#Gonna be honest i love this so much because it sets up SO much

[robo-writing]

helloooo

I’ve recently gotten into call of duty and I make a humble request 🕺

could I have a ghost x afab!reader who’s usually innocent and stuff, but tries to seduce him or something? Take your time!! I love your work

I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to people saying they love my writing 🥹

His squadmates check up on him occasionally—especially Soap, nosey as he is. For everything that they've gone through together they practically know nothing about Simon, and he likes it this way. Not to say that he doesn't trust them, but because Simon's a solitary creature, nothing more. However, it's surprising to the entire team when he off-handedly mentions that he's picked up a new hobby recently—bird-watching.

Immediately questions are fired off, but much to everyone's annoyance Simon only smiles as he takes another swig of beer. They almost suspect him of lying; he's not. His favorite past-time is making his way to his local haunt—9:00 pm sharp, every Friday—all to watch the pretty little bird behind the bar. He hasn’t missed a day, a regular customer every week for the past three months.

He likes the atmosphere, he likes how no one seems to ask questions about the 6’4 beast that orders his whiskey neat and sits alone in the corner—even more than that, he likes how you greet him with a smile every time he walks through the door.

Adorable really, how you fly about the bar, chirping out orders at the speed of light. More than once he’s had the opportunity to talk to you, and more than once have you averted your eyes from him, made yourself busy in hopes that you could hide the obvious attraction written on your face.

It never works, but he likes that about you.

He likes how you stumble over your words, how you meekly offer him a refill once his glass is empty, how your face lights up when he purposely lets his fingers touch your own when you set down a new glass. It's easy to let his mind wander knowing how easily riled up you are, and let it wander he does. Sensitive little birdy, he thinks to himself. Wonder how you'd react if his fingers were stroking your clit instead.

His pretty little birdie, shy little thing you are. So shy that you can’t bring yourself to express your little crush with words, but it’s alright—he knows—and he's willing to play this game for as long as you want it to go on. He's a patient man. It's February now, and it seems as if you're ready for this game to end. Among the red streamers and paper hearts that decorate the bar is you, and the cute red set you're so excited to show him. "I got the boss to sign off on it, see?" You ramble excitedly, stepping away for a single moment to show off your low-cut top and jeans to match. "Isn't it so cute?" He's the only one that gets this special treatment, the sight of you doing a 360 almost enough to make him reach across the bar. "Mhm," he agrees, far too engrossed in the shape of your ass than the color of your outfit. "Y'look amazing birdie." You bow your head in embarrassment at the nickname, unable to see how Simon's lips curl upward in response. "How am I supposed to react when you say things like that..." "It's a compliment. I don't say shit I don't mean." Again, you feel your face heat up at the implication, surprising yourself with a sudden burst of confidence. "You really mean that, don't you?" "I do. You think I don't?" "I think you're a flirt," you reply, the timbre of his voice sending shivers up your spine when he answers— "I'd be more than happy to prove just how honest I am, birdie." The look he sends you is nothing short of a promise, eyes boring into your own as he takes a sip. He knows, and you're willing to guess that he's known for a while based how how quick he is to laugh at your befuddled expression. "That's—I mean—" He sets his glass down slowly, tilting his head towards you. "Am I reading something wrong here?" You stumble over your words, barely muttering out a meek little "no" under your breath as he leans in close, enough to smell the liquor on his breath. "So, if I ain't wrong, feel free to meet me in the back after closing. I'd hate for you to think I'm a liar." Hours later, he found the answer to the question of how you'd react with his fingers against your clit—turns out you're even more sensitive than he imagined.

[mythicalmagical-monkeyman]

So im not gonna tag any one in this because idk it feels awkward tagging people to come view this fic cause it’s so brutal buuut WHO WANTS SOME COOPER ANGST?? lol/not really, anyways under cut as always

Summary:

Left over magic from the Nightmare King brings rise to the Red Moon leading to the left over corruption in Night Hunter’s system to act up and so he decides to go after Cooper

Or

Basic white boy one beats up basic white boy two and tells him he sucks or smth

Additional Tags:

Other characters are mentioned slash there very briefly. Cooper (LEGO Dreamzzz) angst. Hurt No Comfort. graphic descriptions of violence but no blood/gore, Cooper gets beat up. Night Hunter Being an asshole. Corruption. Cooper being a little shit. I am the soul dealer of content related to this duo and it shows. No beta we die like Cooper’s feelings. Night Hunter is in his Six Eared Macaque era. Night Hunter calls out Cooper’s insecurities and uses them to bully him. Character Study (?), Don’t quote me on that, I Don't Even Know, author is running on limited sleep. Nightmare King is haunting the narrative even to this day. Angst, this is lowkey brutal imo. Swearing

Castle Nocturina’s halls were empty, strikingly contrasting how one would usually find it as of late; crawling with dreamlings and dream chasers from across the globe, sounds of all kinds echoing. Tonight was different however, its residents were either hiding or they happened to be outside marveling at the never before seen Red Moon that cast demonic light into the Castle through its windows. Either way everyone was unaware of the lone soul that snaked down the halls, his mind clouded with red. 

Beau didn’t want to be there, no not really, but as the Red Moon crept through the dream sky and filled everything it cast its light on with a deep feeling of unease he could feel his mind continue to slip. 

He should’ve expected it if he was being honest, he should have prepared better. Put some sort of safe guard up on his landing to be completely safe in an event like this but too little too late did the idea come to him. It was far too late for him to do any of that as by the time he thought of it the Red Moon had already risen and Beau could feel the Nightmare King’s corruption crawling back into his system after being dormant for quite some time. 

If Beau had to guess this “ Red Moon ” must have been tied to some sort of contingency plan the Nightmare King had set up long ago. Something that if the Nightmare King stayed dormant for too long it would rise from wherever the Nightmare King had been keeping it and affect all the things that had once been affected by the King’s corruption. All things of which Beau was unfortunately a part of. 

As much as Beau tried to fight against what his rising corruption was forcing him to do by throwing himself against walls when he could or doing what else he could to tire himself out his body kept on going. Additionally much to his dismay his mind seemed to continue to haze over the harder he tried to fight back.

Well he hoped if he came out of this funk with Zoey’s arrow aimed at his chest she could eventually forgive him again. 

His body dragged him up a set of stairs that he recognized as ones that lead up to the sliding glass door entrance to Castle Nocturina’s garden and as he reached the top he found the glorious view of the Red Moon greeting him. Interestingly enough, taking in the moon seemed to help some of the haze in his head fade but he could tell the thoughts starting to form were tainted by the growing corruption. 

The Red Moon was so massive only the top half of it could be seen from the garden, its glowing red surface seemingly grinning a Cheshire cat smile at Night Hunter as his eyes widened to try and properly take it all in. As small figures moved at the edges of his vision Night Hunter felt his gaze being drawn to the dream chasers littering the garden. 

Ah, just who he was looking for. Royce and Oz were amongst the gathered dream chasers but more specifically so was the new Brooklyn Bureau; the two annoying Garcia siblings, the cowardly shapeshifter, his daughter, oh and the blond one who’s whole existence Night Hunter was pretty sure was pointless. 

Night Hunter quietly pushed open the door and slipped outside into the garden where he quickly darted to hide behind a potted topiary cut to look like a teddy bear. 

Now what was he…

Before he could come up with a plan of action to begin to dispel the group of dream chasers gathered outside he noticed what looked like a small dispute arising between Oz and … uhhh, shit what was his name again? 

Oh right, it rhymed with pooper. That was it, Cooper!

Oz and Cooper were seemingly having a disagreement and Night Hunter quickly found his attention drawn towards it. How curious. Any discord between his enemies would be great for him, whether to manipulate or use to get under someone’s skin.  

Granted he was unfortunately a little too far away to hear what they were saying perfectly. 

He watched the two talk, a bit of squabble popping up as Cooper seemed to disagree with whatever Oz was saying which Night Hunter found himself perking up at. 

Wasn’t this the kid that respected authority to the point where it came off as teacher's pet? Where’d he suddenly get a backbone? 

Night Hunter’s excitement was killed in a split second though as Mateo joined the two and rested a hand on Cooper’s shoulder thus cutting off whatever had been bound to happen next. 

Cooper deflated. The conversation continued for a bit longer but eventually Cooper gave a small nod and walked off, crossing his arms grumpily. 

As Oz and Mateo rejoined the rest of the dream chasers, Night Hunter fixed his jaw noting how he had been gritting his teeth. 

A sharp whistle came from Zoey and Zian came flying in from somewhere. Zoey helped Oz and Albert climb aboard where they were joined by Logan. In a similar vein Mateo dream crafted his blob into a strange looking flying machine and hopped onto it with his sister and Royce as the girl who Night Hunter was pretty sure was called Astrid also dream crafted her wheelchair into a large eagle. The three teams then took off into the air towards the Red Moon just as Night Hunter noticed a little late that Cooper had made his way over to the door Night Hunter was hiding beside. Luckily Cooper was very much grumbling at his shoes and had yet to notice Night Hunter. 

Night Hunter stepped back quickly and hid himself more in the shadows. 

“Protect the dreamlings,” Night Hunter heard Cooper grumbling as he reached the door, “can’t believe I don’t get to check out the dream moon.” 

The blond reached out a hand in a way that screamed that he really didn’t want to go back into the Castle alone only to startle slightly as he found the door to be left wide open. 

Ah shit, he’d left it open. 

Night Hunter bit the inside of his mouth angrily, well he supposed that because of his still somewhat hazy mind he was bound to mess up like that at some point. 

Cooper began to glance around, looking on edge, and Night Hunter did his best to hold still in his spot within the shadows. 

Cautiously, Cooper turned back to the door and ducked inside, closing it behind him. 

“Hn,” Night Hunter grunted, easing himself out of the shadows and glancing in the direction the Brooklyn dream chasers had flown off in. They were mostly just small impressions on the horizon at that point, traveling towards the Red Moon at a steady pace. It would take a lot longer than he liked to catch up to them, and not to mention they outnumbered him greatly even if the gathering of other dream chasers down in the garden didn’t notice him take off after them. 

He could set up a trap for them of course. Slowly take out the dream chasers left behind one by one until they were all taken out then wait in turn for the others to return and do a similar thing. Granted that would mean he would have to figure out how to deal with Phil the Castle guardian. 

Never Witch had done it once before though and she hadn’t even had the upper hand of knowing the layout of the Castle so if he could do it right then all of Castle Nocturnia would fall by the end of the night. 

He was just left with one real question however, which dream chaser would he be starting with? 

Night Hunter mused on it for a moment before the perfect answer came to mind; he had already gone inside where he’d no doubt be perfectly alone and primed for an ambush. 

He snuck out from behind the bush and returned to the door where he opened it and slipped inside, this time remembering to close it. 

After a quick look around he found Cooper sullenly leaving that section of the building and entering a hallway that led to another. Without another thought, Night Hunter snuck after the blond as quickly as he could. 

As Night Hunter entered the hallway that Cooper had previously, he ducked down the other hall that led off to the side. He knew the two halls would eventually meet back up so if he was fast enough he could cut Cooper off. 

Much to his luck that’s exactly what happened. As he reached the crossroad that linked the two halls back up he slowed down a little and stuck to the shadows. Soon he heard footsteps echoing up from Cooper as the teen rounded a corner and continued on down the hall passed Night Hunter, to caught up in watching his own feet to notice the other. 

Night Hunter suppressed a smile and exited out of the side hall, “Cooper!!” 

Cooper jumped and turned to take in Night Hunter’s outstretched arms in subtle fear. Upon noticing Night Hunter’s hook hand and darker outfit he took a step back and rested a hand on his hourglass, “What do you want?” He asked, still eyeing the hook hand cautiously.  

“Well we all want a lot of things if I’m being honest,” Night Hunter answered, placing his hands on his waist and leaning forward slightly, “You want to go check out the Red Moon.” 

A guilty look crossed Cooper’s face as he cringed a little. 

Night Hunter noted the boy’s reaction and started to slowly prowl a circle around him while beginning to vocalize a list, “but you also want little Mr what’s his face to fall in love with you. But perhaps you also want…” Night Hunter trailed off, smiling coldly as Cooper’s face scrunched up like he was expecting a physical hit with whatever Night Hunter said next, “some freedom yes? Or hell maybe even those lost tech skills of yours. Would make things sooo much easier wouldn’t it?” 

Night Hunter came to a stop in front of Cooper and fixed the boy with his smile, waiting for a second to see what Cooper would respond with. 

Shakily, Cooper opened his mouth but it quickly snapped shut. 

Oh how curious.

“Getting those back would make you a whole lot less useless, no?” Night Hunter leaned forward and with as much venom as he could, laced his words with it. 

Cooper shrunk into himself and in a weak voice tried to protest, “I’m … I’m not useless,” 

“HA,” Night Hunter barked a laugh, “is that so?” 

Taking a small step back, Night Hunter fixed Cooper with an amused look, “Remind me again what exactly it is that you contribute to the team? Ever since they stopped with all the infighting, they’ve seemed to be getting along just fine without you.” 

Cooper opened and closed his mouth a few times as he tried to find the words to protest against what Night Hunter was saying as Night Hunter took up inspecting his hook. 

“They-they still need me!” Cooper finally got out but as soon as it passed his lips Cooper seemed to shrink even more into himself. 

Night Hunter snorted, “That so? For what exactly? You’re the tech guy with what tech skills exactly? Honestly if your friends want something fixed they could just go get Albert!”

Cooper shook and with a laugh Night Hunter reached out with his normal hand and gave the blond a sharp shove. Cooper fell down onto his butt and stared up at Night Hunter with fear, only to look away. 

A chuckle tickled at Night Hunter’s throat as Cooper swiped at his face before scrambling to his feet where he hugged himself. 

“Ok I can admit, these are starting to get through, but-but why are you telling me this?” Cooper asked shakily, trailing off as if not wanting to voice what else he was thinking of adding to that sentence, but eventually he continued, “I-I thought we were cool now? What with you being Zoey’s dad and all,” 

Night Hunter scowled, ignoring the small part of him that was agreeing with the teen, “Look kid, I’m taking you all out. Nothing personal,” 

“Really? Because it feels highly personal,” 

Night Hunter growled, and with a flick of his wrist he fear crafted a loaded crossbow, “Yap all you want, Curly, isn’t anything that’s gonna change my mind.”

Cooper’s gaze flicked nervously from the crossbow to the red light streaming in through the windows as he took a small step back. 

“It’s the corruption isn’t it?” 

Night Hunter blinked. Color him surprised. 

Cooper bit his lip and took another small step back before continuing, “I knew the colors of this “moon” or whatever it is looked familiar, it’s some type of Nightmare King’s magic isn’t it? It’s connected to the corruption he’s able to spread and it’s messing with whatever’s left of his corruption in your mind, isn’t it?” 

Night Hunter shot a warning shot at the spot on the floor next to Cooper’s foot. 

Cooper let out a small yelp and scrambled a few feet back. 

“Hey kid, leave the character breakdowns to me, yeah?” Night Hunter hissed while tilting his head to the side to crack his neck. 

A small squeak came from Cooper, “Ah shit, shit, if the corruption is fucking with your head… I’m in big trouble aren’t I?” 

Night Hunter grinned and reloaded his crossbow as he aimed it again, “What was your first clue?” 

Cooper’s eyes widened and just as Night Hunter fired he took off down the hall. 

A laugh shook Night Hunter as his arrow struck the ground, running? Predictable, but they didn’t call him Night Hunter for nothing. 

In record time Night Hunter stowed his crossbow and pulled dream sand from his hourglass so he could fear craft a shadowy lasso. 

He flicked it once and then swung it towards Cooper. 

“RUNNING NOW ARE WE!?” Night Hunter yelled, “Guess that really is all you're good for! Running away and waiting in the wings while your friends go off and have fun without you!”

The lasso extended far past it’s original length and snagged Cooper’s foot as he ran thus succeeding in triping the boy and knocking him to the ground. 

Cooper let out a groan. 

With a harsh yank, Night Hunter pulled on his lasso which caused Cooper to be dragged a number of feet closer to him. 

Lazily, Night Hunter made the walk over to Cooper and arived just as the boy was starting to fiddle with the lasso around his ankle. Night Hunter gave the lasso another flick and yanked Cooper down again hard enough that there was a sharp crack as the teen smashed his chin against the ground. 

Cooper let out a pained whine but it went unheard by Night Hunter as he let out a low chuckle, “You can’t escape me. Hell you can’t even fight me, not with how useless you are.” 

A whimper came from Cooper as the teen reached down to his belt and weakly started to dream craft something. Night Hunter kicked at his hands before anything could form and just for extra messure smashed his boot down onto one of Cooper’s hand’s, pinning it to the floor. 

Cooper let out a pained scream and Night Hunter felt himself being encouraged at this. He wiggled his boot, squishing Cooper’s fingers further as he flicked his lasso thus freeing it from around Cooper’s foot, and dispelled the shadowy rope. 

“AGH!” Cooper yelled out and Night Hunter removed his foot. He moved so that his feet rested next to Cooper’s chest and with a chuckle he kicked Cooper in the gut. 

Cooper let out a grunt and Night Hunter kicked him again. He then grabbed the blond by the back of the shirt, picking him up so that he could more easily punch him in the stomach as well. Cooper choked but Night Hunter wasted no time moving on to his next move. He gripped the cloth of the back of Cooper’s shirt and swung the teen around violently enough that he went crashing, back first, into the nearby wall. 

Cooper crumpled to the ground in a heep. 

Night Hunter watched him, listening to Cooper letting out coughs and grunts as he struggled to get back up. 

Hu, persistent little shit. He forgot about that. 

Night Hunter made his way over just as Cooper managed to struggle to his feet. Cooper shot a weak glare at Night Hunter and then spat a wad of spit onto Night Hunter’s boot. 

“Ugh,” Night Hunter grimaced in disgust at the spit and kneed Cooper in the stomach. 

Cooper let out a grunt and collapsed backwards against the wall but just as Night Hunter went to grab him Cooper held up a hand. 

“Hold on a sec, just… before you kill me,” Cooper grumbled out in pain, “I got somethin’ to show you.” 

Night Hunter grit his teeth but let Cooper continue. 

Cooper looked up at him with pained eyes and then took the hand he was holding up and turned it so he could flip Night Hunter off. 

Night Hunter growled and went to grab his crossbow only for Cooper to throw his other fist with a punch aimed at Night Hunter’s neck. Night Hunter caught the fist by the wirst before it could land and then twisted the arm violently out to the side. 

Cooper cried out in pain as he collapsed to his knees but he wasn’t there for long. Night Hunter grabbed him by the shirt collar and put everything into slamming the teen into the wall behind him. 

Apparently the force was strong enough to crack the wall as the area around Cooper splintered as a small impacted crater sprung up behind the teen. 

“You are nothing, ” Night Hunter bit out, sneering at Cooper as he groaned, “Nothing but some kid that got too wrapped up in his best friend’s fantasies to realize that he’s not a hero.” 

“There’s nothing special about you.” Night Hunter hissed. 

Cooper’s lip trembled as he struggled slightly against Night Hunter’s hold, “No. No my friends-!”

“Your friends don’t need you,” Night Hunter stated bluntly, pulling Cooper forward by the shirt collar just enough so there was room to slam him back again the wall. He then began to repeat this movement to emphasize ever sentence he bit out with his vemon laced words, “hell they don’t even want you, I saw the way they pushed you aside earlier. You’re an after thought to them who brings absolutely nothing to the team. They could just as easily get by without you.” 

Night Hunter kept going, hardly noticing the tears starting to stream down Cooper’s face, “ In fact the only reason you ever mattered to them was because they need to use you for their own gains .” 

Cooper shivered violently as Night Hunter pulled back, whining as he was also pulled along and bracing as Night Hunter yanked him up. Any support Cooper had been getting from the ground vanished as his feet swung forward, out from under him. With a twisted look on his face, Night Hunter pushed Cooper downwards and slammed him against the floor like the teen weighed nothing. 

The floor splintered in likes, same as the wall, and Night Hunter felt Cooper go limp under his hand. 

Too easy. 

Just as easily, Cooper slipped from his grasp as he let go and left the teen lying limpy on the ground. 

A small laugh bubbled up from Night Hunter, and with a breathy sigh proclaimed, “Face it kid, you would’ve been better off staying locked up in one of those Grimkeepers.” 

Night Hunter unhooked his crossbow from its sheath, reloading it with an arrow, and aiming it at Cooper as he mused about where he wanted to sink the arrow into. Cooper shifted a little to which Noght Hunter was surprised, he was sure he would’ve been too hurt at this point to move much. Much to Night Hunter’s disgust the blond still had enough energy to reach over and wrap his hand around the back of his boot. 

Night Hunter growl and planted his free foot onto Cooper’s face to try and push him away but Cooper’s grip only tightened and he gave a tug. Thanks to his bad footing, Night Hunter fell backwards as Cooper pulled his foot out from under him. 

Night Hunter landed with a grunt, bastard. He kicked his unheld foot against Cooper’s face and the teen let go as he was forced back. 

“ How,” Night Hunter growled, “Are you still being an issue,” 

Cooper shakily managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees as he let out a weak laugh. Thought it seemed to pain him enormously, Cooper forced himself to look up at Night Hunter and fixed him with a look full of pain, tear streaked cheeks included, and yet seemingly no hate. 

“I won’t let you hurt my friends,” Cooper wheezed out. 

Night Hunter was tempted to kick him again. 

Just as a response started to brew on Night Hunter’s tounge, he noticed Cooper had reached back to his hourglass and had begun to dream craft something. Night Hunter scrambled forward but Cooper simply slumped over to the side and Night Hunter pounced onto empty floor.

Whirling around as fast as he could manage, Night Hunter turned only to find Cooper lying on his back and holding a godforsaken Edison Bomb in hand. 

Shit. 

The Edison Bomb lit up, gold and red, and before Night Hunter could shut his eyes properly, only managing to look away much to his own dismay, it went off, filling that section of Castle Nocturnia with a blinding light. 

The first thing Night Hunter noticed when the spots cleared from his eyes was that the red light from the Red Moon was starting to die off, along with the hazy feeling in his mind. Whatever had been happening with the moon was starting to be fixed and Night Hunter was left to deal with the consequences of his actions, which weren’t many if he was being honest. 

He rubbed at his eyes to help his vision clear faster and once it had he found Cooper had flopped over on his side. The teen had begun to hug himself, curling up in a fetal ball and tensing, waiting for another thing to hit him. 

Everything else was the same as Beau remembered however, the floor and wall a splintered mess. So it really had been been that bad. His hazy mind had blurred most of the combat and a number of Beau’s fully formed thoughts that should’ve made him hesitate on what he was doing to Cooper. 

His corrupted state had really done a number hadn’t it? 

Beau glanced down at himself and took in his outfit, the corrupted garbs of the Night Hunter, and with a strained sigh used his fear crafting to will away the outfit and replace it with something a little more friendly; a flannel shirt and jeans. He shifted a little awkwardly and then reached out a hand towards Cooper only to stop short, yeah no he definitely wouldn’t appreciate being touched by Beau after being beat up by him. 

Beau drew his hand back and worked on mustering up the words to apologize. Finally they came, “Shit, kid I’m … I’m so sorry,” 

Cooper curled more into himself with a shutter, “Don’t-” he whispered. 

Beau closed his mouth softly and moved so he could sit down harshly on the ground, the weight and energy he had used up during the battle starting to blister up and leave him feeling sore and regretful. 

Beau wasn’t sure how long passed before he heard Cooper speak up, his voice still weak and shattered, “The truth is supposed to hurt right? Don’t apologize for that.” 

A sour feeling rose up in Beau’s throat, he was sure that out of everything said that night that had to have stung the most. 

Damn. 

Beau reached up to massage at his jaw as he tried to think of something encouraging to say but Cooper eventually disintegrated into a flaky glowing yellow dream dust as he awoke before anything else could be said. All that remained of him was the cracked floor and a small puddle of water where Cooper’s head had been resting.  

A frown crossed Beau’s face, he couldn’t blame the boy, he wouldn’t have wanted to stay there either. With that though Beau had been left alone with a guilty feeling started to eat away at his gut like maggots as the proper bright light of the dream world started to flood in through the windows. 

Oh god, Zoey was going to hate him if she ever found out about this. 

[sysig]

Why, is he so pretty (Patreon)

Bonus Max ♥

[themyscirah]

Okay so basically the United States MINT of all people is going to be working with DC to make a line of coins! These coins sadly won't be in circulation (the things I would do to live in a world where I could get Batman coins from the supermarket) as they're collectors coins, but will be releasing over the course of the next 3 years, 2025-2027.

Designs haven't been released yet (the same is true for all 2025 designs) but we know there will be 9 coins in total (3 each year) with the first year featuring (of course!!!) Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman.

Although we know the first three heroes to be featured, the remaining six have yet to be decided, and it turns out the Mint is putting out a survey on their site to gauge which of a group of culturally significant heroes people want to see most! (link to the form is mentioned in the article above)

The considered group includes: Supergirl, the Flash, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Captain Marvel, John Stewart GL, Aquaman, Hawkman, Jamie Reyes BB, Robin (Damian?), Cyborg, and Batgirl, of which 6 will be selected.

As someone who does a bit of coin collecting myself (mainly circulation coins like the quarters sets, but I also have a couple proof and collectors coins) I think this is a really cool and interesting idea that showcases the history of the comics medium and these characters and their influence on American culture. Really excited to wait and see what the designs look like for the coins already announced!

[headkiss]

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

𝜗𝜚

Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

-

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

-

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

-

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

-

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

-

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

-

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

-

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

-

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

-

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

-

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

-

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3

[stoopidpigeonxx]

⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ 𝑶 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝑴𝒚 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏. ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆

CAPTAIN CURLY SMUT HEADCANNONS !! NSFW under the cut. MDNI.

(These are all completely random, not tied to any prompt. I just want more stuff about this guy cuz I love him) Fandom/characters: Mouthwashing, Captain Curly, other characters briefly mentioned.

Content warning: Smut (obviously), p in v, curlys packing, title kink, thigh-riding, face-sitting, size difference, manhandling, reader is AFAB, creampie, multiple rounds, riding, cursing, J*mmy.

-He's a grower, not a shower.

I firmly believe Curly is a distinguished gentleman, unlike J*mmy who would most likely brag about how big he is and end up only being like, 5 or 6 inches. Curly, however, will not mention his size until you see it for yourself. And when he sees your face, he panics. "Oh-shit, uh- i-is it gonna be too big for you? It's okay if it is, I should've warned you.."

He's four inches soft, uncut. I think he keeps himself decently groomed. He's not completely bare, but it isn't a forest. He's got a little v-line that's only visible when he wears sweatpants that you go absolutely feral over. When he gets hard, whoo boy. 9 inches, throbbing. He's got a cute little vein near his tip that you like to attack when you're sucking him off because it makes his thighs shake. He's got a little bit of a mushroom tip, maybe more rounded. Perfect for hitting all those good spots inside you. In short, he's big. (he tucks it, that's why he doesn't have a bulge in his sprites. Also I'm sorry trans-Curly headcannon people ;-;)

-"Need a seat? I'll volunteer."

VEEEEEERRRYYY into face-sitting. Very. Like, the first thing he wants when you guys get freaky is for you to sit on his face. He's not exactly sure why he likes it, to be honest, he just loves the feeling of you absolutely lose yourself on his tongue. He isn't worried about suffocating or anything, since he's a lot bigger than you, so don't be afraid to ride his face! he can handle it! But seriously, use this guy as a seat. He'd give you a few licks up your slit at first to warm you up (again, gentleman) before going for your clit. And when he gets it, he sucks. Hard. He'd also probably sneak a finger or two inside you to add extra stimulation, because he really wants you to come on his face. He desperately yearns for the sound of you screaming his name as your juices cover his face and tongue, letting you ride your orgasm out before lifting you off his face and setting you down. "Alright, sweet-stuff, my turn. On your knees, please."

-Save a Polle, ride his big ass thighs.

So... we've all seen his sprite. He's thick as fuck. He's got a booty and bigger tits than me. But he also has deliciously large thighs.. so use that to your advantage, because he's totally down with it. He likes using it as foreplay to get you wet enough to take him, and he just likes the feeling. He'll probably give himself a hand while you're doing it, or he'll just watch and leave the touching to you.

He isn't much for public sex, but if you're really horny, he'll let you get high on his thigh over his uniform and gently praise you when you come. It gives him a little buzz to be doing something like that in a risky situation, like while he's in the cockpit sitting at the control panel, or even in the commons of the ship with Daisuke in a few rooms away. When you do come, which isn't that long after, he'll kiss you all over your face and head and twirl your hair in his fingers, using his other hand to rub your ass or back.

"There you go, sweetheart, that's a good girl. Good job."

-Sir yes sir.

I know, I know. He gets called 'Captain' and 'Sir' for his job. But if its coming from you when he's balls deep in you.. It's an entirely different reaction.

"D-did.. you just call me- mgh..- Captain?"

It makes him ferociously horny to hear that title slip from your lips, so pray you'll still walk tomorrow. "Ooh, fuck, yeahhh. Call me that again, baby. Call me that again.. Uh-huh. Captain takin' care of this pretty lil' pussy, huh.."

He doesn't dirty talk that explicitly, but you calling him captain gets his creative juices flowing. Oh, also his come. Yeah..

Its also perfect teasing material. You two couldn't even be getting it on, you'd just sneak up behind him and kiss him on the cheek and say "Morning, Captain!" In that tone you know drives him wild. Boom, hard. Poor guy.

-Yeehaw!

favorite position? Cowgirl. For many reasons. One, he loves looking at your face while you ride his cock. The noises, the facial expressions you make, the way your tits bounce up and down with your hips.. He wishes it was a renaissance painting to look at every morning. He also just likes being able to hold you easily. When you're on his lap, its easier for him to snake a hand up and hold your hair out of your face, or to give your ass gentle love taps (he would never spank you, unless asked to). He's a very hands-on guy and wants to touch you, everywhere he can.

Of course, he doesn't mind the occasional doggy, or missionary, or hell, even a Full Nelson, because you KNOW he's able to hold you like that. Manhandling comes naturally with Curly. Gently, of course. He would never hurt you.

-Gets a little messy.

Curly's no one pump chump. He'll go for hours. Even if he's came inside you at least five times, he'll keep going. He's got hella impressive stamina. His motivation? Seeing your cunt leaking his seed when he pulls out. He wants you to still find it in your underwear 3 days later. No hole goes unfilled. He's not exactly a breeder, per-say, though he definitely wouldn't complain about getting you pregnant, he just likes seeing you in a state. He thinks of it as artwork, leaving you so stuffed to the brim. The next day, he'd pull you aside and give you a quick finger-orgasm, just to see if his come's still in there. When it leaks onto his fingers along with your own, he's a very happy man. "Ahh, look at that. Still got it in ya. Should fill you up even more later, hm?"

oof. my hands hurt. ;-;

[cold-kitty]

Todays poll winner was... Yandere Naga! I love Nagas, really anything with a tail. I know that there's different Nagas, but this Naga is Centaur style: human from the hips up and a snake tail from hips down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Little backstory: Nagas are a rare species in this world, which puts a high price on them. They're shoved into zoos or killed for their tails and scales, some celebrities even own a few. This Naga, however, is determined not to let that happen to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Contains: Mentions of murder, non-human yandere, kidnapping, yandere doesn't know his own strength and harms darling

Yan!Naga who hates people, genuinely hates them. he hates them so much to the point that if someone so much as steps into his forest he kills them on the spot, he won't put himself in danger.

Yan!Naga who isn't a hateful person, he's just scared if we're being honest. people are scared of what they can't control or predict, and fear turns into hate.

Yan!Naga who always feels guilty after killing someone, especially regretting it if that person was innocent. he's definitely taught himself to differentiate threat from innocent though, so he doesn't kill as many people now.

Yan!Naga who keeps a close eye on you when you wander around his forest, trying to determine if you're a threat or not.

Yan!Naga who finds out you're not a threat, and continues on his way. he silently slips through the trees, his incredibly long tail holding onto branches for balance.

Yan!Naga who really, really doesn't like it when you lay down on his special rock, it was his after all. it was big and flat, big enough for him to coil his whole tail on (which means it's absolutely massive because his tail is like 25 feet long). it collected heat from the sun and warmed up anything that touched it, so he could understand the appeal.

Yan!Naga who definitely prepared to remove you from it. he reaches out to grab you, but abruptly stops when he sees your sleeping face. his hands starts shaking slightly and it balls into a fist.

Yan!Naga who definitely knows that he likes you, human or not, and he wants you to be his.

Yan!Naga who cozies up next to you on the rock, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close. warm...

Yan!Naga who coils his tail around you, one of the greatest shows of affection for his people.

Yan!Naga who loves your warmth, even more than the warmth his rock provided.

Yan!Naga who gets scared when you start to stir awake. no no no no no no no! shit, he's gonna see me, he's gonna hate me!

Yan!Naga who watches your eyes widen and your mouth open in a scream. he immediately slams a hand over your mouth, his own eyes wide and his body shaking with yours.

Yan!Naga who feels you trying to squirm away, but he doesn't let you. he squeezes his tail tighter and tighter around your torso and legs to keep you in place, and he hears a gut-wrenching crunch.

Yan!Naga who immediately lets go of you as you let out a bloodcurdling scream into his hand, tears dotting in his eyes. oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck! i hurt him!

Yan!Naga who watches you roll onto your side, sobbing. he rolls you gently onto your back again, softly pressing his fingers into the side you're holding. he stops as you cry out, but he definitely felt something. a broken rib.

Yan!Naga who carefully picks you up, careful not to hurt you anymore. he starts carrying you to an abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods, where he stays at night.

Yan!Naga who slowly sets you down in his 'nest', a large pile of blankets and other soft cloths with a him-sized debt in the middle, AKA a huge crater.

Yan!Naga who wraps your side with a soft cloth from the pile, tying it tight enough to hurt but would help heal the fracture.

Yan!Naga who curls up against you again, holding you so loosely that it feels like he's not even there.

Yan!Naga who will provide for you, now until forever, hurt or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope your easter was great!

~🐈‍⬛

[goldfades]

WHO DID THIS TO YOU?──RAFE CAMERON

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

for this request, for my lovely jo! @wanderlusturous

─ summary | you and rafe are consumed by an obsessive love, where their madness is fueled by each other. you find exhilaration in pushing boundaries, testing each other’s limits, and the deeper you fall into your shared insanity, the tighter your bond becomes. when rafe finds you crying in your bedroom one day, he loses his shit and is thrown into a silent rage, seeking revenge. and you don't mind, not one bit.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader

─ warnings | oh my god, where do i even begin?? obsessive rafe, like insane but reader reciprocates it. a few kisses but mostly just insane stuff. mention of drugging (not to reader), hacking (?), idk what else but this is lowkey insane...

─ ev's notes | im gonna be honest, i don't know if i like this... but lmk if yall enjoyed it. it's a little too dark-themed for me and i got into it until i reread it and realized that it was lowkey insane but hey!!! whatever!!! anyway, pls lmk if this was too dark.. or if you enjoyed it. also, sorry to any becca's out there, it was just the first name that popped up. any feedback is always very appreciated!

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The night is suffocating, thick with tension that mirrors the pulse racing in your veins. Every sound, every breath, seems amplified, as if the world knows what’s coming. You stand by the dock, your eyes on the dark water ahead, but your thoughts are elsewhere—on him.

Rafe.

You can already feel him, even when he’s not here. The way your skin hums when you think of him, the way your pulse skips in sync with his name. No one gets you like Rafe does. No one makes you feel like the world is spinning off its axis just by looking at you. He’s chaos, destruction wrapped in a pretty face, and you... you crave it.

The roar of an engine breaks through the night. You don’t turn, but a slow smile curls on your lips. You feel the heat of his presence before you even hear his footsteps.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rafe’s voice is a low drawl, but there’s something manic beneath it, something that sparks against the madness in you.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. There’s that look again. That wild, possessive look that sets your blood on fire. He’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the tension in the air tighten like a noose around your neck.

“Neither could you,” you reply, your voice low, daring.

He grins, a sharp, dangerous thing. “You’re right. I can’t.”

His fingers brush your arm, just a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to ignite something violent between you. This—this is what you live for. The thrill. The madness. The way Rafe looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe that’s what scares you the most.

Because you’re not sane.

Not anymore.

You can’t even remember why you broke up with him a few months ago, but all you know is that it got overwhelming. There was something suffocating about it—about him. The way he always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were thinking before you even said it. At first, it was intoxicating, the way he could read you like no one else ever could, like you were the only two people on earth and no one else mattered. But then… it was too much. His intensity felt like drowning in quicksand, slow but relentless. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought maybe you needed air.

But standing here now, with the salt stinging your nostrils and the wind howling like some kind of omen, you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave him.

Because there he is—Rafe Cameron, walking toward you like the world is his and you’re his prize, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your chest tighten, your stomach coil in knots. He’s dangerous in all the ways that matter. Not just because he’s reckless and violent (though God knows he is), but because of how he makes you feel. Alive, in a way that hurts. Like the rush you get standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step and it’s all over, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, just to feel the thrill of almost falling.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s so close you can smell the gasoline and smoke on his clothes, the wild energy pouring off him in waves. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, like you’re the oxygen he’s been deprived of for too long, and suddenly it all makes sense again. The madness. The break-up. The inevitable pull back to him.

“Why’d you leave me?” His voice is low, rough like gravel. His eyes burn with something fierce, and you can feel it sinking into you, clawing its way under your skin. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know. He’s asking because he wants to hear you say it.

You stare at him, heart pounding, pulse thrumming in your ears like a warning. But instead of stepping back, you step forward, closing the small gap between you two. Your breath mingles with his, the night air thick with unsaid things, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something irreversible. Like if you take one more step, there’s no going back.

But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? The danger. The thrill. The sick, twisted excitement of being so intertwined with him that you forget where he ends and you begin.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, even though that’s not the full truth. You do know. You left because you were scared. Scared of how much you wanted him, needed him, even when it hurt. Scared of the fact that the line between love and obsession blurred so fast with him that you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His jaw tightens, and his hands, those rough, calloused hands that have touched you in ways no one else ever has, reach out. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, and for a moment, you swear you can see the wild, unhinged thing lurking just behind his eyes. It’s the same thing you see in yourself when you look in the mirror. The madness that ties you to him, binds you like a curse.

“You do know,” he says, voice dark and demanding. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, slow, like he’s testing how far he can push you before you break. “You just won’t say it.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear. It’s something else, something deeper. Something that feels like surrender and power all at once. You lean into his touch, letting his hand curl around the side of your face, the heat of him soaking into your skin like a drug.

“I couldn’t handle it,” you admit, the words thick and heavy in your throat. “You. Us. It was too much.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk, but it’s not a kind one. It’s dark, possessive. “Too much? You know you liked it. You loved it.” His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, just enough for you to feel the edge of his control, like he’s reminding you who he is. What he is. “You loved me because of how fucked up we are. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

You swallow hard, heart thundering in your chest, because deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve never felt more alive than when you were with him, caught up in the madness of it all. The fights, the passion, the way you both pushed each other to the edge and then pulled each other back, only to do it all over again. It was twisted, dangerous, and wrong in every way, but that’s what made it irresistible.

“I did,” you confess, and it’s like a weight lifts off your chest, even as you feel yourself falling back into him, back into the chaos. “I do.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, any crack in your resolve. But there’s nothing. You’re not the same person who left him. Maybe you never really left at all.

Rafe’s hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his lips hover just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his mouth crashes into yours, hard and demanding.

It’s not gentle. It’s never been gentle with Rafe. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, like he’s trying to devour you, claim you all over again. And you let him, because deep down, you crave it just as much as he does. The fire, the chaos, the way he makes you feel like you’re spinning out of control but somehow exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your lips swollen, your pulse racing like you’ve just run a marathon. His hands grip your waist now, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body searing into yours.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and dangerous, his eyes boring into yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.” And you are, completely, utterly, unashamedly his.

And just like that, you’re back where you started.

───MONTHS LATER . . .

“God fucking damn it, if you don't tell me right now, I'm gonna lose my shit!” Rafe shouts, his voice cracking like thunder in the small living room as he throws the beer bottle against the wall.

Glass shatters everywhere, scattering across the floor, but you don’t even flinch. You’ve seen this before. Hell, you’ve lived it. The rage, the temper, the chaos—it's like a script you’ve both memorized by heart.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him like you would a caged animal—wild and unpredictable. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp and erratic, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if they might snap. His eyes are wild, blue like ice but burning with something untamable, something dangerous. He’s teetering on the edge, that fine line between fury and desperation, and you know it won’t take much to push him over.

But you don’t care. Not right now.

“Rafe, calm the fuck down,” you say, your voice steady, almost bored. You know that’ll get to him. It always does. Nothing makes him crazier than when you don’t give him the reaction he’s fishing for.

His head snaps in your direction, eyes narrowing as he stalks toward you like a predator honing in on prey. He stops just inches away, towering over you, his chest heaving, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. He’s so close now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his skin. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, looking up at him with a calm that borders on defiance.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he spits, voice laced with venom. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. “I’m sick of your bullshit! You think you can just stand there like you’re better than me, like you’re not a part of this, but guess what, baby? You are. You always have been.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing as a slow smile creeps across your lips. “You’re being dramatic, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, you gonna break something else? Or are you actually gonna say what’s bothering you for once?”

That does it.

He slams his hands down on the counter behind you, trapping you between his arms, his face just inches from yours. His eyes blaze with fury, but beneath it, you see something else—something raw, something that makes your stomach twist in knots.

“Don’t play games with me,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I know what you’re doing. You think you can just push me around, mess with my head, and I’ll keep coming back like a fucking dog, huh?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, heart racing in your chest but refusing to show it. You can feel the tension crackling between you like electricity, the air thick with it, suffocating. This is what it always comes down to with Rafe—this toxic push and pull, this need to break each other just to see what’s left after the pieces fall apart.

“You think I’m the one messing with your head?” you say, your voice low, challenging. “Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Rafe. You’re not exactly innocent in this, are you?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to explode. But instead, he just stares at you, eyes flickering with something dark, something primal. Then, slowly, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“Innocent?” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Baby, I’ve never claimed to be innocent. You knew exactly who I was when you got into this.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, your lips grazing the corner of his jaw as you whisper back, “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not scared of you.”

His breath hitches, just for a second, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’ve always known how to push his buttons, how to throw him off balance, even when he’s at his most dangerous. It’s a game you’ve played a thousand times before, and you both know how it ends—chaotic, messy, with both of you circling back to the same place.

But this time feels different.

There’s something darker in the way he’s looking at you, something that feels more like possession than anger. Like he’s not just mad because you’re fighting—he’s mad because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping away. Because he knows, deep down, that no matter how hard you push him, he’ll always want you. Need you.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Rafe says, his voice low, deadly. “Not this time.”

You feel his grip tighten on the counter behind you, his body pressing against yours as if he’s trying to fuse the two of you together, like if he holds on tight enough, you won’t be able to escape. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand that you’re already too far gone. That the very thing he’s holding on to is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say softly, a cold smile on your lips. “I can walk away whenever I want. I just choose not to.”

And with that, you duck under his arm, slipping out from between him and the counter. His eyes follow you, wide with disbelief, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. You know he’s about to lose it, to completely unravel. But you don’t turn back. Not yet.

Because this time, you want him to come after you.

And he always does.

Rafe’s eyes darken as you slip past him, and for a moment, the room goes deadly silent. The tension is thick, heavy like a storm cloud waiting to burst. You know exactly what’s coming, and it sends a thrill down your spine. You can almost feel it—the moment he snaps, the second his control shatters. It’s a twisted game, one you’ve played too many times before, and every time, you push him a little harder, a little further, just to see how far he’ll go for you.

You take slow, deliberate steps toward the door, your back turned to him, feeling the heat of his gaze sear into you. You don’t need to look back to know he’s watching, every muscle in his body tensed like a predator stalking its prey. The air feels electric, charged with a violence that’s always been just beneath the surface between you two.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. You stop, but you don’t turn around. Not yet.

“Does it matter?” you ask, voice calm, almost teasing. “I thought I could walk away whenever I wanted, remember?”

The silence that follows is deafening. You know you’ve hit a nerve. He hates when you challenge him, hates when you act like you have the upper hand. But that’s what makes it so addictive—pushing him to his limit, watching him unravel in front of you, knowing that no matter how hard he fights it, he’ll always come back to you.

Because he can’t help it. Neither of you can.

Suddenly, you hear his footsteps behind you, fast and heavy, and before you can react, his hand grips your arm, yanking you back toward him with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you. He spins you around, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightens on your arm, fingers digging into your skin, but the pain only makes your pulse quicken, your breath hitch in your throat. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like he’s on the verge of losing control, like he’s barely holding himself together—that sends a thrill through you.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you say, your voice daring him, even though you know you don’t really want him to.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes wild, but there’s something else there, too—something desperate, like he’s terrified of losing you, like he’s clinging to you with everything he has left.

“You think you can just walk away?” he snarls, his breath hot against your face. “After everything? After all the shit we’ve been through? You really think I’m just gonna let you go?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, your heart racing, but there’s no fear. Not with him. There never is. Instead, you feel the pull again—the twisted, sick need to see how far you can push him, how deep his obsession goes.

“I think you don’t have a choice,” you say, your voice steady, even though your pulse is hammering in your ears.

His grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles twitching beneath his skin. For a second, you think he’s going to snap—really snap—but then, just as quickly, something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn’t fade, but it’s joined by something darker, something raw and consuming.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with danger. “You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do.”

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, as if he’s trying to prove a point. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim, a reminder that you belong to him, whether you want to admit it or not. His hands tighten on you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained violence simmering just beneath the surface.

But instead of pulling away, you kiss him back with just as much fire, matching his intensity. It’s always been like this between you two—this chaotic, messy whirlwind of emotion that neither of you can control. You push, he pulls, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you find something that feels like love, even though you both know it’s something darker, something more dangerous.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, your lips swollen and bruised. His hand stays on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that’s both possessive and tender, like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here, still his.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You’ve always been mine.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to push him away and run as far as you can. But there’s a bigger part of you, a darker part, that knows he’s right.

You’re his. You always have been.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m yours.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The anger, the tension, the broken glass on the floor—it’s all background noise now. All that matters is the two of you, standing here in this twisted, fucked-up mess of a relationship, knowing that no matter how many times you try to break free, you’ll always end up right back here.

With him.

Rafe’s grip on you softens, just slightly, and for the first time in what feels like hours, the intensity in his eyes eases. But it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next time one of you decides to test the limits again. Because there will be a next time. There always is.

“You’re not leaving me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Not ever.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Because deep down, you know that no matter how much you might want to, no matter how many times you tell yourself you can walk away, you won’t.

You never could.

And Rafe knows it, too.

───

You don’t usually cry. Not ever. Tears are something you’ve learned to bury deep down, hidden under layers of indifference and biting sarcasm. But tonight, they come, hot and angry, streaming down your face as you sit curled up on the edge of the bed, hands trembling in your lap. The weight of the evening presses down on you, your mind reeling from everything that happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not tonight.

Your phone buzzes again on the nightstand, but you ignore it. You can’t deal with it right now. You don’t want to see the messages or hear the apologies. You don’t want to relive what just went down.

You wipe at your face roughly, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s no use. The shaky breath you let out only betrays you further, and you feel the tears well up again. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, not wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, Rafe hears everything.

The door swings open, and Rafe steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. He looks at you, really looks at you, and in an instant, his expression darkens. His blue eyes narrow as they sweep over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the hunched shoulders, the way your body is wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap. His jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the shift in the air around him.

“What happened?” His voice is low, dangerous, barely restrained. It’s not a question—it’s a demand.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing, Rafe. Just forget it.”

But you know better than to think he’ll let it go. The second you met him, you realized Rafe Cameron isn’t the kind of guy who “forgets” anything.

He moves closer, the tension in his body palpable. He’s not pacing like he usually does when he’s angry. This is different. Controlled. Focused. Like he’s honing in on the source of your pain, ready to eliminate it. He crouches down in front of you, one hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is firm, possessive, but not rough—not yet.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, his eyes boring into yours. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up. You know how Rafe gets—how he reacts when someone hurts you. And this time, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone close. Someone you thought was your friend.

“It’s—” You start, but your voice cracks, and you quickly bite down, trying to steady yourself. “It was…Becca.”

“Becca?” The name drops like a lead weight between you two, and you can see the recognition flare in his eyes. Becca, your friend for years, the one person outside of him you’ve always trusted. The one person he’s always been wary of.

Rafe’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that makes your pulse race. His voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “What did she do?”

You hesitate, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “She—she said some things. At the party tonight. She called me out in front of everyone, said I was using you, that I only stuck around for the money, the attention. She tried to turn everyone against me, Rafe. She made me look… weak.”

His face hardens instantly, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes—something dark and lethal. The kind of rage that makes your breath catch in your throat, even though you know it’s not directed at you.

“She said what?” His voice is so low now, it’s almost a growl.

You nod, swallowing hard, feeling the burn of humiliation all over again. “I don’t know why she did it. I thought she was my friend.”

Rafe lets out a slow breath, and the air around him feels like it’s vibrating with the intensity of his anger. He stands up abruptly, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from completely losing it. But you know it’s too late for that.

“I’ll fucking kill her,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear every word. “I’ll ruin her life.”

“Rafe—” You start to protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“No. No one talks to you like that. Not her, not anyone.” His voice is clipped, sharp, like he’s barely holding back the full force of what he’s feeling. “You don’t deserve this shit. Not from her, not from anyone.”

His protectiveness borders on obsession, but you can’t help but feel a strange comfort in it. It’s twisted, but there’s something about the way Rafe reacts to these things—like the whole world can burn as long as you’re safe—that makes you feel… seen. Important.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says, more to himself than to you, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She thinks she can talk shit about you? In front of everyone? Humiliate you? Nah. She’s going to regret it. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Rafe,” you say softly, trying to reach for him, but he’s too far gone. You can see it in the way his eyes have glazed over, already plotting, already deciding exactly how he’s going to destroy Becca.

And part of you wants to stop him. Part of you knows that this isn’t the answer, that maybe you should handle it differently, like a normal person would.

But you’re not normal. Not anymore.

“I’m serious,” he says, turning to face you again, his expression deadly serious. “No one fucks with you. Ever.”

His intensity washes over you, and for a second, you feel like you can’t breathe. But at the same time, it fills you with a sense of power, knowing that he’s willing to go to these lengths for you. That he’ll protect you at all costs, no matter how destructive it gets.

You stand up slowly, crossing the room until you’re in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to you, and for a brief moment, you see a softness there, a flicker of the boy beneath all the rage and chaos. “I won’t. But I’m not letting this go.”

You nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing with him. This is who he is—who you both are. Twisted, obsessive, reckless. But it works. Somehow, it works. And deep down, you don’t really want him to let it go.

A few months later, and somehow everything goes to shit for Becca.

It starts small—things that could almost pass as bad luck. First, her new car gets keyed, deep scratches across the side that no amount of buffing can fix. Then her social media accounts get hacked, posts disappearing, weird comments being left on other people’s pages, like someone is deliberately screwing with her life piece by piece. She brushes it off at first, because Becca’s tough. She’s the type of girl who bounces back quickly, who doesn’t let things get under her skin.

But then things escalate. Quickly.

She gets benched during a big volleyball game when her coach suddenly pulls her aside and questions her attitude. The team captain claims Becca’s been talking shit about the coach behind her back, stirring up drama with teammates. The problem is, Becca never said any of it. But now, she’s got a reputation, and people are starting to look at her differently.

Still, she fights through it, determined not to let it get to her. Becca’s always had her eye on the prize: her full ride to UC Berkeley, where she’s set to play volleyball at the college level. That’s her future. Her escape. Nothing can touch that.

Until it does.

The call comes one morning, out of nowhere. Becca’s shaking as she listens to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart plummeting as her coach tells her the news.

“We’ve received the results of your recent drug test, Becca,” the coach says, his voice stern but somehow apologetic. “I’m sorry, but you’ve tested positive for a banned substance.”

Becca’s head spins, her mouth going dry. “That’s impossible,” she blurts out, panic rising in her chest. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t—”

“I know this is hard to hear,” the coach cuts her off, his voice firm. “But the results are what they are. This disqualifies you from the scholarship and the team. UC Berkeley has revoked your offer.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She feels the ground tilt beneath her, everything she’s worked for slipping through her fingers in an instant. She argues, pleads, tries to explain, but the decision is final. There’s nothing she can do.

And that’s when she starts to see it, to feel the weight of something much bigger pressing down on her. This isn’t just bad luck. It’s not a coincidence that her life is unraveling at the seams. No, this feels orchestrated, like someone’s been pulling the strings behind the scenes, watching her fall apart.

That someone is Rafe Cameron.

Rafe can be physical—he wouldn’t hesitate to swing on anyone he deems a threat. But Rafe isn’t a dumbass. He knows that not everything should be dealt with by violence. Some things are better handled with precision, with patience, with slow, deliberate destruction. He knew that punching Becca in the face wouldn’t satisfy him, wouldn’t give him the kind of control he wanted over the situation.

So instead, he used his connections, his money, his influence, all of the tools at his disposal to dismantle her life bit by bit. A hacked account here, a few whispers to the right people there. He didn’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy her. He just needed to plant the seeds of doubt, to set off a chain reaction, and then watch it all come crumbling down.

The drug test? Easy. A little slip of something into her drink at a party when she wasn’t paying attention, followed by a tip-off to the testing agency. The rumors about her trash-talking her coach? Carefully spread by a few well-placed texts to her teammates, pretending to be her. Her social media? That was just for fun, a way to throw her off balance and make her feel like her world was spiraling.

And it worked.

You know all of this, of course. Rafe never bothers to hide things from you. In fact, he’s proud of it, proud of the way he’s dismantled Becca’s life without so much as breaking a sweat. He tells you about it one night while you’re lying together, his arm draped lazily over your waist as he whispers in your ear.

“She thought she could fuck with you,” he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. “But now she knows. No one touches what’s mine.”

You should feel guilty. You should feel something for Becca, after all those years of friendship, of thinking she had your back. But all you can feel is a sick sense of satisfaction, like the universe has finally corrected itself. Becca messed with the wrong person, and now she’s paying the price. And as twisted as it is, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at how far Rafe was willing to go for you, how meticulously he destroyed her without you even asking him to.

“You really did all that?” you ask, your voice low, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Rafe shifts beside you, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your neck. “I told you, baby. No one fucks with you and gets away with it.”

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at you, something possessive and wild. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.

Because the truth is, you like it. You like how far he’s willing to go for you, how far he’s willing to take it. There’s something intoxicating about the way he loves you—twisted, obsessive, and all-consuming. It’s not healthy, not normal, but it’s yours. And that’s enough.

You press your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, feeling the heat between you two ignite once again. Rafe kisses you back just as hard, his hands gripping you tightly, like he’s reminding you that you’re his and no one else’s.

As you pull back, your breath ragged, you glance at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“She won’t come near me again.”

“No,” Rafe says, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “She won’t.”

And in that moment, you both know it’s true. Becca’s done.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[pierregazly]

simply a joke ꨄ lewis hamilton

lewis hamilton x assistant!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), lewis was pining and reader was oblivious [1.6k words]

request: 🌶 I would request for Lewis Hamilton and [20. “I’m gonna fuck you so good you forget all about that bastard.”]

The bill was placed down on the table, the waitress giving you a sympathetic look as she openly asked whether it would be cash or card.

“You don’t mind paying right? I’ll forward you the money, just forgot my wallet of course, such a lapse of memory sometimes,” he said, an arrogant smirk on your blind date’s face while he waited for your response.

Humming in acknowledgement, you muttered that it would be on card to the waitress. 

You didn’t give him much of a chance to say anything further, bidding him a farewell the moment the bill was paid, and a denial to a second date. The shock on his face made your smile grow when you whirled around, making the trek towards your car while you contemplated how your life had even got to this point.

A quick text sent off to the only person you actually wanted to see was met with an easy ‘I’ll leave the door unlocked, see you soon’, prompting you to direct your car in the opposite direction of your own home.

Lewis was always happy to have you over, saying more than once you may as well just move in with him with how often you were there anyways. Always shrugging the comment off, you would just laugh and remind him the two of you see each other enough during the week and that you were pretty sure Mercedes would be unhappy with a driver and his team-assigned assistant living together.

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what they would want, actually? Full access for both of us, love,” Lewis practically had the response memorized, a shove to his shoulder the only answer he ever received to it.

Huffing as you flopped down on the couch next to the Brit, Lewis quirked a questioning eyebrow at you, silently imploring as to what could possibly be creating your current set of emotions.

“I’ve just come back from a date, what an absolute nightmare, Lew. I’ve never met someone who managed to talk about themselves more than that guy. Don’t think I even got a word in,” you complained.

A small chuckle fell from Lewis’ lips, his hand gently patting your knee with a sympathetic expression falling across his face.

“Like… am I the problem, Lew? Be honest, because I’m going insane here, I don’t think I’ve even had sex in months. I genuinely think I’m on the verge of insanity,” you said, practically begging for a response from the Brit.

Huffing, Lewis turned his gaze onto you. Looking you up and down, you felt yourself heat under his gaze. You would never admit it aloud, but you couldn’t deny that the Mercedes driver was borderline gorgeous. 

“I think if all you’re looking for is sex, going on a date in the outfit you’re wearing right now… well it’s not doing you any favours, really.”

Pouting at him, you looked down at your outfit while trying to decipher what was wrong with it.

He continued, “before you start, there’s nothing wrong with the outfit. You look gorgeous, really. But you’ve got the buttons up all the way to the top, the pants aren’t formfitting at all, and you’ve got incredible legs, you just refuse to wear shoes that accentuate them. You’re dressed like you’re going to a business meeting, not like you’re going on a date with the intention of being taken home after.”

He emphasized his words by coming closer, flicking open the top four buttons, allowing the top of your breasts to peak through, the lacy bra you were wearing visible to the open-eye. 

“You don’t get it, Lew. Sure, I could wear a shirt that shows off my breasts, pants that accentuate my ass… but I don’t just want sex. Sure, yes, I want sex… but I want to be taken seriously, I want to be taken on a real date and actually enjoy myself.”

“I could give you both, but you keep denying my offer,” he shrugged his shoulders, turning his attention back towards the television.

Trying to wrap your mind around his words, “You act like your offer is ever serious, Lew. We both know it’s a joke.”

“You’re the one who says it’s a joke and that I’m not being serious. Not sure what else I’m really meant to say that’s going to make you believe me, love,” he said.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He had been making jokes like this for years. It was easy to assume they were comments he made with everyone, his personality naturally flirtatious.

Your body moved on instinct, pressing yourself closer to him as you contemplated your next words.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

He didn’t give a response before he was pressing his lips to yours, his hand instantly pressing to the back of your neck, tugging you closer to his body. His lips were soft, his tongue wet as it pressed gently at your lips, begging for an entrance. 

A soft moan fell from your mouth when Lewis pulled your body on top of his, your legs encircling his waist. You ground your core against his, a rumble of a groan falling from Lewis’ own lips, his head falling back against the couch behind him.

“God, baby. I’m gonna fuck you so good you forget all about that bastard, about fucking all of them, I swear.”

The whimper that fell from your lips was unintentional, your body subconsciously grinding down against the hardness growing between his legs; the pit in your stomach growing, the desire for him so prevalent in your actions.

You had never realized how much you truly wanted this, how much you wanted those comments you thought to be jokes, to be real.

“That better not be a joke, Lew,” you moaned, his lips pressing to your neck as he guided your hips back and forth over his lap. 

You felt your back hit the couch, Lewis’ body crawling over top of yours as he began kissing down your body. The buttons on your shirt having come undone at some point making it easier for the Brit to continue his ministrations across your skin.

Looking up at you imploringly, his tattoo-covered hand tugged gently at the waistband of your pants, a silent question in his eyes. You nodded eagerly, lifting your hips slightly so he could tug the offending material off.

He lightly nipped at your hip, pressing a kiss to sooth the heated skin before continuing his actions to the other side. Small love bites, kisses, short presses of his tongue to your skin as he continued to move down your body. Lifting a leg to press a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, you moaned at the action.

It didn’t take long for your panties to join the discarded pants, his eyes hungrily taking in the display. You couldn’t help the self-conscious thoughts, your legs instinctively closing around his body. 

“Nuh-uh, none of that, pretty girl,” he said, his hands pushing your legs open.

A finger gently pressed to your core, parting your lips as he ran a finger through them, collecting the wetness that was seeping from you. A tiny whimper departed your lips as you watched Lewis bring the finger to his mouth, sucking the collected juices from the digit.

It was like watching a man possessed as he got in between your legs, your hands finding their way to his head as the first press of his tongue resonated throughout your body.

There was no surprise that he was skilled with his tongue, the same way he was skilled with his fingers; the same way he was skilled when he put his mind to anything else he desired success in.

His fingers moved in tandem with his tongue, pressing against the spot inside your core that had you practically keening for him, your hips pressing up against his face; the only thing keeping his mouth from drowning in your wetness was the hand he had pressed to your pelvis, pushing you back down against the bed.

A loud moan fell from your lips as Lewis sucked at your clit, a third finger joining the other two inside you, a squelching sound vibrating throughout the living space as you felt yourself hit your peak.

Your orgasm crashed through you, your legs shaking as Lewis’ fingers and tongue slowed down, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. Your head was still thrown back when you heard the sound of more clothes hitting the floor, your eyes peaking open to a view that had your mouth practically watering.

It was common knowledge that Lewis was an incredible sight. From his hardened muscles, to the pops of ink that covered his body, everyone knew he was gorgeous. But his cock? All you wanted to do was wrap your lips around it, which in time, you knew you’d be able to.

But for now? All Lewis wanted to do was press inside you, feel the way your walls pulled him in, the way your wetness coated him, the way you’d stretch so lovely around him.

“On your knees, pretty girl. I wanna’ see this lovely arse when I push inside you for the first time, been thinking about it lots.”

You were quick to do as he demanded, flipping your body over so you were on your knees, resting on your elbows as you felt the couch dip behind you.

A low whimper fell from your lips as you felt him run his length through your wetness, coating his cock in your juices before pressing the tip inside. The stretch was delicious, your body pushing back against his, begging for more.

Obliging, his entire length pushed forward, your lips wrapping around him, the wetness dripping from your core making it easier for him to slide inside.

“Gonna fuck you so good, make you never wanna leave, baby. Can’t wait to feel you cum all over my cock, been wanting to feel that for ages,” he whispered in your ear, biting at the lobe as he pulled away.

Moans and grunts fell from your lips with every thrust of his hips, his body seeking the release he knew yours could give him. The way he made you feel, the feelings his body evoked from yours; it made you insatiable, made you crave the feeling more and more. Made you regret ever believing his comments were simply a joke.

anyways. i got carried away. please enjoy (reader has a hand kink specifically for lewis as i also do sorry!!! bye!!!)

[hayatoseyepatch]

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅☾☼☽⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

∘∙⊱Description: Who would our little less experienced characters go to for help in pleasing their partner?

∘∙⊱Featuring:  Haruka Sakura, Jo Togame, Kyotaro Sugishita, Hajime Umemiya, Akihiko Nirei, Hayato Suo x fem!reader

∘∙⊱Words: 2.7k (I might have gotten a wee bit carried away, oops)

∘∙⊱Tags: fem!reader, minor spoiler warning for the manga (nothing too specific mentioned), aged up, smut, threesome, cunnilingus, fingering, edging, teasing, dom/sub dynamics, petnames, praising, degradation, dacryphilia, oral (m&f receiving), etc.

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅☾☼☽⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

a/n: Please be gentle with me I haven’t written anything proper in like 2 years lmao. But I’m currently obsessed with windbreaker and figured I’d take matters into my own hands for creating some content for these boys. Enjoy some spicy headcannons! You know the drill, 18+ content MDNI.

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅☾☼☽⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

-Sakura is a damn mess. I love this boy so much but he is. Because lets be honest, even getting together with Sakura was a project. This poor baby never even had someone show him friendship let alone love.

-(Slight Manga Spoilers) Sakura has gone to Togame for help before when it came to  the battle with Noroshi, and Togame has proven himself to be someone Sakura can rely on. Sakura treats everything like a fight, this is no different.

-Togame, in comparison, had much more experience. Being in Shishitoren was a lot on Togame before he met Sakura, so he had his fair share of sexual partners to relieve some stress.

-Sakura was new to relying on others, and even newer to asking for help. His face a bright red and a deep furrow in his brows. Togame took one look at his expression, eyebrows raising in curiosity. “What’s up Sakura, you good?” He had asked lazy crooked smile in place, tough he’d be lying if he wasn’t a bit concerned.

-Sakura’s scowl only deepened in response. “I need your help with something.” When Togame had urged him to go on, between clenched teeth he had asked him to help him pleasing his partner.

-To say Togame was shocked would be an understatement. Sakura’s furrow in his brow deepened. “Listen, I know your much more experienced than I am, I just.. I want to make sure she feels good too. But I fucking swear one smart ass comment and I’ll beat your ass into next week. You got it?” Togame’s eyes softened he knew how Sakura was, how hard it was for him to ask for help. He must really care for you. He agreed without a second thought.

-It wasn’t long before he found himself in your shared bedroom. His eyes wide at your form clad in nothing but a cute matching set the both of your cheeks adorned with the same bright red hue. He had to remind himself why he was here. He was here to help his friend, but gods were you so damn beautiful.

You felt so exposed, tears collecting on your lashes, as Togame has you spread open for Sakura. Your back resting against Togame’s chest, your thighs hooked over his, fully exposing your dripping center to Sakura’s hungry gaze. Togame’s long fingers drawing lazy circles over your needy clit. Your essence was dripping from your opening onto the sheets below, it had felt like Togame had been teasing your for hours, mind already swimming and neither of them had even filled your cunt. Togame’s other hand gently thumbing at your nipple, had you wiggling desperately in his grasp.

“See, Sakura, you need to take your time. You see how much of a mess her pretty pussy is making?” He chuckles, deep and breathy, right into your ear. “All that wetness is gonna make it feel so much better for the both of you. Plus just see for yourself how sexy it sounds”

Sakura felt like he was going to explode, his cheeks radiating warmth with how red they were, his cock straining against his pants, aching for attention.  All Sakura could do is nod eyes locked on your dripping cunt. “Go ahead Sakura, slowly slip two fingers inside, that’s it, see how easy it is?” he grins at the look on Sakura’s face at the squelching sound your cunt makes, coupled with the sound that falls from your lips at the feeling of his fingers stretching your once empty cunt. “sh-shut the fuck up I know how to put my fingers inside, asshole” Sakura grumbles, but he couldn’t deny Togame was right, they’ve never slipped in with such ease before.

Togame chuckles once more. “Oh she’s so responsive, how adorable~” Sakura’s eyes are wide, he’s never heard you make that sound before, he quickly gets drunk on your reactions, fingers gliding in and out of your cunt with ease with how wet you were. Togame continues to guide Sakura, telling him just how to position his fingers in such a way that he is repeatedly hitting the spot deep inside you that has your vision going white.

“Oh! H-Haruka, right there, please please I’m gonna~” You cry out, embarrassed at how loud your volume had gotten as you beg for release. Togame finally picks up speed, his fingers no longer drawing lazy patterns but circling your clit faster now. “That’s it doll, don’t hold back, show Sakura how good he’s making you feel.” Sakura watches intently, mesmerized, feeling your walls clamp down on his fingers body trembling as he and Togame’s fingers guide you through your orgasm. Sakura surging forward, lips claiming yours hungrily, swallowing your moans. Coming down from you high, breaths panting as you try and calm your racing heart and trembling thighs.

“Alright Sugar, I think your ready for the main event.” Both you and Sakura’s eyes widen at Togame’s words, you were both in for a long night.

Umemiya & Sugishita

-Let’s be honest here, Sugishita is trusting NO ONE other than Umemiya. He hold so much respect for him and I feel like if he’s going to anyone its him.

-I feel like his partner also spends plenty of time with Umemiya, so it wouldn’t be a stranger who is being invited into their bedroom. A good bit of Sugishita’s time is spent helping Umemiya in the garden or with meetings, so its safe to say that his partner spends a good bit of their time on the rooftop with them.

-Sugishita also knows that Umemiya will be gentle and not push any boundaries that  him or his partner are uncomfortable with. He finds some relief knowing Umemiya isn’t going to go all sadistic on his partner.

-That being said Sugishita is still so nervous to ask for help. He’s worried in some way he’d be disappointed in him for not being able to fulfill his partners needs. Umemiya is so caught off-guard when he asks too, Sugishita rarely ever asks for help so as the leader and viewing Furin’s members as his siblings of course he’s happy to help! Though Sugishita’s next words were ones he couldn’t have guessed even if he tried.

-When the time comes, and the three of you are in the comfort of your bed, they dwarf your frame. These boys are BIG, Sugishita is 6’3” and Umemiya is 6’2” so honeybun I’m praying for you for real.

-Umemiya is so patient, his gentle words guiding both of your actions, he is fully in hold of the reins. He has the both of you hanging on to his every word.

“That’s it Sugishita, be gentle, ease into her. She how much easier it slides in after warming her up?” Umemiya’s voice is tender, guiding Sugishita’s actions and easing your mind. His deep baritone spoken directly in your ear has you letting out shudder. Sugishita lets out a deep groan, you were always tight, normally struggling to take his girth. But your velvet walls pulled him in the wetness from the last hour Umemiya spent between your thighs making him slide in with ease.

“So.. fucking.. tight” Sugishita grunts, heeding his mentor’s word, resisting the urge to slam into you desperate to feel more of you. You whimper at the stretch, Umemiya titling your chin upwards, lips meeting your own. His tongue exploring your mouth, large hands roaming your body. One hand circles a sensitive nipple, the other has his fingers tracing mindless shapes on your clit. Effectively distracting you from the stretch of Sugishita entering your tight heat. The both of you moan loudly as Sugishita bottoms out, feeling filled to the brim and he hadnt even gotten started. “That’s it, give her a moment, let her get accustomed. Its okay sweetheart, poor little thing your tight little pussy is so full isn’t it baby?” The gentle tone of Umemiya’s voice contradicts the absolute filth that leaves his mouth. His words having you wiggling your hips desperate for more. “Please, Kyo, more.. please fuck me”

Umemiya grins, the desperate tone in your voice has his own cock straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. “Go on Sugishita, she asked so nicely, are you gonna make her beg?” He teases, having both of your cheeks flushing pink, as Sugishia begins to move. His hips rutting into yours,  your head being tossed back, resting on Umemiya’s shoulder. “Please.. please.. touch me Ume” You beg, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears in your desperation.

The older man grins, lips attaching themselves to your neck, his fingers resuming their ministrations on your sensitive spots. Letting out a deep growl, Sugishita picks up the pace hips slamming into your own. “You see that Sugishita, you see how deep you are inside her?” He teases, pointing out the bulge in your tummy where he can practically see just how deep he was thrusting inside you. He gritted his teeth willing himself not to cum, not yet. Not when you felt so good, not when you were making such beautiful sounds.

Your hand reaches behind you, slipping inside Umemiya’s boxers, your small hand wrapping around his cock, giving an experimental tug not wanting to leave him out. He curses into your neck. His hips thrusting into you hand as you begin pumping his length in your hand. Sugishita couldn’t take it anymore, you felt too good, your sounds doing too much to him. You too were on the edge. “Kyo, Kyo, please gonna..” You come undone with a cry, Sugishita matching your actions, spilling himself into your waiting cunt. After catching your breath, you and Sugshita have a silent conversation with your eyes, his response being an approving nod and a grunt, as you turn your half lidded gaze up to Umemiya.

“Ume.. please fuck me.. wanna make you feel good too.” The white haired male’s eyes widening at your forwardness, but as he said to Sugishita earlier, he wasn’t going to make you beg when you asked so nicely.

-See these two here… I think this arrangement is a bit different from the others. Unlike Sakura & Sugishita, it isn't Nirei going to Suo for help for his partner, but rather Suo helping Nirei get some experience under his belt.

-Suo is already training Nirei, taking him under his wing to show him how to defend himself, to him this was just another lesson for him to give the blonde.

-Nirei was confused when Suo had texted him telling him to meet him at his apartment rather than their usual meeting spot for training. Regardless, he followed instruction, curious as to where Suo lived. After all these years of knowing him, he still only knew what Suo let him know about him he was a mystery to him.

-He met Nirei at the door his signature closed eye smile adorning his face, laced with mischief, as he led him inside. “y/n isnt here, Suo?” Nirei had asked curiously, also with a twinge of nervousness.

-Suo was extremely perceptive, he noticed the cherry red that dusted Nirei’s cheeks whenever you greeted him or made idle chatter. How could he not? You were breathtaking after all. So Suo would throw one of his closest friends a bone. Tilting his head with a smile. “Oh no, she’s here, just in the bedroom waiting for our lesson.”

-Nirei didnt know what he was expecting when he followed Suo into their bedroom, but he nearly fainted seeing you sat on the bed waiting patiently in nothing but your bra and panties. Before he could profusely apologize for catching you in such a state of undress and run, his friend had placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Today’s lesson is going to be a bit different, today me and y/n are going to be teaching you about inflicting pleasure rather than pain.”

-The nervous blonde thought his heart might just beat right out of his chest, was this a cruel prank from you both? Had Suo caught him staring at you and decided to give him a humiliating punishment?

-He would be a liar if he said he hadn’t imagined being with you before. If he hadn’t spent late nights fucking his fist, imagining it was you touching him instead. If he didn’t whimper your name in his pillow as he came.

-But when your big doe eyes met his, a delicate hand reached out to welcome him into the bed with a comforting nod of your head offering your consent, who was he to say no?

“He’s awfully eager isn’t he darling? Oops it seems like your mouths a bit full, how silly of me~” Suo chuckled, tone in his voice teasing, as he stuffed your mouth full of his cock. His eye softening as he looked down at you, fingers carding gently before tugging just the way he knew you liked, forcing more of his cock down your throat.

Your moans sent vibrations around Suo’s cock, he was right, Nirei was surely eager. His tongue lapping at your pussy like a man starved. His inexperienced tongue was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Suo needing to remind him to take breaths. Said man, chuckled once more, teasing voice filling the room.

“Nirei, she isn’t going anywhere we’re just getting started, make sure your focusing on her clit, that’s a boy just like, fuck, just like that.” The tail end of his sentence he wasn’t sure which of you it was directed at, the way you bobbed your head taking him expertly in your throat had the normally composed man losing his bearings. Using his grip on your hair he lifted you off his length.

“Come here.” He instructs the blonde, who reluctantly removed his face from its position buried between your thighs. You beckon Nirei to you with your hand in his, pressing your lips together in a heated kiss. Tongue quickly overtaking his own, allowing him to taste Suo on his tongue, a stark reminder of who you belonged to. This seemed to please your boyfriend, enough for him to slot himself between your legs. His cock sliding in with ease due to the wetness from Nirei’s saliva and your own arousal.

You moan, desperately into Nieri’s mouth, head being tossed back at the feeling of Suo’s cock filling you so deeply. His groan making both if you shudder. No time is wasted, you were quick to replace the empty feeling in your mouth with the blonde’s cock. He let out a loud desperate moan as the warmth of your mouth welcomes him in, hollowing your cheeks as you begin to suck. Suo sets a brutal pace from the beginning, determined to have all three of you coming undone at the same time.

You and Nirei’s moans and whimpers bounce off the walls, leaving no question of who was solely in control of you both in this moment. Suo felt the familiar spasm of your walls around him, indicating your impending release. “That’s it my love, come on, let go for me. Show Nirei how beautiful you look coming undone on my cock.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t close, the stimulation of your earlier ministrations bringing him to the edge faster than he normally would. Nirei is the first of you to come, a loud cry falling from his lips, tears streaming down his cheeks as he unloads into your waiting mouth. Nearly coming a second time just from the sight of you swallowing his cum, just so you would be able to cry out Suo’s name as you came on his cock. Suo was the last to topple over the ledge, your orgasm triggering his own. Hands gripping your plush hips in an iron grip as he paints your walls white. The room is silent save for the sounds of panting, all three of you catching your breaths from such intense releases. Suo’s voice is the first to break the silence.

“Alright Nirei, go on, if you clean her up real nice with your tongue I might just let you fuck her pretty cunt after.~”

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅☾☼☽⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and as always likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. This is my first time writing for these characters so I hope I did them some justice. See you in the next one!

[parkerluvsu]

nsfw alphabet for art donaldson.. not requested but i wanted to do it so.. enjoy it!!! <3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): i think that art definitely feels the pressure of society to be the dominate person in a relationship, so he does all the classic stuff, cleaning you up, brushing your hair cuddling with you.. but as he gets more comfortable in your relationship i think that he is open about the fact that he wants to be taken care of too.. he wants aftercare to be mutual, and he wants you to clean him up and tuck him into bed just like he does for you <3

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): art definitely isn't one to toot his own horn.. but if he was being honest i think he'd say his abs! he's worked so hard for them, training everyday + he likes when you rake your fingernails down them <3 for his partner.. i think he would say their hands! i think that art just generally runs cold, so having his partner warm him up with their hands would be like... a dream. also he just loves getting shoulder massages and getting his hair played with! (and all the other good things you can do with your hands) <3

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): the one thing challengers fandom can agree on... art cums a lot and is loud. he always wants to jerk off but the cleaning after is a total buzz kill! whether he's humping his pillow or fucking his hand, the amount of cum he has to clean up is frankly.. embarrassing. he's also extremely loud.. he's just very sensitive and can't help but whine and moan and pretty much cry when he cums <3

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): when he was younger, arts dirty secret was definitely jerking off, growing up in a strict household made it seem like masturbation was taboo.. but now that he's older, he definitely keeps his kinks close to his chest, so id say his secret is that he enjoys being dominated, yet again he feels pressure to be the dominant one in a relationship but there's nothing he enjoys more than being dominated and taken care of by his partner <3

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): i think that by the time he's in college, art has had his fair share of girlfriends but has rarely had sex with them, he just feels like sex is the ultimate connection with someone.. and it makes him nervous to do it with someone he even has a bit of doubt about. art is actually naturally gifted at sex for some reason, the first time you're together, you get ready to give him a little tutorial on eating you out, but he immediately gets to work, doing exactly what he should do <3

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): any position in which he can see your face is arts favorite, he's a classic guy and he loves missionary, and he loves when you ride him too (you may be able to convince him to let you do a freaky little amazon position too) <3

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): art is totally serious, he just gets very nervous that he's gonna mess something up or embarrass himself or hurt you, that he couldn't make a joke even if he tried! <3

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): college art definitely shaves everytime he showers, he just hates the feeling of body hair on him, and he loves the way his body looks soft and shiny when he is shaved. older dilf! art definitely gets waxed, he makes regular appointments because it's easier than shaving for him, and it still makes him feel pretty <3

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): art is romantic to a fault, he absolutely puts you first in every aspect of your relationship, especially when being intimate so he tries to set the mood as best he can, being sweet and romantic (more than usual) almost like the first time you had sex, every time <3

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): art jerks off a lot. he just has a high sex drive, and it relaxes him, there's nothing more he wants to do after a long day than hump his pillow and fall asleep <3

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): i think that art only explores his kinks when he feels really comfortable in a relationship and they kind of come out one by one.. first he says he like to be dominated.. then he amps it up to say maybe he wants you to rim him.. then it's pegging and before you know it he's calling you "mommy" <3

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): in bed. seriously the only place he'll do it. once, he got a little too tipsy and you guys did it on the couch but never again. he sees sex as a private thing, and that's what a bedroom is for! <3

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): literally just looking at you.. i mean you could just be sitting doing your homework at your desk and he'd only be thinking about you sitting on his cock <3

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): many things i can think of.. but mainly he isn't into anything "gross" aka bodily fluids, or pain, the occasional love bite or hicky is okay with him, but i think he just can't really wrap his head around why you would want to hurt him during sex in the first place, after all he'd never hurt you <3

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): art could 100% go both ways, eating you out pretty much gets him off too (you can't count the number of times he's came in his pants just eating you out), but the feeling of your hot mouth on him is as close to heaven as he thinks he'll ever get <3

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): at the start, art goes slow and deep, really angling his hips to find that soft and squishy part in you that makes you scream. once he gets closer to his orgasm.. it's like he's in his own world, he doesn't even really pull out to thrust anymore, mostly just humping into you faster and faster until he does one last push of his hips to get his balls as snug as they can be against you when he cums <3

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): art doesn't like quickies, he prefers to do all the romantic parts of sex, like kissing, making out, foreplay etc. you can't really do that in a quickie, it leaves him feeling unsatisfied <3

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): in any part of his life, art likes for others to take the lead and make decisions, so you'd have to be the one to bring something up, and you'd really have to encourage him to be honest, because it's in his nature to say yes to everything in order to please you, even if he maybe doesn't want to do something <3

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): art is completely drained after one round, he just gets so overstimulated and sensitive after that it would just be painful to go again, he'll totally eat you out after sex though, if you're still not satisfied <3

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): i firmly believe that patrick got art a fleshlight for his birthday one year and.. art didn't leave his room for a week. but once he has you, he doesn't really see the need for toys for himself, and it would take a little bit for him to see your toys as partners instead of competitors <3

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): art is not a teaser at all, i mean he will get on his knees for you at any time, especially during sex, so he's never be able to tease you about something since he's just as eager as you are <3

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): like i said before, art is loud. he moans, whines, pants, every noise under the sun. "mmmf.. more.. more" "fuck 'm gonna melt you're so warm" "'s feels so good" "k-keep squeezing me like that.." "fuck 'm close.. please- please keep going" "i wanna cum.. i needa cum for you.." <3

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): as a birthday present, patrick got art a pack on flavoured condoms but art had no one to use them with so art just fast tested them by himself 😭 <3

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): i think that art is average thickness, maybe a little on the long side, like 6.5 inches, nothing too uncomfortable. a cute pink tip that drools pre and gets almost purple when he's about to cum.. and pretty round balls that slap deliciously against you and feel great to suck on <3

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): art is horny 99.999% percent of the time, he just can't help himself. but for art, horny doesn't necessarily mean he wants to have sex with you, it just means that he wants to be close to you, i mean he gets a boner every time you're around, so it's just his way of saying i love you <3

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): art gets extremely tired after sex, if he could just stay inside you after sex and go right to sleep he absolutely would. but he's responsible.. so he cleans up, forces you to go pee and then presses his face into your chest and is out like a light in approximately 5 minutes <3

[bluejutdae]

• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Felix x you

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Seungmin | Jeongin

genre: romance, best friend to lovers

warnings: none, except that i am not satisfied at all with this but I’ve read it so many times I’m starting to hate it. I might edit heavily later

The moment you park outside the restaurant Lixie is in, you press the call button. Faking an emergency is not too hard, you talk about a friend getting injured and at the hospital, exaggerating your tone and almost making Felix laugh.

He’s out in less than five minutes. Under his bright smile there’s something you can’t decipher. He gets in your car and just his presence makes you happy. Everyone loves Felix, and you’re not immune to his charm either. He’s always kind, generous, sweet and funny. You’re really lucky to have him in your life.

“Ice cream?”

“Yes, please.” It’s so funny to hear his deep voice in such a childish tone.

You don’t press for answers about his date during the drive to your favorite ice cream place, you put on some music and sing loudly with him. Save for that indecipherable look in his eyes, he seems pretty normal.

You take your ice creams and decide to take a walk on the riverside. The wind is pretty chill, but neither of you mind too much. It’s him who brings up the date he was on.

“The date… it was like a blind date. But I didn’t know it was a date until it was too late.”

“Uh- what?” It doesn’t make sense: how did he manage to go on a date without knowing?

“Hannie.” Yeah, maybe it makes sense. Jisung means well, but most of the time the execution is, at best, messy.

“How did he get you?”

“He begged me to go on a double date on the premise it was just because this girl he wanted to go out with was wary of going out alone with him so she’d bring a friend with, but we were supposed to be just wingmen. Or so he told me.”

He licks his ice cream and shakes his head.

“About 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet he called and told me it was a lie and it was a blind date…”

You’re not sure as to what to say. It is very on brand for Jisung, but you can also understand how frustrating it can be for Felix. He’s a sweetheart, he must have felt guilty for having unwillingly misled the girl.

“I couldn’t just leave and stand her up. She knew nothing about the lie, so it wasn't her fault.”

“Was she nice, at least?”

He nods, but he seems almost distracted. “She was nice. Pretty and funny, to be honest.”

“Why didn’t you stay, then?”

He slows down to a stop, and the moment you notice you turn around to look at him, a question on your face. He cleans his mouth with the small napkin and exhales with a small grimace.

“Lix?”

“Because I like you. And I’m not interested in other girls.”

He likes you. Felix likes you. And not in a friendly way. In a like like way. You weren’t expecting that.

“I-“ you start, but you don’t know how to continue that sentence. What do you say to your best friend who just said he likes you? Do you even like him? You’ve always been pretty good at keeping your feelings in check, so after knowing him, when it was clear you were headed towards just being friends, that’s what you set your mind -and your heart- to. He’s your friend, and you didn’t even ever consider more.

“I’m sorry. I’ve kept it from you for a while but I couldn’t anymore. That’s why Jisung insisted on this date. He was trying to distract me.” He turns slightly to watch at the river flowing fast but quietly. “Things don't have to change. If you don’t feel the same it’s okay, but I’d like to stay friends if you’re okay with that. I don’t wanna lose you.”

The idea of Felix losing you is ridiculous to you, nothing is ever gonna make you distance yourself from him. You try to tell him so by hugging him. “Lixie, we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

You speak into his jacket, and maybe it’s easier this way.

“I thought we were only meant to be friends, so I didn’t even consider looking at you in a different way.” You can feel him tense under your hug. “Wait, wait, listen to me please.” Still hugging him you try to look at him, a smile on your lips. He’s your best friend, he’s the best person you’ve ever met. Being liked by him is an honor, and if you think about it, trying to be something more it’s not something that you hate.

“You’re my best friend, Lix. You know I love you, and I think you’re perfect. I never let myself think about you like that, but I know that if I give it a chance, it’d be so easy to fall in love with you romantically.”

“You don’t have to make yourself like me.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d be lucky to love you. Give me a chance?”

He’s smiling now, and he’s so so pretty like this. He’s always pretty, you tell him constantly, but when he smiles it’s his best look.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure Lixie. Let me take you out on a date? I promise to spoil you…”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?”

“It’s okay. You can ask next time.” You kiss him on his cheek and hold his hand, making him resume your stroll.

He really is easy to love, and not even a month later you ask yourself how you ever managed not to be head over heels in love with your best friend boyfriend.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Brother's Best Friend - Part 11

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Fair warning: I didn't have much time this week so this was a bit rushed and definitely not my best piece of work, but I really wanted to do at least *something* for the holidays!

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: New Years Eve party, banter, fluff fluff fluff

WC: ~2300

Part 1 | Masterlist

“So,” Bradley starts slowly, drawing out a suspenseful silence with a smirk as he butters his toast. “I met study group guy.”

You look up from your plate in alarm, your fork halfway to your mouth, and awkwardly meet your brother’s gaze.

Jake, who’s just set his food down to your left, picks his coffee back up, ready to make a quick exit.

“Uh, where?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but you’re so nervous that your voice wavers.

“Here,” Bradley replies with a grin as he makes his way to the table. “He came by to see how your exam went.”

“Oh?” You gulp anxiously.

“How considerate of him,” Jake notes moodily, setting his coffee back down and giving you a look.

“I agree.” Bradley sits down. “I think he wanted to compare study strategies,” he continues, then clears his throat. “Since the two of you didn’t end up studying together.”

Jake’s eyes go wide as he lets out a feigned gasp. “You didn’t?”

You give Jake an annoyed look and then glance back at your brother who is watching you with a pair of raised eyebrows. “Yeah,” you nod, “about that. Umm, the thing is…”

“You lied?” Jake brings a hand to his chest as though this revelation continues to shock him.

You glare at him irritably. “Partly.”

“Which part?” Bradley enquires, biting into his toast.

You sigh. “The part about study group guy.”

Bradley grimaces. “Why?”

“Yeah,” Jake chimes in, finally taking a seat. “Why?”

“Because I obviously made the wrong decision studying at home,” you retort, eyeing Jake bitterly. “And I just needed somebody to blame.”

Jake watches you cautiously, likely wondering if you indeed think you’ve made a mistake. Good.

“So, you bombed your midterm, big deal.” Bradley waves a hand. “We wouldn’t judge you. Guess that means he won’t be attending tonight’s party.”

You purse your lips. “Nope,” you confirm. “I’ll be all alone.”

Jake tries to catch your gaze as you rise from the table. “We’ll be here.”

“Aren’t you gonna bring your girl?” Bradley asks.

“Nah.” Jake waves a hand.

“Why not?”

Jake eyes you pointedly. “Not really sure where we stand, to be honest.”

You gasp theatrically. “Oh dear! Trouble in paradise?”

Jake throws you a flat look and grumbles, “Well, she’s sort of hard to read at times.”

“Because you’re illiterate?” you retort.

Bradley snorts while Jake scoffs in offence. “Dump her!” Bradley cries as you bring your dishes to the sink. “Life’s too short for mysteries.”

Jake sighs. “She does love to keep me guessing.”

Bradley shakes his head in disapproval after taking his last bite. “She’s playing games with you, man. It’s not worth it.” He gets up and follows you to the sink. “How ‘bout you? You need a date for tonight?”

“Huh?” you say in surprise, having been under the impression that your turn under the microscope was over.

“Remember that dude you met at the Hard Deck last summer? The one you said was ‘so hot’” – Bradley visibly shudders – “I just found out that he’s into you.”

“What dude?” Jake asks abruptly, his posture instantly going rigid.

“The one from 22,” Bradley clarifies. “The backseater. Forgot his name.”

“The douche from Michigan?” Jake makes a face and quickly rises from the table. “You think he’s hot?” he asks you incredulously.

Before you have a chance to respond, Bradley continues. “Apparently he ran into you last week at the café?”

You blink between Bradley and Jake as the latter approaches. While it’s true that you saw one of Bradley’s colleagues the previous week, you’ve since forgotten all about that encounter, because the very next day was when Jake had finally made his move. You start to back out of the kitchen but both Bradley and Jake follow you out. “I have some errands to run,” you say quickly.

“Nothing’s open,” Jake reminds you.

“Do you want me to invite him tonight or not?” Bradley asks, already scrolling through his contacts.

Jake elbows Bradley aggressively. “You’re seriously trying to get your sister laid?”

Bradley cringes. “Dude! Don’t go there!”

Jake stares at Bradley. “What do you think is gonna happen?”

You scoff at Jake incredulously. “Excuse me?”

Jake turns to look at you and places his hands on his hips with an impatient exhale. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I just don’t want her to be alone on New Years!” Bradley exclaims, still looking down at his phone.

“She’s not gonna be!” Jake cries desperately.

“I don’t want the date, Bradley,” you say, putting on your shoes despite having absolutely nowhere to go.

“Why not?” Bradley enquires.

“I just don’t. I’m fine with being alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Jake repeats, the frustration in his voice noticeably mounting.

“I thought you liked him,” Bradley says, slightly deflated. Clearly, he assumed that he was doing you a favor.

“I don’t even know him,” you say. “I just thought he was good-looking, that’s all.”

Jake makes a face. “He’s not.”

You roll your eyes. “Appearance is subjective.”

Jake stubbornly shakes his head but makes no further comment.

“Okay, so why not give him a chance?” Bradley presses. “It’s not like you’re seeing someone. Right?”

You give Jake a quick glance before conducting a thorough examination of your own shoes. “Well, kind of.”

“Kind of?” Jake asks, slightly panicked.

You continue studying your feet. “I think.”

“Who is he? What’s he like?” Bradley asks.

“Uh,” you stall, “he’s alright.”

Jake lets out a muffled cry. “Alright?” he asks and you try not to wince at his utterly obvious outrage.

Meanwhile, Bradley raises an eyebrow. “Wow,” he says wryly. “Sounds promising.”

“What else?” Jake says quickly.

You look up at him in disbelief. “Occasionally aggravating.”

Bradley appears puzzled. “Why are you with this guy?”

Jake squares his shoulders. “He must be extremely handsome.”

Bradley looks back at you. “Is he?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s cute.”

“Cute?!” Jake exclaims.

Bradley laughs. “I really think you should give my guy a try.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest and stands up taller. “I’m sure there’s more to this guy than just… his looks.” He’s blatantly searching your face now, as if Bradley isn’t even present.

You start to nervously fix your hair in the mirror at the front door. “I’m not interested in your guy, Bradley.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” You sigh resignedly while Jake watches your reflection. “I… I like my guy.”

Jake stares at your face in the mirror as if this is news to him. Then, his mouth slips momentarily into a smile before he sucks in his cheeks to hide it.

Bradley grimaces. “Why?”

“Because, he’s…” another reluctant sigh, “…he’s a good guy.”

“That’s kind of vague,” Jake comments, still trying to suppress a grin.

You shoot him a glare while Bradley chuckles. Then, he says, “Alright, fine. Maybe in a couple of weeks when you’re single again.”

Jake looks at Bradley sharply. “Why would she be single again?”

“Come on, when was the last time my sister liked a guy enough to stay with him long-term? She finds something wrong with everyone she dates.”

Jake shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Maybe this one will stick.”

“Doubt it.” Bradley shrugs.

“This one’s different, Bradley,” you say quietly, turning to face them again.

Jake looks back at you. “He is?”

“How so?” Bradley asks.

You pause, hesitant to reveal the truth. “He… makes me feel…”

Bradley watches you dubiously. “Pretty?”

Jake also takes a stab: “Aroused?”

You let out a weary sigh and lock eyes with Jake. “Safe.”

He stares at you with a stunned expression while Bradley nods approvingly.

“Happy,” you continue.

This time, Jake doesn’t hide his smile, but Bradley raises his eyebrows as though your response has surprised him.

“Strong,” you say.

“Wow,” Bradley mutters.

Jake lowers his gaze with a grin, but you decide to add, “And aroused, I mean –”

“Oh god!” Bradley exclaims.

Jake chuckles, glancing up at you again.

Bradley shakes his head. “I get it, you’re in love. But, Seresin – I just remembered: I’ve got the perfect girl for you!” He holds up his phone, beaming.

…

Bradley decides to invite the perfect girl just in case because he can see how much his dear friend has suffered at the hands of his mysterious lover. And the perfect girl just happens to be Jake Seresin’s exact type. You try to ignore her flirtatious behavior while Bradley all but pushes Jake in her direction. Your brother seems so keen to set Jake up, you start to wonder what his vested interest might be.

There are enough people in attendance that you can watch Jake without worrying about anyone noticing that you’re staring. So, you pour yourself a fourth martini and head back into the living room to see what your brother’s best friend is up to. You barely make it past the couch, however, when someone you’ve only met once in your life takes your hand and starts encouraging you to spin under his arm.

You glance over at Jake, whose date is also trying to get him to dance. Taking a sizeable gulp of your drink, you follow through with the spin and smile uncomfortably at your new dance partner. The room is bustling because the ball is about to drop and everyone has gathered for the countdown, so you’re forced to crane your neck every so often in order to check on Jake.

He notices your new friend right away, locking eyes with you despite his own supposed date trying to monopolize his attention. You wish you could steal a moment with him when the new year arrives, but Bradley would notice his friend’s absence in a heartbeat considering he’s been tailing Jake all night, making sure that he was having a good time.

When the champagne flutes start making their rounds and the crowd erupts in an enthusiastic countdown, however, Jake separates from his friends and starts making his way through the bodies toward you. He nods his head in the direction of the hall before he’s even come near you, inviting you to join him. But you glance back at Bradley and see that he is already searching for Jake in the crowd that’s suddenly doubled in size as everyone has made their way into the living room.

You shake your head at Jake regrettably. The last thing you need is for the year to start with Bradley walking in on the two of you making out.

Jake gestures more vigorously with his head, urging you to follow and, when you refuse, he moves closer and reaches out to grab your hand. You don’t resist when he pulls you in and, before you can check to see if Bradley has finally given up his search, the clock strikes midnight, and Jake takes your face in his hands and kisses you right there in the middle of the living room amidst the explosion of cheers that welcome the new year.

You hope there is enough commotion in your vicinity to obscure the way Jake’s hands slide sensually down to your neck and then take your shoulders as he steers you through the crowd out of the room, his lips avidly devouring yours the entire time. Somehow, the two of you make it out without even looking up and, once you’re more or less alone, Jake mutters, “Your brother is getting real fucking annoying.”

You chuckle as he plants kisses along your jawline. The two of you are still moving through the house, into the darkness of the entry hall. “He’s been extra involved today,” you agree.

“He’s been fucking annoying,” Jake repeats, sucking on the side of your neck as you come to a halt in the foyer and he wraps his arms around you.

“He’s your best friend,” you remind him.

Jake presses you gently against the front door and licks your earlobe, whispering, “Who the fuck were you dancing with?” You giggle and feel his lips spread into a smile against your skin. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asks, and you feel his tongue on your ear again. “You think it’s funny that I had to actively restrain myself from socking him?”

“What about you?” you say, still laughing. “You were with that girl all night!”

Jake whimpers into your neck and his hold on you tightens. “All I wanted was this.” You close your eyes when his mouth finds yours once more. “My new year’s resolution is that I’m never gonna stop kissing you,” he mutters between pecks to your lips.

You giggle again and then sigh, slightly pushing him away. “What are we going to do?”

“I just told you what I’m going to do,” he says, going in for another kiss.

You turn your head and he ends up kissing your cheek. “This is how we’re going to spend the new year? Sneaking around? Hiding in dark corners?”

Jake exhales slowly, resting his forehead on your temple. “I’m going to tell him,” he assures you.

“What are you going to tell him?” you ask, hoping that this question might lead Jake to reveal the nature of your relationship as he sees it.

He leans away from you and looks you in the eye. “That I make you feel aroused, of course.” Your jaw drops in outrage and you let out a yelp that quickly turns into a cackle. Jake is grinning widely, pleased with the effectiveness of his joke. Then, he draws you closer and his face changes shape. He squares his jaw and you see the evidence of a nervous gulp in the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I’m gonna tell him that you’re the girl I told him about,” he says, his tone low but steady. You gaze at him in silence, afraid to move a muscle lest he reconsider the sudden sincerity of his words. “The one I can’t stop talking about.” He swallows again. “The one I’ve been obsessing over.” He pauses to study your reaction as though he’s afraid he might be scaring you off. “The one that I – uh” – he takes a deep breath and then lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. He takes your hands in his and weaves his fingers through yours, tugging you forward until his lips connect with the tip of your nose. “Oh god, Baby B,” he says, leaning into you affectionately. “I should probably stop talking now.”

*That's all folks! Happy New Year!*

Read Part 12

Hangman Tag List:

A/N: The rest of the list will be in the comments. As always, let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore.

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@wkndwlff

@thefandomimagines

@lunamoonbby

@xoxabs88xox

@Elenavampire21

@desert-fern

@averyhotchner

@Topguncultleader

@teacupsandtopgun

@lilyevanswhore

@sarcasm-n-insomnia

@avengers-fixation

@malindacath

@maddievevo

@widemiffyhappy

@dempy

@djs8891

@pono-pura-vida

@phoenix1388

@teaminator

@rascallyrascals

@kmc1989

@drakelover78

@hangmanscoming

@topgun-imagines

@thedroneranger

@joaquinwhorres

@abaker74

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@mygyn

@leigh70

@marriinachoo

@delicatetrashtree

@kembry107

@sydneejean

@alana4610

@misconceptionmistress

@hookslove1592

@itsmytimetoodream

@grxcisxhy-wp

@oliviasph

@buckysteveloki-me

@theweekndhistorybook

@books-are-escapes

@imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog

@maeleeme

[bi-writes]

bestfriend!rooommate!simon finds out you've been lying.

more bff!roommate!simon (part 8/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, mean!simon (verbally), size kink (simon can move the reader easily, described as much bigger), praise kink, the mask doesn't come off, oral (m!receiving), fem!receiving touching, cumplay, soft!dom!simon, reader uses simon to get herself off (because there is no universe in which simon doesn't return his girl's favor), pet names (including pet and kitty)

you lied.

if simon had his gloves off, his knuckles would be stark white from how hard he was gripping the mail in his hands.

neither of you had checked your mailbox in a while--simon had only returned a few days ago from the harsh winter of northern russia after weeks away, and you seemingly had been busy with work. so busy, simon noticed very quickly, that you spent morning to late at night in your red and white uniform, coming home in the dead of night just to crash and do it all again the next morning.

now he held all the letters in his hand. stacks of them, with angry red stamps bleeding into the white of the envelopes.

NOTICE

WARNING

PAST DUE

LAST NOTICE

he stopped breathing for a moment. he spread the letters out on the table, flipping through each of them. he didn't open them, of course but these were all your bills. cell phone, last month's half of the rent, credit cards, your name written on the back and ugly red warnings pasted over it.

simon had spoken to you while he was gone. he had called you once, twice at least, and all he remembered was your soft voice telling him you missed him, to be careful, that you screwed up a new cookie recipe that you promised you would perfect before he got home.

you hadn't said a thing. your voice had been even and gentle as always. your voice had been comforting, saying only encouraging words. if simon was honest, your voice put him at ease; you always told him something to calm him, something to uplift him.

"i'm so proud of you, simon."

"i hate that you're gone, but there's no one else that could do what you do."

"um...hah...love you. be careful."

you hadn't said a word. your voice didn't reveal an ounce of the stress and the weight that must've been hanging over your head. there was no falter in your words, no strain as you spoke. just pretty, perfect, beautiful you, easing simon's demons while you battled some of your own.

simon crumpled one of the envelopes in his hands. it was thick with papers, but he still forced it into a ball, tossing it back onto the table angrily. he gripped the edge of the table, white knuckling it until he heard the key in the lock.

it was quiet as you came inside. you shut the door and locked it behind you, setting down your bag and taking off your jacket. it was morning; you had worked the night shift. your eyes were drawn low, tired and a dull. you said nothing as you toed off your shoes, letting your sneakers settle under the table. it was then that you noticed simon just sitting there, still, with his hands folded in front of him.

and all of your bills scattered around him.

you sucked in a shaky breath, looking up into his eyes. they were trained low, on the letters surrounding him, but he glared, boring a whole through them. he didn't know where to focus his anger; you were precious, you could do no wrong, you were soft and warm and his, and it wasn't your fault that everything was so expensive, that you were struggling.

but it was your fault that you hadn't said a thing--that you hadn't asked for help.

"simon, i...i-i can explain."

"no. y'r not gonna talk, luv." you had never heard his voice this way. so low and gravelly, an eerie lilt to it that reeked of disappointment and somehow betrayal. "y'r gonna sit down. now."

simon roughly pulled the chair from beside him out, an unspoken command for you to take a seat. your bottom lip trembled as you slumped into the chair, watery eyes avoiding his.

"how long?"

"simon--"

you jumped as he slammed a hand down on the table. the entirety of it shook, the papers ruffling and the dishes clattering loudly.

"a few months! a-a few months, just--"

"no!" simon snapped. "y'lied to me. y'lied to me! i asked! how many times have i asked?! how many times have i looked you in the fuckin' eye and asked you if everythin' was in order, how many fuckin' times?!"

you couldn't keep it in. the tears were hot, running down your cheeks and putting salt on your lips and a dryness in your throat. you were embarrassed. embarrassed that you needed help, ashamed that you were being scolded like a child, afraid of his loud voice and his terrible anger and the way he looked at you. when you decided to live together, you weren't meant to be his burden. you didn't intend to be his problem.

"i-i'm sorry, simon--i'm sorry..." you met his eyes. "i'm taking extra shifts. i-i'm gonna pay the bills, i-i'm gonna make it right, i-i swear--"

"is that what you think this is?"

he narrowed his eyes at you, two dark slits, and then as if a switch flipped, it was gone. his face softened, his eyes widening, and the tension seemed to dissipate just enough to let you breathe a little easier. you couldn't decipher this change, and you couldn't read what was in his eyes, not this time. all you could was sit there and try not to let your cries make any sound.

"do y'think i'm angry because y'didn't pay? is that what y'think?"

you shook your head, shrugging, not understanding his question.

"what...what other reason is there, s-simon?" you hiccuped. "i screwed..." more tears, they wouldn't stop falling, "i-i screwed up, simon, i-i'm so sorry, i-i--"

you jumped when his chair screeched against the floor. he stood up fast, taking a step to round the table to crouch beside your chair. he looked up at you, making himself smaller, and you looked down.

"simon, i'm sorry--"

"stop! stop fuckin' apologizing, fuck," simon interrupted you. his voice was gentle, trying not to scare you, and you closed your mouth, taking in deep, shaking breaths to try and center yourself. "'m angry because you didn't talk to me, luv--" your face fell when he reached up, two gloved hands cupping your puffy cheeks, "--why didn't you say anything? why didn't you tell me? why didn't you ask me for help?"

you sniffled, reaching up and caressing his wrists gently. you played with the edges of his gloves, your fingers skimming the hem of his sleeves and just barely teasing the bare skin under it.

"simon...how could i?" you asked, as if it was obvious. "after everything that's happened...after everything we've been through...h-how could i ask that of you?" "how could you not?" simon spit back, and when you tried to pull away, he tightened his grip on your cheeks. "no, no--look at me--" he rose up on his knees, pressing your forehead to his, "look at me."

your expression was pained, struggling to do as he asked, but eventually your eyes fluttered, meeting his own, and he grunted as he gripped the back of your neck and held you there.

nowhere to go. nowhere to run. no one else.

"y'r not my problem. not my burden," he muttered. "y'r m'responsibility. mine to take care of."

"i-i don't want you to have to do that--"

"what the fuck do y'think this is?" he breathed. "what we have, what this is, this is forever, has that not gotten through y'r bloody head?" you whimpered when he shook you a little, his hand in your hair as he pulled it tight. "y'r as good as mine. not up for discussion."

you swallowed hard as his hands came down, wiping the tears off your face. he brushed your hair back and away, so he could see you, and you smiled at him sadly, eyes glossy and bright.

"'m gonna take care of the flat from now on, yeah?" simon murmured. "'m gonna take care of everything."

your body visibly relaxed. your shoulders fell, your body sinking a little more into the chair, and there was something sweet in your eyes--something hopeful. simon's tone was definite, and there was no room for arguing. you nodded finally, leaning in slowly, pressing a delicate kiss to where his lips would be under the mask. his thumb swiped over your cheek, falling to trace the line of your jaw, and then you both closed your eyes at the same time.

there was an understanding here. it was as if simon was washing you clean--something refreshing and warm and gentle running down the length of you, rinsing whatever was hurting you right down some sort of sickening void that had gripped you so tightly. and he did it so easily--he did it without even blinking.

and it was easy. simon never hesitated with you. his money rotted in an account anyways--it sat and stared at him, reminding him of the kind of hell he had gone through just to get it. it reminded him of the half of him that was someone, the half of him that he hated, the half of his being that came from a wretched, horrid, terrifying thing that manifested itself somewhere in his blood.

simon was half of something foul, and maybe he couldn't make up for the part of him that he didn't think was human, but he could make up for this, make up for you, make up for whatever half of you had left you here. because that was what you deserved--you deserved to be taken care of, you deserved not to worry, you deserved to sleep in soft sheets and eat until your belly was full and smile so much that your cheeks ached, and if simon had to become someone else just to give it to you, if simon had to die and come back again, then that was exactly what he would do.

simon had died once already. simon had seen it--seen how empty and unfulfilling and quiet it had been. simon had seen another side, and you didn't belong there. you belonged somewhere warm. somewhere a little noisy, a little bright, familiar.

it hadn't always been this way. when simon first met you, it hadn't been a good day--simon wore bruises, and you wore blood, and it was in that instant moment of understanding that made it clear you would be bound forever.

something invisible threaded you together. and simon had pulled himself out of his early grave, and after he had done it, you were the only thing that remained. and he hated himself--he hated himself for thanking some unspoken thing, because his entire family was gone, but you weren't gone, you were still here, there was still sunlight in your eyes and laughter in your voice and you were still warm.

it should've tasted sour to be grateful for it. he wanted to hate himself for this feeling. he deserved to die again and not return, but then he wouldn't get to see you anymore, and the selfish part of him, the other half of him, would never give you up willingly.

this love was visceral. this love was going to kill him. he was going to die with you on his mind, but maybe that would be the only thing worth really dying for.

because there you are. big, pretty eyes gazing up at him--fuck, why does she look at me like that?

why does she look at me like i mean something?

why isn't she afraid?

why can't i push her away?

what the fuck is wrong with me?

his beautiful girl. his pretty little roommate. the woman with flowers for eyes and silk as skin and a mind filled with starlight. the sweetheart pushing him to sit, forcing him backwards, getting on her knees in between his legs. and then her hands were on his thighs, sliding up against the rough denim as she laid one side of her face against it, those petals in her eyes trained on the way that his pants seemed to get tighter with every drag of her delicate fingers up his thighs.

and then she was pushing up his hoodie, exposing the relaxed muscle of his stomach, and then she was kissing it. soft lips warming the solid middle of him, a knowing smile growing on her face as she felt him twitch and jump and grunt. and then those beautiful eyes were looking back up at him, her neck tilted back as she undid his jeans and nestled the hem of them just low enough for her to reach in and fuck--

you knew simon was beautiful everywhere. you knew that there was no part of him that wasn't perfect. you couldn't remember being particularly religious, but kneeling in front of him felt like devotion--and you had much to confess.

he was thick, heavy, a weight in your hand that had you drooling without so much as seeing him. you were looking at the red tip of him with eyes half-lidded, and it took everything in you not to take him all at once. but this was simon, this was your version of perfect, and you needed to show simon how much you felt because words were not enough.

words would never be enough.

you started slow. you dipped your head, your eyes flicking up to watch him as you caressed the base of him with a wet kiss. you squeezed your legs together when you noticed his dark eyes roll back into his head for a second, a pained, pleasured reaction, and then you did it again.

a soft lick, the edge of your tongue sliding over a protruding vein on the underside of his length, and you closed your own eyes for a moment to revel in the deep groan that simon uttered. you sighed deeply, keeping your thighs squeezed together to relieve the sudden ache between them, before flattening your tongue and guiding it up his length. simon cursed under his breath, his hands gripping his thighs tight--but one of his hands flew to the back of your head when your greedy little mouth sucked the tip of him into your mouth.

you moaned softly, tasting the edge of him, something so simon and pleasant. a little precum, warm, flowing onto your tongue. you whimpered when you felt his fingers tangle into your hair, gripping you for stability as you sucked him in.

"christ, luv--" just the sound of him so pleased was enough to have you dripping, "fuck--'s so good, 's perfect--"

she was so beautiful. she was perfect. of course she would be good at sucking him off, of course she would have the prettiest tongue and the warmest mouth, and of course she would have one hand wrapping around the base of him as the other slipped between her legs--

"fuck--y'r gettin' off on this, yeah?" he grunted, his eyes flashing with something dark. "'f course you are, such a good girl--"

good girl, good girl, i'm a good girl--

just as slow as it began, as quick as you became. one moment you were cool, composed, watching simon's eyes and listening to his voice as you tried to memorize what pleasure sounded like when it came from him, and the next moment you were sliding him further into your mouth, drool dripping down your jaw as precum spread across your teeth. he was so big--so much to take, but the strain in your jaw tomorrow would have to be a welcome side effect to making lieutenant simon riley cum down your throat.

so sloppy, what a mess you were making. simon's hand now cupped the side of your head, your hair in some makeshift updo as he guided you along his length. the sounds were filthy--soft, slobbering noises as you took simon just a little further down your throat, your tongue being careful to tease the slit of him, slipping between the fold of it to illicit the most gorgeous of moans out of him.

"fuckin' hell--the mouth of a fuckin' angel--"

"such a pretty girl...such a pretty sight...makin' such a mess, sweetheart..."

"y'like it, yeah? y'like it...y'r so pretty...s'pretty, luv, nnngh--th's it, just like that--"

and now you were bouncing pathetically onto your hand. you pressed your hand into the floor, trapping your thighs over it as you tried desperately to grind down on something as you sucked warmly on simon's length. just as you let out a frustrated whine, simon's boot knocked your hand out of the way, slipping the steel toe of it right there, right--oh!

you cried out as the tip of his boot pushed right up against your cunt. the perfect spot, right against your aching clit, because simon never missed--simon always hit his target, whether it was between the eyes of some muppet who had his gun aimed at johnny or exactly where to touch his girl to make her drool. and drool she did--with her mouth stuffed full of him, with her slick wetting her thighs, with that look in her eyes that could make any man lose his fucking mind.

and simon was losing it, he was crazy. he soothed the back of your neck, grunting and hissing and wetting the fabric of his mask with the way he spat and cursed for you. but how could he help himself? the most beautiful girl in the world was on her knees, looking at him like she was at the alter. confessing her sins, receiving her absolution, taking every bit of it like the good girl she was, is.

he was so pretty. he tasted so good. you could only see his eyes, but it was more than enough, you didn't need anything more. the way he scrunched them open and shut, the low drawl of his voice as he said your name--he was perfect. his cock filled your mouth so nicely; he was using you, but you didn't feel used.

you wanted this. you wanted him. you wanted him to put you between his legs, wanted him to finally feel something other than that sick, twisted ache in his bones.

you lifted your hand, the one that had been buried between your thighs, and you cupped the underside of him with them. the wet, sticky warmth of your fingers had simon choking on a breath, hissing when you began to work the length of him that you couldn't fit in your mouth.

"jesus fuckin' christ--!"

his chest was heaving, rising up and down as he scratched at your scalp and cupped the underside of your jaw. then he bent low, smoothing a gloved hand down your throat, needing to feel the way it constricted, the way you swallowed, the feel of your skin and the vibrations as you whimpered and moaned around the thick of him.

you were suckling so sweetly, letting pools of drool and precum slip past your lips and drip along your chin, your hands, against his boot. simon was getting close--you could tell by the way he tugged on your hair and the faltering of his breaths. and he was talking--talking so much, blubbering.

"aye, sweetheart--th's it..."

"fuckin' hell...nnnghh...feel like bloody heaven..."

"...see you in m'dreams, luv...aghh! fuck--fuck, fuck, fuck--"

you didn't think there was anything more attractive than watching simon lose control. but you weren't doing much better. as you sucked the salt from his cock, you slid your hips over his boot to relieve the ache between your thighs even just a little. you thought maybe it was a pathetic sight, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. you fit your cunt right up against him, nestling the tip of his toes against your clit so you could rock back and forth, soaking the leather with you.

simon grunted, chuckling a bit to himself as you watched you suck a little harder, a little sloppier, move your hips a little messier. you were like a sweet, doe-eyed puppy--all big eyes and soft mewls and nothing inside your head except suck, suck, suck--

you whined when he came into your mouth. you held out your tongue, massaging the middle of his cock as he dripped along your mouth, your lips, under your tongue, against your chin. and like the messy little girl you were, you kept suckling on the tip until simon gripped you by the back of the head and lifted you up off the ground, grunting as he roughly manhandled you into his lap.

"little kitty can't help herself...what a fuckin' mouth on ya..."

and then his fingers were gathering the cum on your face and slipping it back into your mouth--just as the fingers on his other hand plunged inside of you.

he was deep, thick gloved fingers taking up even more space, stretching your pulsing, gummy cunt as you gripped his shoulders and cried. little tears coming down your face as you chased that blissful high, begging simon to give it, give it, you need it.

it didn't take much. just a few rough touches of your puffy clit, and you were soaking his gloves, whining as you pressed your cheek to his and mumbled how good he felt, how everything hurt so nice.

a pounding, aching thing that was gone in a matter of seconds, throwing you in a pleasure-drunk mood, with your head rest against his shoulder and your breaths coming out heavy and languid.

your eyes fluttered, but your vision was just clear enough that you could see simon lift the front of his mask. you caught the line of deep scar, something a healed and vicious against his pretty face. then it was gone, replaced by the sight of him slipping his gloved fingers into his mouth and sucking on them, pink tongue coming out to taste them as he slurped at the gooey mess you made on them.

you saw the slightest hint of a smirk before the fabric came back down again.

"'s alright, pet--" simon's voice was low, a drawl to it that made his accent a bit more pronounced. and just as your eyes fluttered shut completely--

"'m right here, kitty."

[writersdrug]

COD men period comfort? 🥺

The way my period started right as I finished this... also, I have Endometriosis, so I wrote this with the idea that periods are very heavy and painful for the reader, sometimes making them bedridden. Shit's rough 🙃

CoD Headcannons: Comforting You While You're on Your Period

Fluff, slight nsfw, mentions of cramps and blood, mentions of fingerings, no "period? What's that?" behavior, these men are all educated, mentions of food anxiety, female anatomy

Captain John Price

If this was a competition, Price would be the winner. He doesn't need to look at your tracker app to know it's around the corner, he recognizes the signs immediately. As soon as you begin to dissociate for more than a minute or two, accompanied by your grumbles of how you've been craving junk food lately, he knows it's coming.

He's very intuitive when it comes to your needs. He knows you'll want to call out of work the first few days, so he does it for you. That way, you won't be stressing over it the night before. He plugs in your heating pad (leaving the setting on off, for now), so it's ready when you need it. He fills your water bottle with cold water, he fills the nightstand drawer with iron and protein laden snacks, and he puts a fresh box of your preferred pain medication in there as well. The bathroom is stocked with pads/tampons, and he even makes sure that the remote to the telly is on the nightstand.

He forces you to stretch every morning. It's the one time he ignores your protests and drags you out of bed, insisting you would feel much better - and he was right every time. He'd have you sit with your feet pointed forwards, bending your back until you could touch your toes.

"Gonna join me, John?"

"Psh, you know I'd snap like a twig, love."

Then he'd have you on your hands and knees, kneeling beside you and slowly guiding you to stretch your arms and arch your back, keeping your bum in the air (let's be honest, he doesn't kneel behind you for this because he'd be keeping you in that position for a different reason). He'd have a hand on your lower back, whispering small praises as you groaned from the relief. Once you were in that position, convincing you to get up was another hassle.

He understands that you can have mood swings - he always reminds you that communication is best, and even if you aren't sure what you want, you should still talk to him. Let him know if you're feeling too overstimulated, if his presence is a bit too overbearing in that moment, or if you want him there - whether that's sitting in a chair next to the bath while you take a soak, his hand running over your hair, or if he's cradling you in bed, hands gently massaging your abdomen/lower back.

You feel a bit silly, sometimes - being treated like a porcelain doll. As you promised him you would, you communicate with John that you feel bad that he's pampering you so much, and that you can't exactly return the favour at the moment. He'd listen, never shushing you or interrupting you, and at the end of your venting, he'd assure you that not only is this his obligation as your partner, but it's also something he enjoys doing - looking after you when you need it most.

As for making it up? "We'll explore what options there are when you're feeling up t' it" (He's talking about ovulation week).

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You tell Gaz when your period is coming. He's not as intuitive as Price, but he appreciates that you let him know, and he helps you plan for the next few days. You go shopping together, stocking up on snacks, meds, and Liquid IV (Gaz had originally introduced you to it, and now it's an essential when you're on your period).

He once bought you a period massager that you found online. You thought it was the best invention ever, with both a massage and a heat setting, but it never could compare to Gaz's hands. You eventually ended up putting it on a shelf in the closet after telling him through tears, all while he massaged your stomach, that it felt like you were replacing him, and you hated it. You wanted to throw the damn thing away, but he convinced you that you might change your mind later.

Gaz treats this time of the month like it's the most normal thing in the world. Of course, he pampers you, giving you cuddles when you want them and helping you through the emotional shipwreck in your mind, but he knows you don't like feeling like you're helpless. So he does it all in the most nonchalant way possible. He'll play video games with you as the both of you lounge in bed; whenever you want a snack, he grabs one for himself (partially because you mentioned once that you don't like eating by yourself, partially because he's always hungry).

He refers to your period in different ways each time it comes around. "Is it shark week?" "I got you some more tampons, babe, for the ritual." Or, his favorite, when he sees you scowling at your period tracker app: "Ya got mad cow disease again, luv?"

He'll watch true crime with you per your request, but he's not thrilled about it. You've had to correct him multiple times that it's not about the killing, it's about the mystery of solving each murder that intrigues you. More often than not, you'll look up from where you're laying on his chest, and he'll be watching the telly with a grimace.

"What's wrong, Kyle?"

"It was the landlord - guy looks fishy, and his alibi is shit."

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

Johnny understands what a period is - he's a smart man. However, when it comes to your cravings and raging emotions, he's like a devil on your shoulder. If you thought you were impulsive during this time of the month, he only adds fuel to the fire.

He comes back after a trip to the grocery store, announcing that he purchased everything you need for the next few days. The "everything" in question? Crisps, wine, and candy (your favorite candy, sure, but not much chocolate). You don't have the heart to tell him that, while you enjoy all the snacks and alcohol he bought, it's not necessarily the best food for your period - although, the part of your brain that was craving it was thanking him over and over.

You would be lying on top of him on the sofa, the telly playing a show that had been neglected by the both of you. He'd be rubbing your lower back with one hand and massaging your scalp with the other, listening to you as you tearfully explained how much you missed your childhood family dog, a husky named Janet.

"- and she was so cuddly and protective- *sniff*- and she- did I tell you, she used to howl when I cried, like- like she was crying with me? God, I miss her-"

"Sweetheart, why don' we just get ye a pup, eh? A husky, just like Janet, and ye can both howl together whenever ye feel like it."

"No- *sniff*- no, Johnny, we shouldn't-"

"Why not? It'll keep ye company when ah'm away. Ah've always wanted a pup myself, y'know."

It really didn't take much more convincing than that. The next day, Johnny was walking into the flat, holding a husky pup cradled in one arm, and a bag of dog toys and food in the other. You had already forgotten his suggestion to get the dog, and would have scolded him for being so impulsive, but the cuteness aggression had already set in. You squealed and ran over to Johnny, crying happy tears between peppering his face with kisses and cooing at the puppy. He had the proudest smile on his face, seeing how much happier you looked compared to the day before.

Oh, and if you tell this man your breasts are sore? He's running across the room, fast enough to break the sound barrier, to offer you a helping hand (or two).

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon has to remind himself that, when you're on your period, you don't always think logically. He's extremely patient with you, but he isn't the best with words. Or, rather, he isn't well-versed in the backwards rationality that comes with your period.

"Simon, can we get Chinese?"

"Sure, luvie, if you want it."

"Will you eat some?"

"Honestly, 'm not really hungry. But we can get what you want."

"... no, I'm ok. Nevermind."

"Wha'? Why not?"

"I don't need it."

Simon still doesn't understand why you won't eat without him, but he knows not to question it. He does, however, order your favorite takeout anyways, and he'll feed it to you if you still insist that you don't want it. He may steal a bite or two if you let him.

Like every good partner, he understands what a period is, and he understands the pain and frustration it causes you. He's still never entirely sure of how to help you, and he often doubts that he's being helpful at all. But that's where his military experience came in clutch: you tell him what to do, and he does it. You want to cuddle? "Scoot over f' me, luv." You want time alone? No worries, he can do some of his own work, just shout if you need him. You're running low on tampons and medication? He'll drop whatever he's doing and run to the corner store for it.

Massage KING, and he doesn't even know it. He huffs and says you're just trying to flatter him when you tell him how good at it he is. He treats you like you're in a spa, too: he dims the lights, he makes you wear an eye mask, he'll turn on the fan because he knows you love the white noise... he'll kneel behind you as you lay on your stomach, and this man will deliver the most tender, slow, and soothing massage of your life. His hands are already so huge and warm, and he somehow flawlessly works you into a drooling puddle each time.

He can't lie: seeing you there, passed out and snoring, no longer complaining about your aches and pains, fills him with just as much pride as it does relief. He's happy you're feeling well enough to rest, and that he's the one to get you there. He'll slowly get up, covering your lower back with the heating blanket, before leaving to replenish your thermos with tea.

König

Whenever you mention that your period is coming soon, he always panics a little. König is a strong soldier, not bothered or phased by much. But when it comes to you, he hates knowing that you're in pain, and that he can't do anything to fix it (despite how often you assure him that he's helping).

This man goes all out. He fills the fridge with healthy, colorful fruits and vegetables, meat, and a pitcher of your favorite drink. He has your heating pad ready to go by your bedside, along with two thermoses, one of hot tea and one of ice-cold water. He sets up a small tray in the bathroom with tampons, pads, fresh underwear, and even a few pairs of shorts. He has a fan in the corner of the room, pointed at the bed and ready to go if you need it. He even takes off work for a few days - he refuses to leave your side when you're in pain.

Like Ghost, he likes being told what to do. If you ask him to turn on the fan, to turn off the lights, or to refill your thermos, he's up and doing it before you can finish your sentence. He hangs on your every word like it might be your last (you'd think with how he acts while you're on your period, you might be dying). He snuggles you every second you're in bed, and despite it being a bit warm, you don't mind the constant affection.

He cooks for you no less than twice daily, and this man can COOK. In no way, shape, or form does König skimp on seasonings and portion sizes when it comes to you. He carries you to the kitchen and sits you on the counter so he can keep an eye on you while he prepares you a hearty, nutritious meal (he needs to make sure you're eating well, schatz, but he'll let you scrounge for lunch, if that's what you really want). Sits with you at the dining table and holds your hand while the both of you eat, listening to you talk. If neither of you have anything to say, or if you're dissociating, he'll just sit and enjoy the silence with you, occasionally brushing your hair from your face and leaning over to kiss your cheek.

Sometimes, he'll do some of his work in bed with you, if he absolutely can't put it off any longer. You were once snuggled up to him, half asleep in the crook of his arm as he typed away on his laptop. He would occasionally rub his large hand over your lower stomach if he heard you groaning in pain from your cramps.

"Schnuki?"

"Mm?"

"Do you want me to finger you?"

That just about made you bolt upright like a rocket. "What?!"

He pointed to his screen. "Everyone says it makes you feel better, no?"

"König, um..." You didn't hate the idea, but didn't he? "I thought you were working?"

"C'mon, liebe-" he closed his computer and put it on the nightstand, rolling on top of you. "Relax for me, I'll make you feel good..."

Please just let this man take care of you and tell him he's doing a good job, it's all he wants.

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of Obsessive!johnny

(CW: extremely dubious consent; I’d go so far as to say straight non-con. No violence. Please be safe, beans! 💕)

It’s your own fault - or no. That’s a dangerous way of thinking it not your fault. But you got complacent. Got desensitized to that looming sense of danger, the threat hiding in the shadow of his eyes. That little voice in the back of your head became background noise, not the guide it used to be.

All it took was a slip of your carefully crafted mask understanding Johnny’s “love” for you. Just one careless comment, a tone too honest.

You don’t even remember what you said now. Just that the feverish light in his eyes changed instantly. Like a shift in sunlight through colored glass. What frightened you was how his expression changed, shut down hard. His jaw tensing, brows going deceptively smooth.

“Is all this not enough for you?” he asks, taking big, measured steps towards you.

You start backing up, heart tripping over itself. “That’s not-“

“How many ways do you need me to prove it, hm?” he asks. “I’ve apologized a hundred times, bonnie, haven’t I? Is that not enough for you? I’m still not worth it to you?”

You put your hands up, all your carefully crafted and scripted responses fleeing in the face of this new, unfamiliar Johnny. He’s - he’s angry at you. Not because of you, or for you, but at you.

“I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” he continues, low voice wavering with something frightening. “Do you know how hard it is, seeing you cry for a life that wasn’t good enough for you? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying?”

You swallow thickly, try to rally your scrambled thoughts. He just working himself up more and more and that voice that fell so quiet is screaming now. So loud it’s hard to make your mouth work.

“I-I know. I’m sorry,” you manage. “Im just… I lost my temper and said something I didn’t mean…”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, no, hen. I think you meant it.”

He up close to you now, barely a centimeter of space between your bodies. The heat of him is suffocating. You’ve never been so aware of how much bigger than you he is. It thrilled you when he’d loom over you at the bar, cocky confidence and easy smiles.

You meet his eyes.

And for a moment, he softens. You have the briefest golden flicker of hope.

And then he sighs. Deep and resigned. Your stomach flips.

“It’s my fault,” he mutters finally, shaking his head. “Haven’t been treating you right, have I?”

You don’t dare answer.

“Treating you like you’re one thing when you’re really everything.”

You open your mouth, try to speak, to reason with him. He just shushes you with a hand on your cheek, thumb pressing your lips closed.

“Always spoiling you like the princess you are, when sometimes you need to be treated like a slut.”

He jerk’s you around and shoves you onto the bed, plants a big hand between your shoulder blades and presses.

“Soap!”

“Hush up, baby, it’s alright. You don’t have to pretend to be all prim and proper,” he soothes, knocking your feet apart. “I don’t think any less of you for needing cock. Only natural.”

Your underwear rips like wet paper, accompanied by your high-pitched squeal of alarm. He makes a low, rough noise. Pure, animal lust. The fabric of his pants chafes against the backs of your thighs.

“Oh, there she is,” he purrs, “just like I thought.”

You cry out as rough fingers drag through your slit, gathering the slick you can’t believe is leaking from you.

“I’ve been so bad to you, bonnie, not treating you the way you need. No wonder you got all fussy and snappy.” The hazy thought that he might not he talking to you at all anymore burns through you. When you shift, trying to close your legs self-consciously, a sharp slap to your clit collapses your knees.

“We’re gonna set you right, babygirl,” he growls. “Won’t be able to worry your pretty little head anymore.”

He plunges two fingers into you without preamble. The stretch is vicious, but it doesn’t hurt. Not really. You’re too wet. Still, you scream - because Johnny’s spent so many hours playing with you, learning you, that he knows exactly where to press and curl and rub his fingers.

“Wait, wait,” you gasp, tears already collecting in your eyes because he’s being mean about it, twisting to grind his thumb against your clit. It’s too much, you’re not ready no matter what your body says. “Soap, don’t- ngh!”

“Gonna show you why you’re better off here. Right here. Gonna give this pretty cunt what it needs.”

The third finger is a stretch. You try to get away, try to crawl onto the bed to run, but he stomps a boot onto the chain around your ankle and flattens you to the mattress.

“Keep pretending if you want, baby,” he murmurs, “I know what you really need now.”

He’s withdrawing his fingers while you’re still pleading and babbling. You’re horrified to realize you don’t know if you want them back. It doesn’t matter though. Because Johnny’s cock is splitting you open before you can decide, thicker and longer than you’ve ever taken. He curses and groans as he pushes into you, inch by hot inch. Until you feel the fat leaking head tap at your cervix and he grinds, balls kissing your clit.

“T-too much!” you sob. “‘S too much!! Johnny, Johnny, please!”

Heat floods you as he shudders, hips jerking hard and rough. By your head, his fist is white-knuckled in the sheets.

“Did… did you just…?”

“Say my name again,” he snarls.

You blink wetly. “W-wha…?”

“Say. It. Again.” Each word punctuated by a brutal thrust. Something drips down your thigh.

“J-Johnny,” you keen, trying to beg for mercy.

“Jus’ like that.” He’s still hard. Still so fucking hard it’s like you’ve been edging him for hours. Like he didn’t just flood your poor pussy with cum.

“Been dreaming of you saying my name. Haven’t all this time,” he pants, rocking into you hard and fast. Any semblance of restraint is long gone. “Now I know why. Finally fuckin’ earned it. Gonna keep earnin’ it from now on.”

He fucks you so hard the bed leaves dents in the wall. Forces a hand beneath your pelvis to pinch your clit between two fingers and hurtles you shrieking into an orgasm. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause for a single beat. Just hitches your knee up onto the mattress and somehow fucks into your harder, faster, deeper. His fingers rub cruel circles into your oversensitive clit and you burn.

“No, no, wait, Johnny- ah! No, I’m gonna - it feels like-”

Wet heat gushes from you, spilling down your thighs, all over the bed and floor. You - you -

“Fuck, you squirted everywhere, good fuckin’ girl, princess.” He slows just a bit, presumably to appreciate the mess you’ve made. You’re too far gone on shock and awful pleasure to do more than sniffle and hiccup pathetically.

And then a death sentence.

“Do it again.”