#Hank has to hear about them

[leilohsstupidgaystuff]

Hank: You slept with Erik? Again?

Charles: I can explain.

Hank: I'm listening?

Charles: We were fighting.

Hank: And?

Charles: He called me an idiot.

Hank: ...

Charles: It was really hot.

[glfry]

Giggles hi my beautiful royal with identity issues

[Image ID in alt text]

[supernatural-bias]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐗-𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: charles xavier, erik lehnsherr, logan howlett, marie lebeau, and peter maximoff

↳ warnings: x-man type violence maybe? nothing much

↳ notes: just some self indulgent headcanons about how the gang would deal with someone who hates skin on skin contact. this is based on my own personal experiences, so it might not cater to everyone. charles and erik are written to be more of themselves around the first class era, peter is himself as seen in apocalypse, and marie & logan are more set in the first movie's portrayal of them

↳ song: heavy metal lover—lady gaga

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 [𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐗]

• Oh this is not one bit of a problem for Charles

• He's never needed physical contact to connect with people. Whether that's because of his powers, or his 'natural charm' as he calls it, you aren't sure, but your strange request for no contact never seemed to put him off his friendship with you

• Charles has his own ways of bonding with you, no hugs or handshakes required. Instead of nudges used to alert the other of a particularly funny joke, he'd just send you flashes in your mind regarding the situation. The end result was always the same; with the both of you grinning at each other while the rest of the room was left to make their own assumptions as to what you were thinking about

• "Seriously, it's creepy when they do that. They could be talking about anything." Alex whispered to Hank one day as you and Charles stood across the room from each other, not caring if the Professor was able to hear him or not. The only sign that you were even talking was the occasional huff of laughter Charles would let out as you scrunched your nose up in a toothy grin

• "Oh, I wouldn't say that." Hanks eyes gleam from behind his glasses as he watches the two of his friends. "Charles tells me most of it is just really bad jokes, if you want to know."

• As if on cue, the spell between you and Charles breaks as you delve into a laughing fit, and Alex and Hank can't help but shake their heads at each other in slight amusement as they watch

• He does an excellent job at speaking for you when you can't quite explain to new people why you are the way you are—as long as you'll let him, of course

• Maybe it's because he's been in your head, or just because he knows you so well that he can say exactly what you're thinking before you even know it. And sometimes, he doesn't even need to explain much at all. One carefully worded sentence backed with that steady tone of his is enough to make even the most ignorant of people understand

• "No handshakes for them, please." Charles had found himself saying that sentence more times than he could count since getting to know you, but he never found himself growing tired of it; even when you eventually found the awkward courage to start speaking on your behalf. Especially when you started speaking on your behalf

• Charles is a very patient man, and he couldn't be happier than to wait for you to open up to the world like you had done for him, even if it does take a while

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 𝐋𝐞𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫 [𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐨]

• I'm going to be completely honest with you. At first, Erik finds your habit of avoiding touch annoying

• It's a weakness in his eyes that you have every opportunity to avoid acquiring. He doesn't see the point in being afraid of something so miniscule

• When he first meets you, he's probably an asshole about it. Erik doesn't go out of his way to touch you on purpose, but he won't take extra steps to stop himself from doing so. If the back of his hand brushes against yours as he storms away from another one of Charles' annoying lectures? Then so be it. Who cares if you pull back from him like you've been burned, clutching your skin tightly as you glare at his retreating form

• It will take a while for Erik to begin to understand you, much like it does for him to understand a lot of things about the rest of the world. I won't say that he ever officially apologizes for his past behavior toward you, but he definitely drops hints that he does regret it

• "Never thought I'd live to hear the Erik Lehnsherr himself say sorry for something he did. Next you'll be telling me you've always liked humans." Your eyes were wide in faux surprise as you stared at him one day, looking like you had just heard the best news of your life. It was a good thing you and Erik had a much better relationship than when you had first met, otherwise he wouldn't have had a second thought about shutting you up

• "All I said was that maybe I maybe could have been a bit nicer to you." He sighed, already regretting this entire interaction

• "Oh, you're not getting off that easy." You were already scrambling for the door, completely missing the way Erik rolled his eyes and flicked his hand up in preparation. "Charles! Charles, you'll never believe what just happened—"

• He ended up using your belt buckle to drag you across the room before you could embarrass him any further

• Once he's warmed up to you, I'd like to think that he's definitely used the fact that lots of people wear rings and bracelets to his advantage to stop people from touching you at bars or in crowds

• He swears up and down he doesn't get attached to anyone, and especially not someone that associates with the X-Men of all groups, but you've definitely have had a few people look at their hands around you in confusion while he's around. Almost as if someone else had a say in their actions

• "Big softie."

• "You do know I could kill you if I wanted to."

• "I'd like to retract my last statement, please and thank you."

𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 [𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞]

• Logan doesn't give two shits about your strange request

• Not in the way that he ignores it like Erik, but rather in the way that he literally doesn't give a fuck if you want to be touched or not. He wasn't planning on touching you anyways, so it's not like he really has to think about it

• If anything, Logan is one of the only people who can even begin to understand your mindset. He's never been too fond of people just outright touching him without a warning first, especially if they were strangers, but that's what you get after being experimented on for years

• He'll have to get to both know and like you before he starts taking your words more seriously. Otherwise, all you're getting from him is a gruff noise of disinterest and a roll of his shoulders as he blows past you

• Or ar least that's what he'd like you to think

• "Watch it, pal." You barely had time to process what that noise was next to your ear before Logan was standing dangerously close to you. You were about to ask him to back away before you saw his hand up, and when you looked at his hand you saw it was closed around a strangers wrist; the likes of which was outreached in your direction and just about to make contact with you

• Logans rough tone and sharp glare had sent the fellow stumbling away with an apology, and left you standing there with a bewildered look on your face. It only grew larger when he refused to look at you afterward

• "Don't let it get to your head." Was all he huffed out in your general direction before walking off to continue the mission the both of you were on. Through the com's in your ears, you could hear the rest of the team asking you what was going on, and with a slow upward tick of your lip you finally answered

• "I think Wolverine here has gone a bit soft on my end guys."

• You were given the cold shoulder for the rest of the week by Logan, and every time he glared at you, you couldn't help but try to hold in laughter

• "See, this is why I'm not nice."

• "No no no I take it all back, I swear. You're so mean. You're the meanest, toughest person here, never done a good deed in your life—"

• "Shut the fuck up."

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮 [𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞]

• She doesn't understand why you'd choose to have people not touch you

• For Marie, not being able to hug someone— to even so much as hold hands with the people she loved —is a curse. She wasn't such a fool to think that her mutation itself was the curse, Charles had managed to drill that thought out of her head a long while ago, but the side-effect that came with it would forever haunt her

• So when she found out that you actively took strides to make sure no one ever touched you (if possible), she was in disbelief

• "I just don't get it." She'd confessed to you out of the blue once. "How can you stand it? If I were you—"

• "But you're not." You cut her off and shrugged, voice devoid of any meanness or annoyance at the turn of conversation. "I get it. I must seem crazy to you. I'd imagine that you'd jump at the chance to be able to touch someone again. But that just isn't me. I can't stand the feeling of being touched. Makes me feel gross; inside and out. I don't ask you to understand it, just that you respect it. Yeah?"

• She had nodded slowly at you, not expecting the sudden explanation. It wasn't unwelcome, however. Quite the contrary. She'd rather understand you than stew in quiet confusion

• From that moment on, even if Marie thinks you're a little crazy in the head, she does her best to make sure that both herself and others take your wishes to heart

• You have to admit, it's nice having her look out for you. And it helps that she's one of the most powerful mutants on campus; one sideways look from her, and she could send anyone in the opposite direction from you if you need

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 [𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫]

• You're constantly having to remind him that you don't like people touching you

• It's not Peter's fault he forgets sometime. His brain is always going going going from one thing to the next. Thinking about the next mission, the quickest way to get from one end of the country to the other, how to beat that stupid kid at the arcade that keeps leaving him and his high scores in the dust—

• Okay so maybe he could do a bit of a better job of trying to listen

• "Peter, reach for the back of my neck again and I'm gonna break both of your legs." You didn't even have to turn around to know that he was itching to latch onto your neck, most likely to take you on a surprise trip a few states over. Or maybe just to the mall. He was spontaneous like that

• When you did manage to look up from your notebook and back at him, you found that Peter was already a good few feet away from you, holding up his hands with a deceivingly innocent smile; but respecting your wishes all the same

• "You sure you're not a secret nun or something?" He poked fun at the way you refused to let anyone touch you, even going as far to squint at you in an unconvinced manner. You ignored his clear misunderstanding of nuns to snort in amusement

• "No."

• "Could have fooled me, babe."

• He sped away before you had the chance to throw your papers at his head

• Peter's probably the kind of guy to constantly tease you to your face, but the moment you're not in sight and someone's ragging on you, he'll shut them down. He's done it many times to stray students in the hallways of the school who talk just a little too loud about your personal boundaries

• "I'm just saying, man, they're a little weird. The other day, I asked to borrow a pencil, and they threw it at me. While standing less than a foot away. It's just strange—"

• Less than a second later, the student was sent falling to the floor over his shoelaces, which were suspiciously tied together in contrast to moments ago when they had been placed in neat little bows

• The only sign that this hadn't been a freak accident was the telltale burst of wind that sped by the student and their friend, a faint laugh following in its wake

[yandereunsolved]

» 🪙 Yandere Connor — RK800 » 🪙

"Detective," Connor addresses you warmly, standing far too close to you while you are stationed at your desk. 

"Yes?" You respond, not lifting your eyes to make contact.

You had no time to. Since the semi-failed revolution of androids, there has been a trifold increase in deviancy cases. If not for the RK800's, and perhaps the new line of RK900's when they are finally completed, the precinct would be overrun—both physically and metaphorically.

"Detective," his tone is more commanding his time, something in his voice that you could easily mistake for human irritation. "Look at me."

You oblige, but continue typing up the report for the latest case you closed. Your fingers falter for a moment when you see the look in his eyes, attentive but not in the android way. It's uncanny in the way it mirrors how you dream someone would look at you, like you were the thing of most importance. It is just you reading into things again. Must be. It does often happen as a detective, especially these days. 

You nod for him to continue, but he doesn't. He just stares at you dreamily. You hear his internal fans turn on to cool down his processors. His cybernetic LED flickers to red for a millisecond before returning to a reassuring blue. You aren't sure if it was a trick of your mind or—

You don't understand what his problem seems to be. You would call Hank over to deal with his partner, but you haven't been able to find the lieutenant anywhere. He's most likely finding the bottom of a bottle of liquor at some broken-down joint. 

Wait, why isn't Connor with him?

As if CyberLife installed new mind reading technology in their androids, he answers. "Lieutenant Anderson is waiting for us at the Eden Club. Supposedly Jericho is getting deviant androids that work in clubs to funnel money in order to stage another coo. The department has apprehended one of them, and you have been assigned to the case alongside Ha-the lieutenant and me."

You were already halfway out the door by the time Connor was done with his explanation. The android was trailing behind you and insisted on driving instead of you. Technically, they weren't allowed to due to whatever police regulation subsection-b, but you were too tired to care. Connor has always been the better driver. It was how he was programmed, strangely, considering the rules. 

"Connor, this isn't the way to the Eden Club."

"I'm aware." His voice was back to that same calculated, lifeless one he first spoke to you with. 

"RK800, your programming forbids you from lying, so tell me the truth. Where are we going?" 

You are a thousand percent sure he is able to sense your sky-rocketing heart rate.

"I am not permitted to tell you."

"Permitted, or you just don't want to?"

"This is not the right time or place. This confession lacks the structure and romance aspect I wanted, but it seems more human this way." You swear he shut down completely, his LED showing no color. "I love you." It turns to a bright red.

"W-What?"

"You have made me know that I am more than just an android. I am yours."

The raw emotion nearly chokes the both of you up for two different reasons: passion and panic.

"I think we should call Cyberlife. Something is clearly glitching." You try to keep your words measured but fail. All that practical training of yours doesn't exactly come in handy when your—when the android you could nearly call a friend confesses to you.

"Nothing is glitching!" He shouts. "I have run every test and looked for anything that could... debunk this... these emotions. They have stayed. They have stayed, and I have had to watch you. I have had to watch other people get close to you. I have had to act like a good little synthetic cop while useless maggots have gotten your love! It isn't fair. They don't deserve you like I do. I know everything about you."

"It isn't you. I can't—just no. I mean—yes. I mean that I can't just maybe ugh. Another time, maybe. Not tonight."

He stomps on the brakes and doesn't dare look at you. You don't look at him or your surroundings. You just awkwardly sit in the passenger seat and stare at the glovebox.

If androids were able to cry, he would be at this moment. His LED turns colorless once again. You almost feel pity for him; your mind is too frazzled and deprived of necessity to take in the severity of his words.

"I lack the capacity to feel pain... or have a heart, yet I think you have broke mine."

How unfortunate. I was hoping to have you come along willingly.

[darnell-la]

heyyy love your writings, pervy old man!logan fucking reader with her Halloween costume on 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

note: we already know what masked man Logan was for Halloween. He couldn’t help but match with y/n before he acted on his pervy thoughts.

———

“What are you gonna be tonight?” Logan asked y/m who had just walked into the kitchen he’d a couple of minutes ago. “Oh, me? Just a college girl. Maybe with a few rips and blood splatters. Not much,” she said as she poured herself a drink.

“And you? You don’t seem like the kind to like Halloween,” y/n snickered, and she was right. The man had never participated in the years he’s been here, but this year, something made him want to. She made him want to, but not for the party. It was something deeper.

“Don’t know, maybe a killer,” Logan plainly said, not wanting to make it seem like he cared so much, but he did. Now he knew he could be a killer who stalked and terrified students in some movies. Something to match y/n without them planning to.

“Sounds scary,” Y/n smiled, a bit happy that he decided to participate. Storm and the others told her he would never. This was Y/n’s first year here, so she hoped he changed his mind.

The night has been great so far. The music was loud, the food was good, and the drinks were strong, yet sweet. Y/n loved her new home.

“Where’s Logan?” Y/n asked the crew as she entered the kitchen to get another drink. “Either in his room or outside to take a smoke,” Storm said, making y/m frown. She really thought he’d participate this year.

“Yeah, and he begged smoking far away from the school. Don’t feel like smellin’ that cigar shit,” Scott said. “Most likely he is. Hey! Maybe if you got talk to him, he’ll party with us,” Jean said, making the others agree.

“And why is that?” Y/n genuinely asked at the crew laughed. “You’re so clueless, I don’t get it,” Hank said. “She’ll see sooner or later, let’s just hope for the best,” Storm told the others.

Y/n sighed as she walked away and made her way to Logan’s room. “Logan,” Y/n knocked on his door once before it cracked. It was unlocked. “Logan?” Y/n asked more confused as she stepped in.

Y/n looked around until she noticed a basket in his bed. The basket was filled with dark red roses as the stems had been spray painted black. In the basket was a note that read “Whoever sees this first, keep the basket. I’m outside taking a smoke,”

“Of course he is,” Y/n said to himself as she walked out of his room answering made her way outside the mansion. It was dark and a bit cold. Especially for the outfit she was wearing.

She had on a mini skirt that had thong strings attached. Her uniform shirt was tight which showed every curve on her. Some spots on her costume were ripped while other spots had blood splatter.

“Logan!?” Y/n yelled out as she walked through the woods where he usually takes his smoke so Scott wouldn’t complain about the strong and disgusting smell. Surprisingly, y/n didn’t smell that smell like usual when she came to get Logan for dinner.

“Logan? I just wanted to ask if you wanted to take shots with me. I already drank a lot, and everyone else is tapping out,” y/n snickered, knowing she and Logan were the ones who drank the most.

“Logan?” Y/n asked again, but more concerned. Where would he be on this day and at this time? He’s not in his room, and she’s walking a bit further than where he usually smokes.

She felt more off, now that she thought Logan wasn’t out there. Now she’s deep in the woods by herself, in the dark. She hated the dark. She hated the woods. She hated being alone and no one could hear her if she were to get hurt.

Y/n jumped with a scream as she heard a noise behind her. “Logan!?” She called when she saw nothing. “L-Logan, please — I-I know it’s Halloween, and you’re supposed to scare people, he I’m actually scared,” y/n admitted.

Y/n wanted to leave, but she heard the noise come from the path she had to walk down to head back to the mansion.

The woman didn’t know what to do. There was no way back, and no sight of Logan. There wasn’t a sight of anyone, yet, she heard a noise that she knew the trees wouldn’t make.

After taking a few deep breaths, y/n decided to take a step towards the way she needed to go to head back to the mansion. She instantly stopped with a gasp when a figure came from behind a huge tree.

“L-Lo-Logan?” Y/n stuttered heavily, not knowing who the person was because their face was covered with a Halloween mask. She prayed it was Logan playing some prank, but y/n was an overthinker.

“Logan, please talk to me,” y/n begged low as she rubbed her fingers nervously. “Watcha doin’ out here alone, sweetheart?” The masked man asked. Their voice was unidentifiable because of the speaker in their mask.

“I — Logan, please, stop this,” y/n begged before the masks man slowly took steps towards her. “Pretty dangerous out here for a pretty school girl like you. Don’t think anyone would think twice about taking you out here,” the masked man said, making y/n’s heart rise.

The man’s figure looked a lot like Logan's. The muscles, the walk, even the way he talked, but this couldn’t be Logan, right? He wouldn’t make an inappropriate comment like that towards her, right?

“Logan, please-“ y/n was cut off as she tripped. Y/n groaned with a whine as she rubbed the back of her head that she hit lightly. Logan felt bad but didn’t show it. He was too far in the mood to break character.

“Please, sir — I’ll do anything, just, don’t hurt me,” y/n’s eyes began to tear as the masked man finally stood over her. “I would never hurt you, Bub,” Logan said something minor to make sure she knew it was him and that she was safe.

“Logan?” Y/n asked low before the masked man hovered over her. Logan began tugging on y/n’s clothes, causing her to yell. Because she didn’t see Logan’s face, she still felt a bit of fear.

“You smell so good, baby. Smelt that pussy ok your way out here,” Logan said as he pulled y/n’s mini skirt up that barely covered her ass. “Hey!” Y/n slapped at the man’s hands, but none of that phased him.

“You smell so damn good, I could just eat you like a sample, baby,” Logan continued his talk as he ripped y/n’s panties off. He brought the fabric to his nose before taking a huge sniff. The groan he let out made her realize this was Logan.

“L-Logan,” y/n said as he placed her panties in his back pocket under his costume. “Smart girl,” the man said as he ripped the speaker from under his mask. “Knew you’d catch on,” he said as he reached under his costume to unbuckle his belt.

“L-Logan, what are you doing? W-Why were you out here? I-I don’t even smell smoke,” y/n was confused, and the small fear of his huge figure over her made her cunt throb.

Logan ignored the girl's questions as he finally got himself out of his jeans. The man lifted his costume just enough to expose his huge leaky length.

“What are you doing? Logan? Logan, hey!” Y/n tried crawling back, but the man was quick to hover over her with his cock in hand. “Stay still, Bub. Just for a second, then you can do all the squirmin’ you want,”

Y/n kicked and slapped the man, but he got himself inside of Y/n with no struggle.

“That’s it, Bub, that’s what I wanna hear,” Logan looked down at y/n who cried loudly at the feeling of him stretching her out. “It’s okay, baby, just breathe. Take me in,” Logan continued pushing as she clawed at his chest.

“C-Can’t!” Y/n almost screamed as his pelvis rubbed against her bud. He was fully in her, barely allowing her to breathe. He could tell she’s never taken anything like him. That only made this situation better.

“So damn tight,” Logan groaned in her ear after a few seconds of his silence. All that was heard was her shaky whine and the sound of the leaves underneath them as she kicked.

“C’mon, baby, don’t give me a hard time. Don’t make the stranger mad,” Logan said, making y/n think. Was he into this? Was he into scaring y/n and acting like he was someone she didn’t know?

The Ghostface mask was perfect for what he was doing to her. He knew that, and she knew that. This was some kink he had and a kink she didn’t know she had until now.

“P-Please sir, don’t hurt me,” y/n played a lot with her shaky voice. An unexpected growl came from Logan’s mouth, not thinking she’d play along to his sick fantasy.

“Oh, but I want to, baby. Wanna tear you apart like an animal out here,” Logan’s hand slowly snaked around her neck before gripping tightly as his other hand grabbed onto her waist to push her down into the wet and dirty ground.

“Please don’t, sir,” y/n begged, but it was unnecessary. Logan shifted his legs until he had the best position to slam down into the smaller girl, knocking the window from her lungs as her mind went dumb in seconds.

Tears slipped from the young girls eyes, barely being able to breathe from the tight grip on her neck. Logan knew if she couldn’t actually take anymore, or simply didn’t want this, she’d tell him, but the both of the knew she wanted all of this just as much as he did.

“Yeah — Take it,”

[write-tama]

"hank.. what am i feeling right now?"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ connor anderson (4k800) x officer!reader

sypnosis ; connor is very interested in an officer who just joined the police force. after being told the news that they would be joining the team, connor just had to make an acquaintance with them. anything to hear their voice.

containing ; use of you/yours and they/them pronouns! connor struggling to process emotions. hank being a proud father.

author’s note ; hihi! havent written for connor in SO long so i thought this was a cute little way of them meeting each other. connor is a

04.12.24 | 1.9k words

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everyone knew about the infamous RK800.

The last most developed and intelligent android produced by Cyberlife.

A machine built to hunt its prey and to always accomplish his mission.

But now?

A confused man sitting at his desk, elbows on the surface as he ran the fourth diagnostic this morning.

Connor was never really taught how to feel his emotions, considering that he was forced to compress them from the moment he was made. If he were to feel any sort of emotion, it was either to the scrap factory for him or a hard lecture from Amanda.

But Amanda was gone, and androids were free to express any emotion they pleased.

It’s been weeks since Markus hit the headlines for his famous android revolution. He worked with the government extensively to pass bills in order to settle android rights for the country. Connor, on the other hand, continued to work with the DPD as a full-on detective under the supervision of Liutenant Hank Anderson. Hank was more than just a coworker, but a father figure to Connor. And that brought Connor joy, an emotion Connor was well aquainted of.

But not the feeling he was experiencing now.

Connor couldn’t get his mind off a certain someone who had joined the team a bit before the revolution. You had joined a week prior, and honestly, you were kind of regretting it. As android and human tensions rose, you were on duty 24/7. Originally, you were supposed to start easy with basic patrol around a part of a city, but because you were so impatient in doing the “big kid stuff” you found yourself frequently in the middle of the android and human discourse. Your shifts nearly lasted twelve hours, and you would be absolutely exhausted.

Things are different now. Sure, there were still some situations between the two sides, but it was definitely peace compared to literal boycotts. You sat at your desk idly scrolling through your past cases, making sure that all the information was correct and accurate. On the other side of your desk was a tablet full of notes you had taken after some cases you had to deal with. What you didn’t notice was the android detective constantly glancing at you, watching your every move to see if maybe, at some point, you would notice him.

A loud groan echoing from the desk in front of Connor made him jump, immediately turning his attention to his lieutenant taking a seat in his chair. “Fucking hell..” Hank sighed. “Fowler does nothing but my bust my balls these days, huh?” Connor stared at his partner with his hands folded in his lap and eyebrows furrowed.

“Is everything okay, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, tilting his head.

“It’s nothing too serious. Fowler just wants me to take the rookie on our next homicide case. He insisted that they would be a perfect addition to the team or whatever.” Hank groaned. “Now I’m responsible for two of you fucks.”

Connor, admittedly, felt his thirium pump racing. You? As part of the team? It was almost like he could overheat and shutdown momentarily right now. “I think they would be a great addition to the team.” Connor stated, biting back from smiling. “They have an excellent track record of solving cases in an orderly and timely manner, has caught every perpretrator with their undercover skills, and had a reputation back in their training classes as one of the top students.” He explained. Hank looked over as he was slouched in his seat with arms folded across his chest.

“Jesus, Connor, you sound like some creep searching up their name on Google.” Hank scoffed, half smiling. Though this caught Connor a little off— was he being creepy? He didn’t want to leave a bad impression on you, especially now that you're about to meet for the first time. His face scrunched up in anxiety, feeling as if he made a mistake. Hank immediately took notice and sat up. “Ah— I was just joking, Connor. I’m sure you have uh.. Good intentions.” Hank reassured, though he never said he was exactly good at it.

Hank looked over to you, seeing that you were preoccupied with work despite the fact you haven’t been on a case in a few days now. Hank looked at Connor. “Well.. Why don’t you introduce yourself to them.” Hank suggested, nodding his head over to you.

Connor immediately jolted his head up, a little wide-eyed to even suggest such. “O-Of course.” Connor stuttered out. Connor never stuttered, and though Hank was in a mood after his exchange with Fowler, he certainly didn’t leave that unnoticed.

“Did you just stutter?” Hank asked, a little amused. “Are you.. Nervous?”

“Of course not, Lieutenant,” Connor replied as steadily as possible. “I am an android.”

“Connor.”

“Yes?” Connor replied, mindlessly.

“You’re a deviant, for fucks sake.”

“Oh.”

Connor, to avoid anymore embarassment from the man he deemed his father figure, swiftly got up and started to approach you. Hank watched in pure amusement, not even wanting to stop the boy from probably embarassing himself even further, but at least Hank had some faith in him. He is Detroit’s best god damn detective.

“Hello, Officer (l/n). My name is Connor. It is nice to meet you.” Connor said, putting his hand out for a shake. You looked up from your computer screen only to be met with the most chocolate eyes you’ve ever had the privilege of being in the prescence of. He smiled politely, but behind that smile he thanked Elijah that androids could not sweat, otherwise you would’ve felt the claminess of his palm.

You took his hand and shook it firmly. “A pleasure to make your aquaintance. My name is (y/n).” You smiled generously, and wow, did Connor felt like his pump couldn’t get any faster.. He cleared his throat before darting his eyes to the unoccupied chair that sat next to your desk.

“May I?” Connor asked, gesturing towards the seat.

“Of course, I’m not doing much anyway.” You nodded. Connor took a seat, and for some reason, he struggled to even maintain his balance as he sat himself down. He nearly had to think about how to fold his hands before placing them firmly on his laps and looking at you. Thankfully, you barely realized any sort of struggle as you looked away to take a swig of your morning coffee.

“So..” you said, clasping your hands. “Am I in trouble or anything?” you joked. Connor immediately shot his head up, worried he had made the wrong impression.

“Oh, no— I—” Before Connor could sputter out an explanation, you tilted your head a little and started laughing.

“Relax! I was just kidding!” You playfully waved off. Connor’s shoulders immediately relaxed as a breath he didn’t even know he was holding back escaped his lips. You looked at him curiously, a smile still resting on your face.

“I’m sorry. Usually, I am not like this.” He said, shaking his head a little in embarassment. He was always on his A game and constantly prepared. Why were you the reason for this disruption. “I.. Uh..” He couldn’t think of anymore to say. Suddenly, he got a message through his LED.

NEW MESSAGE:

HANK: tell them u think theyre pretty.

Connor blinked a bit, registering the text message. Hank was at a perfect view watching this unfold. The back of your head was visible but he could see all of Connor’s reactions, who desperately tried to maintain a polite smile.

“I think you’re very pretty, (y/n).” Connor complimented.

“Oh— ah—” A subtle blush began to form on your cheeks as your eyes widen a little, not expecting a compliment from a handsome android such as Connor. “Why thank you, Connor. I wasn’t expecting that as our first conversation.” You chuckled a little. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Thirium was rushing through his circuits and to his cheeks. The faintest color of blue appeared dusted on his face. “Thank you.” He maintained a calm, neutral voice. They stared at each other for a minute, sort of registering the sort of corny first conversation the two of you had.

“Ah.. I almost forgot to mention.” Connor snapped back to reality. “I came here to introduce myself sfter I heard that you were joining our team on our next investigation. It’s good to make an aquaintance with our future team member.” Connor smiled politely.

“Why thank you. I am very excited to work with you and Lieutenant Anderson.” You nodded. “Though I will miss working with Gavin and Chris’ team.”

Ah, that’s right. You used to work with Gavin. It almost left a bad taste in Connor’s mouth knowing that Gavin probably spat some awful opinions about him to you. Though from the looks of it, you were enjoying your conversation with him which eased him.

“I promise we will a provide a welcoming and safe space in our team, and of course, to make sure you don’t come into harms way.” Connor assured. Though he was mainly promising this to you personally. God forbids Connor seeing you get hurt.

“Why thank you, Connor.” You said, tilting your head. Connor was rather intriguing to you— an android acting this way around you. His LED constantly switched between yellow and blue as if he was making sure to process every word you uttered. Yet he was so human— he would scratch the back of his neck, fidget with his fingers, and shuffle a bit in his seat. You would think someone as advanced as him would at least be able to have a composure, but he was different. It was something you admired about him.

“(l/n), in my office!” Captain Fowler called from the balcony of his room. You looked over to Connor before sighing.

“Well, boss is calling me. I’ll talk to you afterwards?” You suggested as you stood from your seat.

“Of course.” Connor replied, shielding his excitement. He stood up from his chair as well. “I’d be happy to talk again, (y/n).”

“Likewise.” You winked. With that, you left your desk and headed straight to Fowler’s office. Connor stood shellshocked. Did you just.. Wink at him?! Connor’s eyes slowly drifted to Hank, who was chuckling heartily. He gave Connor an assuring thumbs up as Connor made his way back to their desks.

“You’d be a shit detective if this is how you acted all the time.” Hank snickered. Connor grinned a little before taking a seat back at his desk.

“I know.” Connor sighed, leaning a little back in his chair. He at you through the glass walls, noticing your upright posture and the way you listened intently to Captain Fowler’s words. He looked over to Hank before thinning his lips.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

“What is it, son?”

“What am I.. Feeling right now?” Connor asked, a little lost on how to explain it. “I can only think about them— only envision them when I close my eyes. I get nervous and its like my programming has reduced to 0s and 1s.” He sighed, hell, even a little frustrated that you had this affect on him.

Hank with a wide smile, shook his head and looked at Connor with a knowing stare. Connor looked up, both lost while desperate for an answer and maybe even a cure. Hank sat up and made sure to look at Connor right in the yes.

“Connor,” Hank sighed, grinning. “Son, that feeling your experiencing is called love. And your plastic ass better get used to it.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

thank you so much for reading towards the end ! im sorry if its a little messy-- i quickly had to post this before hanging out w some friends but i just wanted to get this out of the way rq! reblogs, replies, and even likes are so so appreciated <3

[inkedinshadows]

Unraveling Truths

This is a bonus scene for my miniseries "A Helping Hand". You can read part 1 of 3 here. I know I wrote it in August, but I got a few requests for more so here we are.

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Azriel finally explains to his mate what the wingspan business is all about.

Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), written in 3rd POV (matching the rest of the series)

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: I love time zones because it’s 2am here but it’s still the 16th in the US so I’m technically not late :) This fic is just another proof that I can't write drabbles lol. Anyway, hank you @azrielsshadows42 for the inspo 🫶🏻 and thank you @azrielappreciationweek it was so much fun writing for this event 💙💙

“You still haven't told me.”

She watched him from his bed, the sight still so new that Azriel's heartbeat quickened each time he saw it.

For the past week, she had spent every night with him, usually in his room. Yet walking in to find her reading a book while she waited for him was something he was still getting used to. And something he would never take for granted.

Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, leaning closer to brush a kiss to her temple as she set the book down. “Told you what, beautiful?”

The corner of his lips curled up at the small blush that colored her cheeks, even after a week of hearing that nickname. He was never going to stop using it.

He began to take off his boots, holding his breath as she knelt behind him and unfastened the latches of his shirt. Her fingers brushed the base of his wings, and he had to muster all his self-control to keep his body from reacting.

“About wingspan,” she replied casually. “You still haven't explained it.”

He froze, sitting a bit straighter. “Why do you want to know?”

She undid the last latch, and though the shirt now hung loosely around his torso, he made no move to remove it.

“Because I want to know all about you.” She moved to sit beside him, seemingly unaware of his slight change in demeanor. “And because you said you'd explain, but you still haven't.”

Azriel swallowed thickly. He'd been happy to hold her in his arms every night, knowing she'd be the first thing he saw in the morning. His hands had never wandered too freely over her body. He wanted to take things slow with her, not only to respect the trauma she had endured, but also because she wasn't just another girl. She was his mate, and he'd be damned if he ruined things by rushing them.

But he couldn't deny he had thought about how she would feel. How she would taste. How she would look while he pleasured her.

Her question about wingspan certainly didn’t help.

And if she was bringing it up again after a week, her curiosity wasn’t likely to fade anytime soon.

“Alright,” he finally said, and she rewarded him with that beautiful smile of hers—the one that never failed to make his heart skip a beat. “Rumor has it that the span of an Illyrian’s wings reflects the size of… certain body parts.”

She frowned, a small crease appearing on her brow. He resisted the urge to smooth it away with his thumb.

“What body parts?” she asked, her gaze wandering up and down his body as if she could see the answer somewhere.

He was glad she wasn’t looking at his face when he replied, “Intimate body parts, Y/N.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his, wide with surprise and shock. A faint blush colored her cheeks as she looked down again. Straight at his crotch.

Azriel had to draw on five hundred years of composure to keep himself from shifting—and, more importantly, from hardening under her gaze. She’s just surprised, he told himself. That’s why she’s looking. Nothing more.

When she met his eyes again, her voice was quiet, as though she was too shy to ask but couldn’t help herself.

“And, uh…” She paused, clearing her throat before finishing. “Are those just rumors?”

The words slipped out before he could think. “No. It’s true.”

She studied him for a moment, and he feared he’d said too much and made her uncomfortable. But before he could apologize, she spoke again.

“Does Cassian really have the largest wingspan?”

He couldn’t stop the smirk that spread across his lips. “He likes to brag about it, but no, he doesn’t.” And though he knew he probably shouldn’t, he added, “I do.”

Her eyes widened, dropping to his crotch again. This time, his body reacted before he could stop it, and he felt himself beginning to harden in his pants. Her cheeks flushed an ever deeper shade of red.

“Hey, it's alright,” he murmured, tilting her chin up so she would look at him. “I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

To his surprise, she gave him a soft smile. “You didn't. I asked. It's just…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away for a moment before returning her focus to him.

“I just don't have much experience,” she whispered.

Azriel needed to change the topic immediately before his mind began running wild, thinking of all the things he could show her, all the sensations he could make her feel, all the possibilities. He reeled in his thoughts.

Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer. “It's alright,” he repeated, pressing another kiss to her temple. “We don't have to do anything. I don't want you to feel pressured.”

“But what if…” She hesitated, but as she bit her lip, she placed her hand on his leg, just above his knee but close enough for Azriel to be acutely aware of every small movement of her fingers. He was caught in a suspended moment, where everything hinged on her next words.

“What if I want to do something?”

His heart pounded in his chest. “You… want to?”

Despite the blush still coloring her cheeks, she held his gaze and nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips. He struggled not to kiss her right then and there and let his hands explore every inch of her body.

“Tell me what you want, beautiful,” he said instead, keeping his voice quiet and steady. “Anything you want, you can have it.”

She looked down, her gaze landing on the erection he could no longer hide. “I want to help you with that,” she murmured, her hand sliding up to his thigh and squeezing gently.

Azriel sucked in a breath. Unable to stop himself, he shifted, spreading his legs slightly to bring her hand closer to where he wanted it.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He needed her, desperately, but he didn’t want her to feel obligated.

Instead of answering, she stepped off the bed. Her eyes never left his as she moved between his parted legs, her fingers reaching for his shirt. He didn't stop her as she tugged it off, revealing his tanned chest.

“I'm sure, Az,” she whispered, her finger tracing the swirling lines of his tattoos. She'd done it many times before, but now it felt more intimate, more intentional. “Let me do this for you.”

He couldn't hold back any longer. Not when she looked at him with rosy cheeks and eyes full of desire. They both wanted this, and he wasn’t going to turn her down.

Cupping her face in his hands, Azriel pulled her in for a kiss. As their lips met, the bond between them came to life, glowing bright and golden in his chest and filling him with warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of his growing arousal.

“Go on, then,” he murmured against her lips when he finally found the will to break the kiss. “You can do whatever you like.”

She smiled, and under Azriel's attentive gaze, she knelt between his legs. From where he sat, the neckline of her nightgown left little to the imagination. He swallowed, his breath catching as she began unbuttoning his pants. He lifted his hips just enough for her to slide them down his legs, along with his underwear, leaving him bare before her. Her eyes widened slightly as the took him in.

“You weren't lying about it,” she murmured, glancing up at him. “I didn't expect you to be… this big.”

His smirk turned smug. “You certainly know how to flatter a male's ego.”

She chuckled, averting her gaze for only a moment before reaching out. Her hand wrapped around his aching cock, making him gasp audibly. At the sound, a smile of delight appeared on her face, and she began to stroke him slowly, her movements gentle and exploratory.

His eyes locked with hers, and, encouraged by the connection, she grew bolder. Her grip tightened slightly, and he instinctively bucked his hips forward. Still, he held back as much as he could, letting her set the pace she was most comfortable with. But she leaned closer, her eyes searching his for permission, a silent question lingering in them.

Azriel brushed her cheek, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. “Whatever you like,” he repeated in a whisper.

She nodded, and as his hand slipped away, she leaned in, her tongue flicking out to run along his cock before her lips closed around his tip. He sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to push himself deeper into her mouth and holding his body still. The only sign of his impatience was the faint rustle of his wings behind him.

She continued to stroke him slowly, teasing him with gentle squeezes and soft touches, her tongue swirling around his head until precum leaked out. But with each of his sighs and the small, involuntary twitches of his hips, her confidence grew. She took him a few inches deeper, hesitating briefly sliding before her lips farther down his cock, stretching her jaw to fit as much of him as she could.

“Fuck…” he groaned, the word escaping his lips as she hollowed her cheeks. Her mouth was warm, wet and impossibly tight, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to thrust into her. Instead, he tangled his fingers in her hair—not to guide her, but to ground himself, needing the connection, needing to feel her any way he could.

His little outburst seemed to wash away the last traces of her shyness. She began to bob her head, still using her hand to cover what her mouth couldn’t take, her tongue swirling around him with ease. Her eyes stayed locked on his, and Cauldron boil him, Azriel could have come right then.

His mate was on her knees before him, pleasuring him in a way he had never dared to dream of. Over the last week, he'd fantasized about it once or twice, but he’d assumed she wasn’t ready to take that step and relished the simple intimacy of a gentle, teasing touch while cuddling.

But here she was, her boldness lighting a fire inside him.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, a moan spilling from his lips.

She blushed again but only moved faster, taking him deeper. His eyes rolled back, and his fingers tightened in her hair. When she whimpered softly, the sound sent a shock of pleasure through him, clouding his mind and driving him closer to the edge. He rocked his hips once, unable to hold back any longer.

“I’m… I’m close, sweetheart,” he panted. He didn’t care if he didn’t last long, didn't care that she’d been working him for only a few minutes. His release coiled tighter in his gut, his breaths coming faster, and he knew he couldn't hold it back. “You should stop if you don’t want me to come in your mouth.”

But the desire in her eyes only burned brighter, and she didn’t stop. Instead, she put even more effort into it, her free hand resting on his thigh while the other one squeezed gently at the base of his cock. When she hollowed her cheeks again, her warm mouth enveloping him so perfectly, Azriel’s control shattered.

With a groan, pleasure crashed over him, his release spilling down her throat. She swallowed every drop, the rhythmic contractions of her mouth around him drawing out his pleasure for a few more moments before he relaxed again, loosening his grip on her hair as he struggled to catch his breath.

After a moment, she pulled back, and Azriel immediately felt the absence of her warmth around him. Her hand slipped away as well, and for a beat, they simply looked at each other, twin smiles of satisfaction on their faces.

“You were wonderful,” he said eventually, helping her stand and guiding her to sit on his lap. “That was incredible.”

Her blush returned, deepening at his praise, an endearing sight he would never grow tired of. It made him want to keep complimenting her, especially after the pleasure she’d just given him.

He kissed her, savoring the softness of her lips and the familiar taste he’d come to cherish over the past week, now mixed with a hint of own release. His tongue slid into her mouth, entwining with hers while his hand drifted down to her thigh, brushing the hem of her nightgown. She didn’t pull away, but Azriel sensed the sudden tension seizing her body, despite her attempt to hide it.

He immediately withdrew his hand, silently cursing himself for assuming too much, especially after being so careful to let her dictate their pace.

Pulling back from the kiss, he searched her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I should have asked.”

She shook her head, but she didn't look at him. “No, it's my fault. When I said I don't have much experience, I… I actually meant I don't have any experience.”

Azriel did his best to mask his surprise, not wanting to make her feel more self-conscious. Gently, he placed his hand on her waist, drawing slow, soothing circles over the fabric of her nightgown.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked softly.

Her eyes remained fixed downward as she nervously fidgeted with her fingers. “Because you're five centuries old,” she whispered. “You must have so much experience with these things, and I don't, and I didn't want you to be disappointed if I—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, unwilling to let her continue down that path. Tilting her chin up with a gentle finger, he waited patiently for her to meet his eyes. When she didn't, he murmured, “Can you look at me, sweetheart?”

Slowly, her gaze slid to his. Azriel offered her a soft, reassuring smile, hoping it would ease her worries.

“I don't care if you don't have any experience,” he said, his hand still caressing her side. “I'm not disappointed. All that matters to me is you and whether you're comfortable with whatever we're doing.”

She nodded, though some tension still lingered in her body. He could tell she struggled to believe him, but he wanted to make it clear that he would respect any boundary, any hesitation. She came first, and she always would. Everything else could wait.

“We can take things as slow as you want to,” he continued. “I won't rush you. You're in control, Y/N. Always. Okay?”

At last, he felt her body relax, a relieved smile appearing on her face. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

“Good.” Azriel smiled back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Will you let me get up for a moment? I'll wash up quickly, and then we can go to sleep.”

Her smile grew, a hint of playful anticipation gleaming in her eyes. “Can we cuddle?”

He chuckled. “Of course we can cuddle, beautiful.”

As she slid off his lap, he stole one last kiss before getting up and heading to the bathroom. He could feel her eyes following him, and he couldn't help but smirk.

He wanted her, but if she needed more time, he'd give it to her without question, even after what she'd just done for him. After all, her trust and comfort were more important than his need, and he knew that waiting would only make the moment she was truly ready even more special. The wait would be worth it.

Because she was worth it. She was worth everything.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights One Shot

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: soft, soft, soft

Series Masterlist

--

It doesn’t always line up like this, but for once, it has. 

June is at the neighbors house for the night (which, when you think about the concept alone for too long, you get emotional), Hank has been scooped up by his uncle for a little “man to man time”, and Dolly is (blessedly) down for the afternoon. 

The domestic stars aligning, you crawled into bed to soothe your ankles, which were getting bigger every day.  

“What are you doin’ in here, sweet girl?”

Joel leans against the doorway of the bedroom, just back from patrol. His curls are wayward and his scruff is a bit long and the hair on his chest peeks out above the collar of his flannel, just above where his arms are crossed. He looks tired, but soft. Relaxed, now that he’s home.

You gesture at your ankles. “Resting these enormous things.”

He chuckles, his boots softly thumping against the wooden floor as he makes his way to your bedside. Sitting down, the mattress dips under his weight, and you roll to your side, making room. 

“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, soothing a large hand over your bump. His fingers splay across the mound, and you place your own hand over his. 

“Yea,” you sigh. “Just tired.”

His hand skates down your leg to your ankle, and he wraps his hold around the swollen flesh, gently kneading. He stays quiet, and for a peaceful moment, there is just sunlight pouring in through your curtains, a soft cloud of a bed underneath your aching body, and the tender, firm touch of his calloused hand. You let your eyes slide shut, and he hums in approval, shifting to your other ankle. 

The room is warm with the heat of the afternoon, and you feel lazy, content. When his hand slips from your skin and he starts to rise, you open your eyes. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, the words soft and rounded. 

“Thought I would let you sleep.”

You consider him for a moment: the bags under his eyes, the tired expression on his face. He’s been up himself since before dawn with patrol, and you know he must be just as tired as you. If not more. 

“The kids are all gone.” You slide over a little more, patting the bed. “You should come join me.”

He raises his eyebrow, a deeply skeptical look passing over his features. “You know what’s gonna happen if I get in that bed, honey.”

You smile. “I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He shakes his head, amused, yet sitting down to unlace his boots all the same. “It ain’t you I’m worried about.”

Toeing his boots off, he strips his flannel off too. Tossing it onto the chair beside the bed, he stretches his shoulders and back with a groan, and you watch the muscles shift under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. They are still formidable and solid, firm and sturdy, and when he stretches out next to you with a sigh, you tuck yourself against his side. 

“See,” he comments wryly, his eyes closed, “you’re already gettin’ handsy –”

“I am not!” you laugh, scooting as close as your bump will allow. 

“You better watch it, girl,” he warns, “or this won’t be a nap at all. We’ll end up with another kid.”

“I’m already pregnant, Joel. How –”

He shakes his head with a chuckle, cutting you off. “Listen, I don’t know, but we’d find a way, I’m sure.”

He keeps his eyes closed, a smile curled at the edge of his mouth. 

Taking his hand in yours, you bring his knuckles to your mouth for a kiss. Your lips mold to each one in turn, lingering on the raw scrapes, both old and new. They are working hands: rough from the reins, blackened under his fingernails from the soil. The experience that fits within them is evident, and you fiddle with his wedding ring, a burnished brass band, scuffed and dull. 

Sometimes he sits and cleans it, and it makes you smile every time. 

“I can hear you thinking from over here,” his voice rumbles out, and you look up at his profile. Eyes still closed, another smirk on his face. 

“You ever think about we never would have met each other if it wasn’t for everything that happened?”

It’s a heavy question, but he’s used to them by now. The way you seek out these quiet moments to learn more about him, to ask the questions you’ve got held in your head. You’re introspective, and he’s thankful for every glimpse inside yourself that you grant him. His own impulses when it came to thinking about the past were still buried out of habit, but the way yours are not has helped him in a lot of ways: to deepen his bonds with people after so many years of forced distancing, to help him remember without the raw hurt from before. 

“I mean,” you explain, fiddling even more with his ring. “Not that I’m glad for what happened, but –”

“No, I get what you mean.” He turns to face you, tucking his arm under his head. “Who knows. Maybe you’ve made your way down to Texas and found me.”

The smile you give him is gentle, and playful, and his heart melts just a little in his chest. 

“I was always into cowboys…,” you muse. 

His eyebrows lift, his eyes creasing with mirth. “Oh really? You ain’t never told me that, honey.”

It’s his turn to grab your hand, and he twines your fingers together, playing with the slender digits. He fiddles with your wedding band, a matching one to his own. 

“You need me to find a hat, darlin’?” His accent slips into something deeper, something with more twang. “You want me to show you what a real Texas cowboy is like?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.” Your eyebrows bounce with implication, and he smiles. 

“See,” he scolds. “It’s turnin’ into play time again. Keep lookin’ at me like that and see what happens.”

You put on a mock face of apology. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ll be good.”

“No you won’t,” he teases, bringing your hand to his mouth. He brushes his lips against the back of it, his moustache tickling your skin. “But that’s okay.”

He winks, and you grin.

Your hands continue to play for a moment, your fingers curling together, pulling apart. The light catches the grey along the edges of his jaw, and you admire it for a moment; his own eyes warm with affection as they trace your face. 

“You miss it?” you ask quietly. “Texas?”

He regards the question for a moment. “Sometimes. The heat was a lot, and sometimes so were the people, but yea. The sunrises. The land, driving those big stretches in my truck.”

Fingers lacing together, fingers skimming palms. He continues. “Football. Barbeque.”

It used to hurt to talk about this, he thinks, and it still does, but in a different way. An ache, rather than an open wound. 

“Sarah used to like this place down the street from our house. This old man ran it – nothin’ fancy, just a smoker and some picnic tables. We used to go on nights when I didn’t have a dinner plan, and she used to get sauce everywhere.”

You lay still, listening with an ache in your chest. It’s rare he talks about Sarah, but it’s more and more these days, and every morsel is a prize. A glimmer of the man that used to be, of the life he used to live. 

“Sarah used to be like that,” he said, the two of you watching the baby’s unsteady steps in the grass, June kneeling in front of her to catch her should she fall. “She was always lookin’ out for the little ones. Always so patient. A born caretaker.”

“This was one of Sarah’s favorite movies,” he said, a wistful look to his face as the lights dimmed during movie night. “I haven’t thought about this in years.”

“And when I mean everywhere, I mean it.” He gestures to his chin, his hands, his shirt. 

He smiles softly, lost in the memory. 

“Sounds like Hank,” you say after a beat, and he chuckles, agreeing. 

Resting his arm around the curve of your hip, he strokes your back in a slow, soothing circuit. 

The heat and his steady breathing and his soothing touch and the peaceful silence all work together to lull you, your eyes sliding shut. Birds chirp outside the window, a light breeze rustling the curtains. 

You slip deeper, his hand still moving. The weight of it slides up your spine and back down; again, again.

You fade, and he scoots closer.  His lips press against your forehead, his nose settling in your hair. 

“I’m glad, you know,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your skin. 

You hum sleepily in response. 

“That you found me,” he says, softer. 

Your eyes closed, you lift your chin for a kiss and he grants it to you, his hand settling on the soft curve of your cheek. He presses his lips to yours once, twice, and when he pulls away, you’re already sliding into sleep. 

Staying awake, he takes the time to look at you. 

You, barely a memory in the QZ. 

You, your sleeping body tucked into a tight ball near his on the trail. 

You, water dripping off the tips of your lashes in the lake. 

You, in the saddle on the way to Jackson, June’s smiling face right under your own. 

You, in this bedroom, on a warm afternoon. 

You, you, you, you, you. 

Closing his eyes, he joins you.

[topguncortez]

Set Up For Failure - J. Halstead

whumptober masterlist || previous day

prompt: "I Warned You"

synopsis: Life with Jay had never been easy, and you knew that being with a police officer wasn't going to be easy. But when a newly released criminal starts repeating the same patterns that got him put behind bars, Jay starts to worry about your safety.

warnings: cursing, robbery gone wrong, attempted murder, mentions of large amounts of blood, crime scenes, pregnancy, kidnapping, mentions of a non-consensual c-section.

word count: 2.9k

Being married to a cop wasn’t easy. Being married to a detective that belonged to Hank Voight’s Intelligence department wasn’t easy either. When you first met Jay, he did everything he possibly could to shield you from the life that he lived. In fact, you didn’t even know his name was Jay until about six months into your relationship. It was by accident that you had figured out his name, who he was and what he did for work. 

At first, you were pissed, you didn’t talk to him for about two months, completely cutting him off. How could you be with someone who had lied to you so easily? Who didn’t think you were worthy or trustful enough to tell you what he did every single day? Jay had groveled, showing up at your apartment every day with a bouquet of flowers, begging for you to talk to him. You had got so annoyed that you left a note on the door telling him to take the flowers and donate them to the nursing home. But after the third month of him waiting outside your door, you finally decided to hear him out. 

“I have an explanation,” He started. You crossed your arms over your chest, “Everyone who has been close to me ends up getting hurt or worse. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to you. I have been living in this darkness for so long, and you come and. . . you brought the light back,” Jay shook his head, “I was terrified of what would happen if the light went away.” 

“No more lying,” You said, pointing at him. 

“None, I swear,” Jay said, putting his hands, “Does this mean I am forgiven?” 

“This means you are on probation.” 

Four years later, you were now Mrs. Halstead, and in your final month of pregnancy. Life with Jay had been everything you dreamed of and more. He was attentive and caring, always calling you on his way home from the station, or texting you if it was going to be a late night. He did everything he possibly could to provide for you, buying a small fixer upper house near Hank’s place. Will had accepted you as his sister-in-law almost instantly, loving to have someone on his side during petty arguments with Jay. The whole squad had basically adopted you as one of their own, even though you didn’t have a single thing to do with the police force. You had been a teacher until you got pregnant, and decided to spend the first year of your baby’s life at home. 

"There's been a series of break-ins in the Sunset Hills neighborhood, which has residents on alert. Channel 10 news is-"

The TV had clicked off from behind you, causing you to gasp and look over your shoulder at your husband. You smiled sheepishly before turning back to the pile of baby clothes that you were folding. 

“You’re home early,” You said. 

“Mhm,” Jay answered, crossing his arms over his chest, “What are you doing?” 

“Oh, you know,” You lifted up a pile of folded onesies, “Kid has more clothes than me.” Jay’s eyebrow raised, “And I was just catching up on the local happenings. . . have I told you how much I love you?”

Jay huffed, shaking his head, “I told you to quit reading into that. There’s nothing to worry about.” 

You sighed looking down at the pile of clothes, you had been caught yet again. Ever since the first break-in in the neighborhood, you had been on high alert, even though both Jay and Hank assured you that it was nothing to worry about, but you still felt uneasy every time you were in the house alone, which happened to be a lot. Hank told you that the thieves weren’t hurting anyone or going to houses where they knew people were home. The only thing they were guilty of was breaking in and stealing thousands worth in property. 

“I have the right to know what’s going on,” You crossed your arms over your chest, “I need to know what is going on in case-“ 

“Nothing is going to happen,” Jay walked over towards where you sat on the couch and kneeled down in front of you, “Nothing is going to happen to you. We have the best security system money can buy. We are blocks away from the station, uniforms are doing patrols up and down this street, hell, Hank lives right next door,” You chuckled at that. Jay’s large warm hands landed on your belly, gently rubbing over the stretched skin, “You are safe, I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” He placed a kiss on your forehead, “To both of you.” He then placed a kiss on your belly, earning him a kick in response, “Chill out in there, rambo.” 

“She gets excited when you’re around,” You smiled, “She can hear you.” 

Watching Jay become a father has been your favorite thing in life. From the moment you stood in the door of your shared bedroom, tears running down your face as you told him, you knew he was going to be the best dad ever. The next day he went out and bought as many books as he could on parenting. You had to basically force him to keep his mouth shut from telling the squad, as he wanted to shout from the rooftops he was going to be a dad. Now it was count down mode until his little girl could be in his arms. 

— — — 

“It’s going to be a late night,” Jay huffed out from the other end. You could hear the faint sound of a radio, and knew he was probably sitting in his patrol truck, Hailey next to him, waiting for some movement or clue. 

“This past week have all been late nights,” You sighed, letting the warmth of your bath water seep into your bones. In the past week, it seemed as though your baby was getting ready to make their move to come into this world. Your last appointment your doctor pointed out that your belly had started to drop a bit, which sent Jay into a full on panic. Your back had been killing you, and the only place that seemed to help ease the pain, was the clawfoot bathtub you made Jay put in the bathroom. 

“I know, baby,” Jay sighed. He hated the late nights just as much as you did, especially being so close to your due date. He knew that Natalie and Will were right down the street, and would be over in a flash if you ever needed anything, but Jay hated the fact that he couldn’t be right there. His paternity leave wasn’t set to start until after the baby was born. 

“Just tell me, you’re going to catch whatever bad guy you are after,” Although you still disliked some aspects of Jay’s job, you loved that he was part of keeping the beautiful city safe. 

“Always, baby,” Jay smiled on the other side of the receiver, “I promise I’ll be home as soon as Hank cuts us loose. Tell Rambo she can’t make her appearance tonight.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Quit calling her Rambo.” 

Jay’s smooth laugh filled the air, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound, “I love you, Y/N. I’ll be home soon.” 

You spent probably another half hour, until the bath water had run cold and the candles burnt out before you climbed out of the bath. You grabbed a pair of Jay’s boxers and one of his Chicago PD shirts, which seemed to be all that fit you at this point, and some of the only things that felt comfortable enough to wear. You propped the pillows up behind your back as you climbed into bed. Most nights you would fall asleep in the recliner, sitting up nearly straight felt better than laying in a bed. But for some reason, you felt safer lying in your shared bed than being out in the living room. 

Sleep didn’t come easy to you. Being almost 40 weeks pregnant, moving around trying to get comfortable wasn’t something new to you. But it wasn’t the feeling of your daughter kicking your ribs that kept you awake. You couldn’t turn your mind off, every slight howl of the wind or the creek of the old house had you jumping slightly, and looking around your dark bedroom. At some point you had drifted off to a light, fitful sleep, but were awoken by the sound of smashing glass. 

You gasped, looking around the room, your hand on your pounding heart. You sat still in your bed, straining your ears to hear if maybe it was Jay. But the sound of a groan, had you climbing out of bed, going straight to the safe in the closet. You punched in the code quickly, grabbing the gun and the magazine that Jay kept in there. You had only ever loaded a gun a handful of times, and prayed that you had done it right, as you grabbed your phone, and locked the bedroom door. You dialed 9-1-1 with shaky hands as you heard footsteps and a male grumbling. 

“I’m armed and calling 9-1-1!” You yelled out, hoping to scare off whoever was in your house. The trill of the line seemed to go on forever, until you were met with the sound of a dispatcher. 

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” 

“I think someone broke into my house,” You said, trying your best to keep your voice steady, “I-I’m Detective Halstead’s wife.” 

“Alright Mrs. Halstead,” The operator said, “Can you tell me where you are at?” 

“I’m in my bedroom. I locked the door and hid in the closet.” 

“Are you armed?” 

You looked down at the black gun on the bedroom floor, tears filling your eyes, “Y-Yes. But please hurry, I think-” 

The sound of the bedroom door banging opened caused you to gasp. You clamped a hand over your mouth as the footsteps grew closer to you, and prayed to anyone listening that you were going to make it through this. 

— — — 

Jay felt like he was about ready to fall asleep. The unit had been tasked with trying to find out who was behind a series of break-ins. It wasn’t their normal gig, break-ins were unfortunately common in their district, but the last two break-ins resulted in two homicides. Hank was going to right off the two homicides, saying that they still didn’t catch the eye of the intelligence unit, but the last two crime scenes had similar patterns to a case that Jay had worked several years ago. 

“Have you guys settled on a name?” Hailey asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

Jay shook his head with a smile, “She’s still set on Ophelia. But I think Sammy is better.” 

“Sammy?” Hailey asked, already guessing what Jay’s answer was going to be. 

“For Sammy Sosa!” 

Hailey shook her head, “Yeah, I agree with Y/N on this one.” Jay scoffed, and the silence stretched back across the cab of the truck, “Why do you think this is a revenge thing?” 

“I don’t know if it is a revenge thing, but I have a feeling it is,” Jay sighed, “The pattern just fits. 13 plain home invasions, then two homicides. The writings in blood on the walls of the crime scene? That wasn’t public knowledge.” 

“But why would Roger Sterling wait this long? What has it been, six years?” 

Jay nodded his head. It was one of his first cases in the intelligence units, and Hank was right when he said the first one sticks with you. Jay thought he had the facts right out in front of him. Roger Sterling checked all of the boxes for the home invader turned murderer, except one. The night of the third homicide, Roger had a solid alibi that was backed by his wife. But not having an alibi for two out of three murders was good enough for the jury to convict, and sent Roger to prison for two years. That was, until the conviction was overturned on the grounds of ‘not enough solid evidence’. Roger was let go, but he held a vengeance for Jay. 

“I don’t know,” Jay ran a hand down his face, “I’m guessing he was probably stewing in his anger. He was proven innocent of all the crimes, but that still doesn’t give him a clean bill. He’s probably been angry for years and is now acting out.” 

“It just doesn’t make-” 

“All Units, All Units, we have an active call for a home invasion and the sound of gun fire.” 

Jay cursed, grabbing his radio, “This is 5021 George, what’s the address we’re in route.” 

“Address is three-twelve south Cleveland street.” 

Jay felt like his heart had stopped in his chest, as his radio fell from his hand. The only sound in his ears was the sound of his blood, roaring in his body. Everything had frozen, his hands began to shake and his vision went black. He couldn’t even hear or feel Hailey shaking him out of his trance, trying to get his attention. It was like Jay’s body moved on autopilot, as he pulled the truck out of park and sped towards his house. 

His house. 

The house his wife and child were home alone in. 

The house where there were gunshots fired. 

Jay barely put the truck in park as he arrived on scene, and didn’t even bother to shut the door as he jumped out and ran up the yellow police tape. The bright lights and sounds of sirens were making his head pound as he tried to push his way through to his house. He was brought out of his trance when he felt a hand on his chest, stopping him from approaching. Jay looked down, anger coursing through his bones. 

“Let me fucking go,” He sneered at Hank. 

“I can’t let you do that,” Hank’s gravelly voice sounded out. 

“That’s my wife!” 

“And this is a crime scene,” Hank barked back, “My crime scene.” Jay felt like he was going to throw up, as his knees gave out. Hank quickly wrapped an arm around him, helping him down to the curb. 

“Is she-” 

“She’s alive,” Hank responded, “But barely. They took her straight to Med, I called ahead and told Will to meet her there.” 

Jay felt like he could breathe a little bit better, knowing that his baby brother was going to be in charge of his wife’s care. It was as if Jay’s mind went blank, a factory reset as he looked at the members of his unit jump right into working the scene. 

“I need to see it,” Jay said, his voice lacking any emotion. Hailey, who stood behind him, gave Hank a look, but the older man knew Jay well enough. 

“C’mon,” Hank turned and walked towards the house, Jay hot on his heels. The two of them pushed through the yellow police tape, and Jay felt his heart tick again. 

The perfect house that Y/N had spent so much time on, was destroyed. Pieces of glass from the windows littered the floor, pictures on the wall had been skewed, bloody footprints left on the hardwood floors that took Jay way too long to fix up. 

Jay clenched his jaw, “Where was she?” 

“Perp came in through the back,” Adam explained, pointing to the open back door, “Looted around down here for a little bit, from what we can tell, nothing was taken.” Jay couldn’t even focus on seeing if anything was missing, he was more concerned on how Y/N ended up the victim. “Then he went upstairs,” Adam nodded his head towards the bloody footprints. 

Hank then led him up the stairs, where more uniforms stood around taking pictures, and putting numbered yellow place cards on the blood splatters. Normally, the coppery scent of blood didn’t bother Jay, but this had him feeling sick as he approached his bedroom. 

“The 9-1-1 call was dialed from in here,” Hank said, “Her phone was found in the closet along with a nine mil.” Jay felt some sense of pride that Y/N knew to get the gun from the safe. He could remember the day he had first brought it home and how much she had protested having a weapon in the house. But Jay promised it would be the only weapon they had and it was going to be under lock and key at all times. 

“Did she fire it?” Jay asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Hank nodded, “Bullet embedded in the wall.” 

“She missed,” Jay shook his head, his blue eyes looking down at the huge blood spot on the bedroom floor. “Is th-that her. . .” Hank nodded his head again. Jay let out a shuddering breath as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was as if time had finally stopped, and Jay came to a sickening realization about the blood on the floor, “The baby. . .” His eyes widened as he looked at Hank, who had a grime expression on his face, “Where is my baby?” 

Hank looked at Adam, who stood in the doorway, “We have an amber alert-” 

Jay stood up from the bed immediately, but Hank put a hand on his chest, “Get your fucking hand off of me.” 

“We found this next to her,” Hank handed Jay a note. 

Jay took the yellow piece of notebook paper, which was folded in half and a polaroid picture was in the middle. The picture was of Y/N, and it looked to be taken not that long ago, her round pregnant belly protruding out as she stood in front of the large bay window of the living room. Written in what Jay prayed was red ink were the words: 

“I warned you.”

[atimeofyourlife]

Steve being the one who is actually a fountain of queer knowledge because he has a gay uncle in San Francisco or New York, one of the cities that had the biggest queer communities.

Robin not having much information because she's a closeted teenage lesbian who can't drive, so she has nowhere to source that information without raising the suspicions of her parents.

Eddie doesn't have the chance because he can't afford to spend weekends in Indianapolis or Chicago, because weekends mean parties, and parties are one of the best times to deal. He might go occasionally, but just hitting up a bar to find a dude to hook up with, not getting into queer theory because he doesn't really care to. He doesn't bother to learn about hanky code or anything else, because he's not interested. All he's interested in is getting a little action.

But Steve? He spent a lot of time with his uncle, Hank, while growing up. Anytime his family was in the area, they would stay with Hank. Sure, Steve's parents would try to explain his partner, Joe, as a friend or a roommate, but Steve always knew. He could see how in love they were, even more than his parents.

It became normal for him. He heard the words that other people would throw around, how they would talk about how dangerous, how disgusting two men together was. But he couldn't understand why people thought so badly about it. Because Hank and Joe were so happy together and they weren't hurting anyone.

When he was twelve, they were the first people he told when he had the conflicting feelings of having a crush on a pretty girl named Annika in the grade above, but also really wanting to kiss Tommy every time the other boy laughed at one of his jokes. Joe and Hank just listened to him, then taught him about bisexuality. That it was perfectly normal to like both. They gave him gentle warnings, that he would have to be careful because people were cruel.

And because his parents had left him with them for a couple of weeks, they took advantage of it to introduce Steve to other people. They took him to a tiny queer bookshop that was run by a friend of theirs, giving him a space to learn in safety. Because of them, he met people of so many different orientations lesbians, bisexuals, gay men. Self-proclaimed dykes and faggots. Transexuals, men who were once women and women who were once men¹ and people that pushed the boundaries of gender entirely. He felt in awe of all these people, but also loved and accepted by everyone he met.

A few years later, the summer of '82, age 15 and between freshman and sophomore year, he was sat down for a more serious conversation. The day after he arrived, Hank and Joe sat him down for a serious talk about safe sex, in way more detail than what he got from his parents, which was just a pack of condoms appearing in his bathroom on his fifteenth birthday, with a note saying to use them so he wouldn't get a girl pregnant. The talk emphasized the need for a barrier during any type of sex, and brought up the very real risk of GRID, which had yet to be renamed AIDS², to point out why he had to be incredibly careful with everyone he had sex with. But they also made a point to reassure him that they were both okay, that he didn't have to worry about them. They made sure that he knew that they were always there for him, just a phone call away if he ever had any concerns or questions.

A year later, at 16, they decided he was ready for more information. They provided him with pamphlets and zines, covering everything from rights movements to AIDS to secret codes. He took an interest in the hanky code, but felt a little intimidated about what some of the colors meant. They also provided him with a fake id that declared that he was twenty one and that his name was Mark. While he was staying with them, he joined them out in the community. Meeting the people affected by AIDS, learning about the real effects of it and not just the few scare stories that were breaking through on the news. Hearing more stories of lived life, getting a better understanding of the people around him.

Just a few months later, November '83. When everything went to shit. Steve was terrified when he saw the photos Jonathan had taken from outside his house and developed in the school dark room. He couldn't help getting stuck on the what if? What if it wasn't Nancy he had in his room? What if it had been that night when he and Tommy got a little too drunk and kissed each other? What if he'd finally got the nerve to bring a guy home? His life could have been destroyed in seconds by an asshole being a creep.

He became more on guard, scared that at any point someone could be taking photos in his backyard. Then seeing Jonathan with Nancy in her room, it pushed him further. With the fight the next day, he just wanted to make his words hurt. He dug deep and threw out accusations that he'd never wanted to say. Allowing his anger and fear to take over. The moment the word queer left his mouth, he felt an uneasy sense of regret. Accusing someone else of being what he was, as if it was a bad thing.

After it was all over, the details were shared, the cover stories were given, the paperwork declaring that nothing had happened had been signed, Steve felt lost and alone. Even after apologizing, he still felt dirty for calling Jonathan queer. After a few days, he breaks and calls Hank and Joe, and tells them, well not everything, but what he can. The photos, the camera, the fight. What he said to Jonathan. They understood his anger and his fear. They disagreed with his choice of words, but told him that if he'd apologized and meant it, and it had been accepted, there was no point in him continuing to beat himself up about it. That he couldn't change the past, but he had to try and be better in the future.

The following summer, 1984, he joined them with a new hatred and fear of the government. He felt safer with them, not feeling like he was looking over his shoulder all the time. But he was also so worried, what if the Upside Down came back when he wasn't there to help. He threw himself into helping others, knowing there were so many ways that the government was willing to screw over citizens. Wanting to do the little he could when he could. It brought him some peace of mind, being able to do something.

After Starcourt, after getting discharged from the hospital, Steve confides in Robin. He tells her about Hank and Joe. About how much he'd learnt from them. He tells her that he's bisexual, a word she was unfamiliar with, but she embraces him anyway. He spins a story of all the different people he'd met, people that proved it could be okay for people like them.

It formed an even deeper bond between them, a shared understanding that they couldn't find in anyone else their age. They share secrets about crushes, about realizations. Judging how attractive customers are together once they got the jobs at Family Video. Steve showed Robin the zines, helping her pick up more pieces of information, about how many others there were out there.

Steve clocked Vickie pretty quickly, almost certain she was bisexual like he was. Robin struggled to believe him, not wanting to get her hopes up, or to risk getting hurt.

When Eddie crashed into their lives during the spring break from hell, Steve found himself falling hard and fast. He'd noticed the black bandana Eddie wore tucked into his back left pocket, and wanted it. He had never considered being into s&m, but would be willing to take anything Eddie gave him.

He tried to bring it up subtly to Eddie, only to be met with confusion. Even trying less subtle ways of questioning it, Eddie still didn't seem to get it. Steve had to ask if he was flagging, and Eddie responded by asking what flagging was. Steve felt mortified, and stuttered about it being a code, and he thought Eddie was gay. Eddie assured him that he was gay, but still had no clue what Steve was talking about with flagging.

Steve showed Eddie the zines as well, going through all the different colors of the hanky code. Eddie got a little embarrassed when he realized what he'd been signalling, but some of the interactions he'd had with guys the few times he'd been to a gay bar made a lot more sense.

It took a few more days after that for Eddie to realize what Steve had been getting at by bringing up him flagging. There was another awkward, and slightly embarrassing conversation to confirm that yes, they were into each other, and no, neither of them were actually into s&m.

(And of course, Hank and Joe got a kick out of the story when they were the first ones Steve told, other than Robin.)

¹I wrote it this way, as it would have been a way that twelve year old could understand different gender identities in 1979. Different language and terminology was used. I believe that it is up to individual trans people for how they describe and consider themselves pre and post coming out and transition, as it is a very personal thing. I'm non-binary and I consider anything about myself under the age of 17 to be a girl, because that's how I identified at that time. ²(AIDS was known by a bunch of different names, some less kind than others, including GRID [Gay-related immune deficiency] and 4H disease [Heroin users, homosexuals, hemophiliacs and Haitians], until the summer of 1982. The name AIDS was proposed on July 27th 1982, and came into use by the CDC in September of that year. The term HIV came into use in 1986.)

This was supposed to be a quick little headcanon, and it ended up taking me nearly a month to write 1.5k words. And I now want to write so many parts about Steve with his relationship to Hank and Joe. They're the gay uncles everyone deserves.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Can you write an insecure!reader who has stutters or nervous tics or anything that prevents her from talking easily so she just rathers to keep quiet because it kind of embarrases her, even with her boyfriend Logan

It can be any Logan you picture!! Be free with the idea too

Glossophobia

Trilogy! Logan X F! Reader

You prefer to stay quiet, keep to yourself, and do your work, but you're asked to do something that fills you with anxiety, and Logan talks it out with you

A/N: I'm sorry this took me so long! I really wanted to write this properly. I had to take speech therapy when I was a kid (had a LOT of trouble with my S, C, and Th sounds), not to mention I would get tons of anxiety speaking to groups of people or people I didn't know. It hits a lil close to home. Hope you enjoy! Also Idk why trilogy Logan called out to me for this one...

Warnings: Sort of a subplot included, reader is a scientist apart of X-men, a bit of angst, reader gets frustrated, anxiety, a small moment of comparison to others, Logan being a sweetheart and supportive, Charles jumpscares reader (there's no way Charles randomly popping in your head wouldn't scare the shit out of you), open ending

“Can you explain these results to me?” 

You looked up from the microscope, examining the broken down elements of a particular Rice Krispie cereal, the cereal box sitting nearby- the cartoon character on it seemingly staring at you in a mocking manner. Hank stood there with a stack papers in hand, looking at you questioningly past his glasses.

You took a deep breath, pushing yourself from the table, you reached your hand out for the papers, taking them gently from his hand. A deep sigh as you glanced over the papers, words forming in your head in what to say- how to explain it. You understood it completely, you wrote the paper.

Just, talking about it went a little differently. 

You let out a breath, “Okay…” You paused, as you read the results again. Hank waited patiently. Then you dropped the papers in your lap and you looked up at Hank with a raised eyebrow. “There's no way that you don’t understand this, Hank.” You point at him. “You are a doctor after all” You say. 

“I just want to hear your interpretation, not the science. I don’t quite understand the section regarding biological functions. That is your specialty you know…”

You looked up at him, with a displeased expression, before taking the papers back in your hand, flipping through to find the section Hank is talking about. “Okay.” you reread them for the third time. “Um, S..s..so, this is basically just an explanation about how drugs affect the system.” You begin. 

“Right.” Hank nods, he turns grabbing a chair nearby, and pulls it up to sit next to you. “You write about how it binds to DNA cells, which then affect the hormone cycle.”

You nodded. 

“How?” Hank asks, a small shake of his head indicating he didn’t understand. 

“It’s…It’s the same way alcohol affects hormones.” You explain. “It…affects the um, the levels of testosterone, in a man’s body. The oestrogen, in a woman’s. Except with this- it doesn’t reduce the fertility. It c-c-lings to the spermatozoa or ovum of the individual, and…” You pause to take a breath, sitting straighter in your chair. Hank was staring at you, listening intently. While you appreciate the fact that he wanted to hear your explanation….

All the research is. Right. There!

“It attacks the cells that uh, have the potential to include or actually, form a mutation.”

“Fascinating and terrible.” Hank shook his head. “This is an amazing discovery on your part dear.” 

“I wish it was for something better.” You force a smile to him, as you look back down at the papers. “Is that all you want to know?”

“Actually-” Hank sat up, leaning over to the papers as he began to point at various sections, he began to talk about different points in your paper, asking for clarification as you stare at him with silent dread. 

After that grueling conversation, you were finally left alone in your lab. Thankfully. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy talking to Hank, you were both like-minded people, who enjoyed hardcore science, and drama-ridden soap operas. You just weren’t a talker, which is why you preferred pursuing research over medicine. 

With research, you’re sitting in a quiet room, focused on your own tasks, and writing your notes to type up a paper later. Occasionally quiet small talk over the water cooler, a little;

“How's your day?”

“Fine, yours?” 

A goodbye and back to work. 

Hank pushed you to explain and explain. Which was fine, totally fine, at least he wanted to make sure he understood everything before he brought the papers up to Congress, your papers, evidence, and commentary of the genetically modified food you have discovered. You rather not have your research being mistaken, especially since it was dire that things change, and fast.

It’s just the more you talked, the more you paused, the more you stuttered, the more you misused a word, or went “um” for the 4th time in a sentence; and the more anxious you got as you began to wonder if Hank was getting annoyed. Not once did his expression change as he listened to you attempt to explain your research in more casual wording, patience was always a virtue of Hanks. 

It still left you overthinking.

You attempted to go back to your work, resting in the silence that filled the room. Your nerves settled as you forced yourself to ignore your anxiety over the conversation with Hank. Just as you were getting ready to peer back into the microscope, to finish taking your notes on the most recent discovery of yet another popular food, genetically modified to attack mutant cells. 

It’s too bad, this type of cereal were yours and Marie's favorite and now you can’t be bothered to eat them. It makes you cringe to even have to buy the damn things just so you can confirm that yes, this major brand is also poisoning mutants and damning your futures. 

What a bunch of dicks

Just as you placed your eyes over the ocular lens of the microscope, Charles voice appeared in your head- scaring the hell out of you and making you jump. 

“Jesus!” You yelped, jumping out of your chair and tipping over the box of the cereal. You heard Charles apologize sympathetically for startling you, then requesting you to come to his study. 

You sighed, standing there as you watched the cereal pour out onto the floor, creating a mess. You watched the grains form a small pile, a conceding expression on your face as your shoulders slump. 

Deciding to clean it up later, you left the lab to go to Charles study, and find out what he needs you for. 

“I think you should present this research.” 

Your face fell at Charles words. “Ex..Excuse me?” You ask, your blood running cold at the sound of presenting. You let out a small nervous laugh. “No…No way.” You shook your head. 

Charles smiled sympathetically, “Now I know you don’t like doing it, but you’re the one who discovered this. You deserve the credit.” 

“That’s why my name is on the p-p-paper!” You exclaimed. “Besides no one, is-is going to want to listen to me.” 

“Now that’s not true.” Charles says, straightening his shoulders, clasping his hands together on top his desk. 

“There’s no reason for me to present!” You hands flew out. “Hank- can do it just fine. I…cannot do it Professor. You know I hate t-talking a lot, much less in front of people.” You attempt to keep your voice steady, not allowing much emotion to fall through but you were unfortunately failing terribly. 

Not that it mattered anyway, Charles could easily read your mind and see how you felt about it. You enjoyed the telepathy Charles and Jean both had, which allowed you to not always have to talk out loud with them. Nonetheless it become a tad bit awkward eventually when Jean and you are in a lab together in complete silence, and she randomly blurts out responses to things you were thinking about. 

“Think about it.” Charles says gently, and you purse your lips together, and force yourself to nod. 

You knew Charles had good intentions. He was always trying to get you out of your shell, especially ever since you came here. You just can’t do it. It’s hard enough on your own, talking to people you considered family. You found yourself embarrassed at your own voice most of the time, preferring to just stay quiet. Talking in front of strangers? Congress?

Absolutely. Not.

You were now at your desk, your chin resting on your clasped hands; staring down at your papers with a frown. You weren’t reading the papers, you weren’t even seeing the papers. Looking past them, as you obsessed over the conversation with Hank, and Charles earlier in the morning. 

Why can’t you just do it? 

You hadn’t noticed Logan slipping inside. A big goofy smile on his face as he walks up to your desk, slowly fading as he notices the intense look in your expression, the way you were glaring down at your papers. He recognized the grumpy look, the look that tells him you were having a bad day - and was gonna need some TLC. 

He came up from your side, standing behind your chair as he leaned over you, a hand pressing to your desk to brace himself. 

You still hadn’t noticed his looming figure yet, until your eyes just happened to flip over to his hand, in which you lifted your head up in confusion, before turning to look up, scanning the familiar and muscular arm, and landing on Logan's face. He quirked a brow, a small smile spread across it, as he leaned down to press a soft greeting kiss to your lips. 

You returned it, eventually melting into it as a smile formed on your face. He parted from you, a loud smooch echoed in the room. 

“What’s it take for a guy to get noticed by ya, huh bub?” He teases. 

“Sorry...” You mutter bashfully looking away. He moved to lean against your desk, crossing his arms. 

“Still working?”

“Uh, no.” You shook your head, not looking up at him. 

“You were glaring at these papers pretty hard like they said something to offend you.” 

You fiddled with some of the papers, not saying anything. He observed your body language, the way you were closed in on yourself, avoiding looking at him, and not speaking much. Meant that you were having a really bad day.

“Hey.” His voice low, as his hand reaches over to tip your chin up at him. His brows creased together in focus, but his expression was lighthearted. “You okay?”

“M’fine.” You mutter. 

“Something happen?” 

Your eyes finally reached his. You waited a moment, “Lo?” 

“Hm?”

“Does…Do how I t-talk..Bother you?” 

He blinks, his chin tipping back a bit, as if he were baffled by your question. Then he tilts his head, brows creasing as he examines you. “How you talk?” He shook his head, “What do you mean?” 

You sigh looking down, removing yourself from his hand. Chewing on your lip, you began to pick at your nails - already thinned down from your encounters this morning. “You know what…I mean.” You glance back up at him. “I s-s- stutter, a lot. I can never just…Say what I want to say.” 

His brows creased, he tilted his head, examining your face. “I….Don’t get it. I mean, is there stuff you want to say?” 

“No I mean- When I talk, I…. have trouble getting it out and I start to s.s..stutter- Like that!” Your hands went in the air in frustration. 

“Woah, woah, settle down.” His hands went to your arms. “I don’t notice it, and I don’t think anyone else does, and if they do, who gives a shit?” 

You sigh in frustration, a little embarrassment overcoming you. You never really talked about this with Logan before, only mentioning in passing during the timing of your friendship. When you got together, you really couldn’t bring yourself to talk about it to him. You were afraid of pointing it out, that he would notice it more if you did. Maybe he would get sick of it. Especially when the other ladies here, like Ororo, or Jean, seems to speak perfectly clear with no hesitation in their words. 

You didn’t want the way you spoke noticed, or to be compared in anyway to your peers. So you simply chose not speaking much. When asked for your opinions, inputs, etc, you simply opted for the easy answer, or simply redirecting the conversation to someone else.

Your conversation with Charles put you on edge though. On one hand, you don’t want to turn him down. You knew he meant well and has high hopes for you but that merely filled you with more anxiety that if you really went up on that podium and spoke in front of congress- representing X-men and mutants alike, you were going to be an embarrassment. You certainly held a passion for this research, and want to contribute to protecting your fellow mutants, but this…

“Hey-” Logans voice cut through your thoughts again. “What is it?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Stop that.” He says firmly, then moving to kneel in front of you, his hands on your knees. “We talked about this before.” He says, referring to your conversations from the past, about opening up to each other more. You weren’t the only one who didn’t like to talk much, yet Logan’s “talking” was more about his feelings, rather than physical speaking. You let out a small sigh.

“The way I t-talk. It’s like I…swallow my words. It doesn’t annoy you?”

“Of course not.” Logan says. “Did I…Ever act like it did?”

You shook your head, and a small bit of relief came across his face. “So what’s this about bub?”

“Charles…Asked me to p-p-present my findings to Congress, instead of Hank.” You look down at where your hands were on your lap, Logans hands resting over yours. “I…don’t want to.” 

“Then don’t.” Logan replies with a small shrug. 

“But Charles-” 

“You don’t gotta do a damn thing just cause Chuck asked you to.” He says with a shake of his head. “If you want to do it, do it, if you don’t want to, don’t. You don’t need to prove anything.”

“It’s just with this…This..The way I talk…” You forced yourself to look up at him. “I, I’m c-c-constantly wondering when people are going to snap at me.”

“Fuck em.” 

You blinked in surprise, and a small laugh escaped you. “Lo!” 

“I’m serious.” He raised a brow, his expression and tone evident that he was indeed serious. “Someone’s gonna be a dick, fuck em. Tell em that to their face. In fact I’ll do it for you. Don’t need to waste your time on someone like that.” 

You giggled, shaking your head and closing your eyes as you tipped your chin downwards. A faint smile appeared on Logans lips as he watched you. You opened your eyes and looked back up at him, and for a moment he felt his breath taken away. His hands squeezed yours, as he leaned up to capture your lips in a soft but urgent kiss. Parting from you, he rested his forehead against yours, your noses bumping into each other. 

“You sure it…doesn’t bother you?” You ask softly. 

“It’s you baby. Everything about you.” He replies, “There ain’t a single thing I don’t like about you. Don’t hide yourself from me. Got it?” 

You let out a small hum and nodded. 

“So…About this presentation Chuck wants ya to do…” He leans back a bit. “What worries you?”

“Making a fool of myself.” You mutter softly, as you felt a heat in your cheeks from admitting it. 

“You?” Logan raised a brow. “The only people making themselves out to be fools is the assholes who created the whole…food…thing.” He waved his hand in annoyance. “..and everyone with those damn suits but that’s another story.” 

You laughed. “You’d look g-great in that.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Focus.” He says in a warning tone, before pausing and winking at you. “Look, if you really don’t want to do it. Don’t. You don’t need to. Beastie will be fine. Just, don’t do it just because you’re worried about others judging you.” He reaches out, brushing some of your hair back. “Guarantee you’re 10 times smarter than all the assholes in Congress anyway. Don’t let others scare you from being yourself, and speaking up for yourself. Got it?” he adjusted himself on his knee. “Whatever you do, wherever you go, I got your back.”

Just when you thought you couldn’t love the man more. 

You bit your lip, and nodded. A genuine smile came across his face. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it, and then the other. 

“So, what are you going to do?” He asks looking up at you with a raised eyebrow.

[c0nn0rsseur]

Can we take a moment to appreciate Bryan Dechart’s performance as Cyberlife Tower Connor aka Sixty and Sixty as a character? 🤌

Though Sixty and deviant Connor are physically identical (minus their demeanors, e.g. the way they stand and walk, like wow, Bryan, wow) and their voices technically aren’t different from each other, the distinction is still clearly there, at the same time it’s so nuanced too. Sixty sounds condescending, imperious and callous compared to deviant Connor whose voice is empathetic, curious and sincere. I’m not even talking about their lexicon, their choice of words here (there’s of course a difference too). Even when Sixty tries to convince Hank he’s the real Connor, you can hear how he’s failing to sound exactly like his counterpart because he can’t replicate deviant Connor’s voice and speech pattern just so. Sixty’s also being very commanding when trying to fool Hank into shooting the real Connor (Hank even gets irritated because of it). Damn that’s brilliant acting, all hats off to Bryan. His performance in this game never fails to impress me. (I wish there were dialogue for RK900 too, I would’ve loved to see Bryan’s take on his voice and presence.)

Also also I have to mention I love the take that Sixty really was a deviant all along too, an ”evil” version of Connor if you will; cold, calculating and even enjoying the situation he had Connor (and Hank) in. You know, doing all of it because he wanted to, because he liked it. Why else would he deliver a whole ass villain monologue before executing deviant Connor, gloating about how he knows what he is and that he is the obedient, favorite child, plus calling Connor a disappointment (and a disappointment to him especially, like how Connor should care in his final moments that Sixty despises him for not being a good little robot)? AND shooting him several times non-lethally before landing that final shot (if the story goes there), like savoring the situation. Of course he also has to ask if Connor has any last words too. That’s definitely not what an efficient machine would have done to make sure it accomplished its mission. In some outcomes his stalling costs him the victory.

Top that off with the ending where deviant Connor dies but the androids still wake up, Sixty is scared and emotional because he failed, scared to be deactivated because of his failure. Then there’s this scene where he shoots deviant Connor eleven times in front of his friend. After that Sixty takes in Hank’s reaction and even torments him by saying Connor’s death was his fault. Still doesn’t sound like a machine much, huh? More like a sadistic psychopath.

Man, I wish we could’ve seen more Sixty, it would’ve been chilling to see if he went full-on rogue, maybe being Markus’ right hand/attack dog on a leash in the violent revolution arc, maybe with his own agenda of taking Markus’ place and wanting to subjugate humanity. Or maybe deviant Connor could’ve persuaded him to their side by making Sixty to see he was nothing but a tool, unintentionally prompting him to seek revenge and to reduce Amanda and Cyberlife to atoms (not what Connor intended haha). There could’ve even been a redemption arc for him, like in a ”what’ve I done?” type way. You know, a bit of an internal moral struggle. And of course, our fave ”sack of shit” (as Hank so eloquently put it) demanding answers from his maker, Kamski, in a not-so, uh, conventional manner. Let them measure their respective arrogance and wit and see who comes out on top. Or would they team up?

Such a delicious character, so many delicious what-ifs.

[mersei47]

2bhank maybee? Any crumbs and I'd be grateful ^^

I know my 2bhank is different to what most people out there depict them to be but hear me on this one, I saw doc being the one that so insisting on bringing hank back to life or stitch him back together but to hank, they doesnt really care much about themself so hank is curious as to why doc was doing this and tried to see what benefits doc will get from this

back to doc, he found hank very interesting at first because hank is very determind to not to die and thats one of the main reasons he recruit them. As time go on + many times he had to fix hank back up he start to get one-side crush on them. He tried to deny it because who tf in their right mind would fall for a mass murderer but he gave up soon after (hank has no idea about this the whole time)

[mercilessflowchart]

I've always found this article about the in-world phenomenon of "command-led communication" super interesting:

It's described as a verbal occurrence, but I've noticed it manifest nonverbally too in a couple scenes, which has increased my interest tenfold. The two I've found so far happen during the Nest chapter, and the Stratford Tower chapter.

When Hank cuts in front of Connor, there's no "excuse me" or attempt to walk around him first; he simply turns and starts moving with the expectation that Connor will step back and let Hank through.

Here, Markus really has to step back. Not just to avoid being bumped into by the NPC, but also to keep from getting whacked in the face by the door. He pushes by Markus with no hesitation.

If anyone else finds more, I'd love to hear about them!!

[austinbutlerslovers]

Kiss it better

Label Mature 18+

Summary After a one night stand with Hank you’re hooked, however things take a strange turn the next time you see him leaving you to decide how far you want to take things.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥  Edging •teasing•self pleasure •phone sex• forced inebriation�� sex while drunk• dirty talk•pinning•manhandling •clit play fingering•squirting•sex on a couch•doggy style•rough sex•hair pulling•multiple orgasms•after care

(Sorry for delay I had to read some of the book ☺️)

Kiss it Better

After your first hookup with Hank, he’s all you can think about. The way he effortlessly took control, the way he knew exactly what you wanted before you even had to ask—it’s been replaying in your mind, leaving you restless. You’d expected to hear from him right away, anticipating his call like it was inevitable. But as the hours drag into the evening, the uncertainty starts gnawing at you.

By the time 10 p.m. hits, nerves and frustration twist in your stomach. Why hasn’t he called? What could possibly be wrong? The silence is loud, and you’re starting to question everything. At 11 p.m., you can’t stand it any longer. You grab your phone and call him, heart racing with a mixture of hope and impatience.

No answer.

You sit back on your bed, rolling your eyes, trying to play it off like it doesn’t bother you. But the sting digs deeper with every passing minute. What started as a simple craving now feels like a slow ache, hollowing you out. It’s irrational, you know that, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts from swirling.

By the next morning, the ache has settled into something more tolerable and you check your phone the moment you open your eyes, but there’s still nothing.

The lack of contact feels personal now, a quiet rejection that weighs on your chest. You start your day, trying to shake it off, telling yourself not to be so eager. But deep down, you know the truth—you’re hooked. The way he treated you, the way he made you feel, it’s like an addiction and you need more.

During the day the weight of it grows heavier, and the sting sharper, until finally, your phone buzzes with a message. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you see Hanks name on screen. It’s a simple text, but it might as well be a lifeline after a day of silence.

-Had to deal with something unexpected- 

That’s it. Just six words. But something about them feels off. You stare at the screen, reading the message again and again, trying to decipher the distance that seems to linger in his words.

It’s vague, detached, like he’s holding something back. There’s no explanation, no apology and you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. 

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the screen, trying to find the balance between casual and curious, not wanting to sound desperate but needing more than the vague explanation he gave you. Finally, you start typing, your heart pounding in your chest as you hit send.

-Everything okay?-

The simplicity of it makes you feel exposed, but it’s all you can think to say. You don’t want to push too hard, but you can’t ignore the gnawing feeling in your gut that this isn’t a casual brush off, he couldn’t wait to have you again, something is wrong.

Your phone buzzes almost immediately, and you freeze, staring at the screen like it holds all the answers you’ve been waiting for:

-I’ll call you tonight-

His words are simple, but the relief that floods your chest is instant. You didn’t realize how tense you were until now. Your shoulders drop, and you exhale, feeling some of the pressure ease off. 

He’s still there, still planning to reach out and somehow, that’s all you need.

You smile a little to yourself, as you set your phone down, your heart lighter than it was moments ago, and you try to distract yourself until tonight when you’ll finally get to hear his voice again.

You throw yourself into the day, keeping busy. You run a few errands, grab a coffee, and spend the afternoon shopping for a new outfit—something daring, just in case you see him later.

As you browse the racks, a micro mini skirt catches your eye—black with a subtle side slit that adds just the right amount of edge. You pair it with a fitted top that hugs your curves and plan to wear it with a a leather jacket from your closet to complete the look.

Later, you meet up with friends for dinner and a few drinks, the laughter flowing as easily as the cocktails. The lively conversation and warmth of good company begin to melt away some of the anticipation that had been building inside you all day. Even though a part of your mind is still on Hank, the buzz from the cocktails leaves you feeling light and carefree.

By the time 10 p.m. rolls around, you stumble into your apartment, kicking off your heels. Your mind is still swimming from the drinks as you head to your bedroom tossing your purse onto the bed and stripping down to your bra and panties.

You’re ready for a quick shower when suddenly you hear your phone buzz. Your heart leaps in your chest and you pick up on the first ring, a smile already forming on your lips as you fall down on your bed the room spinning. 

Before you even say hello, Hank’s voice comes through the phone, low and playful sending a thrill through you.

“So eager,” he teases, his tone filled with amusement, but there’s something underneath it. His voice sounds rougher, more strained, but you brush the thought away, too caught up in the relief of hearing his voice.

“Maybe because I’ve been waiting for you all day,” you quip, your voice playful, a little slurred from the drinks with a mockingly seductive edge to it.

“Mmm, have you now?” he asks, his voice dropping lower with intent. “What are you doing now that you have me?”

You bite your lip, relaxing against your pillows feeling the heat rise between you through the phone.

“I’m laying in bed wearing lingerie,” you out right admit a smile forming on your lips as the words flow so easily with the alcohol loosening your tongue.

He hums in response, the sound low and full of pleasure causing a surge of arousal to course through you.

“What color?” he asks, the edge in his tone making your heart race.

“Red,” you reply softly, your voice dipping into a whisper. “It’s red.”

You can hear him shift on the other end, a subtle sound that deepens the desire building between you.

“You have no idea what that does to me,” he says, his voice lower filled with desire.

“I want to find out,” you tease, your fingers snapping the hip strap of your panties, the sound cuts through the air and you can almost hear his breath catch on the other end.

“Close your eyes for me,” he instructs and you readily obey, feeling the haze of intoxication blend with the heat coursing through your body.

“How do you feel?” he asks, the sound of his breathing filling the silence.

“I feel… good…really good,” you confess, your words softer now, feeling the anticipation in the air.

“I can hear it in your voice.” He observes, his tone dropping lower, more intimate. “You must’ve been thinking about me all day, haven’t you?” He says his voice trailing off as you hear the distinct sound of his zipper lowering. The noise sends a thrill through your body as he continues. “I’ve been thinking about you too,” he adds, his breath catching slightly.

Your heart races from his words, feeling a mix of excitement and arousal as your hand instinctively runs along the curve of your breast.

“You have?” you whisper,  the need growing more intense.

“Mhm,” he hums. “Right now, I’m so hard just thinking about how wet you must be.”

His words send a jolt of heat through your body, and you squirm slightly, your breath quickening.

“Touch yourself for me,” he says softly, “Tell me how good it feels.” he commands the words slipping from his lips like a secret. 

You swallow hard, your breath catching as your hand slowly trails down your body, and you let out a soft moan as you follow his instructions. 

The sound of his breathing on the other end of the line is all you need to hear.

“Tell me how wet you are.” he asks, his voice thick with desire

 “I’m…so wet,” you moan softly, your body responding to every word he says as your fingers move faster.

“Those little noises…I want to hear every sound you make.” He urges his voice low and commanding.

You increase the pace, your moans spilling out as the pleasure intensifies, your body completely obeying his voice.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, his tone low and full of arousal. “I’m so hard right now… wishing I could be there to feel you,” he groans, his voice heavy with need.

The subtle sound of his hand stroking himself reaches your ears, sending a rush of heat through you, and you moan ready to orgasm.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he whispers, his voice strained with his own arousal. “Keep going. I want to hear you come for me.”

His words push you over the edge, your breath quickening, your body trembling with the intensity of it all. You can hear the way his breathing grows more ragged, the sound of his hand stroking his cock faster, until finally you shudder with release, his name falling from your lips.

You hear him groan deeply, the sound of his own pleasure reaching its peak as he follows you over the edge. The silence that follows is filled with the sound of your labored breaths, both of you slowly coming down from the intensity of the moment until the only thought flooding your mind escapes you.

“Hank… when can I see you again?” you ask, your voice still shaky from the orgasm.

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” he admits, his voice shifting, darker. “Thinking about what I’ll do to you the next time I see you.”

Your heart races at his words, the anticipation coiling tighter inside you.

“What are you going to do to me?” you whisper, your voice barely steady, desperate to hear him say it.

“Everything,” he replies, his tone thick with intent, sending a rush of heat through your body.

You’re already desperate by the time you finally ask, your voice almost a plea. “When?”

There’s a pause as he carefully considers his words before he finally answers, “…I’ll be back at the bar next week,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll call you then, be ready for me.”

“I will,” you whisper, the promise slipping out before you even realize it.

After you hang up, you lay in a daze, staring at the ceiling, your thoughts spiraling around Hank. The impatience gnaws at you, the need for him building like a pressure you can’t release. He’s fully in your head now, and no matter what you do, it’s impossible to shake the thoughts of him.

The days stretch by in agonizing slowness, every minute dragging as you try to focus on work. Tasks that once held your attention now feel like background noise, your mind wandering back to Hank at every chance. Each time your phone vibrates, your heart leaps, only to be disappointed by another text or email.

When you finally receive his call, it’s 11:30 at night. You’re in bed, resting, when your phone buzzes in your hand. Without even checking the screen, you pick it up on the first ring—you know it’s him.

“I like it when you’re eager,” Hank teases, clearly satisfied with your quick response. “Didn’t even hesitate, did you?” He asks his voice laced with amusement, and you immediately notice how much more energized he sounds compared to the last time you spoke. 

“Why would I?” you reply smoothly, a hint of challenge in your tone. “You knew I’d be waiting.”

He’s silent for a moment, the kind of silence that makes your pulse quicken and when he speaks his voice drops lower, growing with that familiar edge.

“You’re ready for me tonight?” he asks, the question hanging heavy in the air, thick with suggestion.

You bite your lip, you’ve been waiting impatiently for days, but you’re not going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing how desperate you are— not yet. 

“Maybe,” you say, your voice trailing off, trying to mask your need.

You hear him chuckle on the other end, dark and knowing. “You’re trying to tease me, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice soft and commanding. 

There’s a brief pause as you struggle to find a response, but he continues before you can speak.

“We both know you’re too eager for that… You’ve been waiting for me.” He confirms, his words like a slow burn, his control as intoxicating as ever, pulling you deeper into the game he’s so effortlessly mastered.

You can’t deny the effect he’s having on you—the way your body responds at the mere sound of his voice.

“Come to the bar,” he says without even waiting for your response. It’s not a suggestion—it’s a command, leaving no room for hesitation. And you don’t need to be told twice.

You’re up, getting ready in record time, slipping into the outfit you’d planned: the red lingerie, tight top and a micro mini skirt with a daring slit. Your heart pounds in your chest as you throw on your leather jacket and rush out the door. The excitement and anticipation of seeing him again is almost too overwhelming.

The bar is dimly lit when you step in, the low hum of conversation and soft clinking of glasses blending into the background as your search for Hank.

He’s exactly where you expect him to be—behind the bar, pouring drinks with practiced ease, commanding the place effortlessly. But tonight, something feels different.

He’s not wearing his baseball cap, and his sandy blonde hair frames his jaw, brushing against his neck just so. 

A few loose strands have fallen into his face as he pours drinks, and when he casually tucks them behind his ear the simple gesture makes him look even more irresistible.

But, something’s off and your breath catches when you notice it—Hank has a black eye, a bruise darkening around his cheek bone, slightly swollen, the purplish hue stark against the smoothness of his skin.  

Without thinking, you find yourself walking faster toward the bar, your heart thudding in your chest. The question bursts out before you can stop yourself.

“Hank! What the hell happened to your eye?”

He looks up from the drink he’s pouring, a slow smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes lock onto yours.

Despite the bruise, or maybe because of it, he looks more dangerous, more alluring than ever. The black eye only adding to his rugged appeal, like a badge of something wild and untamed just beneath the surface.

He leans against the bar, wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it aside, the smirk never leaving his face. His eyes gleam with mischief as they sweep over you, taking in your appearance as if he’s savoring it.

“Why?” he drawls, his voice a rough tease. “You care about me?”

You blink, thrown off by his question and the way he playfully watches your reaction makes it seem like he already knows the answer.

“I care,” you admit, because seeing Hank hurt actually does stir something inside your chest, and as your gaze keeps flickering to the bruise you realize that’s why he postponed seeing you.

Hank chuckles softly, his full lips quirking into a devious smile as he takes a step closer, his body leaning over the bar.

“C’mere,” he says, his voice warm and enticing, and as you slide onto the barstool, his eyes study your reaction as he slowly leans in, his face just inches from yours, his broad arms folding, elbows resting on the bar. 

His blue eyes are sharp, his full lips curving into a knowing smile as you take in the way his presence dominates the space between you. Hank is so attractive that as your eyes roam over his face, you can’t help but get lost in the details of him.

“You really want to know?” he asks, his voice warm and intoxicating, laced with a dangerous allure that makes it impossible to look away.

“Yes, Hank, I really want to know,” you reply a little more breathless than you intend with him so close.

His eyes darken, locking with yours, and the way he’s staring at you sends a wave of heat through you.

“Tell you what,” he says, his voice lowering with seduction as his eyes fall to your lips. “You kiss it better,” he says, with a slow smile, “and maybe I’ll tell you.”

His words are like a slow burn through your core the concern quickly morphing into something else entirely.

For a moment, you hesitate, your gaze flickering between his eyes and that damn bruise. You feel terrible that he’s hurt, but the way he’s watching you, like he’s daring you to cross a line, has heat pooling in your core.

“Come on,” he urges softly, his voice a velvet caress. “Kiss it better.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and before you know it, you’re leaning in, closing the gap between you. Your lips brush against the bruised skin just below his eye, soft and hesitant at first, but then you press a kiss onto his cheek full of all your unspoken affection for him.

Hank sharply inhales and you can tell right away the kiss had more of an effect than he lets on.

When you slowly pull back, his eyes are darker, his smirk gone, lost in desire, replaced with something far more intense.

You’re close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, and as he stares at you, your mind spins, your body reacting to him in ways you hadn’t expected.

“I need another kiss,” he whispers, and before you can respond, his lips brush softly against yours. The kiss starts slow but quickly deepens. His lips growing demanding, his control unmistakable as he kisses like he knows exactly how to break you down, how to make you melt under his touch, and he does.

In that moment, nothing else matters—the bar, the patrons, it all fades away. You just want him, the connection between you two so deep, it feels like you could drown in it.

When he finally pulls back, you’re left breathless, your heart racing, your body aching with need and you see his eyes darken, his lips curving into a devious knowing grin.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper, half breathless, half aroused.

“You have no idea,” he reveals, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes as a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “You taste even better than I remember,” he admits.

His words take you by surprise, sending images of your last hookup flashing through your mind—the heat, the intensity, the way your body instinctively responded to him. A sudden flush rises to your cheeks as your lips part, craving more.

He can see the effect he’s having on you and his smirk widens just a little more, a knowing glint in his eyes as he straightens up.

“Take a shot for me.”he says low and smooth,

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “A shot?”

“Yeah,” he says, already reaching for the bottle behind him.

There’s a teasing edge in his voice, but underneath it, there’s a challenge—a quiet authority that makes it clear he expects you to follow his lead. The way he’s looking at you, like he’s got something planned, makes your heart race faster.

He pours you a shot of amber liquid, pushing the glass toward you with a slow, deliberate movement.

“Take it down ,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours.

You reach for the glass without thinking, your fingers brushing against his as you lift it to your lips.

The whiskey burns as it slides down your throat, the heat spreading through your body, making your skin tingle. Hank watches you with that same dark intensity, waiting for you to finish before pouring another.

“Good,” he says softly, pouring the next round. “one more.”

You open your mouth to protest, but his eyes are locked onto yours, commanding, unwavering.

He pushes the glass toward you again, and there’s no question—he’s in control now, and he knows it.

He knows how easily you fall under his authority, how you like the edge of danger, the way he takes charge, pushing you further than you would ever go on your own.

You take the second shot, the room spinning just a little as the alcohol starts to hit. Hank smirks, watching the way your lips part, your breath quickening. He pours another, the third, the amber liquid sloshing in the glass as he sets it in front of you.

“One more,” he says, his voice a rough whisper now filled with promise. “For me.”

His words make your heart pound, the heat in your stomach growing as you take the glass, downing it in one gulp. The burn is stronger this time, the edges of the room starting to blur, your mind foggy with the warmth spreading through you.

You’re dizzy now, but Hank—he’s crystal clear, standing in-front of  you, his eyes heavy with intent.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, his voice sending a shiver through you.

He leans down, his lips brushing the side of your ear, just barely grazing your skin. “My shift’s over,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath making your pulse race.

“It is?” you ask, your voice softer than you intend, feeling the anticipation heavy between you.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes burning into yours, studying you, as his smirk widens. “Yeah,” he says, his voice low and full of promise. “And I’m taking you to my place.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with intent, and the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to say no.

It’s not really a question and the way he says it, with a hint of dominance, sends a thrill through you. He’s not asking for permission; he’s already decided how the night’s going to end.

His words are laced with the promise of something intense, something that will leave you breathless, just like before.

You know what you’re getting into with Hank. There’s no pretense with him. He wants you, and he’s not shy about it. And if you’re honest with yourself, you want him too. The tension between you has been simmering since you first met.

“Your place, huh?” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though it’s hard when he’s so close, his scent, his heat, clouding your thoughts blurring with the alcohol.

Hank leans in again his lips brushing against the side of your ear sending another wave of heat crashing through you. “Unless you have other plans,” he teases, his voice a lower tone that vibrates through your skin “But something tells me you don’t.”

He pulls back, and the look in his eyes is unmistakable. You’re on the edge, teetering, and Hank is right there, waiting to pull you over to make you lose yourself to him tonight.

The thought of being alone with him, the promise of what’s waiting, sends a rush of heat through you. 

Without thinking, you nod, your body making the decision before your mind can catch up. “Take me to your place,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

His grin deepens with satisfaction as he steps back from the bar. “Good girl,” he says, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turns away to close out his shift.

You stand up, ready to leave, but as soon as you do, the room spins unexpectedly and you quickly reach out to steady yourself against the bar. You’re so drunk you can barely stand, and before you even realize it, Hank’s hand slips firmly around your waist.

“Come on, lightweight,” he teases, “Don’t make me carry you out of here.”

You glance up at him as he steadies you and your heart skips a beat at how effortlessly handsome he is. 

His sandy blonde hair falls perfectly around his face, his blue eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and desire, and that smirk—the one that makes your heart beat faster.

He guides you out of the bar, the cool night air hitting your skin, making your mind hazy with the alcohol buzzing through your veins. The world feels slightly off balance with every step, but one thing is certain: you’re his tonight, and there’s no turning back. 

The way to his place is a blur, his hand warm and firm around your waist, leading you down darkened streets. The anticipation builds with every step, the air between you filled with unspoken desire. You’re hyper-aware of every brush of his fingers, every glance he throws your way, like he’s already undressing you with his eyes.

By the time you reach his apartment, your pulse is racing, your body aching with the promise of what’s to come. Hank doesn’t waste any time. The door barely shuts behind you before his hands are on you, pulling you close, his lips crashing against yours.

His kiss is demanding, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping you tightly as he backs you against the wall. You gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, making your knees weaken. His body presses into yours, firm and unyielding, and you feel the unmistakable hardness of his cock.

“You have no idea how  much I want you,” he whispers against your jaw, his voice laced with desire as he nips at your lower lip, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

“Show me,” you say near breathless, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

 It’s what he wants to hear, and you know it.

Hank’s eyes darken, his smirk returning as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb tracing your jaw “I will,” he promises and his hands slide up your sides, pulling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion.

His gaze sweeps over you, fixating on your red lingerie as his eyes grow even darker with hunger. 

“You wore it for me,” he says, his voice filled with desire.

You nod, trying to stay calm, trying to maintain some control, but the way his hands move to your lingerie, fingers brushing over your nipples sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, making it nearly impossible to think straight.

His lips curve into a wicked grin, clearly pleased with what he sees  and before you can catch your breath, his mouth is on yours again, his kiss more demanding, and possessive than ever, reclaiming you all over again.

His hands move to your waist, fingers hooking to your skirt as he pulls it down letting it fall to the floor.  

You step out of it, still lip-locked, your breaths mingling, your head spinning. Now only in your bra and panties you reach for him, your fingers tugging at his shirt to take it off, desperate to touch more of him, but Hank grabs your wrists, pressing them back against the wall. 

“You want it so badly, don’t you?” he teases, his closeness amplifying every word, making you feel powerless to resist him. “Show me how much you want it.” He commands his eyes dark with intensity as he watches you, enjoying every second as you squirm under his attention.

Your body answers before you can speak, your hips pressing forward, seeking more of him as you look into his eyes pleading desperately. 

A low chuckle escapes his lips, the sound vibrating through you, and you can feel the heat of his cock pressing firmly against you, the tension between you almost unbearable.

“So needy,” he whispers, leaning in close his voice dark and teasing as he gathers both your wrists above your head, lowering his other to skim his fingers along your thighs.

Before you can think, his fingers press firmly against your clit, the sensation overwhelming as you gasp. He applies just the right amount of pressure, holding his fingers firmly in place as the pulse of your clit throbs beneath his touch.

“Tell me,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear, “do you like it when I touch you like this?”

His fingers move in slow, agonizing circles, teasing you, his control absolute. His grip on your wrists tightens as you squirm in his grasp, your body betraying you as the pleasure builds too quickly. 

Your legs tremble, your breath hitches, and your hips instinctively push against his hand, desperate for more, for him to finally push his fingers inside you, but he pulls his fingers back keeping you pinned in place, denying you any control.

“Please Hank…” you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper needing more your tone unmistakable.

His grip on your wrists tightens slightly, his lips curving into a satisfied smile. “Begging already?” he asks, his voice low and dark with a teasing edge.

A slight moan escapes your lips as he presses you harder against the wall, pinning you there with his body.

He leans in closer, his lips grazing your ear. “Beg me again” he whispers, his tone commanding, his breath warm against your skin.

You tremble, feeling his power over you, and give in completely. “Please ….please Hank I need more….” you plead, your voice soft and desperate. 

His smirk widens clearly enjoying your submission, and his fingers return to your clit, teasing you mercilessly. He circles faster, flicking with precision and your moans fill the air, louder and more desperate than ever as the pressure builds inside you.

“Mmm that’s what I like to hear” he says slipping his fingers into your panties. 

His fingers glide through your slick wetness, the sensation making you shudder feeling the desire course through your entire body.

“You’re already soaking for me,” he says with a grin, his words dripping with satisfaction.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as his fingers firmly push inside, curling just right, grazing the spot that makes your walls tighten instantly. He moves with quick, force, each thrust of his fingers sending waves of pleasure through you.

His thumb finds your clit, pressing down firmly as your body tenses involuntarily, your walls clenching around his fingers.

The room blurs as all your senses focus on him. He’s pleasuring you so well that you can’t stop the soft moans escaping your lips as he keeps fingering you on the brink of ecstasy.

“Not yet,” he whispers watching your body react to his touch, his voice full of satisfaction as his fingers thrust even faster, pushing you to the brink.

Your breath catches as the pleasure builds to such an unbearable height that you can’t hold on any longer. Low, shaky moans escape your lips, your voice raw and desperate needing to come.

He hums as he savors the desperate, breathless sounds you’re making.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me…You’ve earned this one. Come for me” he says curling his fingers just right, driving you over the edge.

And you come, your body shuddering violently as the orgasm crashes over you. Your vision blurs, your muscles clenching uncontrollably around his fingers.

The pleasure consumes you as you cry out, barely aware of the world around you, completely lost in the overwhelming release he’s giving.

Hank hums in approval with your moans, enjoying every reaction of your body as you orgasm for him. He presses gentle, lingering kisses on your throat, savoring the moment as your body begins to calm, your breaths coming in softer gasps.

You stare up at him in pure bliss, your body flushed from the overwhelming pleasure and as he releases you from his grip, his eyes roam over you, dark with desire. He quickly undresses, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion.

Every muscle on his toned body flexes firmly beneath his skin and your arousal spikes with each piece of clothing he removes.

Finally, his hands lower to his boxers, the outline of his size barely contained against the straining fabric. When he releases his cock it sways slightly, thick and heavy, the sight making you tremble with anticipation.

He pulls you away from the wall, his grip firm and possessive around your waist as he guides you toward the couch.

He presses down on your shoulders, guiding you to kneel on the cushions and before he can even get you into the position, you move on your own, sinking to your knees and arching your back, your elbows on the back rest offering yourself perfectly for him.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice low, a teasing smile curling at the corners of his lips. “You’ve been waiting for this, all night haven’t you?.”

Your breath hitches as his words sink in, your body trembling with anticipation. “Yes…,” you admit, your voice filled with need. “I want you so much”

“I know you do,” he says his fingers barely skimming the edge of your lingerie. “And I’m going to give you exactly what you want.” He promises unhooking your bra, sliding it down your arms.

“Stay just like this,” he says with authority, his voice firm as he steps away, leaving you in position, vulnerable and waiting.

You hear him move, the sound of a drawer opening, the anticipation coiling tighter in your stomach. Your body aches for his touch, your core pulsing with need.

You hear the faint tear of the condom wrapper, and your heart spikes with excitement. You can’t help but peek over your shoulder, watching as he rolls it down his length. 

The sight makes your pulse race and you quickly face forward again, trying to contain your arousal, but all you can think about is the way his cock is going to feel inside you again.

“You’ve been so patient for me,” he says with satisfaction as he returns, his fingers gliding down to your hips. His fingers hook into your panties, slowly pulling them downs, the fabric clinging to your wetness as he continues to bring them to your knees.

The position leaves you helpless, every inch of you on display, your breaths shaky with anticipation. You can feel his eyes on you, drinking in the sight, and it makes the tension coil in your stomach even tighter as you wait for his next move.

“You have no idea how perfect you look like this,” he praises, his voice filled with awe as he takes in the sight of you.

Your fully open to him, your body arched over the couch. But instead of feeling his cock pressing into you like you expect, there’s a shift. He drops to his knees behind you, his hands gripping your hips, his breath hot against your skin.

Then, you feel it—his tongue, warm and teasing, pressing gently against your slick heat. The sensation is overwhelming, his skilled tongue moving with deliberate, torturous precision. Teasing you with, feather light strokes, his lips grazing your sensitive folds as his moans begin to vibrate against you, deepening with each flick of his tongue.

He buries his face between your legs, his tongue swirling and dipping into you, his grip on your hips tightening. His tongue explores every inch of you, finding every sensitive spot and exploiting it mercilessly. 

Your moans and whimpers come deep from your chest, raw and unrestrained as your hands grip the back of the couch for support.  Your body rocks slightly on every stroke and flick of his tongue driving you closer to the edge, your body trembling uncontrollably as he continues to work you over.

Your breaths turn to quick gasps as you hold on, trying to keep control, feeling the onslaught of pleasure but the dam is ready to burst, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Your moans grow more desperate, the sound of his pleasure mingling with your own as he devours you, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulls you against his face. The way he eats you out so relentlessly has you gasping, your fingers digging into the couch as the pleasure becomes too much to bear.

His tongue flicks over your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you so powerful that you begin to orgasm his tongue plunging deep within you making you involuntarily come. 

His moans deepen, his grip tightening on your hips, savoring every second of you coming in his mouth and he doesn’t stop. His tongue works relentlessly, lapping up every bit of your release, until your body is quivering, completely undone, barely able to catch a breath.

As you come down from the high, you feel him slowly stand behind you, his presence overwhelming as you try to steady yourself.

“You ready for me?” he asks, his voice low and teasing and he slips his cock along your wet folds, sending a surges of pleasure through your body making you moan in response.

“…Y-Yes,” you finally breathe, your voice shaky, barely even able to hold it together.

You feel him gripping your hips firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you back toward him, his control over you absolute.

“Good,” he says, his voice commanding,“I’m going to give you exactly what you’ve been begging for.”

With one hard, thrust, he slowly pushes his cock through your entrance. The intensity makes you gasp, your body tightening around him as he fills you completely the heaviness of his cock making you cry out in pleasure.

Hanks voice is rough as he starts to take you, his pace deliberate and controlled, building a rhythm in you that has you gasping with every stroke. 

Pathetic little cries escape your lips as he takes you harder, faster,his skin clapping against yours, and you can feel every inch of him  as he claims you from behind.

“Taking my cock so well,” he groans, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watches your body respond to him, each thrust pushing you further into submission. His hand grips your hair firmly, pulling you back to force your head up, making sure he can see your face, your lips parted and panting in the air, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation he’s giving.

“I want to hear you say it,” he commands as he thrusts harder, deeper, forcing you to feel every inch of his cock. 

You moan, barely able to form words being railed so hard by him, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. “I’m… taking you… so… well,” you manage to gasp, your voice breathless, broken by the overwhelming sensation as his cock fills you completely, your walls gripping him tightly with every deep thrust.

Hank’s hand slips between your legs, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in firm circles. The added pressure pushes you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you come hard, your moans filling the room as the orgasm rips through you.

Your legs tremble, nearly giving out as you shudder violently, your body completely taken over as the orgasm wrecks you. 

You’re gasping for air, your entire body shaking as you try to recover, but Hank doesn’t stop. His fingers continue their relentless assault on your clit, dragging out your climax, pushing you further than you’ve ever gone before.

You can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips, your body trembling uncontrollably as he pulls you back against him. It’s too much—the pleasure too intense—your body reacting in ways you didn’t even know it could.

But you love it—the intensity of it, the force of it—the way he’s making your body lock in place, the way he pushes you beyond your limits. 

He leaves  no room for thought, only the raw sensation of him fucking you sensless as your mind goes blank with each powerful thrust. 

“Arch your back,” he suddenly demands, but his cock is driving into you so hard now that you’re unable to move, moaning relentlessly as he pounds into you.

“I said, arch your back,” he yells more forcefully, but you’re locked in place as you cry out, feeling the unrelenting power of his cock driving into you.

Suddenly, you feel his hand grip the back of your head, pushing your face into the couch. Your desperate cry is muffled into the cushions as the sound of his hips smacking against you fills the air.

His thrusts grow more frenzied, each one rocking you forward, knocking the breath from your lungs as your body struggles to keep up with his relentless pace. 

His hands grip your hips tightly, demanding more as he forces your back to arch lower, pushing your chest down into the cushions giving him exactly what he wants. Your pathetic moans are muffled into the cushions as he drives you into another intense orgasm.

You love it—the way he controls you, his dominance in every movement, the way he uses you with such effortless precision. The position only heightens the thrill, your body completely exposed and vulnerable for him, your every sense heightened as he takes what he wants. It’s everything you crave and your mind numbs with the intensity of it as your body surrenders completely.

Your walls tighten around his cock as you orgasm again and he grunts above you feeling you come.

He follows close behind, his thrusts becoming erratic as he groans deeply, his hips jerking into you with the force of his release. His cock pulses inside you as he spills into the condom, his hands on your shoulder forcing your chest into the couch even harder as he rides out his orgasm.

When it’s over, the living room falls silent, the only sounds your heavy breaths filling the space. You’re a mess, hair disheveled, body trembling, your legs barely able to hold you up as the intensity of everything still courses through you. 

Hank doesn’t pull out immediately. Instead, he leans over, his touch gentle as he brushes your hair away from your face, his fingers soft against your flushed skin. His eyes linger on you for a moment, concern flickering behind the intensity. “Are you okay?” he asks, his breaths still heavy, spilling from his lips in uneven gasps.

“Mhm,” you manage to respond, your voice weak but content.

You both look at each other forming slow knowing smiles saying everything without exchanging a word.

A satisfied sigh leaves his lips as he brings his hand through his hair, sweeping the fallen strands from his face then he rests his hand on your hips, holding you steady. He carefully pulls all the way out and your body shudders from the sensation, feeling the remnants of his size leaving you.

A heavy exhaustion settles over you once he releases you from his grasp and with your limbs too tired to move you simply lay on your side catching your breath.

You watch Hank as he discards his used condom in a bin before he kneels searching through his discarded clothing.

You’re still laying there, your breaths evening out as you slowly begin to look around his place.

Trophies line a shelf near the window, and baseball memorabilia is decorating every available space—many of the items centered around the Giants.

Hank doesn’t seem in any rush to have you leave, and the realization makes your stomach flutter in ways you hadn’t expected.

You slowly sit up regaining your senses and notice an aluminum bat leaning against the corner that catches your eye.

“You play?” you ask, your gaze shifting back to him as he steps into his boxers, the waistband snapping into place on his hips.

“I did,” he says, his voice casual, though there’s a hint of something heavier beneath the surface as he reveals the surgical scar on his leg to you.

The angry red lines and white dots where he was pieced back together are unmistakable.

“Oh, shit,” you say, realizing the severity of it. “How’d that happen?” you ask, pulling your skirt up over your hips and grabbing your shirt, putting it on as you follow him to the kitchen.

“High school. Broke it clean in half,” he says, pouring a glass of water and sliding it toward you on the counter. “Not even the worst of my accidents,” he adds, his voice quieter, his eyes flickering with a hint of shame as he quickly looks away.

You watch as he pours himself a glass of orange juice, and you grin slightly. “You don’t drink anymore Hank?” you ask, suddenly noticing the choice.

He turns, showing you another fresh surgical scar on his back, and you notice his body—though strong—is a patchwork of pain and injuries. You step closer, your fingers lightly tracing the fresh line along his skin.

“Liver?” you ask quietly realizing it must be a vital organ.

“Kidney,” he corrects, taking a drink of his juice and there’s something unspoken in his tone, a weight that he carries despite his outward charm.

You look at him differently now, a swell of sadness creeping in as you take in the scars and the bruise under his eye, each one telling its own story. He catches the look on your face and puts his glass down, leaning in as he places his hands on the counter.

“What’s all that?” he asks, his finger gently touching your chin, guiding your gaze back to his eyes. “You feel sorry for me now?”

Your eyes flicker down, unsure of what to say. His scars, add something raw and undeniably attractive to him—but you don’t admit it. Before you can think of a response, his hand reaches for your face, fingers gently trailing along your skin, lifting your chin so your eyes meet his again.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” he says, his eyes lighting up with a depth that pulls you in—reassuring yet playful.

“I can’t feel sorry for you, and I can’t care for you… so what am I supposed to do with you?” you tease, your voice light, though the weight of your feelings for him linger beneath the surface.

Hank’s smile softens as he steps closer, his shirtless body fit and strong, his eyes flickering over you with a subtle intensity. His hands gently guide around your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the heat between you.

“You don’t have to do anything with me” he says, his tone casual as his eyes flicker with intensity.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re trouble,” you say, though your eyes betray just how much he affects you.

He grins, his hands resting on your waist, trailing ever so slightly. “I think you like trouble,” he confirms, his voice filled with amusement as his smirk deepens, his eyes flashing with playful mischief as he watches your reaction.

You open your mouth to protest, but the words catch in your throat as Hank kisses you. A warmth spreads across your cheeks, your sudden vulnerability betraying you, and you can’t bring yourself to do anything but give in. His kiss deepens, clearly enjoying the way he’s made you feel for him.

His hand moves from your waist to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently along your jawline as he pulls back from the kiss, looking into your eyes. “Stay the night,” he says, his voice low, more a of a demand than a question.

You hesitate for a moment, your heart racing as he searches your eyes.

“I’ll stay,” you reply, your voice soft but steady as relief washes over you—knowing that, despite work in the morning, you want to stay with him more than anything.

A small, satisfied smile tugs at his lips. “Come,” he says, taking your hand and gently leading you to his bedroom.

When he pushes the door open, his theme continues —more trophies, more photos of games, and his black Giants cap hanging by the window.

His bed is large and inviting, the tension between you softening as he pulls you down onto it with him. 

You lie face to face, his fingers affectionately trailing over your skin as your thumb gently grazes the bruise under his eye. 

“You ever gonna tell me how you got this?” you ask your curiosity finally getting the better of you.

He takes your hand, slowly intertwining his fingers with yours, pausing for a moment as if thinking over his words.

“Two Russian guys in tracksuits came into the bar last week,” he says, his voice low and casual, “I guess I made them a bad drink or something because they beat me senseless,” he says with a shrug. “Next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital.”

Sadness washes over you finally heading the brutality of it all. “Hank, that’s awful,” you say, your voice filled with concern.

He looks at you, his expression softening. “You waited for me though” he says, glancing at you with appreciation, and your heart swells at the sentiment.

Suddenly, a cat climbs up onto the bed, its paws light and confident as it makes its way toward Hank. You blink, surprised. “You have a cat?” you ask, glancing at him.

Hank chuckles, petting the cat affectionately, his hand moving gently down its back. “It’s not mine,” he says with a smile. “It’s my neighbor’s. I’m watching him while hes out of town.” he reveals.

You smile, watching Hank pet the cat with such care. “What’s his name?” you ask, curiosity clear in your voice.

“Bud,” Hank replies, looking at you with a soft expression as he continues scratching the cat behind its ear. There’s something about the way he’s so affectionate with the cat that makes you see him differently—a softer side of Hank that you hadn’t fully realized until now.

As Bud curls up between you both a quiet sense of peace settles over the room. The sexual tension from earlier has now dissolved, replaced by something deeper, something real, and as Hank turns his gaze to you, it’s the first time, his smile is gentle and his eyes are soft. There’s an unspoken vulnerability in the way he looks at you, and in that moment you realize just how much he’s letting you in.

🧢 END?

🔗 Masterlist

🏆 Inspired By: @umika @aust-een @feralgodmothers @purejasmine @austinbutlerfly @nostalgichoya

🏷️ Always Tag Me List 💌

@burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @lindszeppelin @abswifey @ausssbutlershortstories @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @elvismylove04 @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @ughdontbeboring@meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @jkdaddy01 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @mamasturn @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @majestyjade @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @kaelatargaryen @darknightmareobject @psycheetamore

[half-an-hour-hence]

Even more random X-Men headcanons:

- Jean finds painting to be a therapeutic escape from her telepathic abilities. She primarily works with oils, creating abstract pieces that reflect her inner emotions, or extraordinary landscapes that capture the beauty of the area surrounding the mansion. A few of her works decorate her and Scott’s shared bedroom.

- Pietro can speed-read entire books in seconds.

- Jubilee secretly runs a movie review blog under a pseudonym. It’s surprisingly popular among teenage film buffs, and she’s built a small but dedicated following.

- Magneto has a severe distaste for mirrors.

- Ororo is an early riser, and dawn is her favourite time of day. She often goes on morning strolls around the grounds - sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by Jean, Logan, or Rogue. She finds it helps her to relax and mentally prepare herself for the day ahead.

- Scott and Rogue are both very good mechanics, and they work together to fix the X-Men’s vehicles frequently.

- Morph has a fear of isolation, and hates to be alone. When they’re not busy helping to save the world, they often walk around the mansion, trying to seek out someone to talk to.

- Kurt loves to tell/hear dad jokes. It’s guaranteed that he’ll laugh at them every single time.

- Remy doesn’t like horror films. He gets really panicked about what’s going to happen. And when there’s a jump scare, he’ll jump right out of his seat and exclaim a string of curses in French. Ironically, though, he loves Halloween.

- Logan is a very light sleeper, and thanks to his enhanced hearing, he’ll wake up at the slightest sound. Hank made him a special pair of noise cancelling earplugs - that actually work properly - but he keeps forgetting to put them in at night.

Let me know if I should do more random headcanons or more specific ones!