call for applications to a particularly intricate sex ritual to honour the Dark One.

You push through the crowd to check what’s causing the repeated giggling and excited whispers amongst your peers when you spot a pristine piece of paper on the board. It’s thick, stark-white, shaped like a heart at the top and with pieces to rip off at the bottom that contain a phone number. You squint, move in even closer until you can make out the text – hand-written and in cursive.

I (m, 50) am looking for a partner to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t have any preferences but it would be coolio if we had similar interests, so we can have some fun together.

I like: watching movies, playing video games, going on walks, rigatoni, juice, small animals

I don’t like: coconut flavour, being barefoot, swimming, touching wet dishes, bullies, dentist appointments

If you think we are a good match I would like to take you on a romantic date. Please call or text me. Bye bye!

You smile at the note but quickly find back down to earth when someone rams their elbow into your side. No one has taken one of the numbers yet, so you assume the excitement is more about the fact that there is a lonely hearts ad on the bulletin board at all than any actual interest in the person. You have to admit, it is a bit odd. Most younger clergy members just use dating apps these days or social media. But the lonely heart in question is fifty, so they may not be familiar with modern methods, and it’s oddly endearing that anyone would go through the trouble of creating such an ad. At the same time, it breaks your heart that someone in the abbey is so lonely that they risk the ridicule of half of the clergy members just to have a chance at finding love.

“Well, there are a bunch of people who it could be,” you overhear someone say. “Maybe one of the older Brothers, a bunch of them are single. Could also be that new bishop who just arrived, I heard he’s a cinephile and walks around the gardens quite often.”

You ignore the whispers of speculation, making your way back through the crowd to return to your duties. It’s almost dinner time by now and you need to get two more loads of laundry done before then. But even as you sort through piles of habits, cassocks and veils… you can’t stop thinking about the ad. You sincerely hope the person receives a few serious and not just prank calls. The note did sound endearing and you definitely see similarities. At the same time you’re far too busy nursing your hopeless crush on the Cardinal to actually entertain the thought of dating someone else.

You decide to check on the ad again tomorrow, see if anyone took a number, and if not, you could at least save it to your phone… just in case.

✦ ✧ ✦

Two birds land on his window sill, rubbing their beaks together in a kiss before happily chirping at each other. They’re in love, literal love birds, building a nest on the little protrusion in the wall right below his window. He’s been watching them occasionally, unreasonably envious, as they bring in twig after twig, ready to start their family. From the same window, Copia can make out the spring-filled gardens with their colourful patches of pink and red tulips, bumblebees hurrying from blossom to blossom, drunk on pollen and greedy for more. He can overlook the bright green meadow leading down to the pond, speckled with lush, budding trees. At this time of the day, after everyone finished their daily duties, the grass has almost completely disappeared under a plethora of picnic blankets.

Spring fever, he assumes, has to be the reason why everyone seems to be in love. Couples dozing in each other’s arms in the shade of the trees, feeding their lovers berries or grapes, taking a stroll down to the pond with their joined hands dangling between them, kissing without pause in the archways of the cool stone walkways leading outside. Just now he spots two Sisters rubbing sunscreen on each other’s bare shoulders, one of them kissing the other's head before they fall back onto their blanket, giggling happily at each other.

He feels so incredibly lonely.

This has been going on for weeks now and he’s tired of feeling so shamefully worthless of affection. Instead of the arms of his lover, he sinks into his tattered old desk chair and drowns his sorrows in boring paperwork. Not that that’s going well, but for lack of alternatives, he’d rather do budget calculations than sit in his quarters all alone. Every evening, the spring breeze carries the sound of happy laughter through his windows, usually while he’s playing video games all by himself, but he can’t keep them closed if he doesn’t want to sweat to death. Besides… that same gentle breeze is the only thing caressing his skin as he tries to fall asleep at night and if he closes his eyes, the wind almost feels like fingertips ghosting over his arms.

As he leaves his office that night, he receives another heavy but sadly much expected blow. Almost a week now and still no one has taken one of the numbers from his lonely hearts ad. Of course it doesn’t mean no one saved it to his phone, he tells himself, people are shy or they just don’t want to date an anonymous person. It has nothing to do with him, they don’t even know it’s him. And yet… if his dating streak continues so poorly, he’s not sure if he can stay sane for much longer. There are only so many tears you can cry in bed at night before it starts to take a toll on you.

His heart is especially heavy as he makes his way to his lonely quarters. One more day and then he’s taking it down, he decides. No use in waiting any longer now that surely everyone in the abbey has seen his request and the last thing he wants are pity calls.

✦ ✧ ✦

“So, are you going to call the Cardinal?”

You look up from your breakfast plate. Your friend Lily is sitting opposite of you, chewing on a blueberry muffin, and you narrow your eyes at her. “The Cardinal?”

“The number in the lonely hearts ad,” she says. “It’s still there, I checked earlier.”

“It’s the Cardinal?”

She nods, popping another piece of muffin into her mouth. “Duh.”

You feel your cheeks heating up and set your fork down to hide the sudden tremor in your fingers. “Which Cardinal?”

She gives a soft groan of annoyance. “Babe, there is only one of the Cardinals who would ever hang up such a goofy thing. Now, will you call him?”

Copia. She knows about your… slight infatuation with him. And despite being kind and not teasing you too much, it was just a matter of time until the occasion popped up. If he is looking for a serious partner… maybe it’s too late for you soon. The ad has been up for days and while you’ve been toying with the idea of calling, you just haven’t found the courage yet.

You continue eating, trying to act casual, but it takes you three attempts to pick up a stray piece of cucumber from your plate. “How do you even know it’s his number?”

Lily takes a deep breath, setting the muffin down to ready herself. “Sooo, Michael wanted to call the number to check who it is, right? Well, turns out his girlfriend already knew it’s the Cardinal’s number and his girlfriend is Sister Jill who knows it from Sister Mary who is roommates with Sibling Jessie who works with the treasury and their colleague Brother Paul works as the Cardinal’s assistant two times a week and that’s how he has the Cardinal’s number for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Now, will you?”

Eyes on your empty plate, you bite your lip until you can taste blood. It’s Copia’s number, the number of your crush of about six months now, and he’s looking for a partner, unspecified. That’s… big news, intimidating news, news that calls to an action you’re not sure you’re prepared for.

Glancing at Lily, you catch her smirking at you and promptly give her a scowl. “I don’t know. What if he already got better options?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Better than you? I doubt it.”

“You’re biased because you’re my friend.”

A shrug. “You should try. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“He could be disappointed.”

“He’s more disappointed if no one calls,” she counters.

“Yeah but–”

You stop yourself when you see Nora, Lily’s girlfriend, approaching the table. Her arms wrap around Lily from behind as she presses a loud, lingering kiss to her cheek, both of them giggling.

“You scared me,” Lily says, turning around for a proper kiss.

“Sorry, love, but I can’t leave breakfast without my sweet treat.”

You avert your gaze, involuntarily feeling like an intruder. They’ve been together for a few weeks now, sickeningly adorable. Lily had been pining after Nora for months, a little bit like you with the Cardinal, only that she eventually found the courage to ask her out. To see her bravery being rewarded like that makes you incredibly happy for both of them. But at the same time… you have rarely ever felt your loneliness so sharply, the heaviness of your unreciprocated crush such a weight on your shoulders.

You know that if you want this to be you and the Cardinal, then there’s only one real answer to her question: You have to reach out to him.

✦ ✧ ✦

He’s ready to toss this day into the trash bin already and he only just got up.

Last night, after tossing and turning for hours, Copia fell asleep only to promptly land in a hysterically embarrassing dream that made him jolt up whimpering like a kicked dog and hiding his face in the pillow. Bringing himself close to suffocation, he finally realised that he had not actually stumbled right in front of you, spilling juice all over his robes, scrambling to get up only to slip in the puddle by his feet, falling onto his butt with a high-pitched cry. You had been standing there motionless, watching the spectacle unfold until you turned around to leave.

This is the reaction he would expect, should he ever actually find the courage to ask you out. However, this is highly doubtful, because upon walking to his office half an hour later, he catches you with a group of friends. He often sees you with them – attractive young Siblings, evident chemistry between all of you, and every week he suspects a different one to be in love with you. He recognizes the two Sisters he saw from his window earlier this week. One of them presses a loving kiss to the other’s cheek and he wishes he could just walk up to you and do the same.

His heart hurts. No matter how much kindness you extend to him, you’re a beautiful young soul who could never be romantically interested in an aging loner. Copia is not disliked per se, he gets along with pretty much everyone, but he struggles to build meaningful connections. Between working his butt off to satisfy the clergy and spending time on his mostly solitary hobbies, it’s hard to meet people. He had to actively put himself out there but neither online dating nor any of the singles’ events Terzo sent him on brought any results – only what the young Siblings call getting “ghosted” or “benched”.

His ad is his last chance. And even that failed miserably.

As he ponders his options, your eyes suddenly meet his and he swears you’re smiling. Then you lift your hand in a cautious wave. For a second, he’s too scared to wave back because there are people around him, all of which could be your target. Your hand sinks after a moment as your smile slowly straightens and he suddenly knows that you do mean him. He lifts his hand far too excitedly in a reciprocative wave. Your smile returns, a shy one, but before he can even think about possibly approaching you, his knees suddenly give out.

No, they don’t give out, someone rams a trolly filled with supplies for Black Mass into him. Some of the tall candles roll off the top and clatter to the floor, breaking in half just like his dignity.

“Oops, sorry, Cardinal,” the Sibling says, scrambling to help him up. “It’s so hard to steer this thing.”

“It’s fine,” he chokes out, the pain in his knees anything but fine. “It happens.”

“I’m truly so sorry.”

He smiles, a hand on their shoulder now that he’s on his feet again. “It is okay, eh? No worries.”

When his eyes try to find you again, you’re not there anymore and he can’t decide if he’s relieved or sad. He prays to Satan that you didn’t see him fall but there is no way you missed it. His dream, if slightly watered-down, did come true after all and perhaps now you won’t want to–

“Cardinal, are you alright?”

Copia, still dizzy and skittish, spins around so hard he nearly stumbles again. He smooths out his now crumpled cassock, the dust he collected on the floor even more visible on today’s black vestments. In an attempt to retain his dignity, he straightens his spine and looks right into your beautiful eyes. You have a tendency to startle him like that and he wishes he could be more smooth about these encounters.

“Yes, yes, Sibling, thank you. It was… it was nothing, just a little stumble, eh?”

“Are you sure?” You inspect him from head to toe, your brow creased in concern. “It looked painful. Your knees…”

“Oh, my knees are fine!” he lies. “I kneel all the time, Sibling. You know this.” Your eyes widen and he continues to stammer. “I mean in prayer. I pray a lot. On my knees. I am a Cardinal, yes? It’s my job.”

You nod heavily. “Yes, of course.”

“So, ugh… I better just fuck off.” He presses his lips together to keep more silly words from coming out. “I mean I’ll go back to work. ”

As he tries to leave, your hand shoots up, squeezing the muscles in his forearm. He’s not as much startled as enthralled by your touch, so unexpected that he has no time to feel insecure but so welcome that it almost feels natural to have your fingers on his arm. He swears there is a hint of nervousness in your eyes now and despite knowing it’s silly, his heart wants to interpret it as bashfulness.

“Cardinal, please. I… ugh…”

You look beautiful from up close. Even if you weren’t stuttering he’d have a hard time listening to your words. It seems like you stopped breathing, your cheeks now a sweet shade of rosy, and you open your mouth to speak but no words come out. Eventually, you shake your head and run your fingers over the fabric of his sleeve. He thinks he’s about to pass out, his nerves rising until he can feel his heartbeat all the way up to his neck. Your hand is so gentle, so… affectionate.

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I don’t mean to keep you. I was just thinking that I really like the black cassock. It suits you.”

A compliment. His mind is racing. This is not what you really wanted to say, he can tell, but he grins anyway. You like his cassock? Well, you should wait until you see him in a suit. Maybe on a date. He should ask, he realises. This is the moment he’s been waiting for for months now. But as he continues to stare at you his tongue becomes too heavy to form the words, and then your hand is suddenly gone and takes his courage right with it.

“Thank you, Sibling,” he says instead. “I also really like your ugh… your outfit.”

Only when the words leave his mouth does he realise it’s the same everyday habit you’re wearing all the time. Somehow, the silly compliment still manages to conjure a smile onto your face and so he stops berating himself because he made you smile. The sight stuns him, butterflies erupting in his already nervous stomach.

“I’ll see you later, Cardinal,” you say then, your eyes leaving his to glance down the hallway where your friends are waiting, beckoning for you to hurry.

Copia nods and he looks down at your hand in silent fascination, staring at your fingers that are dangling by your thigh without any use as if he could magically make them touch his arm again. “Yes, yes. See you,” he mumbles. “Bye bye.”

When he looks back up, you’re already hurrying off. Copia stays frozen, his gaze trailing after you as though his eyes are glued to your form. Even when you’re out of sight it takes him a while to start moving, to start breathing again.

Around him, the hallway slowly empties as everyone starts to tend to their respective duties. Copia can’t help but feel the nagging disappointment about not asking you out. A chance like this won’t suddenly appear again and even if you refused him it would still be less humiliating than the untouched ad at the bulletin board. He should take it off right now, he figures.

Only when he enters the hallway leading to his office, something looks off about the postings. He notices the change from the corner of his eye at first as he walks past the large corkboard. More party flyers have appeared, someone took down the “diamond butt plug set missing” request that had been hanging there since an orgy in the Siblings’ wing went wrong last month. Instead, Copia notices a large poster promoting condom usage that partly covers the request underneath. Which is how he recognises it.

His ad.

And one of the numbers is missing.

Copia nearly lets out a loud squeal as realisation dawns on him like the gentle spring sun rising over the hills every morning, bringing warmth and happiness after a cold, dark night. It seems like Cupid finally answered his prayers, like Aphrodite found sweet mercy for him.

Someone took his number. Someone wants to reach out to him.

For the rest of the day, he feels like he swallowed a swarm of bees, staring at his phone like it’s going to light up any second. Which it could. He could receive the message or call that changes his life any second now. Any second. Any… any second.

Nothing happens. Not in the next hour, not in the next two hours. All day, in fact, his phone stays quiet. His initial happiness deflates like a balloon. As he heads towards his quarters that evening, he observes how everyone piles into the dining hall, their happy laughter and cheerful spirits spoiling his usually solid appetite. He hates the sour feeling of envy in his stomach but he can’t help but suspect that everyone conspired against him.

Copia decides to skip dinner in order to cry into a big bowl of gelato. His nightmare might not have come true but his brain tortures him with pictures of your smiling face instead, with the phantom feeling of your warm hand lingering on his arm, and he can’t help but feel crushed anyway. He’d sell his soul to come home to you, to eat with you, sit with you, watch silly movies with you, fall asleep with you in his arms and wake up with your smile as the first thing he gets to see every day. It becomes increasingly clear to him that every day he misses out on being with you is a day tragically lost.

If only he was brave enough to change that.

✦ ✧ ✦

You’ve been pacing your bedroom for the better part of the evening now, back and forth and back and forth to the point where you’re seriously concerned about wearing down your carpet. The day passed uneventfully apart from your encounter with Copia in the hallway where you made a complete fool of yourself. You would have loved to skip all of the unnecessary fuss of texting back and forth but you barely spoke more than two words to him before you chickened out. Surely, if his interest in you was romantic, he could just ask you out instead of advertising himself on a public corkboard?

In any case, you’ve been typing out messages for over an hour now, deleting every single one of them only to throw your phone onto the bed multiple times before picking it back up to risk another attempt.

The reason you haven’t given up yet is that Lily knows you have his number now. Last night, when you thought everyone was asleep, you snuck out of your dorm feeling like James Bond with your torch and black clothing, tiptoeing down the empty corridors of the abbey. You didn’t want anyone spreading any premature rumors but a part of you was hesitant to take one of the numbers at all. Even if you called him, it wasn’t certain that he’d want to go on a date with you.

Still, you ripped off one of the thumb-sized pieces of paper and headed back – only to promptly run into Lily as she snuck out to meet Nora. You’re never going to forget her self-satisfied grin as she spotted you with the crumpled number between your fingers.

Begging your creative juices to start flowing, you stare at the empty message box. Perhaps you should be funny. You wonder if he knows the Piña Colada song. It is about a lonely hearts ad after all and he’s a musician. You type and type, delete and retype until you end on a rough draft to show Lily when she gets home. But no, upon rethinking, the joke is too silly even for you and there’s probably a better way to phrase this–

“Hey, have you called him yet?”

You jump, your heart rate doubling in shock. Lily appears in the open doorway and her voice startles you so fiercely that you clutch your phone to your chest. To your utter horror, the swishing sound of a sent message reaches your ear as your palm connects with the touchscreen, and when you glance down, the bubble with your typed out message sits at the top of your chat history.

“Oh no,” you whisper.

“What?”

“I sent my stupid silly joke message to him.”

Lily picks your phone from your hands, reading the solitary message from the display. “Well, at least now you’ll know if he shares your weird sense of humour?”

You grasp her shoulder and release a deep, throaty groan. Her words don’t calm you in the slightest, if anything, they only make it worse.

✦ ✧ ✦

Driving Miss Daisy can’t distract him anymore.

Every two minutes Copia reaches for his phone to check for any missed texts or calls only to have the gapingly empty home screen staring back at him. He never figured out how to change the pre-set wallpaper. Perhaps he could try again when he has a cute couple picture of him and his future partner. The thought makes him smile. It’s one of many little things he would change – if they only called.

Despite putting it on vibrate, he doesn’t trust the device to inform him of any news. He even carried it to the toilet twice already, just in case something happens while he’s gone. His ice cream doesn’t satisfy him tonight, everything feels bland and devoid of flavour, but he refills his bowl anyway. One big spoon and a bit of spray cream… and as he walks back over to his bed, he realises that he should definitely check his phone again because this took way longer than two minutes.

Right as he pulls the device out his pocket, it vibrates violently in his hand. For a moment he is so shocked to see a message pop up that he throws it away. It lands on his bed, bouncing a few times, display still lit up with one new notification glaring at him from the centre of his screen.

He takes a deep breath. This is real. He got a message.

No, he can’t look at it, he’s going to lose his nerves. A few more deep inhales and slow exhales, then he can’t fight the suspension any longer.

Hey, stranger :) You don’t like coconut, so you probably don’t like Piña Coladas, but maybe I’m still the love that you look for? I would love to go on a date with you, if you are still looking for one.

It takes him a second, then another one. The ice cream melts in his bowl as it sits forgotten on the floor next to his bed. Suddenly it clicks and he chuckles, in relief as well as amusement, thinking that he knows that song, that he gets the reference. That means this person is funny. They made a joke. He smiles to himself. A funny person wants to go on a date with him.

He types back, deleting, typing again. After five minutes, he comes up with a reply.

Hello, stranger! 👋🏼 I do not like Piña Coladas 🍹 but I have many better things to offer if you want to go on a picnic 🧺 with me tomorrow? I will bring food 🥪 and drinks 🧃 of course. Hopefully we do not get caught in the rain 💦😀

He thinks about how he could sign the message but then his nerves start to kick in. If he tells the person who he is, they may reconsider their choice to go out with him and that’s the last thing he wants. Even if the date doesn’t go well, he wants to try his best, so he shoots another message after the first:

Oh. It will be a blind date, if that is okay with you?

The next minute is the longest of his life. An eternity passes. He thinks he might have stopped breathing with how tight his chest feels. That is, until his phone lights up and shows the same number again, wringing a deep sigh of relief from him.

That’s fine with me. Where do we meet?

The squeal he lets out vibrates in his chest and bounces off the walls.

He’s got a date. Finally.

✦ ✧ ✦

Copia hears his bad conscience somewhere in the back of his mind whispering that blocking the best spot in the gardens all day is selfish. Perhaps it is true, perhaps he feels a little selfish today. And yes, besides feeling selfish he also feels a little guilty. Is it fair to go on a date when he has such a horrible crush on someone else? No. No, it’s not fair. But he can’t let another chance at love run through his fingers like sand on the beach. He simply has to grasp this opportunity.

His red-checked blanket lays untouched underneath the tall chestnut tree, its big, hand-shaped leaves rustling in the soft breeze as he approaches. The head of a rat is stitched into all four corners of the fabric – a gift from Sister for his latest birthday – and it’s been sitting here since nine o’clock when he took the liberty of… reserving… the spot. He picked the north-side of the tree so that the shade falls exactly where he’s going to be sitting with his date in approximately fifteen minutes. If they prefer the sun, he can just pull the blanket over a little, but he’d never forgive himself if they got sunburn because of him.

Copia took the day off, his first day off all year in fact, risking his next employee of the month award to spend all morning in town, running errands. With the end of May and strawberry season starting, he visited every grocery store within walking distance to find the ripest, juiciest ones they offered. He was lucky enough to obtain a small basket filled with the most delicious-looking red fruits and some additional fresh ingredients for his sandwiches. While he was quick-witted enough to ask about his date’s allergies yesterday, he completely forgot to ask them about their favorite snacks and so he’s decided to just bring anything he could think of that wouldn’t melt in the sun.

The basket he packed feels heavy in his hand for that exact reason and when he sets it down on the blanket, he can feel the strain in his arm. The past hour was spent obsessing over his outfit until he decided to just go for the white suit combo. Yes, white fabric near grass and juicy red fruits is not the most brilliant idea, but he wants to look his best and that means going the extra mile, even if he has to wear the tiny, itchy underwear underneath.

His heartbeat is going a mile a minute now. He can’t unpack yet, he doesn’t want the food to be out for too long, and so he sits and waits, his hands sweaty under his black and white leather gloves. The fact that the gardens around him slowly become crowded as the afternoon rolls around does nothing for his nerves. He can feel the curious glances, can hear the hushed whispers, and as the hour nears, he starts sweating even more despite the shade. If the unanswered ad had been embarrassing, being stood up so publicly would be even worse.

And then the most horrifying thing ever happens.

Copia sees you walking along the path, wearing a weather-appropriate, slightly dressed-up outfit that makes his eyes involuntarily roam your whole form. But he can’t fully focus on your loveliness. At first, he’s panicking that you’re meeting your friends somewhere close by where you could see him with his date. He would be so embarrassed, so distracted, so uncomfortable. But you walk straight towards him and that’s even worse. If he has to tell you that he’s busy meeting someone else he might spontaneously combust, explode into tiny particles of humiliation. It would ruin everything, his date and his crush on you. What if his date shows up and sees you with him? What if–

Oh no, you don’t stop approaching, you don’t take a turn, you walk up straight to where he’s waiting – with a hint of hesitation, yes, but very directed steps. Copia jumps up immediately, his black hat nearly falling from his head.

“Oh, Sibling,” he stammers, lifting a trembling hand to adjust his fedora. “Hello, hi. Are you spending some time outside today as well?”

Your mouth opens and you wring your hands before hiding them behind your back. “Hello, Cardinal. I ugh… I’m supposed to meet someone here under the chestnut tree.”

Copia furrows his brow, slowly registering your words. “Meet someone. Under the chestnut tree.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Satan. It’s you?” He stops, stares, comprehends. He sounds incredulous, his voice a higher pitch than usual. “You’re my stranger?”

You nod, big eyes staring into his mismatched ones in silent expectation, hope and fear muddled together in the crease of your brow. He doesn’t know how to react, just rubs his thumb and index finger together as his mind races faster than speed limit.

“Is this… is this bad?” you finally ask, breaking the awkward silence.

“No!” Copia exclaims. “No, no, no. Please, please sit.”

You do, kneeling down on the blanket a little hesitantly. Copia joins you, still not fully trusting his senses. This feels like a hallucination. His disbelief has to be the only reason he hasn’t passed out yet. Is he really on a date with you right now?

After another moment of silence, Copia notices you eyeing the basket and snaps back into reality. His plans, his very detailed plans for how this date is supposed to go, flood his mind and he remembers the first step now. Swallowing his shock, he sits up a little straighter.

“Ah, eh… yes, I got you something.” He reaches behind the basket and procures three deep red roses he stole from Primo’s rose garden on the way here. Their intense smell hits his nose as he whips them past his face and hands them over. “These are for you. I hope you like roses. I know it is a bit cliché but also a classic, no?”

“I love them,” you assure him, holding them up to your nose with a smile. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

He smiles. “Good, good. Yes. So… I thought about what we could do and–”

“Cardinal,” you interrupt then.

“Oh, no. No, call me Copia. Please.” He gives you a shaky smile. “We’re on a date, no?”

“Copia,” you try but feeling his name on your tongue doesn’t make you feel any better. Ever since getting here your bad conscience made it hard to fully settle into this date and with his visible distress upon discovering it’s you, you feel like now is the time to address it. “Before… before we do this, I have a confession to make…”

He hums and wriggles his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Well, I would love to see you in confession soon…”

You blush furiously. “Oh, no. No, that’s not what I meant.”

A flash of concern and you can practically see all of his insecurities mirrored in his eyes. You’re both tiptoeing around the same question, you assume, but it’s on you to take the plunge.

“What… what do you mean then?” he asks.

“About this date…” His lightheartedness completely disappears. You feel bad for ruining the mood but it’s too late now and you need to get it out, you owe him that much. “Copia… It wasn’t a blind date on my part. I… I knew it was you.”

“You knew it was me?” he asks and again his features change, eyes wide now. He really had no idea that people knew the ad was his and suddenly he feels like a fool.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been honest from the start.” You stare at his gloved hand but you’re too scared to take it. “I hope you can forgive me for keeping this from you.”

“You knew it was me and you still… you still wrote to me? You still came?”

You furrow your brow. “I didn’t tell you because then I would have had to admit that it’s me and I was scared that maybe you wouldn’t want to go anymore.”

“Me? Not… not…” He shakes his head so fast that his fedora once again threatens to fly off. “Oh, tesoro, I would have… I would have been on the moon with joy, as they say. Yes, yes, I would have.”

You don’t correct him. Instead, an insecure smile settles on your face. “You know you don’t have to say that, Copia, it’s okay if you were hoping for someone else… That’s the risk of going on a blind date, right?”

He yanks your hand out of your lap, wrapping it up in both of his gloved ones. “Tesoro, can I be very honest with you?”

You nod. “Of course you can. Always.”

“I was hoping it was you.”

Your breath catches and steals your next words. The same incredulity that hit him earlier now settles in your chest and you can’t find it in you to question him.

Copia immediately fills the silence. “I never… I never thought…” You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, a nervous swallow, before he wets his lips. “Tesoro, you were always very good to me. I always saw your kindness, you understand this, yes? Don’t get me wrong, I just… I never thought you were interested in me like this. In such a silly old man.”

You have to giggle through your nerves. “I love that you’re a silly old man.”

He smiles shyly. “You are very sweet, tesoro.”

“I’ve actually had this crush for a few months now,” you admit, encouraged by his positive reaction. “And I want you to know that when I saw your ad I thought about calling even before I knew it was you.”

His smile grows impossibly bigger at that. “Did you?”

A nod. Copia squeezes your hand, then brings it to his face for a kiss. You feel his wet lips on your skin and they’re so soft, so gentle. When he sets your hand back down you see a trace of black lipstick on its back and instantly feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Should we start then?” he asks. “I brought a lot of things, let me show you.”

The basket opens to reveal a plethora of food and drink options. Copia sets down a foil-wrapped plate with sandwiches that look a little wonky so you assume he made them himself, then some juice boxes, apple and orange, a box of fresh, delicious-looking strawberries, two bottles of water, reusable plastic cups and plates. At last, he hands you one of many different muffins he must have stolen from the kitchens.

“For my dolcezza,” he says with a smile.

More heat spreads in your cheeks as you take the little treat from him with a thanks. You’re both visibly losing your nervousness now, your postures less cramped, stretching out your limbs on the blanket with your bodies angled towards each other.

“Maybe we should… talk a bit about us?” Copia proposes. “To get to know each other, sì? I would like to learn about you.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds good. Do you want to start?”

He thinks on a good starter question, the pressure clouding his thoughts for a moment but then his silence grows thick and he has to say something. “So, ugh… do you like Star Wars?”

This is not one of the questions on his list of conversation starters. For some reason, every single meaningful thought suddenly leaves him. Luckily, this simple, safe question seems to put you at ease and you relax even more.

“I do,” you say. “I watched all the movies.”

“Oh, good! And what is your favorite?”

You pluck a piece from your muffin, popping it into your mouth. “Hmm… The Empire Strikes Back, I think.”

“Hehehe, sì, sì, I am your daddy.” His eyes widen. “Not that I’m… I don’t mean… you know, the scene with Luke… ugh. So, anyway, yes, that is my favorite as well.”

You giggle and he lights up, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. You reach for one of the sandwiches then. Copia helps, holding the plate up for you.

“So, these are all inspired by Italian foods. I have ugh… caprese. Mozzarella and tomato?”

You reach for the one he showed you. “That sounds great, thank you.”

Copia can’t help but stare as he awaits your reaction. You hum in delight and immediately take another bite of the soft bread. Satisfied, Copia allows himself to grab one as well now. Conversation slows down as you eat but you continue to talk about your interests between bites, finding more and more similarities as the minutes pass.

Your little spot is beautiful, cool enough to sit comfortably but warm enough to feel the reviving effects of spring. The leaves above you rustle every now and then, birds and bees flying past, the odd ant crawling over your blanket in search of some crumbs. Neither one of you is bothered as you sip on your juice boxes in tandem and intuitively increase your proximity.

With your bodies gravitating towards each other like that, you end up sitting very close after a while. Copia reclines against the tree trunk, pulling his hat down to grant him more shade, a little bit like a cowboy leaning against the walls of a saloon. His white suit is an odd contrast to his relaxed pose, not the most comfortable outfit to lounge in. Without thinking too much about it, he pulls you close to him and angles you so you can rest your head in his lap.

You’re only tense for a short moment. Copia gets rid of his gloves and you can feel his bare fingers running over your scalp. The steady pattern he draws calms you and you sigh, closing your eyes for a few minutes as a warm feeling of safety spreads out in you.

Copia can’t help but stare. Despite the initial hiccup, you’re so comfortable around each other that he feels like he’s known you forever. This is a dream come true for him, all his fantasies, his wishes, his longings, they all seem to come together in the lovely face dozing in his lap. You’re the most stunning sight he ever had the pleasure to behold. Every line, every hair, every mole, blemish or scar combines into the most beautifully painted canvas – and to him, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.

“Do you want a strawberry, tesorino?” he asks then.

You open your sparkly eyes and they reflect a speck of sunlight breaking through the canopy. Blinking a few times, you shift in his lap to avoid being blinded. He tenses as your cheek narrowly misses his groin, but then you nod and he distracts himself by reaching for the box of strawberries.

With careful fingers, he grabs one of the shiny heart-shaped fruits, making sure to touch the stem to avoid any stains, and then guides it to your mouth. He can’t help but stare as he sees your lips part for him, the tip of your tongue peeking out to welcome the sweetness. You sink your teeth into the red flesh, so eager, and spatters of juice stain your lips. They appear even more saturated as you lick them clean, wetting them with your tongue, and he so desperately wants to kiss you.

“They’re so sweet already,” you say, taking the rest of the fruit from his hand.

“Yes, I agree.”

You giggle. “Copia, you haven’t even tried one yet.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean the strawberries.”

You huff out a flustered breath, fighting the still evident smile on your face, and hold the half-eaten strawberry up to his mouth. “Try.”

He lets you feed him with burning cheeks, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As his teeth meet the flesh, a few droplets of juice fall astray but he doesn’t even care if they ruin his suit anymore. He can’t stop looking at you, thinking about your soft hand so close to his mouth. He wants to kiss it again, desperately, and so he traps it with his when you try to pull away. With his lips pressed to your palm, he closes his eyes, kissing all the way down to your wrist where he lingers.

You gasp softly, lips parting as Copia continues to drag his lips over the delicate skin. Your reaction brings a smirk to his face, another moment that he’s going to think about for days to come.

“I tried, dolcezza,” he says. “And I think you’re still sweeter.”

You blush so prettily at that. Flustering you is easier than he expected and he takes notes of every little thing that draws a reaction from you. You spend another hour like this, eating fruit, drinking juice, chatting about all sorts of things while you exchange soft touches and words of your blossoming affection. At some point, the gentle breeze that carries on throughout the afternoon becomes stronger, and more and more people head back inside to escape a possible weather change.

Neither one of you wants to leave but as you start to shiver more violently, Copia’s worry about you catching a cold wins over his desire to prolong your date. He proposes to head inside as well, running his hands over the goosebumps on your bare arms to warm you up.

When you reluctantly agree, he starts to pile your dishes and the leftover food into the basket. You move to help but he stops you with a tut. “I will pack this up, eh? Don’t worry about it.”

“I could help you, you know.”

“Ah, no no. I invited you, yes? It is my pleasure.”

It only takes him a few minutes to pack everything up. You grab your flowers in the meantime and he watches from the corner of his eye as you sniff them with a growing smile on your face, swaying slightly from left to right. As Copia shakes out the blanket, folding it messily in the middle, you hesitate by the edge of your little picnic spot.

“So, do you want to walk back together?” you ask.

Copia smiles, glad that you don’t want to leave him quite yet. “I would like that a lot, tesoro. Should I carry the roses for you?”

You hand them over and he places them on the lid of the basket before he carefully picks it up. When he’s by your side again, you stop him with a hand on his forearm, the same gentle squeeze you gave him the last time. Only this time you don’t leave. Instead you lean in and press a soft kiss to his reddened cheek, your lips lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary. Copia opens his mouth but he can’t think of anything to say. Instead he uses his unoccupied hand to fish for yours.

Hand in hand, palm against palm, you walk past the leftover groups of Siblings that make use of the last few moments of sun. Neither of you spares anyone else even a glance. Whenever your eyes aren’t focused on the path ahead, they meet each other, giddy, love-sick smiles gracing your lips.

As you finally pass the first archway and enter the cool stone corridors of the abbey, Copia suddenly stops. Your arms slowly extend as you take a few more steps but before your hand can slip from his, he pulls you back. Maybe he used a little bit too much force or maybe he just caught you by surprise, but you practically stumble into his arms. A gasp falls from your lips. You make no attempt at breaking away and so Copia gently guides you against the frame of the archway, setting down the basket in the process so he can place his other hand on your hip.

Big eyes look up into his. He leans in slowly. The rim of his hat catches the stone and it finally slips from his head, dropping somewhere. Copia doesn’t care because he can already feel your sweet strawberry breath on his lips and nothing could stop him from getting a taste. Your hands impatiently grab at his lapels, then, pulling him even closer, and he gasps at the force of your need. With your eyes falling closed, lips slightly parted and your chin tilted up, Copia feels like he’s in a dream.

“Please,” you whisper.

He has to fight a moan, the word resonating somewhere deep inside his belly. Still, he draws out the moment for as long as he can, stalling as the tension crackles in the tiny space that separates you. He starts by nuzzling your nose while he pushes his hand upwards until he can grasp your jaw. As he angles your head just right, he feels your lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He fights off a giggle as they continue to tickle his skin and you shift slightly against him, growing impatient.

“Co–”

His mouth swallows your next syllable. You hum against him as his lips capture yours with gentle adoration. The grip on your waist tightens at the same time as his thumb presses into your cheek. Want, need, trickles into your belly and Copia feels the same way, moving his mouth against yours with slightly more pressure. The kiss is still slow, still tame, but it’s unmistakable how much stowed up desire for the other you both hold inside.

For a while you continue like this, your body trapped between Copia and the cool stone and the world around you a mere shadow. You open your mouth for air and that’s when you can feel his tongue cautiously pushing against yours. The sensation makes you feel even more fuzzy, the need for oxygen forgotten as you tangle your tongue with his. The taste is sweet, residues of fruit and juice, and underneath it all you feel Copia. Copia.

You only break away when you’re both struggling to keep up the pace. He’s a mess, his lipstick gone, black smears covering his chin and cheeks where his eye make-up rubbed off. You lift your hand to wipe some of your mingled spit off of his chin and the blissful expression on his face makes you smile. You love to see his face ruined like this, you decide. And Copia, seeing the lipstick-smears all over your kiss-swollen mouth, unknowingly thinks the same.

“We should do this again sometime,” you say. “The date but also… this. Actually, I think we should do it again right now.”

Copia chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. “How about we never stop doing it?”

You nod your approval, wrapping your arms around him to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft, if a little bit sweaty, messy from the loss of his hat. “I would like that a lot, Copia.”

“I mean it, tesoro,” he whispers with a hint of insecurity. “I don’t want to stop spending time with you. Ever. We already wasted enough of it.”

A big smile breaks out on your face. Copia can’t help but return it, squeezing you a little tighter to his body, and you giggle happily as he kisses your nose.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “Let’s not waste another moment.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this silly little story – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

#i dedicate this to all of my awkward cardinal lovers #been dying to write more of him since the christmas fic #cardinal copia #copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia fanfiction #copia fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #copia fluff #cardinal copia fluff #copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 4 months

Text

How To Adapt To Fire (III)

AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, death/gore, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, attempted murder, burns, needles, injuries, one dirty joke, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Running, the wind whips past your face with the force of a hurricane.

The screams echoed over the abandoned neighborhood, leaking and rising as the illumination of a burning body sent slashing shadows along the remnants of houses. Flailing arms and sizzling flesh. It followed you as your feet slapped the concrete, satchel still at your side and your breath echoing in your ears.

You don’t know where Duncan is—and you dare not look behind you as you dart into someone’s lawn, bee-lining away from Kurt’s now-silent inferno of burnt hair and cooking meat. Grass that grows up to your knees is shoved aside, broken down to the earth as your panting breath is too loud in your ears. It’s all you can hear now, which may be the worst part.

“Holy fuck,” your hiss under your breath, sweat dripping down your neck. Your hands were skinned in your little fall off the steps, but the sting as you slap your palm to the side of one of the houses is lost to you—pain doesn’t matter when adrenaline takes over. “Holy fuck.”

Your fingers drip crimson along the siding, but you’re gone again with ragged inhales, snapping eyes wide. You need to try and circle back for the car, you tell yourself. Patting your pockets for the hard pressure of your keys, you dash past a trash can and sigh when you feel them still there.

And then you hear the whistling.

It’s over the air, and in a skid of shoes, you halt and listen intently—a bird in the eyes of a fox. Lungs heaving, your head jerks around as a tune wafts up and pierces your ears. The sound echoes over the houses, flying across fallen roofs and peeling paint. You’re frozen, night corralling you in.

“Who does this dude think he is?” You ask, a deep fear in your heart and an eerie feeling up your spine.

It was getting closer.

Heart stuttering, your legs take you up the back steps of a house to your left, hand snapping to the rusted handle and shoulder ramming into it. It gives way on the second shove, slamming into the far wall before you hit the ground and push on once more, the air gone from your body.

If Duncan can murder his own cousin in the way he had…what could he do to you?

Feet shuffling, your head moves quickly, taking in the decaying living room and joint kitchen—falling stairs that you instantly choose to run up, hands burning.

Your only hope was the car; you needed to get to a vantage point, find out where Duncan was, and try to avoid him. It wasn’t any different than what you’d seen on TV…right?

The wooden floor creaks like brittle bones, and you move across it while the scent of fire is still in your nose—gasoline and dead eyes. Your eyes go from one open door to another, beds covered with moth-eaten sheets. From outside of a broken window, you see shadows along the street; whistling.

You choose a room at random and slink inside, hands already jerking into your satchel and pushing aside the active recorder—reaching for your phone.

Looking between the window and the device, your dripping fingers slash through contacts until you can find the only one you think to call immediately.

Smashing down on the green button, your phone is right at your ear as your heartbeat pulses like a drum. As it sits there, you gaze outside, panting with blood smearing along your flesh. You can’t stop thinking about Kurt—how you’d seen a man get burnt alive in front of you as if it were nothing. You’d heard and witnessed a lot of things and had been in more courtrooms than you can count…but nothing would ever top seeing the whites of a man’s eyes as his body erupted into flames.

“Okay, okay,” the phone quivers, clothes ruffled. You hiss softly, not willing to make more noise than you have to. “C’mon, MacTavish.”

A long shadow looms in the streetlight and you drop to the floor swiftly, knees slamming the wood, just as the click on the line pushes through.

“Dearie,” the Scot’s teasing voice is a godsend. “Didn’t expect you to call so soon. Not that I—”

“I fucked up,” you breathe, and the fireman’s audible snapping of his mouth would have been comedic in any other situation. “I really fucked up, and I think I need a little intervention here before I literally go up in the flames of my ambition.”

You’re talking so fast you doubt he can even understand you, but you continue as your forehead peaks above the window frame.

Duncan is at the house next to where you’re hiding. Standing out front with a gas can in his hand and a matchbox in the other. You watch with horrified eyes as he walks to the front porch, pours the accelerant, and steps back to light a match.

“Oh,” you growl through a hurried gasp. “So now he decides to change M.O.”

The neighbor's home alights.

He’s trying to corner you.

Johnny’s panicked voice wafts through. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Listen,” you watch the fire spread, hands spasming. “I was going to wait for you, alright. J-just then I decided to not do that and I—”

“What the fuck!” There’s fast movement on the other side of the line, seemingly paper and pencils hitting the floor as fast feet slam the ground.

“It’s not my fault I’m a stubborn bitch!” You snap, moving your free hand to the back of your neck and rubbing along the sweat there, smearing crimson. “I can’t get back to the car right now and Duncan is lighting the entire neighborhood on fire to try and catch me. I have all of it on the recorder, and I can’t lose the evidence for the inevitable court case.”

Johnny’s voice is so serious and hard, you know you’ve never seen a side like this from him before. It’s nearly a growl. “I don’t give a shit about fucking evidence. Where are you?”

You rattle off Kurt’s address from memory, face streaked with light from the fire. It was going to spread to this house. The wood is like free food just waiting for it willingly; you have to move before it catches. With the condition of the home, it would only be kindling for a larger blaze ready to overtake the street.

Johnny’s voice is heavy. “Stay where you are and—”

Your laugh is grim, and you move out of the room rapidly as the boom of falling wood makes the ground shake. Breath nothing more than a shaky jump in your nose, you push out, “Not an option.”

“What do you mean ‘not an option’ what the hell is going on over there?! I swear, I told you not to go without me!”

“Bring the fire trucks! All of them!” You shout and hang up swiftly as Johnny’s loud call of your name is silenced.

You’re halfway down the stairs when the back door you’d previously busted through creaks on its hinges.

Above fire, above the pattering of your pulse, your eyes are stuck-still. Stationary. Stiff.

Duncan stares at you—and you stare at him.

It’s like time utterly stops, hit in the face by a metal pipe before its teeth get knocked to the ground in a clatter of white enamel. Shell-shocked.

Your phone rings again—Johnny, no doubt, but when it does, Duncan pounces.

He tosses the gas canister to the ground, followed by a quick match as you curse and race back upstairs. The whoosh of flames bursts into existence as hard boots follow after you, hot on your heels.

“Shit!” You yell, calling out a firm and fearful, “Duncan!”

A hand swipes at your shirt collar before you duck and pivot, shifting to brace your feet and ram your shoulder backward. The man takes the force right to the chest and shouts, tilting on the steps with a flailing arm, fingers that card through the air.

But you’re not quick enough in the rabid getaway.

A hand latches onto your wrist, and then you’re being yanked down with him into the awaiting arms of the burning fire.

—

Johnny’s whole heart is more active than when he and you were stuck in the sheets together—arousal is nothing compared to the fear he feels.

The man’s legs carry him quickly into the engine room, grabbing gear and sending out the alarm. Already calls were coming in from dispatch, worried civilians who had said they’d seen what appeared to be twin fires off into the more abandoned parts of the left-to-rot suburbs.

His panic extends to the next country it’s so far-reaching. Your call—your voice—the things you’d told him and, worse, what you hadn’t.

Why did you have to be so stubborn?

He needs to get to you, and he can’t breathe properly until he does.

It doesn’t take the firemen long to get into the trucks—the red demons rocketing out of the station with every blaring alarm at their disposal, and at every bump, Johnny’s stiff eyes glare openly at his lap. The others dare not say anything to him; they all know that look.

A man on the edge of a fraying line. Stuck on the knife—waiting for the final twist.

With all of the gear, MacTavish could be compared to someone heading straight into war, and with the following wail of police sirens, maybe war was where he was always meant to be. Johnny fidgets, his fingers clenching and unclenching above the meat of his thighs, helmet on his head nothing but a weight of reminder. He was there to stop fires—he was there to put them out.

But even God knew that the second his boots hit the ground, and the rest of the firemen were grabbing the hoses, he would be running into that inferno without a second glance backward.

Johnny was born and bred from fire, and at the very end of it, the flames would take him back.

Not yet, he’d say. Not until she’s safe.

The Scot grabs the face-piece at his feet, fixes it over his visage, and listens to his own rabid breath echo back to him. It was louder than any other sound he’d ever heard.

The shaking of his fingers is a traitorous beast.

—

Dragging an arm over the ground, the first thing you do is cough through black smoke.

Mind delirious, you blink rapidly, stinging eyes unwilling to stay open for long simply due to the spike of irritation—instinctual tears blurring the few moments of clarity to be offered.

You choke on nothing and burn through all of it.

Flopping, you force your body up onto its hands and knees, the world tilting even then as palms drag and fingers dig. The second your tears slap your knuckles, a leg to your ribs is kicking you back down.

Yelling in pain, you sprawl to your spine, body bouncing as the sound of fire eating away drywall and dead wood sizzle in your eardrums. Your skin is sweltering, and you can’t stop the flood of sweat dripping off your flesh—it nearly hurts.

Head shaking, wet hands grasp at your wrists forcing them back.

“You could have left,” Duncan hisses above the waves of spreading fire. If you wanted to live, you had to get out now. The very bones of this house are threatening to buckle like the spine of an old man—visible rafters beginning to cave. Splintering wood. Creaking. “You could have stayed out of it!”

You yell, legs kicking out with the strength you can muster above the carbon monoxide coursing through your blood. Your muscles need oxygen. You need to breathe.

Your lungs are too tight.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Cursing, your body lashes, Duncan and yourself battling along the burning ground as the roof across the room caves in, sending ashes and a large tsunami of orange rolling ever upwards and a shockwave that gives a sliver of an opportunity.

The both of you hiss, arms moving up to protect your faces.

Your clothes are ruined—ripped; torn. You don’t even care about any of it. There’s a ferality to you now, a bleeding fear that far drowns even the blood of your skinned hands. As you’re trying to stand again, Duncan tries to barrel into you.

“I warned you to stop looking into it!” He rages. “Look what you made me do! I killed Kurt because of you!”

You grapple for your satchel, his shadow nearly on top of you before your arms flex and spring like the trigger of a pistol. Swinging the bag back, you send it in an arch with your hands gripping the tough material. The heavy thump and grunt resonates quickly as you hack again, sirens just beginning in the distance totally lost to you.

“Maybe,” you speak on smoke-tight airways—a heavy wheeze as the fire licks your arms. You shout, almost dropping your bag. “You shouldn't fucking kill people!”

Your hands grasp the satchel once more, lifting and striking down as Duncan yowls, finally grabbing it and tearing it out of your hands. He wraps his arms around your waist and sends you both directly into the heart of the blaze with an animalistic shove.

Crashing, the immediate flush of fire is so hot that it’s cold—like you’re plunged into ice, even as you feel your skin sizzle. Yet, the resounding scream is nothing compared to the roar of rage as an axe is taken to the last standing wall of the house.

You fight with Duncan all the while the heat overtakes you, clawing and yelling; nothing more than a banshee of snapping teeth and hatred. The man forces you down, the warmth cooking the skin of your back one patch of flesh and fabric at a time.

Fingers curl your throat as you dig your thumbs into your aggressor's eyes, choking; wheezing. Black begins to settle in front of your hazy vision, seconds leaning into longer glimpses of moving shadows and growing pain—a pain that adrenaline can only do so much against. And then, just before Duncan’s blood can drip down to your face, his eyes leaking and red, he’s ripped off in a flurry of fast hands and muffled calls.

An oxygen mask flashes across your dying field of view, and a helmet—a fireproof jacket. Wide, panicked cobalt eyes. And yelling…so much yelling. All of it is stuck behind material that makes it sound like there are voices hidden underwater.

Hands skimming your shoulders, dragging you out quickly as your bloody fingers grasp in dying panic—fading senses. There are others too, three inside of this house all frantically moving. Ducan is being restrained as well as he’s able to be, dragged back with two sets of hands—one on his shoulders the other on his legs like a child.

You, on the contrary, get taken up in a fast set of arms more bulky than they are not, shoving you into a heavy chest until your face is hidden into a neck protected by a high collar.

“Pencils!” Your body burns, and your face contorts as your focus can finally bleed into it.

Shaking—quivering, your ears are ringing and the rushing feet below you jostle your form.

Finally making it outside, it’s not a moment later that the entire house falls into itself, a tomb of fire and near death—lost to all but ash. Sirens are suddenly louder; shrill voices.

Johnny’s hurried voice, and the sound of a mask being ripped off of his face. “Medic!”

You pant, mouth opening but no words coming out beyond a sharp gasp for fresh air. Something is fitted over your face before you’re lying down on a cot, and your fingers reach but meet air. Head craning up, you blink just in time to see it as the EMTs begin jogging over to their ambulance. Johnny moves and grabs his helmet and throws it to the ground, barking something so loud that you’re broken mind can pick it up.

“Give the fucker to me!” The accent makes it all the more violent, and as your oxygen mask is strapped to your head, you stare owlishly, visage awash with blood and tears. You don’t even want to look down at yourself, and in this haze, you’re not even sure you’d be able to.

But you can see the rabid events unfolding like your very own TV show.

Firemen try to grapple Johnny back, but it’s useless to try and stop a brick wall. The Scot shoves one away before his gloved fingers snatch a restrained Duncan, and throws him up on his charred legs.

Senselessly, the arsonist smiles—it’s a distant, psychotic thing.

“You know the journalist—” A fist is sent hurtling into his face.

Falling back, Duncan cries out as his nose breaks in multiple places; shattering like glass under the force of a steel hammer.

“Get over ‘ere.” Johnny’s voice is raspy; guttural. You cough and the EMTs connect an IV to your arm, quickly nearing the ambulance as they try to coax you to lay back down. “Bastard! I’ll fucking kill you!”

Bending above Duncan’s body, MacTavish gets in two more sharp blows before he’s torn away with yells and orders—shoved with appeasing pats to his arms and desperate pleas to hold out.

The police rush over, restraining Duncan and forcing his unconscious body to the side. Blood stains the ground, and the fires continue to blaze—others in the background trying to push it back.

Chest heaving, your throat is raw, but even so, as the EMTs can’t stop you from weakly peeling back the oxygen mask, you call hoarsely, “Johnny!”

You’re loaded into the ambulance just as his eyes snap over, his chest rising and flailing through all of that gear still visible. Calming words find your ears as the medics move the oxygen back over your nose and mouth, holding it so you can’t take it off again.

The back door is about to be slammed shut before the familiar square face bullies itself in.

“Sir, you can’t—!”

“Drive,” the fireman shuffles into the seat directly across from you as large, damp, rags are set over your flesh in quick succession as you hiss, eyes flinching shut. Johnny grunts at the EMT who blinks quickly before he twitches at the sound of your pain; jaw clenching. “...Before I get into that seat myself.”

The engine rumbles to life, and Johnny’s the one who takes your hand into his and drops his tone—moving closer. It takes a moment for his worry to be shoved behind a lens of surety, not for himself, but for you.

The uncertainty in your eyes made him want to storm backward and show Duncan what fists can do when that’s all you have to rely on instead of cowardice. Fire was a tool of a weakling, and no man was weaker than one who tried to murder someone like you and your bright intellect. But there was no use thinking about it now.

“Oh, Hen,” Johnny’s voice cracks, eyes glancing you up and down quickly as the EMTs do their work. You wouldn’t be awake much longer—if you managed to fight the pain, they’d put you to sleep for your own safety.

The burns were…they weren’t good.

“Hey, now,” the fireman eases, forcing a small smile and capturing your ash-smeared cheek. He doesn’t care about the state of his gear—the heavy oxygen tank on his back—all he needs is to hold you; even as little as this. “You just let those boys do their jobs, yeah? They’ll have you back up in no time at all, Pencils. Breathe for me, Dearie.”

Your fast breaths stutter and the scrape of your vocal cords makes Johnny flinch, his eyelids pulling in as a grimace shifts the lines of his face.

The man fights with himself to snap at the others and make them tell the driver to push the gas harder. He knows they’re going as fast as they’re able.

You try to speak, but Johnny shuts it down with a firm shake of his head. Seeing the packages of sterile bandages being unpacked with rapid hands, knowing the sting that will follow as they’re placed on leaking skin, the Scot moves closer and lightly shields your vision of it.

“No, c’mon now, don’t speak.” An unsteady smirk. “I know I take your breath away, but let's just wait until you’re at the hospital for all of that, eh?”

At the jerky glare coming off of you, a sliver of his panic leaves him.

Johnny tries a weak chuckle before it falls flat.

Your eyes pick up on the agony before the black at the sides of your vision sweeps in—taking you away as the first press of wrappings along your back make themselves known. His hand stays firm at your cheek; thumb moving over the skin until that’s all you can focus on anymore.

His touch. Not the fire’s—not Duncan’s. His. The same man that held you close and watched your back. Who had run into a burning house for your safety even if that was his job to do so.

Johnny seems to be thinking the same because before your head goes limp against the cot, the familiar drawl sings you to sleep.

“…I would have searched that house for you until it fucking took me with it.”

—

The voice recordings from your charred satchel were in police custody, just as Duncan was.

Along with the thick bindings that had taken home along your back and the upper part of your shoulders, there were others. Your voice was still a crackling mess—as if the fire had left behind a remnant of itself there, an ever-bending and shifting shard directly in your throat. Not even water could get rid of the itch, but you’d been told it would get better.

All things considered, it could have been worse.

There was a shit load to do—to explain. Duncan's involvement as well as the deceased Kurts, whose face still haunts you even now; it probably always will.

Johnny’s shadow flashes in front of yours and you blink quickly, clearing your head. A pause emanates, and the man’s brows tighten.

“What?” You try to clear your throat and grimace, the hospital bed uncomfortable for you. You’d much rather prefer Johnny’s.

“I asked you if you’d want any more blankets, Bonnie,” the Scot’s head tilts. He hums. “More medicine? Feeling alright?”

“So doting,” you huff, fingers rubbing at your neck before Soap sighs and stands from the side chair he’d been in. “No, I’m…fine.”

“My job.” Johnny grunts and his hand pushes away your own, fingers finding the spot that itches internally and carefully massaging until you’re like putty in his hands. In fact, you nearly purr before you sag into him, eyelids drooping. There’s a smug glance tossed your way. “And I don’t mean to brag, but I think I’m doin’ pretty good.”

Your lips pull, vision slipping upward. “Careful, people will think I got married over the span of three days.”

Johnny blinks, “Didn’t we?”

Your face burns. “No, MacTavish we did not. Hot-head. All the fumes go straight to your head, I swear.” All the talking was only aggravating your voice, but for the life of you, you can’t stop.

Johnny rolls his eyes, skull tilting. A bead of serious talk leeks in as his fingers shift from your throat to your head, tips stimulating your scalp which you hum approvingly to. “What’s the plan?”

You think for a moment, letting the man come and lay a firm kiss on your temple. Your heart knows he intends to stay with you through all of this—already he’d been out on paid leave about the whole ‘attacking a restrained man’ fiasco. The bastard deserved it, Johnny had growled to you yesterday as he helped you drink water. You had to agree.

“Sleep,” your answer is soft and simple. There was no use fretting about the whims of a far-off tomorrow. The future is a fickle creature, ever changing shape to fit the image it wants to play with like a doll at the nearest moment—there was never a pen in your pocket that was trying to jot down its profile; to understand it. Johnny was here, the bed was warm, and his hands were kind.

That was all you needed.

Cobalt eyes stare for a moment at your response, before the Scot chuckles. “...Well, I can’t fight you there.”

Your hand lightly snares his wrist, and you pull him to you, letting his body melt back onto the bed until you can rest your temple on his shoulder and sigh out your tension. Johnny’s arm curls carefully to rest on your lower back, as delicate as glass.

It’s a while before he speaks again.

“You really did worry me,” he whispers, staring into the ceiling and trying to make images out of the shadows on the ceiling. “If I hadn’t gotten there…”

“You did,” you utter, eyes half-closed and fingers rubbing at his stomach. He shivers. “One-way road, Johnny. Stop that.”

“Doesn't make me feel any better when you’re stuck in here for two more weeks.” A smile pulls your face and he glances down, feeling it against his shirt. “...What are you smiling about?”

You hide it into his chest and he shakes his head in exasperation, scoffing.

“I swear, I’m the only one who cares about your safety and then I get mocked for it.”

“M’not mocking you,” your muffled voice grumbles out. “You’re just pouting.”

Johnny grunts, rolling his eyes. “Course.”

“Proving my point.”

“Next time I leave,” Soap’s lips are atop your head, muttering. “I’ll be tying you to the bed and watching you through the camera.”

A thin trail of jumpy laughter echoes out into the halls of the hospital, and your response is just as quick as it always is—as it always would be through Hell and high water. This wasn’t an ideal situation, and there would be more trials to come both literally and metaphorically, but Johnny made for a good rock through all of it.

He certainly was a better informant than you intended him to be.

“Ooo, Mr. MacTavish,” a loud groan, laced with a fond, almost worshiped, adoration. “I didn’t know you could be so risqué.”

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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flowercrowngods · 11 months

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@steddie-week

part 1 (bc this is one big 7 part story)

day 02: bittersweet & angst

1 new message

eddie The Problem munson: engagement party on saturday babyyyy 🥳🥸🕺

Steve’s been staring at the message for two days now. It's sitting in his notifications, staring at him like a painful reminder of what happened exactly seven days ago. A week. It's only been a week, and Steve somehow it feels like it was both only one day or seven months ago.

It's an almost liminal experience, walking through life without texting Eddie every second of the day – because texting him would mean opening his message. It would make this real.

And that's the last thing Steve wants.

"I'm not going," Robin declares as they're cuddling on the couch, wallowing in their misery as Mayday Parade's Oh Well, Oh Well is playing for the eighth time on repeat. "Tell me you're not going, Stevie."

"Robbie," he sighs, squeezing her tighter as she tries to wriggle out of his arms to glare at him.

"Steve."

"I can't not go."

"Yes you can." She pokes him in the ribs, but he doesn't budge. She pokes him again. "Not going to things is literally the easiest thing in the world. It's a hundred times easier than going to things. You should try it sometime, trust me. You go to too many things, and–"

"Bee," he hums to get her out of the rambling spiral before she can get lost in it.

"What I'm saying," he interrupts herself dramatically, "is that you can't do this to yourself. They're engaged. They're getting married. We're going to keep our distance until our brains and hearts and the traitorous little chemicals in our bodies catch up to reality, and then we get over them, and then we can go back and see them ever again. That's the logical thing to do, Steve. But you can't... You can't just go and get your heart broken and talk yourself into thinking it's the right thing to do. It's not."

Steve sighs into her hair and buries his face in her neck. He knows that. Technically, logically, he does.

But not going feels wrong. Wronger than anything else that's been hollowing out his chest and leaving nothing but emptiness and the ghosts of every smile, every touch, every baby, love, sweetheart, sunshine. Every imaginary future, every scenario where Eddie meant it. Meant those words, meant those smiles, meant it when he took Steve's hand to hold it.

But Eddie did mean it. Every time, he meant it; because he calls Argyle and Jeff and Gareth baby and sunshine and sweetheart, too. He takes their hands, too, leans in to kiss their cheeks and just holds them when he needs to. That's just the kind of person Eddie is. Always has been.

To go and assume he never meant it would be unfair.

To go and hope it could ever mean more when Chrissy has always been right there would just be stupid.

Well, good thing Steve has that kind of reputation with a few people anyway, so it's not even a statistical outlier, that one. It's not even worth a side note.

"I know," he rasps, his eyes beginning to sting as the next lyrics are carved into the empty space of where his heart used to be.

Oh well, oh well I can't live with myself As I'm climbing in your window to get to your bed.

And I'll be what you need, You can call me anything. Just as long as we're still friends.

Tears prickle in his eyes and he doesn't bother to hold them back. Not now, not with Robin. They've both been crying on and off all week, even though Robin took it better than him.

"I know," he sobs, wrapping his arms around her even tighter as she lets herself be held because she knows that's what he needs. "I know, I know, I know. But I have to. I can't just... I can't just stop, Bee."

"I know," she sighs, climbing out of his hold eventually to wrap her arms around him in return as he cries into her shoulder.

The world (read: his Spotify playlist) makes it worse by playing Sum 41's With Me next, ripping out even the newly carved words.

Robin holds him for the rest of the night, even as he finally opens Eddie's message and types out a reply.

—I'll come!

And especially when there's a new message immediately.

—hot 🥵❤️

He leaves Eddie on read after that.

~*~

Saturday rolls around in a haze, and suddenly Steve finds himself looking at the front door of the little house Chrissy inherited after her mother passed a few years ago. It's a nice little house. Quaint. Perfect. Everything Steve could ever dream of, actually. And she deserves it. All of this and more.

There's noise coming from the garden, where people are laughing and having a great time. A happy time, celebrating their friends and all the good things in life that come with a love well placed.

God, what is he doing here? He can't do this. There is no way.

He's just about to pull out his phone and call Robin, tell her he's coming home, or ask her to tell him everything's gonna be alright, when–

"Steve!" Chrissy hurries towards him, throwing her arms around him in a tight, warm, perfect hug. God, he loves her so much. He melts right into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her middle to spin her around with a grin.

She giggles in delight and tells him to let her down again, which only makes him spin for another round, his grin turning into a genuine laugh.

"No, I hate you!" she laughs, but still doesn't step away from him when he puts her down again. Instead, she leans up and brushes a kiss to his cheek. "Hi, asshole."

"Hi."

He grins and takes her hands in his, just smiling at her for another moment before his eyes trail down to a ring he's never seen her wear before. Ah. Right.

"Oh shit! That it?"

"That's it," Chrissy says, looking down at her hand to look at the ring with a fond, happy little smile, her cheeks flushing red. It breaks Steve a little, but it also fixes something inside him to see her so truly, genuinely happy. "Pretty huh?"

"Very," Steve breathes, hiding the lump in his throat with a sound of awe.

Chrissy hugs him again for good measure and then takes his hand to drag him into the backyard the same way she just came out front, through a little gate off to the side instead of through the house.

Steve loves their backyard because it's always covered in sheerly endless colourful strings of light that are wrapped around decorative arches or poles, framing the back doors and the canopy swing set on the lawn, and just give it the most homey and comfortable atmosphere.

"Stevie!" Eddie exclaims immediately and jumps off from his chair, interrupting a conversation he's apparently been having with Argyle and Nancy to run up to him with such a giddy expression that Steve wants to cry. His heart leaps in his chest, coming back to life and saying one last goodbye at the same time.

"Hi," he says, hugging Eddie close before he can so much as think about what he's doing. But no matter how hurt he is, there will never be a world in which he won't want to hug Eddie Munson. "Sorry I'm late."

"No sorries, it's fine," Eddie murmurs into his neck, staying in the embrace endlessly, and Steve takes the chance to breathe him in. He smells so good. So, so good. It clogs his lungs and renders him unable to speak.

But who needs to speak when they have Eddie in their arms? Who needs to speak when all they have to do is never let go?

Eddie squeezes him a little tighter, and Steve wants to cry. He slowly, gently pushes away from the hug and turns towards the other guests, greeting them with a grin, a hug, or a handshake if they're not familiar.

When he gets to Wayne, the man eyes him with a look that Steve doesn't want to read too much, and his embrace is just a little longer, just a little stronger than usual.

“You look tired, son,” he says by way of greeting, and Steve can’t help but snort and shake his head a little.

“Good to see you again, too, old man.”

Wayne eyes him for one moment longer, then breaks into a small smile and pats Steve’s shoulder before stepping around him to go grab another drink.

After that, the night passes in a blur of talking to his friends, trying to understand what the hell it is that has Nancy and Argyle arguing so profusely, but with smiles on their faces. He fails. But it’s good to see them again, so he just basks in it for a while.

Or, he tries, because every second that he’s not talking or listening to someone, his eyes flick back to Eddie. Eddie, who’s lifting Chrissy from behind and smacking a loud, wet kiss to her neck, her jaw and her cheek, accompanied by her delighted squeals and laughter.

Eddie, who’s looking larger than life, a happy grin permanently plastered on his face as he reminds their guests that Chrissy was his bisexual awakening.

“I swear, she just swept me off my feet after years of thinking I was only into dudes. Knew I had to marry her, but man, I don’t know why she said yes.”

“I’m settling, honey,” Chrissy calls from the other end of the table they’re sitting around. “Only in it for that rockstar money and all.”

The whole table laughs at that.

“Hear, hear,” Eddie snorts, lifting his glass in a toast. Steve and the others lift theirs, too, even though Steve’s hand and arm and whole body feels numb and he’s not entirely sure he’s breathing.

A while later, he grabs a drink and retreats to the canopy swing, illuminated in the soft pink flow of the fairy lights wrapped around it. Eddie’s eyes land on him for a second and Steve thinks that he’ll come over and join him — but then one of Chrissy’s friends says something that distracts him and seemingly makes him fall into a monologue of sorts.

Steve watches, feeling only loss and longing as he does. Eddie is a force of nature. A spectacle. Something beautiful, something powerful, something secret that only a select few get to witness. To know. To appreciate.

Staring as he is, blind to the rest of the world, he startles a little when the swing jostles with another weight settling on it. He didn’t see Wayne coming to join him, and he’s not quite sure whether he should be grateful for the company or apprehensive of what the man who’s like a father to him might have to say.

“How are you doing, son?”

He frowns. “I’m alright.”

Wayne only hums, and Steve’s frown deepens. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that tells him Wayne knows something. That he knows.

“Y’know,” he continues after a while, not looking at Steve but rather at his nephew and his fiancée. “I always figured it would be you.”

Steve crumbles. Yeah, me too, he wants to say, but that would be a lie. Watching the way Chrissy sits on Eddie’s lap with his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder as he tells her something that makes her laugh that cute, pretty, adorable laugh that Eddie then can’t help but join — that’s just something Steve would never compare to. Nothing he’d ever want to come in between.

Eddie and Chrissy are perfect. They’re happy. They fit, they match, they work. They worked so hard and treat each other so right.

They look giddy and serene at the same time, and it makes Steve’s eyes sting. Because he can never make Eddie look like that. He can never make Eddie look at him like that.

I always figured it would be you.

But he couldn’t. That bubbly kind of love, the sunshine kind of love. He knows that’s not for him. Steve’s too much for that. He would never be enough for Eddie — even if without Eddie, there’s nothing left of him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wayne continues, unaware of Steve’s thought spiral. “I love that girl, I do. Always will. I think she’s too good for Eddie. Don’t tell him I said that,” he adds hastily, and Steve smiles through the tears that threaten to fall again.

“They’re perfect,” he rasps, laughing wetly as Chrissy starts chasing Eddie, who’s hiding behind a very distressed Argyle, who just wants his brochachos to chill!

Maybe it’s a laugh, maybe it’s a sob. He doesn’t have it in him to find out or care.

“They are. Doesn’t mean they’re right, son.”

Steve sighs and tears his eyes away from Eddie. “Wayne.”

“I know, I know.” He lifts his hands in defence. “Shutting up.” After a long pause of holding Steve’s eyes, he asks, “Will you be okay?”

No, he thinks immediately, the lump in his throat too big to say anything. So he just shrugs and swallows. “Sure.”

Maybe. Hardly. Probably not. Definitely not.

"No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me. You’ll always have a home with an open door with me, you hear me?"

"I’m not going anywhere, wayne," Steve says, though for the first time ever he doesn't really believe that. Maybe he needs to leave. To leave Eddie behind. Get over him. Cut out his heart and leave it here, run away to heal somewhere else, come back as a new person, or just stay away forever.

The thought makes a tear spill as an empty kind of desperation spreads it’s ugly wings inside his chest, and he's too frozen to wipe it away.

"You hear me?" Wayne repeats, gentler this time, but no less urgent for it.

"Yeah," steve rasps. "Thanks."

Another tear falls as Eddie gently pulls Chrissy closer to him and kisses her in the soft glow of the fairy lights above and around them. Their friends cheer. Steve wants to cry his heart out again.

“I—“ he swallows, wiping at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. I can’t do this, he wants to say. For the first time, that’s what he wants to say. “I think I’m gonna head home soon.”

“You bring your car?”

He shakes his head, feeling foggy and dazed and empty and endlessly, endlessly sad. “Was gonna, uh—“

“Let me drive you.” There’s no room for debate or argument there, and Steve wants to crumble again, but still he shakes his head.

“Wayne, no—“

“I’m taking you, son. Make sure you get home safe, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Don’t wanna keep your old man up all night, do ya?”

Steve concedes with a fond eye roll and a grateful smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They sit like that for another ten minutes — and if Steve leans into Wayne’s side a little, then that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

The car ride is quiet, but it feels weighted even as Wayne pretends not to see the way Steve keeps wiping at his cheeks as the silent tears keep falling, leaving him powerless to stop them.

I can’t do this, he keeps thinking over and over again.

“Just a little warning,” Wayne speaks up again as he pulls up to Steve’s building. “I think he’s going to ask you to be his best man, Stevie. Don’t do anything you’re not ready for, okay?”

I can’t do this.

He nods, numb again.

“I’ll do anything for him,” he breathes.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, yeah.”

He gets out of the car before he can find out what exactly Wayne means by that. The car stays where it is until the front door closes behind him, until he’s up in his bedroom and finds Robin already asleep.

Ten minutes later, he cuddles close to her and tries hard not to cry, but tonight’s memories have burned themselves into his mind. And he shouldn’t have gone. He knows. He knows.

I’ll do anything. I can’t do this. I’ll do anything. I can’t do this.

He can’t breathe, and Robin holds him through it, whispering sleepily to him as he cries himself to sleep, wishing for a world where he’s not absolutely and utterly in love with Eddie Munson, but failing to imagine one.

I’ll do anything. Anything but this.

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen come back tomorrow for idk which prompt | read part 3 here

#steddie fic #steddie #steddieweek2023 #dio words #listen i barely got any sleep last night and it’s almost 2am again and i’m SO tired so if this doesn’t make sense if it’s too repetitive or #anything??? then that’s just how it is (wap bap)#they all love each other so much it’s a whole mess #would love to give you hurt/comfort tomorrow but that would be rather soon huh #also please nobody be mean to/about chrissy i swear to god #everyone who’s commented and/or reblogged the first part: HI HELLO MWAH!! 🤍🌷

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chaoticbardlady99 · 6 months

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I Don't Wanna Be Your Friend (Astarion x GN! Reader)

This man has a chokehold on me and I have been plagued by this idea for about a week.

Title inspired by the song "i wanna be your girlfriend" by girl in red

CW: Mentions of violence and gore (not descriptive), bit of angst, comfort

(Not my photo. I believe it belongs to Daily Gaming)

Synopsis- You and Astarion are in the middle of a war to prove who can set the best traps. However, a lack of rules seems to have gotten you into a predicament neither one of you had anticipated.

Sometimes you take it a smidge too far.

You would love to tell people you are some cunning, daring rogue, but the reality is that you are consistently flying by the seat of your pants. Occasionally it works really well- this was not one of those times.

You never felt the need to prove anything to anyone.

Well, until you met Astarion. Within the first three days of traveling with him, your confidence and patience began to wear thin. He would make snide comments when watching you attempt to unlock a chest or when you scare off your prey by tripping over a bush. Then he would smirk at you- with that stupid, beautiful smirk.

He enjoys adding salt to the wound by taking on the task you failed at; usually lock picking, sneak attacks, and Gods only knows what else he could make fun of you for. You are very aware that you are not some fancy rogue and it never bothered you until now. You had accepted long ago that you are just a street urchin moving up in the world after teaching yourself the trade.

The final straw had been when you had placed traps to catch dinner. Your traps had been successful (naturally- traps were your thing) and you brought back three bunnies for Gale’s stew.

Oh, but of course Astarion had something to say. He always has something to say.

“Oh look at that- how cute. I’m sure sheerluck was on your side,” he quips, “You’ll get better eventually.”

Thus began the war of all wars.

It started with small traps- nuisances really. Tripwire, a laughing or sleep rune well hidden, and traps that release horrible smells. Then it quickly took a turn for the worst; what were once harmless pranks turned into trip wires that release a swarm of bees, simple pits began to get deeper, and blasting traps that would send either one of you flying into a nearby object. It was never truly life threatening, just questionable.

Well, except for the bees. The bees were not the greatest thought in hindsight; considering both you and Astarion had to help each other with the bee stings- Shadowheart refusing to be involved. You both laughed and he even complimented you on your cleverness. You swore you could have exploded in that moment.

You have a massive, childish crush on the man and maybe the competition was your subconscious way of getting closer to him. However, your other companions were getting sick of it pretty quickly.

They had all hoped after the Tiefling party that the two of you would put your silly competition to rest so that you could all travel together in peace and they would just have to deal with PDA.

What a silly thing for them to think. PDA hasn't happened, but the pranks did become less risky and less frequent. You were okay with this change.

You feel like you and Astarion have become close friends. Even though your tryst didn’t lead to a romantic relationship as you had hoped, you were happy to have Astarion in your life in any capacity. If that was just as a friend- then so be it.

Which brings us back to the beginning- when you realize that your ‘trap war’ had paper thin rules and the lack of rules just might be the thing that actually kills you on this journey.

All you wanted to do was clean yourself off. It had been one last relaxing day before you set off to the Creche, but you had thought you might treat yourself. Baths were rare and far between these days and you want to enjoy it while you have it. However, you were not planning for a simple snare trap to foil your entire evening.

You get hoisted up into the air, slammed against the tree, and drop all of your belongings- including the knife you brought ‘just incase’. You glared at the knife and put your hand to your blood fountain of a nose.

“Traitor,” you whisper with a pout as you look for a way to escape the trap.

Suddenly, you freeze as instincts kick in. You hear the Gnolls before you see them. Your bloody nose from the impact of the tree had led them to you. They attempt to claw at you- trying to rip you down from the tree. You feel their claws tear into your back, the side of your arms, and one of them even manages to take a swipe at your abdomen as you scramble to escape. The cuts weren't life threatening, but they hurt. A LOT.

You manage to use the rope to pull yourself up onto one of the tree limbs; allowing you to hide some of your body from the Gnolls, but you now have an arrow protruding out of your right thigh so obviously that isn’t working well either.

You bite back tears, frozen in fear. You really did not want to die this way and you certainly didn’t want it to be because of Astarion’s trap. You have a feeling he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you died because of him.

You can imagine the blame and anger the rest of your companions would direct at him if the worst happened. You imagine the bloodshed- knowing full well that everyone (minus Karlach) would not forgive him for accidentally killing you. Lae’zel would be the first one to put a stake in his chest- her fondness for you is no secret.

Your heart thumps painfully at that thought and your resolve hardens. You will not die because you will not let that happen to Astarion.

You look around, your arms and legs shaking still with the residual shock and fear. You look for any sharp branches, a forgotten knife lodged somewhere, or even something you could cast a cantrip on to distract them. You have no such luck.

You resign yourself to your fate- the tears making a reappearance.

Unless one of your companions finds you first- you are going to either have to wait for the Gnolls to get bored and leave or they are going to kill you.

You pray to every God you can think of that you will survive the night.

_________________________________________________

Astarion is trying to not look so desperate as he reads the first page for the hundredth time.

You had walked off a little over two hours ago- Lae’zel is on watch while the rest of your companions sleep soundly in their bed rolls.

The longer your bedroll remains empty, the more the pit grows in his stomach.

He didn’t know how to navigate your relationship after the tiefling party.

His feelings for you are confusing. The sex had felt different, he enjoys your company immensely, and he likes how warm he feels around you.

Instead of talking to you like a normal person or taking a moment to reflect, he decided to find some common ground- something you could laugh and talk about later. Normalcy.

He set up a snare trap close to the river you were all using to clean off and then a laughter rune trap somewhere on the path to the Creche. Hypothetically, they are very safe traps.

Unless he rigged them wrong? What if you ran into one of them and….

No, I am sure they are just fine.

He doesn’t even believe his own lie.

After about another five minutes, the anxiety rolling in his stomach becomes unbearable so he grabs his daggers and sets off in the direction you had gone two hours earlier.

He walks quickly through the forest, checking his surroundings and looking for evidence that you were close by. As the minutes pass, he feels the hope of finding you safe shrink.

The wind hits his nose and he becomes stock-still.

He smells your blood- an alarming amount of it-in the air as he gets closer to the river. He fears the worst as he goes to look at the trap- hoping you will forgive him- that you are alive. Safe.

He peers through the bushes and his eyes grow wide as the scene before him unfolds.

You are stuck up in the tree- his trap is still around your ankle. You are holding onto the branch like your life depends on it. It probably does since there are five Gnolls circling the tree like vultures.

He can hear your soft broken sobs as arrows fly over you or hit the tree. He notices the arrow in your leg and watches as a second one lodges itself into your calf. You wince and close your eyes tightly- unknown to you that Astarion’s vision is clouded in red and his whole body fills with destructive, hot rage. He also feels fear, but he pushes it away, not ready to explore the why.

He lunges forward, slashing at the Gnolls with so much force that they are practically in half by the time they hit the forest floor. He is a man possessed as he carves his way through all five gnolls and then he climbs up the tree to you.

His chest aches as he looks at you. He will never be able to forgive himself for causing you so much suffering.

“Darling,” he says softly.

You whimper in response and when you look at him- he feels all the air leave his lunges. If he needed air, he would have passed out right then. Your eyes were glassy with traces of fear, sadness, and loneliness- all emotions he is all too familiar with. Then you see it’s him and the biggest smile crosses your lips and you look at him with so much affection he almost feels ill. This was not the plan and he almost made you a midnight snack for a group of Gnolls.

“You found me,” you say in a raspy, raw voice, “I thought I was going to be stuck here all night until Karlach or Gale found me. Or I was going to die.”

You chuckle, but Astarion can’t get himself to share your same enthusiasm about his rescue mission as he cuts the rope.

He helps you down the tree and safely back on the ground. Astarion winces as you pull the arrows out of your leg. You find a healing potion amongst your things and chug it.

He collects your stuff for you. You give him another one of those brilliant smiles and Astarion tries to smile just as brightly back. You furrow your brows, but he turns away before you can keep analyzing him.

“We should head back,” Astarion mumbles.

______________________________________________

The silence hangs in the air as Astarion walks with you back to camp. After about 15 minutes, you are back at camp and the tension in the air is suffocating.

“Astarion.”

Astarion freezes, turns on his heels, and looks everywhere but your eyes. He couldn’t bare to see you smile at him again- look at him like that again- not after he almost killed you.

You maneuver yourself so you are looking in his eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” he begins to protest when you shush him, “we didn’t set any rules and the trap itself was harmless. We didn't account for Gnolls when we started this whole thing.”

“I almost got you killed.”

“But you didn’t. It easily could have been you in that situation and me saving you.”

“Will you please stop being so Gods damn forgiving,” he huffs with exasperation as he feels tears prick his eyes, “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I put your life in danger. I almost-”

Lost you. He chokes on the words. The fear from earlier begins to come back to the front of his mind. Watching you cling to that tree, crying, and in pain had made him realize that you just might be more important to him than he cares to admit. However, that’s a conversation for another time- once he sorts out what that feeling in his chest is whenever he looks at you.

You look at him sharply, your eyes raw with sadness, “Stop that right now. I am okay. I lived. It was a mistake and I know your intentions were not bad. You don’t have anything to worry about Star.”

He doesn’t say anything and you hang your head.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I- I should go-“ Astarion pauses as you interrupt him.

“Please don’t leave,” you whisper, “I rather enjoy your company.”

You look at him with tears welling in your eyes. He stares at you in stunned silence, searching your face for any sign of deception, but he doesn't find it. His body moves before his brain can process what he is doing.

Astarion gently cradles your face in his hands and kisses you slowly, softly. He smiles despite himself when a gasp leaves your lips. You're alive and safe. When the warmth in his chest begins to spread throughout the rest of his body, he pulls away and steps back. Your face is flushed, a beautiful blush spreading across your cheeks. You look at him with wide, unblinking eyes before you shyly smile. Astarion could have melted in that moment. He finds himself smiling too.

“Well I’m assuming that means you are going to stay?”

“I suppose I’ll stay,” he says while tapping his chin, “you do need someone to make sure you aren’t getting into trouble like that again.”

You feign hurt and scoff, “Are you suggesting that this was my fault?”

“Maybe if you were better with traps that wouldn’t have happened,” Astarion teases.

You narrow your eyes at Astarion and you try to hold back a smile. You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him.

You start towards camp before you pause and turn around. Astarion gives you a confused look.

You run over to him and place a kiss on his cheek. He tenses for a moment before relaxing again. You look at him sweetly, a soft smile on your lips.

“Good night Astarion.”

As you saunter towards your respective tents, Astarion takes one last glance at your tent- at you- before he lays down with his book. Except he still can’t get past the first page- he is too anxious for the sun to come up so that he can see your smile again.

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 spoilers #astarion x you #astarion romance #astarion x tav #bg3 #astarion x gn!tav #bg3 companions

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romantichomicide95 · 14 days

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DABI ~ confessions

summary: you ask dabi why he never says those three words back.

cw: toxic relationship vibes, but still kinda cute. dabi opening up in his dabi way.

a/n: bee aren’t you on a writing hiatus? -no comment, also first time i’ve ever written for him and i know his stuff is prob a dead side of tumblr but when in rome.

tagging: @i-literally-cant-with-this (i almost forgot)

“how come you never say it back?” you ask dabi, adjusting your position against him on the couch. this particular question had been on your mind for awhile. whether or not he loved you back. it was something that twisted in your gut like a knife each night that passed. his stark blue gaze flicked away from the television, finding your eyes momentarily before flicking back to the TV.

dabi’s lips twisted slightly, forming a semblance of a frown, one that made his eyes seem even colder and more distant than usual. the faint glow from the television cast unsettling shadows across his scarred face, emphasizing the harsh lines of his expression. “say what back?” he retorted.

you felt your heart beat painfully against your chest. “that you love me,” you whispered.

a low grunt escaped him as he pushes himself up to a sitting position, forcing you off his lap and creating a small distance between you. dabi’s voice drops low, his steely gaze finally settling back on you, sharp and piercing. “love doesn’t really suit me now does it?”

your heart sank at his words, but you couldn’t let it go. “okay…so you don’t love me?” your voice was rising, a mix of frustration and sadness weaving through your words.

dabi looks away again, his jaw clenched tightly. for a moment, there's a flash of vulnerability in his eyes before it disappears behind his mask of indifference. “it’s complicated," he finally says, his voice gruff.

you felt the sting of tears, trying to will them away but failing. “what does than even mean…i’m your girlfriend.”

his silence hung heavily between you, the air charged with the unspoken. he sighed, a sound heavy and filled with something that could almost be mistaken for regret. "can you just drop this and watch tv? i’m fucking tired.”

you wipe away a tear. "no dabi…you know i put up with a lot from you? for one you’re an asshole and like you’re not always nice to me. plus you use my body however you please. but despite that i love you…so i just deal with it.” you begin, the tears now rolling down your cheeks unchecked. “i just want to make you happy. and now you’re telling me you don’t love me? what’s the point?”

"fuck, " dabi cut in, his tone sharper than he intended. he saw the hurt flash across your face and it stirred something inside him. you were right, you do put up with a lot from him. always finding ways to justify his behavior, excuse his cruelty. “don’t cry i hate that shit. i’m not good with feelings and all that.” he runs a hand through his messy hair. the tv light flashes bright, casting a glow across his face illuminating his scars. “it’s not like i don’t care about you.”

“but you don’t love me? i guess i just don’t see why you’re still with me if you don’t.”

there’s a long silence as he struggles internally with the weight of the conversation. “well i am with you aren’t i? who else would put up with me?”

“oh so it’s out of convenience than? that’s real nice dabi jeeze.”

he glares at you for a second, almost like he’s insulted by the insinuation. “no. it’s not out of convenience okay! jesus christ, you’re impossible. can you just drop this please?”

“if that’s the case than why can’t you say it back?” your voice comes out exasperated, shaking and choked. laced with tears and sorrow.

frustrated beyond measure dabi’s blue eyes reflect a mix of anger and turmoil. like there’s two sides desperately clawing away at each other inside him. finally he explodes. "fuck…if you're really that desperate for meaningless words then fine…fine, I LOVE YOU, YOU STUPID IDIOT!" he screamed, his voice cracking under the intensity of his own emotions. the room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the tv in the background. he was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling fast as he continues yelling. “i love you so much it’s fucking infuriating. why do you think i get so mad all the god damn time when guys look at you? why do you think i push back all the time? cause i’m fucking scared. i’m scared you’ll realize what a piece of shit I am and leave me. i fucking love you y/n. of course i do. fuck…are you seriously that dense that you don’t see that?”

the second those words left his mouth, there was a palpable shift in the air. the room suddenly seemed colder, and you could barely believe what you had just heard. you stare back at him in disbelief, unable to form words.

watching you struggle for a response he snorts, shaking his head. a low gritty laugh, utterly emotionless, escapes him. “of course you don’t see it you fucking moron, too busy whining and being a pain in the ass all the time.”

a feeling of relief bubbles inside you, mixed with annoyance at his utter lack of tact and disbelief at his confession. the swirling of emotions comes out of you in a laugh, one that lasts a fraction of a second too long. “how can you be such an asshole while saying something like you just said?” you continue to laugh, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

he rolls his eyes. “just because i said love you doesn’t mean ill suddenly change you moron.” he says, though the hardness in his tone has softened. he shifts uncomfortably, almost as if unsure how to handle the vulnerability he just displayed.

you smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek before settling back on his lap. he scoffs slightly but his arm wraps around you as you both settle back into your prior position. despite himself, dabi finds some comfort in having you close. there’s some peace that bubbles deep within him whenever he’s got your body pressed against his.

you look up at him, tracing the scar along his cheek. “well, i love you a lot…and i wouldn’t leave you by the way, so there’s no reason to be scared.”

“whatever,” he mutters dismissively. “just shut up and watch tv.” he shifts on the couch grabbing the remote and turning the volume up, but not before he leans down to place a small chaste kiss against your forehead.

#dabi x reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi todoroki #touya todoroki #touya x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #dabi x you #touya x y/n #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #dabi touya #my hero academia x reader #my hero #dabi

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jiminiecrickets · 6 months

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LOVE'S LITTLE DAGGER: PART II. KTH / M!READER

summary. taehyung still hates you. he does. but you make him feel deeper things, and it's not just because you're buried up in his lungs.

wc. 4.8k

tags. smut | sub bottom!tae, dom top!reader, playboy tae, jealousy, mention of fwb!jimin, reader cockblocks tae once lol, alcohol mention, unprotected sex, 69, degradation: whore, slut (tae receiving), brat taming, rimming + ass eating, overstimulation + multiple orgasms, one mention of "daddy" (r. receiving)

[ part one ] [ requested ]

on the evening before the ultimate freeze of the universe, where even doomsday preppers have little power in a crumbled society, kim taehyung would remain a massive fucking dick.

this, like the inevitable heat death of everything everywhere all at once, remains a steadfast fact. his natural charisma – which you can't deny – would make him a leader in this hypothetical end-of-times, and you'd bet real money that he'd manage to swindle someone with a bunker out of it. then, of course, he'd kick them all out to feel existence die on their skin and hold his nintendo switch above his face as he lounges on a mattress.

welcome... to the check-in counter for your deserted island getaway package!

"taehyung! did you finish the milk again?"

"hm," he mumbles noncommittedly. he tucks his feet up against the couch armrest, squinting up at his switch.

you close the fridge with a huff and roll your eyes, disappearing into your bedroom. when you return, you're wearing a jacket, your phone and wallet clutched in one hand as you hop into a pair of shoes. you bee-line towards the couch and snatch his game away, turning it off and setting it on the coffee table next to him. he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"stop complaining. you have class in two hours and you're wearing nothing but your underwear. i'm helping."

he scowls. "i'm not going today. i would be fine if someone didn't fuck me into next sunday!" he hears you walking away, and he raises his voice. "i hate you so much!"

"just put a shirt on," you call, one foot propping open the front door as you pat your pockets for everything you need. "you better be clothed by the time i return. you don't want to be running when you're sore, do you?"

"i hate you!"

"mhm, be back in fifteen."

the door swings shut with a click and he scoffs, glancing at the blinking screen of his game. he folds his arms over his chest and stretches his legs out, smoothing out his black briefs, and pouts to himself.

what a jerk. so callous. fine – if you were going to ignore everything that happened the night before, so would he. and, because he's very good at everything he does, he's going to beat you at it! he's going to ignore you so well and forget all about how you made him feel and find another guy who's willing to take him to bed. given his looks, he doubts he'll have to go far.

game on.

—

there's a boy on your lap. he's pretty – real pretty, with plump glossy lips and long sugar-brown hair styled in soft waves back from his forehead. he's playful, grinding and swaying his hips over your lap while his friends cheer him on. some of the guys from the beer pong table have stopped to watch.

taehyung simmers hotly in the corner of the room, scowling into his red cup. he nurses his drink, which is slowly fizzling flat and warm – he'd snooped around in the mini-fridge of the upstairs games room and found an unopened bottle of solo, which he promptly cracked open and hoped no one would notice. it feels better to carry around than a cold, wet can of cheap beer.

but god, did he wish he drank something alcoholic. maybe it'd take the sting out of the scene in front of him.

taehyung knows the boy in your lap. he's seen him sleeping peacefully in your bed when he passes by your cracked-open door in the mornings, and rumour has it that he's trying for something more than casual with you. the sight of your hands on his hips, reciprocating his touches, makes his stomach curdle like milk.

but who wouldn't want to be with you? you're smart, and handsome, and you remember people's favourite meals and make it for them when they're having a bad day. a bitter taste fills taehyung's mouth and he can't stand the taste of lemonade any longer.

he tips out the rest of his drink and tosses the cup into the bin, schooling his features into simple, shallow flirtatiousness, leaning against the beer pong table with an arch of his back that shortens his already-cropped jacket and accentuates his ass. he glances aside, meeting the eyes of the blandly-attractive guy currently winning the game, and smirks, bringing his lower lip between his teeth as he turns back to the cups of beer, playing coy.

the guy's mates whisper in his ears, glancing at taehyung with glimmering eyes. he elbows one of them in the stomach at something he says and the guy doubles over with laughter.

taehyung remains pleasantly oblivious to what they're saying and watches the ping pong ball bounce, its tap light and clear through the constant chatter and loud music. he smiles as it bounces neatly into a cup and he slips his fingers around the one closest to him, since the other team look to be in no position to be drinking any more than they already have. half of their team are blacked out on the ground.

a body sidles up to him. "hey."

his fingertip glides around the rim of his cup. his gaze flickers up; he tucks his lower lip between his teeth to hide a smile. "hey, yourself."

by the couch, jimin sits in the bowl of your lap, a fan of cards in his hands. he giggles softly as your arms shift around his waist and your chin rests on his shoulder. he tucks the fan of cards into his chest. "you're not allowed to look, hyung."

"can't i?" you hum into his shoulder. "i thought we were on the same team."

"i can't trust anyone but myself. you're probably double-teaming with jungkook." he inclines his head towards the younger man, who's sprawled upside-down on the couch with his feet hanging over the backrest.

you scoff, hands absently smoothing over his thighs before snaking around him again. "he doesn't need my help. if i were to double-team with anyone, i'd probably go with namjoon-hyung. he'd make sure we'd win. i'd just be his cheerleader. minimum effort to emerge victorious."

jimin hums, lowering his cards. he smells sweet, yet smoky. he tucks his lips into your neck and you feel them curve into a sneaky smile. "i think double-teaming would be fun, baby..."

you chuckle. "of course you would. hey, look sharp – you're still playing this game. it's almost your turn."

when taehyung sees him lean in, whispering against your skin and looking far too cosy for his liking, his stomach churns. he scoffs quietly and glides his fingers down his plaything's bare arm, slim and soft in an elven sort of way – the way rich boys tend to be, having never done a hard day's work in their lives.

he's nothing like you – he's entitled, pretentious, grabbing and pushing his body around as if he owns it. still, taehyung leans into his shoulder, glaring daggers into the side of your head until it tingles down your spine and you glance over.

when you do, he doesn't divert his eyes, doesn't curl his upper lip. he just levels his gaze, lifting another red cup of beer with a pinky raised in a mocking toast, and turns away, dragging his plaything along behind him by the wrist.

he refuses to give him any sort of affection, any pretence of gentleness. all he wants is a body above his and a high, no matter how dry and bland it'll be. anything to take his mind off of the unfamiliar and unwanted twist in his gut.

he finds an empty bedroom quickly – it's almost as if he's developed a sixth sense for them. he sets the cup of untouched alcohol on a chest of drawers and easily rolls into routine with the guy he'd stolen from the beer pong table – shirts off, shoes off, thoughts off.

the guy leans down to kiss him – he turns his head, letting his lips fall on the corner of his mouth instead. taehyung's down to his briefs, laying still on his back as the vaguely-familiar young man above him grinds against his ass, mostly dressed except for his shirt.

at least one of them is excited. he didn't even bother taking off his jeans – just unzipped his fly.

with a creak, the door opens, and yellow hallway light floods the room. taehyung doesn't lift his gaze from the dark corner of the room, examining the branches of a crack in the plain wallpaper.

"hey! what the fuck, man? room's taken, can't you see?"

"get off of him."

"what?"

"i said: get off of him, asshole. he's drunk – can't you see?"

stubbornly, taehyung shuts his eyes as he feels the body on top of him stumble, leaving him entirely. his skin prickles with the chill.

"he literally dragged me here, what's your damn problem? don't you hate this guy? look, man, just leave right now and i'll forget this ever happened, alright?"

"put your clothes on. he's going home."

evidently, he doesn't think taehyung's worth any more arguing, and he mutters as he picks his clothes up off of the floor and shuffles away. he doesn't close the door behind him, so you do it instead. the lock clicks. when you turn back around, you nearly jump out of your skin – taehyung stands upright three feet away, staring silently up at you.

"fucking – don't do that," you scold, taking his arm and sitting him down on the edge of the bed. he watches with furrowed brows as you move across the room, folding his clothes over your arm. you even grab his shoes for him, dropping them by his feet.

"arms out," you instruct, holding out his jacket. you're not going to even attempt his shirt – it has more buckles and straps than you can count and he'd be pissed if you managed to ruin it.

he just stares up at you, utterly confused.

"lift your arms, taehyung," you repeat, gently sliding his hands through the sleeves. he lets you, staring at the side of your face.

"okay. time to get your pants on."

his lips part. "i'm not drunk."

"mhm. stand up."

"no, really," he protests, grabbing your wrists before you can tug him to his feet. "i haven't had a sip tonight."

you glance at him. "you were holding a beer. you looked like you were drinking from it."

"i was just holding it." he shrugs. "i don't like beer – it tastes disgusting."

"oh." you lean back. "so... why'd you let me kick that guy out?"

he smiles wryly. "i wanted to see what'd happen."

"uh-huh. well, i can call him back, if you want."

his hand shoots out to grab your sleeve. "no," he says quickly. "i don't want him."

"no?"

"no." his grip loosens and he glances away, fisting the bedsheets below him. "sorry for scaring you. you can go back to jaemin, or whatever his name is. i'll get home fine on my own."

"jimin," you correct. your brows furrow. "wait... taehyung, are you jealous?"

"fucking no," he snaps, far too quickly.

a grin grows on your features. a glint returns to your eye as you place your hands on your hips. "holy fucking shit. you are. kim fucking taehyung is jealous over me." you bark out a laugh, turning away to amuse yourself with a bunch of skincare pots and tubes on the dresser nearby. "my dick that good, huh?"

his face burns. "shut the fuck up! it was average, at best. having a big cock doesn't mean you know how to use it."

you toss a pot of moisturiser in the air, catching it before placing it back. you saunter over to taehyung, whose arms are crossed over his chest petulantly. you lean down to his level. "and who was the one screaming for more, hm? you really think i believe it when you say i was just some average lay?"

he shoots to his feet and jabs you in the chest. "you were," he snarls. "i was being gracious. your technique's sloppy and it's like you'd never touched a guy before. you're lucky i was so pent-up – that's the only reason i finished at all."

your smirk widens and your gaze flickers over his body. his hair pricks on end with a shiver. you lean in, not quite touching him – as if there's an invisible layer separating you from him, a glass case for the piece of art. your breath is hot against the shell of his ear.

"really? so if i was to, say, start taking off my clothes... you wouldn't be interested?"

his breath hitches. he says nothing.

"is that a no, sweet thing?"

"no," he breathes. "it's not."

you lean back and your lips turn up. his body yearns for your warmth, goosebumps shivering over his skin. "don't worry, taehyung. i didn't expect an answer – you take an awful long time to do things, and it really shows when you're getting second place on the class leaderboard."

his head snaps towards you. he grabs your shirt and yanks you onto the bed, throwing a leg over your lap. his brows are furrowed, his mouth tight. "bringing our scores into this?" he hisses. "low fucking blow, ln. fine – i'll show you slow."

he pushes your shirt up over your stomach, scraping his nails over your hips as he loosens your belt and unzips your fly. you prop yourself onto your elbows to watch with a smirk as he takes you out of your pants, stroking and squeezing with reverence that he tries to hide.

it doesn't work very well. you can see the way he stares at it as it hardens in his palm, his gaze heavy and wanting with a flush to his cheeks. he kisses the tip, suckling on it as he dips his tongue into the slit, and groans softly as he trails his wet tongue down the underside along the veins, fisting it and swiping his thumb over the tip as he takes your balls into his mouth, one at a time.

you curse and tangle your hand in his hair. his mouth is hot and wet, his breath warm as he pants against the base of your cock, staring up at you with smoky eyes and ruby lips. he sucks softly, dragging his tongue along the velvety skin, and closes his eyes as you groan his name. he hums softly in acknowledgement, moving back to your cockhead. he lavishes his attention upon it, lapping at it and sucking gently on just the first few inches – he teases the rest, pumping it and twisting his wrist expertly.

you chuckle as he moans, his hips swaying in the air. you toss off your shirt. "you're enjoying this a little too much. fuckin' whore, getting off to this..."

he moans again, sharper this time. he doesn't even dispute it. he chokes down a few inches of your cock and your head falls back as his tight throat pulses around you.

it's almost funny how quickly he's abandoned the idea of teasing you. no more slow jerks of his wrist, no more kitten licks – he's fucking gulping you down, moaning quietly as saliva drips down his knuckles.

shit. you suck in a breath through your teeth. he's really fucking good at taking you. it's like magic, watching the inches disappear down his warm throat.

he only begins to slow down when he reaches the base of your cock, his fingers pumping it shallowly. his jaw is stretched wide around you, the vibrations of his moans through your cock sinful – his tight throat strokes you, closing around you, and he doesn't seem to care that he's gagging on it, bobbing his head to a quick, steady beat. he thrusts against air.

you lick your lips, finding your voice. when it comes out, it's raspy – hungrier than you want it to be. "fuck, sweetheart – c'mere. wanna taste you, too."

he pops off with a slick sound, panting against your shaft. his lips shine with saliva. he grins, breathless, and shimmies out of his tight briefs – he groans in relief when he frees his cock, wet and throbbing. he clambers on top of you, the air hot and thick – all attempts at smooth seduction are forgotten. he's messy, hungry, and so, so human.

you grin as he arches his back, his knees beside your head. from the way he's holding his hips, you can tell he expects you to give his cock a little love – but you like to subvert expectations, and instead, you grab his slim hips and drag his ass towards your face.

he startles, arching to glance back at you. you grin, eyes glinting, and lick a long stripe over his asshole.

his hips jerk. he moans, turning back to your cock, and kisses the tip with soft warm lips, precum beading at the slit.

you hum, fingers digging into the supple flesh of his ass. two of your fingers slip easily into him – either he's been playing with himself, or his body is still recuperating from your extensive loving the night before. either way, he moans loudly around your cock, rocking his hips down onto your fingers.

"pretty," you muse, watching the way he clenches around your fingers. "arch your back a little more, slut."

he gasps as your tongue laps at his rim. "f-fuck – eat me out properly, damn it! if you're gonna talk big game, you – mngh—!"

you can't reply because you've got your tongue in his ass. you'd smile at the absurdity of it all if you could – the boy you've been butting heads with all year sounds much better crying out for you.

you don't even know why he's being a little jealous baby. he could've just asked – there is no universe in which you'd turn down fucking kim taehyung.

but he's stubborn and a cocky sonovabitch. you can't say that it's not a little cute: angry pretty boys standing their ground, firm in their beliefs until they get so flustered they forget what their next argument is.

and kim taehyung is flustered. he's whining into your thigh, gripping your hip so tightly you think he's drawing blood. he rocks his hips onto your tongue, his ass clenching around it, and buries his hot face into your hip, panting and swearing his pretty little head off as his cock spurts and pulses hotly, overexcited.

arousal curls in your stomach as he drags your cock against his lips, sinking down on it to muffle his own moans. you buck your hips into his mouth and while he gags, he lowers himself further, one shaky hand cupping your balls, and bobs his head desperately, silky lips dragging against the veins of your cock. he swallows you deeper as your cock pulses and twitches against the tight walls of his throat.

you come without warning. serves him right, the attention whore, but he doesn't seem to mind – in fact, he seems to like it, moaning and whining around your cock as he struggles to keep it all in. he fails eventually, hot cum dripping down the corner of his lips as he glides off your cock with a wet kiss. his cock twitches, already wanting more.

you tease him, dragging out his orgasm as he grinds into your face. the warm weight of his body grows as he slumps onto you and you can't be annoyed at the fact that he's only loosely gripping your cock, too busy basking in his own afterglow. his breath is warm and quick against it.

you draw away, shifting under him as you guide him into your lap. he shivers, still a little dazed, but manages to find your hand in the tangle of limbs. he entwines his fingers with yours, his pounding heart fluttering in his chest.

he presses his lips to your neck, pushing you down against the bed – to your surprise, he tugs off your pants and underwear entirely, leaving you just as naked as he.

"was bothering me," he rasps, kissing your cock. he crawls up your body again, hovering over you face-to-face. "eat me out again."

"mh, would love to. just tell me when you wanna." you stroke his sides.

he tilts his head, those dark eyes clearing of their fog. "no, i'm not talking about a few days in the future or whatever. i'm talking now. i want your tongue in me right fucking now, baby – want you to make me come again with that silver tongue of yours." he grazes your lower lip with the pad of his thumb. "i like it better like this than down his throat."

you snicker, flipping your bodies over and hovering over him instead. you've done it in a way where he's on his stomach. "jealous bitch, aren't you?"

"says the one who calls me 'puppy'," he growls, eyes flashing. he leans into the pillows, his eyes challenging, and he spreads his legs, placing one hand high on his ass as he lifts his hips. "now stop yapping and fuck me, ln."

"sir, yes, sir," you tease. he feels your presence drift lower until your hands spread his ass.

at first, he entertains some degree of control, fucking himself back on your tongue as you groan into his skin, pulling his hips closer. he enjoys a second high, untouched, but you've grown curious. how many times can you make the infamous playboy come?

the answer: a lot. you just can't expect him to keep his wits about him after a few.

he's been on his knees for so long that they're beginning to hurt, even on the mattress. the discomfort, however, is far outweighed by your ravenous hunger – he can't stop crying out for you, your tongue and fingers working in tandem to fuck him stupid. you'd even started to pump his cock for him – he'd almost cried, throwing his head back with a whiny babble.

more, more, more. he'd begged for it – he knew this, somewhere at the back of his mind. he'd heard his own voice, usually so strong and steady, reduced to a crumbling whimper, collapsing in on itself as you pumped three fingers in and out of his wet hole, messy with lube and saliva.

you'd never seen him like this before. you never thought he could get like this – teary-eyed, flushed dark pink from head to toe, gaze faraway and hazy, focussed on nothing in particular even when you muse aloud about his latest academic losses. all he does is whine, trembling, and reach back blindly for your cock, groping and grabbing.

he pants over his shoulder. his red hair is coppery where it sticks to his skin, shining with a thin layer of sweat.

"please," he begs, grinding messily against your cock. "p-please, please..."

taehyung is gorgeous when he lets go. when your cock glides in with no resistance, his walls soft and hot around you, his eyes roll back into his skull, and he lets out a soft, thankful sob. his chest heaves as you push in deeper, testing how much he can take, and all he does is grab your hip, nails clawing at it as if he'd die otherwise.

his hole is sloppy with lube. you press your nose to his collarbone, groaning softly as he clamps around you.

his fingers dig into the white bedsheets, his eyes screwed shut as he focuses on remembering how to breathe. your cock grinds against his swollen prostate and he keens – his voice cracks as he whines into the pillows. you hush him, your hips moving quickly.

"daddy," he sobs, and by his tightening sides, you know he's close. his cock leaks like a broken faucet, bobbing between his messy thighs. his eyes roll back and he grips handfuls of the bedsheets. "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—"

he dissolves into a babbling mess. you groan into his shoulder, kissing the freckles smattered across it, and chuckle softly. "what a basic-bitch thing to like, sweetheart. it's almost cute."

he whimpers in response, his body jostling harshly. you grab his hip, forcing him to rock back onto you, and he drawls out a long, broken moan.

"takin' my cock so well, baby," you whisper, feeling his sides tense up at the praise. "like you were made to take it."

"mmh – mhm," he slurs out, spine arching and ass pressing deeper against your hips. he sucks his swollen lower lip between his teeth. he doesn't say anything else for a long time, losing himself in your constant gentle caresses.

despite biting his lower lip in an effort to quieten himself, his mouth soon hangs open, slick lips parted to loose loud, punched moans from deep in his belly. they're cute, quavering. he sounds as if he's about to burst into tears.

"g-gonna..." his fingers twist in the bedsheets, knuckles white. your cock glides in and out of his slick asshole, punching the air out of his lungs on every snap of your hips. he can't fucking breathe; it feels too good. "'m gonna...!"

"not until you make me come," you demand, your voice growing breathier by the second. your thrusts grow heavier, messier, and his voice cracks through a cry. "else i might decide jimin deserves my cock more, slut."

he squeezes his eyes shut, and a tear falls down his cheek from the corner of his eye. he moans as he throws his ass back on your cock, piercing himself again and again and again with the wet smack of skin on skin. when you come with a groan, he loses it – he hiccups past a cry of your name, nails digging painfully into the bedsheets. he comes so hard stars explode behind his eyelids and in his veins.

his body quivers as you fuck him lazily, your breath hot against the shell of his ear as you fill him up. your cock pulses inside him, thick and warm – he trembles, burying his face in the pillows, and lifts himself slightly on weak arms, pushing his back and shoulders against the numbing heat of your body.

with a shaky sigh, he leans back against you and you press your lips against his shoulder, securing his tingling body with one firm, steady hand. his hips jerk, his body still not finished with the aftershocks of his high, and you hush him, caressing his hip. his heart pounds beneath his ribs as if he's sprinted a marathon.

it takes a long time for him to blink awake from his whiteout daze, control returning to his limbs. he hums sleepily into your skin, his head propped up on your chest.

"fucking hell," he whispers wearily. you laugh at the extra rasp in his voice.

"fucking hell indeed," you reply, too tired to move off of the bed. you stroke his shoulder, tracing circles and hearts into his skin. you tuck your other arm under your head with a soft exhale. "can you still 'get home fine on your own'?"

he pauses for a while, trying to scoop enough of his brain into a pile to remember what you're talking about. he sighs, closing his eyes, and buries his face in your chest. "shut the fuck up. i'm not getting up 'til tomorrow. and when i do, you'd better be there to carry me."

"what the fuck – why'm i the one who has to do all the work all the time?"

"i will punch your stupid pretty teeth out if you don't."

you scoff, flicking your wrists up in some half-assed form of surrender. "yeah, yeah..."

he shifts, sliding his leg over yours, and cups your side in one hand. he practically clings to you like a koala. in the warm summer silence, his breaths slow, and his muscles relax. every so often, though, you feel him tense up and shift slightly.

after the first handful of times, you groan, irritated and drowsy. "quit fucking moving, idiot. just go to sleep."

his limbs tighten around you.

"stop worrying, taehyung. i'll be here when you wake up." your voice softens – just a smidge. "promise."

that smidge is all he needs. he rests his cheek against your collarbone and mumbles – something like don't tell me what to do – and squeezes you tighter, adamant on re-establishing his authority in this relationship. he falls dead asleep, though, in just a few minutes, snoring softly as he cuddles into you.

you smile. you'll let him have this win.

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