#I haven’t seen him allow himself a moment to rest

[adrift-in-thyme]

I know it's more of a captain thing but Wars also just throwing Wild RIGHT under the bus in front of his mentor and leaving him to scramble to try and change the subject is definitely a big brother mood

It SO IS

And it’s not the first time he’s done it either

[mrkis]

raw. (m.l)

PAIRING: mark lee x afab!reader GENRE: smut WORD COUNT: 3.4k

SYNOPSIS: you find out you're out of condoms as soon as you and mark are about to have sex. feeling defeated, mark opts to go relieve himself in the bathroom but you suggest maybe that its time for him to finally fuck you raw.

CONTENT WARNINGS: explicit content, established relationship, light touching, starts off with sweet!mark then switches to pussy drunk!mark, unprotected sex, creampie, heavy use of 'my girl' and 'baby', nasty dirty talk mark doesn't shut the fuck up,

“I’ve missed you.” Mark mouths at your skin, arms tight around your middle as he presses you against his chest, breathing in the scent of your body wash and perfume as he nuzzles his head into the crevice of your neck. You smile, lacing your fingers through his hair as you melt into his embrace and he hums at the soft tugs you give, suckling and nipping at the spot where your shoulder and neck meet.

“Ow,” A giggle leaves your lips as Mark bites down a little too hard and your body angles away from him, only for him to whine and try and draw your back to him, muttering an apology against your neck as he tightens his hold on you. “We can’t stand here all day, Mark.”

Mark huffs as if what you’ve stated is something so offensive it hurts his feelings, shoulders sagging as he reluctantly lets you go but his hand slips into your own, intertwining your fingers as he allows you to pull him to a more suitable place than your front door, dragging his socked covered feet across the floorboards as he takes in your home, a warmth spreading through his chest.

Mark missed being at your place, the sweet familiar smell of a candle that was previously burning filling his senses, the hum of the TV playing your favourite show in the background, the subtle misplaced ornaments and potted plants that you’ve picked up to move or admire.

He takes a glance at your kitchen as he passes it, noticing a dish and a bowl soaking in soapy water and he smiles knowing you’ve eaten already, wondering if it was something delicious and filling for you. He wants to ask what it could’ve been, but the question remains on the tip of his tongue as you’re pulling him towards your bedroom.

And that’s when he feels most at home. 

The bag that was once resting on his shoulders drops to the ground, mindlessly being kicked to the side as his body finally relaxes, the tiredness that he’s used to pushing at the back of his mind comes front and centre, sluggishly making his way towards the unmade bed and planting himself down on the edge. 

The hand that's holding yours pulls you between his open legs and he rests his cheek on your stomach, embracing you as he once did a few moments prior and he sighs happily as your fingers resume playing with his hair. 

“How was work?”

“Fine,” His tone is quiet and gentle. “Japan was fun. Yuta was our tour guide again and was taking us to all these places,” Mark moves his head a little to look up at you, resting his chin on your stomach inside. “I took some pictures for you—ones I haven’t sent you yet.” 

You’re more than eager to see what pictures Mark wants to show you, gently pushing him up the bed for him to lay comfortably and he laughs, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone while his other arm curls around you, holding you close to his side and pressing his lips to the top of your head, finding comfort in the scent of your shampoo as he unlocks his phone, clicking the camera roll app and your eyes widen in excitement seeing all the recent photos you haven’t seen.

You’re in awe watching him scroll through the photos, the scenery and the colours of it all leaving you speechless, hanging onto every word as he tells you the story behind them all, some comical and others sweet and endearing. 

“Seeing this one, like, reminded me of you.” He whispers against your head as he shows you a picture of a sunset, a blend of pinks and oranges making your heart flutter. “It’s pretty—calming, made me feel at ease. It made me miss you even more than I already did, you know.”

“You called me every night,” You tell him, laughing as he groans and rolls his eyes, throwing his phone to the side before gripping your hips, pulling your body on top of his and massaging your thighs with his fingers, kneading the skin as they settle on each of his sides. 

“You know it’s not the same,” Mark argues, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “I love hearing your voice over the phone but, like, having you there with me physically means more to me. I get to hold you, I get to touch you… I get to kiss my girl.”

“Is that so?”

Mark hums with a short nod of his head before he cranes his neck up to meet your lips in a short but sweet kiss, squeezing your thighs once you reciprocate and he smiles against your lips as he feels your hands cradle his cheeks.

Then, you feel it. His hard cock pressing your inner thigh, twitching with each subtle movement of your hips as you rest your entire weight on him, causing him to grunt against your lips due to the pressure on his cock. 

“Are you tired?” You pull away from his lips to ask him and you bite back the smile that threatens to spread across your cheeks as Mark follows, wanting your mouth back on his. 

“A little,” He admits, squeezing your thighs. “But I don’t care. Just want you.”

Warmth fills your chest, “You want me?”

“So bad.” 

You don’t have time to swoon over his words as he’s already leaning up and reconnecting your lips in a much deeper kiss, biting down on your bottom lip and sliding his tongue into your mouth to tangle with your own all while his hands slip around to grip your ass, pulling you ever closer so that your chest is pressed against his. 

You kiss for a while, relishing in the way his lips feel on yours, familiar with the slow and unrushed pace he takes and your hands curl around the front of his shirt, signalling for him to take it off immediately and he smiles against your mouth, breaking the kiss for a moment to allow you to pull the material over his head.

He’s giving you a toothy smile, eyes twinkling with adoration as he stares up at you and his fingers twitch over the hem of your shirt, ready to take it off and you happily give him permission to do so, raising your arms in the air and Mark tugs it off, throwing it carelessly to the side before his hands touch your skin, palms hot and clammy as he brings you in for another kiss, one that's more desperate and needy.

Mark’s moaning shamelessly into your mouth when your hands dip beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, first curling around his cock and giving him a few experimental pumps that has him almost drawing blood on your lip when he bites down a little too hard.

“Easy,” You hum with a giggle and Mark groans, craning his neck as he throws his head back against the pillows, tongue licking his bottom lip as your hand squeezes around his cock. He lifts his hips as you begin to rid him of the rest of his clothing and you awkwardly manoeuvre above him, laughing as you almost topple over if it wasn’t for the hold he has on your hips.

“You go easy,” Mark teases you this time and you roll your eyes. You drop your hands from him to finally peel off the rest of your own clothes and he watches you with hooded lids, resting one arm behind his head while the other wraps around his cock to jerk himself off as he takes in your naked body, something he’s seen plenty of times before but he views it as if it's his first time, absorbing himself in your curves, the swell of your breasts and your pretty pussy.

“Like what you see?”

Mark smiles, “Always,”

You get a little shy at his compliment but continue to lean forwards to capture his lips in a kiss which he immediately reciprocates, his hand curls around the back of your neck to keep you still against his lips and he moans as your tongue slips inside his mouth to touch his own.

He’s still touching himself between your bodies, lifts jerking upwards into his fist and gasping in your mouth when the tip grazes over your skin, the sensitivity sending goosebumps down his spine.

You pull away from his lips much to his dismay and he tries to pull you back in but stops when he sees you manoeuvring your way down his body, leaving a trail of kisses behind which makes him moan again, mouth falling slack as he feels your tongue lick a clean stripe down his navel.

You brush your fingers over his inner thighs, smiling at how his cock twitches against his stomach, stroking further and further up his skin before your fingers grip his cock, hearing the slight hiss he makes through his teeth and you smile, leaning in closer to wrap your lips around his tip.

“Wait!” Mark suddenly yells out and you stop in surprise, bringing your gaze up from his cock to his face and he reaches his hand forward to cradle your check, his thumb caressing your skin. He looks like he’s in pain, but he explains, “I’ll cum too quickly if you suck my cock, like, seriously, I will cum the second I feel your tongue on me again.”

That makes you even more eager to shove his cock down your throat and you tighten your fingers around the base, causing him to throw his head back with a gasp, “I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” Mark weakly pushes your hand away and his cock slaps back against his stomach, his hips jerking upwards at the sudden contact. “Fuck—baby I’ve been waiting for this for so long. I want to cum fucking you—please, I—” He winces as his hand comes down to cup his balls, almost as if he’s trying to stop himself from cumming right there and there from his words. “I want to fuck you.”

You would awe at the sight if it wasn’t for the way he’s looking at you right now, so desperate and needy to be inside of you and you’re more than welcome to give him exactly what he wants, briefly nodding your head for confirmation and his shoulders drop with a relieved sigh.

Mark gently pushes you down on the bed to crawl above you, kneeling between your parted thighs and he almost drools at the sight of your pussy, glistening and ready for him to fuck. He’s quick to lean over to open the drawers of your nightstand, digging his hand inside to search around for the box of condoms he knows you have for him.

He pulls out the box and he leans back on his ankles as he dips his hand inside, and you wait patiently for him to retrieve it and roll it onto his cock, but the way his body freezes and face drops you know something is wrong and you grow concerned, leaning up on your elbows.

“Mark?”

“No, no, no,” Mark mumbles repeatedly under his breath as he turns the box upside down and shakes aggressively, praying that a condom will magically appear out of thin air and lay across the palm of his hand but it remains empty. “Jesus Christ, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You gape at him in shock, “There’s no condoms left?”

“There’s no condoms left,” He repeats, throwing the empty box down on the bed and he runs his hand over his face in annoyance, tears of frustration prickling at his eyes. You watch as he brows pull together, how his jaw clenches and nostrils flare in anger. It was a sight you’re definitely not used to seeing, but it’s something that has your thighs clenching for some friction below. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” You try to reassure him as his cheeks get a little red and you reach up to stroke his shoulders. “We must’ve used the last one before you left to go to Japan without knowing.”

“I should’ve been prepared, you know, I should’ve bought a pack before coming here—I shouldn’t have relied on you to have the condoms but, fuck, I was just so exciting to see my girl that I didn’t even think about—”

“Baby, it’s okay.” You try to cut off his rambling by reassuring him again but it's no use.

“—And now we have nothing and I’m just—” His hands wave over his hard cock comically and you hold back a snort, watching how his fingers run through his hair with a sigh. “Okay, I should just, like, make you cum on my tongue and then I’m going to go jerk off in the—”

“No!” You shout this time, startling Mark who stares at you with wide eyes and you immediately apologise, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby. But you don’t need to do that, it’s okay.”

“Then what are we going to do?” He questions with a whiny tone that has your head reeling and pussy begging to be fucked. The way he’s staring at you so desperately and in pain is enough for you to come up with an idea.

“How about we just do it raw this time?”

Mark blinks, “Raw? Like, without a condom?”

“Yes.”

“Baby…” Mark sighs softly as he rubs at your thighs, “You know we can’t do that. We can’t risk anything, you know, and even though I’m certain I’m going to spend the rest of my life with my girl and start a family… we really can’t risk anything. It’s too soon and we’re both not ready for that either.”

You frown, “I know that. But nothing will happen, I promise. I’m on the pill.”

“What?”

“I’ve been on the pill for a few months,” You tell him nonchalantly and he looks at you as if you kept such a big secret away from him. “Remember that night when the condom broke and we panicked?” Mark nods his head quickly, “I went on the pill the day after that. I didn’t want us to have another scare or anything.”

“You’ve been on the pill for five months?” Mark asks you and you hum, confirming its true and he gapes in shock, dropping his gaze down to your pussy in disbelief. “So we could’ve done this five months ago?”

You struggle to hold back a laugh this time, the sound stifled by your lips. “Yes.”

“So, I can just…” Mark trails off as he shuffles forward, the tip of his cock brushing over your folds and you gasp as he flicks over your clit, thighs clamping around his hips. “I can just slide right in, feel you, fill you up.” He’s mumbling now, some words incoherent while others are clear as day, his lewdness making your face hot as his cock nudges your opening, almost teasing you by not fucking you immediately and you bite back the urge to tell him to hurry it up.

back the urge to tell him to hurry it up.

You suck in a deep breath as Mark finally pushes into you and his eyes grow wide, mouth slack as he feels the warmth of your walls fit snugly around his cock. He’s frozen above you, cock pulsing as he feels you bare for the first time and his eyes flick to yours, and his gaze suddenly darkens, his fingers pressing against the meat of your waist. 

You go to call out his name, to ask him if he’s alright but a surprised yelp flees past your lips as his hips snap forwards, burying himself deep inside of your pussy and your arms fling around his shoulders, gripping him tightly as he pants above you.

“Feel so fucking good, baby,” Mark grunts under his breath, fucking himself into you deeper and you wail, thighs clamping around his waist. “Feels so tight. All for me, yeah? Just for me. So fucking good. My pretty girl and her perfect pussy.”

“Mark.” You try to speak, stuttering over your words with each thrust, the bed creaking beneath your bodies, headboard hitting against the wall but you could care less about the noise, too surprised to see the sudden change in your boyfriend. 

His tone and his words are enough to have you gaping at him, broken moans ripping through your throat at how nasty he sounds, how he uncontrollably mutters how good your cunt feels wrapped around his cock and how wet you are for him. 

You’re not used to this. You’re used to the sweet talk, the light feathery kisses he leaves on your skin, words of sweet praises and gentle whispers of ‘i love yous’. 

You’re not complaining though. Never. 

Seeing Mark switch up just from fucking you raw for the first time has your mind spinning and electricity buzzing down your spine, fingernails digging further into his shoulder blades and clamping around him tightly, cursing him to curse.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby. Tight little cunt squeezing me in so good,” Mark whispers in your ear, almost sounding like he’s whining. “My girl. My fucking girl.”

“Please,” You beg, even though you have no idea what you’re begging for. “Please, please, please.”

“Gonna fill you up, fuck you full of my cum,” Mark slurs his words, his pace quickening as his cock drills into you, his hands gripping your waist tighter when he hears you moan prettily for him. “You want that? Hm? Want me to fill you up? Fuck this cunt full?”

“Yes,” You pant heavily, tightening your legs around his hips, desperate for him to cum, to feel him deep inside. “Please.”

“Sounds so pretty when my baby begs for me,” Mark hums as he leans in to kiss your lips but he pulls away much too quickly for your liking, not allowing you to enjoy it. But you gasp when you feel his hand slide between your bodies, thumb rubbing your clit. “Gonna cum for me like I’m gonna cum for you, yeah? Want to see my girl cum for me before I fuck her pussy full.”

You’re already letting yourself go just from his words alone, your orgasm crashing over your like an aggressive wave and you body seizes up, almost sobbing from sensitivity as he fucks you through it, thumbing at your clit without any signs of stopping.

Your pussy contracts around his cock, sucking him in deeper, hugging around him tightly which causing his hips to stutter their movements, a grunt slipping past his lips before he leans back, hands sliding down your waist to grip your thighs, keeping you locked against him as he watches you squeeze around his cock, desperate to be filled.

“Good girl. Keep doing that for me. Feels so good, baby.” Mark’s moaning under his breath, airy moans turning into whines as he feels your walls tighten around him, too overwhelmed by the feeling that he stills, a throating groan leaving his lips as he cums, filling you up just as planned.

Mark’s breathing heavily, mesmerised with the way he’s emptying himself inside you, watching his cock twitch with his spurt of cum that paints your walls. He doesn’t pull away until he’s certain there’s nothing left to give, wincing out of sensitivity as he slowly leans back to pull out of you, his spent cock bobbing against his thigh.

“What was that?” You breathe out, leaning up on your elbows as you look at him. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know,” Mark mumbles, cheeks blossoming a bright red as he refuses to meet your gaze, that shy and sweet persona falling back into place. But he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from your pussy, mouth open wide as his fingers delicately stroke over your puffy folds. “Was… was I too much?”

“No,” You quickly shake your head, reassuring him. “I liked it.”

“Yeah?” Mark hums, finally meeting your gaze and you smile at him, nodding your head this time and he sheepishly grins back, staring down at his fingers that circle around your entrance that leaks with his cum and he makes the sudden decision to push it back in, causing you to gasp and whine softly. “Sorry… I don’t want anything to go to waste.”

You laugh lightly at his words, “Go to waste?”

“Mhm,” Mark nods, retracting his fingers and staring at the cum that covers his digits, the dark expression taking over once again as he looks right at you, “I’m never wearing a condom again, you know that right, baby?”

©𝗠𝗥𝗞𝗜𝗦

[freedomfireflies]

Pillow Talk*

Summary: The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.

Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, daddy kink, mentions of drugs, angst (w/ happy ending!), not suitable for Ramadan!

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Come on. Just one time.”

“No. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Probably. I haven’t slept in 32 hours.”

You huff as you hide yourself behind your door. You don’t even want to see him. Because you don’t want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. This is what Harry does. He plays games. He tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know you’ll regret it. 

“Poppy, please,” he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. “I’ve tried everything else, okay? It always works with you. I just…I wanted to try. See if it still does.”

You frown. “You realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? Asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?”

“Yeah, but that’s all I want to do. Sleep,” he insists again. “Really. I’ll keep my hands to myself and I won’t even talk to you.”

You consider this. Truthfully, you haven’t slept all that well since the breakup, either. And sure, you’ve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine. 

But he broke your heart. And now you’re both paying the price.

“Just one night,” he pleads again. “And if it doesn’t work, I swear I won’t bother you ever again.”

There’s a subtle ache in your chest. Just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. Of the joy. Of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.

You take a deep breath. Perhaps you’re curious, too. Even if you don’t want to be. Because maybe this will work. Maybe you’ll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.

Or maybe it won’t.

But at least if it doesn’t, maybe you can find some closure.

So, with that thought…you open the door. 

He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. Which makes you just a touch happy if you’re being honest with yourself. His usual curls are askew and unkept. The bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.

And you’re surprised. He’s been up for longer than 32 hours before and handled it much better. You wonder if his age is catching up with him or if there’s something else keeping him awake.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But you don’t fight with him. He’s not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.

He nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. Almost like he doesn’t recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.

“What?” you huff.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, you look…different.”

“Okay…?”

“You changed your hair.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. It’s nice.”

You cross your arms. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Another pause, and the silence feels heavy.

“Well…do you wanna…?” you eventually say, and he nods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Okay.”

You turn to lead him to your room and it’s…unsettling how normal it feels. Like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.

When you get there, his surprise returns. “You changed your room, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Why?”

Your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. “This is the one room I associated with you the most. And short of moving, I needed something you hadn’t touched or tainted. So I made the room mine again.”

He thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. “I like it.”

“I don’t care.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“Great. Can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?”

Obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. “Never thought I’d hear you say that again.”

“Never thought I’d have to say it.”

“Mm. You changed your mattress.”

“Obviously.”

“And the sheets and blankets, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there anything in here you didn’t change?”

“The carpet. But only because my landlord said I couldn’t.”

“Right.” He’s smiling again. “But you did get a rug.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice.”

“Bite me.”

He laughs now and you want to smack him. “I see you still get grumpy when you’re tired.”

“No, I get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at 3 in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,” you argue. And you know you’re being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. After everything he’s put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions. 

You turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. You’re both stiff, unable to relax when you’re this close. You don’t want to touch—not the way you used to. And you don’t want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose you’ll have to in order to sleep.

And then he says, “I really did try, you know. To find another way to sleep.”

You look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. “Okay.”

“Melatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. Even drank those…sleep mocktail things everyone talks about.” He shifts. “I don’t know, I guess my brain just wouldn’t turn off.”

“Yeah. I know.”

More quiet.

“I haven’t done any since we broke up,” he finally says. Gentle, like he’s afraid to break the silence. 

Your lashes flutter. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. “Great.”

“Yeah.” Another beat. “I thought it was work, I guess. Maybe the stress or something. I’ve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeks…”

“Right.”

“And I just figured—”

“No, I got it. It’s fine, let’s just…let’s just try to sleep,” you say and he nods.

The bedroom settles and you try, you really do. But you can’t when he’s breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like he’s in pain.

“What?” you eventually hiss.

“Are you dating someone?” he asks.

“What?”

“Are you dating someone?” he repeats. “Josie said you were.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Kind of. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“We’re…we’ve been on a few dates. It’s not official.”

“He hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t. I just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.”

“Oh, do I?” You roll your head to look at him. “Funny, you didn’t seem to think so when you were dating me.”

“All right, touché,” he mumbles. “I could have been better, I know that. And I know I took advantage. You did a lot for me and I didn’t…I didn’t care.”

Surprised, you twist your fingers together. “Uh…yeah. Right. Thank you.”

His head rolls, too. And even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. “I’m sorry, Poppy. You really did deserve better than me. And if you found it with this guy…I’ll be happy for you.”

You swallow before sighing to yourself. “I mean, I don’t know if I did. He’s…he’s really nice. But he’s so…he’s just…”

“Vanilla?”

Your eyes widen. “Yeah. How did you—”

“He was wearing Crocs with tube socks.”

You laugh—loud. “Oh my god, how did you know?”

“I might have looked him up,” he admits through a grin. “Wanted to make sure he was worth your time.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And he wears Crocs with tube socks. He can’t make you cum.”

Your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. “Ew, Harry. It’s not about that—”

“It’s always about that. Come on, am I wrong?”

“You—yes. What he wears has nothing to do with what he’s like in bed—”

“So he’s not vanilla?”

“He’s…” You pause. “He…look, he really tries—”

“So, he is,” Harry finishes for you. “Well, at least you got some.”

“I…yeah. Uh-huh.”

Instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. “He couldn’t get it up, could he?”

“Harry,” you groan, and reach out to swat him. “Stop, it wasn’t that. We just…we were taking things slow. We did some stuff. Just not…all of it.”

“So what he’d do?”

“Harry—”

“Come on, we’re adults, just tell me.”

“Ew, no—”

“Listen, you used to get fucked good. I’m just trying to help you get back to that.”

You frown but do oblige. “I don’t know. He ate me out and I blew him. That’s it.”

“And…?”

“And…I don’t know. He was fine. He was good.”

“Sure.”

Your eyes roll. “Okay, he…he wasn’t really all that into it. He stopped after a few seconds and asked if I came. Then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.”

Now, Harry’s features scrunch, too. “Shit. What a fucking pussy. Ironically.”

“I guess. It could have been worse.”

“Really? Eating you out was always my favorite. What kind of asshole just stops if he doesn’t have to?”

You feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. “I guess they can’t all be you.”

“Damn fucking right,” he scoffs. “Seriously, you still wanted to see him after that?”

“He’s cute,” you argue. “And nice. And yeah, maybe he’s not that adventurous but that’s okay. I don’t need wild sex all the time.”

He’s quiet. “How about just one time?”

You turn back. “What?”

“I—okay, I was just thinking…you know, one of the things we would do when we couldn’t sleep was…fuck, so—”

“Oh, absolutely not.” You sit up, as though to put some distance between you. “No. Forget it—”

“Poppy—”

“Don’t call me that,” you huff. “You don’t get to call me that ever again. Okay, I’m not gonna fuck you just so we can sleep—”

“It wouldn’t be just for that,” he argues, sitting up as well. “It would also help your mood, too—”

“Oh, my mood?” You glare at him. “My mood is just fine, actually. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty good if I agreed to let you in my apartment in the first place—”

“You didn’t have to. I’m just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boring—”

“Oh, my god. It’s not a lifetime and you’re a fucking asshole—”

“Yeah. We’ve established that. Doesn’t change the fact that you need it.”

You stare at him. “Is that why you’re really here? To trick me into sleeping with you?”

He leans back. “What? No. I don’t trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestion—”

“Yeah, a pretty dumb one. Did you honestly think I’d say yes?”

“Yeah,” he admits haughtily. “Yeah, because we didn’t break up over the sex. We broke up because you’re an uptight—”

“What? Say it,” you sneer. “Say it. I’m an uptight bitch because I wouldn’t let you do cocaine.”

He scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. The argument lulls. “I could never do anything right.”

“That wasn’t the problem and you know it.” You pull your legs to your chest. “I wanted to move forward and you kept going back. You’re almost 30 and you still act like you’re 19.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,” he says. “Maybe I liked things the way they were—”

“No. No, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours  and getting fired and leaving me to pay all the bills—”

“You didn’t pay all the bills and I told you I would do what I could to help—”

“Yeah. But apparently that included getting fucked up and staying out all night just to crash the next day.” You study him closely. “You were never around anymore. I never saw you. We were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if I wanted to fuck.”

“So, that’s it, huh? I’m just a villain in your story. You were this perfect fucking princess, and I was a monster that ruined your life?”

“No, obviously not. I wasn’t perfect. I know that.”

“Do you?” His eyes flick between yours. “You didn’t want me to move forward with you. You liked your new job and your new friends because they didn’t remind you of me. Of who we both used to be.”

“So? I’m not proud of what I used to do. And sure, maybe I wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. Is that such a fucking crime?”

“No. But you didn’t want me to be a part of that impression and you know it.”

“Right. Because you were shit-faced all the time.”

He opens his mouth, ready to retort. But then he closes it. He closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.

Even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. As he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.

But you don’t fight him. You know you should. Know you should push him off and berate him. Yet you let him kiss you. And you kiss him back. And it’s far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.

Your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. You’re desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. His skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. You dance this devious dance and before you know it, you’re stripping each other of the few clothes you have.

He starts with your shirt. Ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. Bare and beautiful to him. His kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.

The only reason he stops is to let you peel his t-shirt off, too. And then his jeans and socks. And you move so fluidly, you’re nearly naked in under a minute. The only thing left between you now his underwear and yours.

He lays you down, gentle. Surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. And he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you don’t exactly know how to say. 

His fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. He still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.

“Are you all right?” he finally whispers, and he doesn’t sound like the same man from before. He sounds like the man you fell in love with. “Is this okay?”

You nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, you’ll ruin it. “Yeah. Go.”

He doesn’t. “We don’t have to,” he says. “You were right, it’s probably a dumb idea—”

“Yeah, but…it always works.” You shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. “And I’m tired. Tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleep…tired of pretending I hate you. You were right, our sex is good. So let’s do it. And then we can sleep. And we can finally move on.”

Not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. At least right now. He kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.

He feels like you remember. And maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. There are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. You don’t have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. You know him. And he knows you.

Your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. You aren’t exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you don’t expect him to do what he did before. The foreplay is up to you now and you’re more than all right with that.

However, he’s not. And he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. Allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.

“Shit,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours. “Fucking missed this.”

You bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. “I know you missed it, too.”

“Hm. Don’t push it.”

“Why not?” He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then to your jaw. Your lips. Your nose. Your neck. Everywhere you used to love. “Are you really gonna tell me you didn’t?” 

“Maybe.”

“So Crocs with Tube Socks is better, huh?”

“…not exactly.”

“Right.” He adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. “Don’t worry, Poppy, I’ll fix it.”

“Don’t…call me that,” you pant again, and he chuckles.

“Don’t know what else to call you. You were always my pretty Poppy.”

“But now I’m not,” you say. “Now you call me nothing. Because I’m not yours to call.”

He sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. And the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. Stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, “Just put it in already.”

He smirks. “How romantic.”

“It’s not supposed to be. Just come on.”

So, he does. He takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. And you both reel.

Truthfully, you’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. The way he groans and grits his teeth together. The way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over. 

He’s stunning. Even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. His silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. Strong hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.

And it’s closer than you expected. There’s something about him that can get you there even without much effort. Something Crocs with Tube Socks could never seem to figure out. 

Because he’s not Harry. And only Harry can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.

He kisses you again and you both feel anxious. Soft murmurings of praise and, “Keep going,” that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.

You’re sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. You need this. You need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then you’ll finally be able to let him go. To close the door on the chapter of you and Harry and move the fuck on.

But how can you move on when you’re still under him? How can you insist that you’re fine and doing great if you’re so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?

There are other remedies to insomnia that don’t involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment. 

Either way, you’re coming before you can think twice about it. Raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh. 

And just like that…

It’s over.

You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadn’t left. But he wasn’t with you.

He’s staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. You’re not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.

Curious, you call, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. “I used to love this window,” he eventually says. Soft, like he’s reminiscing. “The way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and you’d get so excited. How you’d make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.”

You blink. “Um…okay.”

He turns and his eyes find yours. “I fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.”

The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. “I know,” you finally whisper. “That’s why I changed it.”

“I know,” he whispers back. His expression falls. “You changed everything. This apartment, your life…us.”

“Because I had to,” you argue, glancing back up. “I had to, Harry. I couldn’t keep going in circles. I couldn’t drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.” 

“Because the future you always painted didn’t seem to have room for me,” he huffs. “Okay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. You’d planned out the next 30 years and I didn’t see myself anywhere in your picture.”

“I didn’t fucking care about the parties or the school districts,” you nearly yell. “God, I—I didn’t want the white picket fence life. I didn’t want the 1950’s American Dream shit you keep thinking I did. I just wanted you. Yes, I wanted a good job with insurance and stability. But I wasn’t gonna trade what we had just for that—”

“But you did. You didn’t tell your parents we’d moved in together. You didn’t even tell half of our friends. You went on trips without me and you stopped telling me about your day and we never talked—”

“Because you were never around! You were either out with your friends getting drunk or high or you were in there playing video games because you’d had a ‘hard day.’ So, no. I didn’t want to talk to you when I knew you weren’t even listening in the first place.”

 He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Angry. Indignant. “You resented me. You resented the fact that we were together and you resented that I wasn’t perfect like your precious new friends—”

“Oh, that’s—” You pinch the bridge of your nose and force in a deep breath. “No. I didn’t want you to be like them. I didn’t want you to act pretentious and stuffy and talk about the stock market every goddamn second of the day. The only thing I resented…was the fact that you wouldn’t take care of yourself.”

“I was taking care of myself—”

“Bullshit. You were doing drugs—you were doing cocaine—and you weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you nearly drunk yourself to death—”

“Right, but I wasn’t doing it all the time. It was just…it was occasionally, and it wasn’t a lot—”

“I don’t care. You shouldn’t have been doing it at all, Harry,” you finally shout. “You…you scared the shit out of me. Every time one of your friends would call and say you were passed out, I thought…I thought this was it. I thought I was gonna lose you. Do you know how many times I just sat on the floor and cried because I was so scared? Because you never wanted to listen when I told you to stop? Because you were so sure you were invincible?”

He seems pained by this, features wilting as he takes a tentative step forward. But he stops when you move back. “Poppy, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I…I didn’t know—”

“Yes, you did,” you scoff. “I told you, over and over that I didn’t want to lose you, but you thought I was being dramatic.”

He nods once. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.” He looks at you. “S’why I stopped after we broke up. You were right, I needed to get my shit together.”

You nod, too. “Good. I’m glad.”

His gaze dances around the kitchen. “I hate that you changed everything,” he says again, and your heart wrenches. “I hate that it doesn’t look like it used to. I hate that I hurt you so bad that you felt like you had to erase everything I ever touched.”

You step closer and wipe a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, I hate it, too. I hate that I had to. I hate that stupid mattress and I hate that my kitchen doesn’t look like a rainbow anymore and I really fucking hate that I have no one to dance with when I cook.”

His eyes soften as they find yours and in only a few seconds, he’s reaching for the belt on your robe and tugging you to him. Wrapping you in his arms as he presses you against his chest, the way he always used to when you were sad.

“No,” you argue weakly, although you do nothing to stop him. “No, you can’t…you can’t—”

“Yes, I can,” he retorts quietly. You feel his lips press to the top of your head. “You don’t get to cry over me anymore. You’re better than that now. You did what I couldn’t. You moved on. And I don’t get to ruin that for you.”

You sniffle as you run your hand down his stomach. “It wasn’t about moving on. I just needed to learn how to be strong enough for both of us.”

“Poppy,” he breathes and holds you tighter. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

And deep down…you know he’s right.

“Shit, just like that…a little closer. Good girl, hold yourself open for me, baby. Yeah.”

Doing your best to oblige, you slip your fingers between your folds as Harry nudges his nose closer. Kissing his way along your thighs before allowing his tongue to lick a very generous stripe up your pussy.

Round 2 is on the couch. Harry wanted the kitchen counter—nearly insisted on it, in fact—but you knew you didn’t want to ruin your favorite breakfast spot. And you weren’t about to just for him.

So, the couch it was. He complained about it as you got settled. He hates this new couch, too. The color, the lumpy cushions, the way it feels like you’re sinking when you sit. 

You told him you didn’t care. You loved it and if it annoyed him, that was a bonus.

Thankfully, he swallowed his complaints in favor of swallowing you. He tossed your robe open and pulled your thighs apart. And then he buried himself between the warmth of your pussy the way he always used to.

And you decided that maybe you don’t mind insomnia so much if this is the remedy.

“Missed this, too,” he says now as he nips at your clit. “God, you’ve always tasted so fucking good. S’fucking crazy, baby. Can’t ever get enough.”

“Sure,” you snort, head dropping back. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls—”

“No.” He shakes his head and his nose nudges the sensitive nerves as you whine. “No, there’s no other girls. Come on, did you really think there could be?”

“With a mouth like that? Yeah,” you admit. He laughs. “That’s how we met. You were such—fuck—such a player.”

“Maybe,” he concedes before mouthing at you again. “But nobody else has ever made me feel the way you do.”

You snort. “Where’d you learn that line?”

“It’s not a line. It’s the truth.”

“Harry. Come on. I know you.”

“Then you should know I don’t say shit I don’t mean.” He smooths his palms down your thighs in order to spread you just a bit further and see the way your hole flutters. “Oh, pretty girl. S’just drenched, hm? All sensitive from the last one…need Daddy to make it better?”

You scrunch your nose. “You don’t get to call yourself that anymore.”

“No?” He grins. “Why not?”

“Because I hate you and Daddy is reserved for someone I like.”

He tsks. “I don’t know, kind of seems like you still like it. Keep clenching around my tongue like you wanna hear me say it again.”

You hesitate as you weave your fingers through his curls. “Never.”

He hums and the vibration against your cunt makes your thighs twitch. “Come on, baby. Don’t be mean to Daddy.”

You want to glare. Slap at him, refuse him. But he’s right—you have missed the moniker. If only just because of how good he sounds when he says it. So, you let him tease you and taunt you as he tastes you. You let him do whatever the hell he wants because your second orgasm feels stronger than the first and you don’t imagine you’ll survive this one. 

He slips a finger in as well. Beckons your pleasure closer with every curl of the large digit. It’s practiced. He sucks and licks and nips and thrusts and curls and pumps all at the same time.

Then, he pulls back and brings his palm down in a sharp smack to your pussy. 

“Stop squirming,” he instructs, then shoots you an obviously pleased frown. “Don’t be a brat.”

“M’not,” you whimper. “Not a brat…just wanna cum.”

“Do you, hm?” He licks you again then adds two fingers. “Should I let you?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?” He’s smirking now as he starts to go faster. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do deserve it. Yeah? After being so nice as to let me in.”

You pout. “Mhm.”

He’s so happy. He’s always his happiest when he’s suffocating himself with your pussy. He does everything he knows you love. He leaves teasing kisses to the inside of your thighs. He slaps at your leg, your clit, your hip. He helps rock you against his tongue and even lifts you from the couch to find a deeper angle. 

And he does all of this out of sheer enjoyment. 

“Harry,” you whimper as you melt into the cushions. Your limbs feel like jello. The pleasure is everywhere, and he looks like a god. His face is covered in you, glistening about as bright as the stars.

“I know, Poppy,” he says. He kisses your pussy and then smiles at you. “I know.”

You like the way Harry’s chest feels. Warm and soft and painted in the tattoos you used to trace with your finger.

He’s gently scratching your back as you both lay in bed. The room is quiet—you haven’t spoken in minutes. Still, neither of you can seem to find sleep and you know you’ll desperately need it soon. 

But this is nice. Even if it is the last time. You like getting to reminisce—pretend for even a moment that things are the way they used to be. When you were happy and safe and content to be together.

You weren’t sure you’d ever feel this kind of peace again.

“I missed you, too, you know,” he whispers after a moment.

You glance up. 

“I didn’t just miss your apartment. I missed you.” He takes a breath and runs his palm along your spine. “I miss our Sunday mornings and I miss when we’d watch scary movies just so we could make out and I miss the way you used to dance around in your underwear to some stupid musical you were obsessed with.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “Har…”

“And I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I felt like…I felt like I was watching you do all these amazing things and I just couldn’t keep up. You were getting promoted and moving up and I was still at the fucking bar serving drinks. And you knew what you wanted to do. I didn’t.”

“I didn’t know,” you argue gently. “Not really. I hate my job. I hate that I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. I mean, I like that it pays the bills, but maybe that shouldn’t be enough.”

He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “You should do what makes you happy.”

“You used to make me happy.”

The soft strokes against your spine slow. 

“You did, Har,” you tell him. “So happy. That’s why I hated that we started fighting all of the time. I hated that you were gone or that I was gone or the fact that I was too ashamed to tell you that I missed you. And that I was scared we were losing each other.”

“Maybe we needed to lose each other,” he says and you feel sick. “Maybe we needed to be apart to see what we really wanted.”

You think about this. The idea sounds nice. Inviting. A happy end to a rather dreadful story.

But you both know better. Five months has taught you better.

“There’s a reason we broke up,” you finally murmur. “We didn’t…we didn’t like each other anymore. We were holding each other back—”

“I liked you,” he says softly. “I loved you. Yeah, I was mad, but I didn’t just stop loving you.” 

“Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier for us and we wouldn’t be…here.”

More silence. It stretches for what feels like hours.

And then, “I can’t sleep because of you.”

You suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“When Josie told me that you were seeing someone, I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And she showed me a picture she took of you guys and you were so happy. Smiling at him like you used to smile at me and I just…I didn’t know what to do.”

Another pause. You don’t know what to say.

“I put my fist through a wall,” he tells you. “And somehow, that still didn’t hurt as much as knowing you’d moved on.”

You snake your arm around his middle and snuggle closer. “Harry, you knew we both had to move on eventually.”

“Did we?”

“Harry…”

“But so soon? It’s only been five months.”

“Yeah. Five months to grieve you and cry over you and realize I did this for you.” You close your eyes. Tight. “We’re better people now.”

“No, we’re tired people now,” he teases, and you smile. “And I think I’ll be losing sleep over you for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean it. I’m always gonna think about you. Think about what I did wrong. What I could have done better.”

“I fucked up, too,” you argue. “I should have told my parents. And our friends. I should have talked to you more, asked you to do more things together. You’re right, I was ashamed of you. Of this…routine we’d fallen into. And I’m sorry.”

He says nothing. After all, there’s nothing more to say.

But he kisses the crown of your head and it speaks louder than any words.

“Fuck…fuck, Poppy, please—”

You grin as you lick your lips. He’s always sounded the most beautiful when he’s begging. And his best begging always tends to happen when his cock is down your throat. 

“What, Daddy?” you ask innocently. “What do you need me to do?”

His eyes roll back and he grips the sheets in his fist. “Please…”

You reposition yourself over his legs as you dip back down to have another taste. You lick and you suck and you stroke until he’s making another strained noise that sounds like sex.

You hope your neighbors can hear. You bet they missed him.

“Good boy,” you purr, squeezing his thighs as you take him even further. 

He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth before his hand finds your hair and he squeezes. “Easy…easy, baby. S’been a while. Don’t hurt yourself—”

You respond to his instruction by inhaling through your nose and relaxing the muscles in your throat. Allowing him to hit the back the way he always used to.

His head drops into the pillows. “Shit—Poppy, I mean it. M’not gonna fuck your throat. It’s gonna hurt and I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”

It’s an oddly thoughtful gesture but it does nothing for you now. Instead, you shake your head and pull off, a string of saliva dripping down his cock in your wake. “I’m fine, H. Trust me, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” He pushes up onto his elbows. “Is Crocs with Tube Socks hung or something?”

You grin. “No. But that dildo you got me last year is.”

He blinks. “You…fucking hell, you fuck your throat with that?”

“Mhm.” You swirl your tongue around his tip as he curses. “And then I fuck myself. And I pretend it’s you.”

He tightens his hold on your hair and forces your eyes back to his. “Are you serious?”

You nod, now feeling a touch shy as you wipe your mouth with your knuckles. “Yeah…I know that’s…probably weird, but…I mean, you got it for me, so I thought I’d be weirder to think about someone else—”

“No, it’s…” He stops. Struggles. “Shit, I really needed to hear that.”

“Oh, you did, huh?” 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to think about anyone else when you used it, either. It’s got my fucking initials on it.”

You laugh, louder than you mean to and it makes him grin. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It was a pretty good gift, I’ll admit.”

“S’a fucking perfect gift,” he retorts. “We had a lot of fun with that dildo.”

“We did indeed.”

“But apparently not as much fun as you’re having with it.”

“Fucking myself helps me sleep,” you remind him. “So sometimes it’s necessity.”

“Is that right?” 

“Mhm.” You squeeze the base and he twitches. “You used to watch me. Remember?”

“I do.” His eyes get darker. “Do you fuck yourself a lot?”

“…these days, yeah. Apparently, I can’t sleep all that well, either.”

“And does it work?”

“Most of the time, yeah.” You turn your attention back to his cock in order to avoid his curiosity before you quietly admit, “Sometimes I pretend you’re here. Sleeping next to me. And…that helps, too.”

He reaches for your wrist and pulls your attention back. “Poppy—”

“No, don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb—”

“I imagine you, too.”

You blink. “You do?”

“Every night. Except the past couple weeks. Cause now I just think about you and him. And then I can’t fucking sleep.”

You turn your hand so your fingers brush through his. “Shit. We’re a mess.”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

The conversation falls away as you dip back down to resume your work. Squeezing his balls, moaning as you take him on your tongue, and milking him for every last drop. 

Turns out, you missed the taste of him, too.

Morning comes before either of you find a moment of rest. But you can feel yourself growing tired. Your eyelids are beginning to droop, and your body feels incredibly spent. 

Turns out, round 4 is where the magic happened. He brought out your favorite vibrator and teased your poor, swollen clit with it until you squirted. It was easy and quick and he seemed rather delighted to be bathed in you.

Until, of course, you insist on an actual bath to clean you both.

The shower felt good. The warm water washing away the sticky sweat on your skin. And the two of you fell back into a similar routine. He ran the soap down your arms and you washed his curls with your favorite shampoo. A shampoo he claimed he looked everywhere for after you broke up but could never find.

He said he missed the smell. The way it made his hair so soft. And the way it would make his pillowcase smell just like you.

You were grateful that the shower hid your tears.

You both crashed on the couch after you had dried off. The sheets still needed to be cleaned and neither of you could be bothered. But, as it turned out, the couch was growing on him. And he begrudgingly admitted it was rather comfy as the two of you curled up in your usual spot. 

You know you’re both close to sleep. Finally, after all your efforts to get here. But you also know that once you wake up, Harry will leave. 

And there’s a chance you won’t see him again.

You know that nothing has changed. The two of you still want different things, even if you want each other. And you hate that that’s not enough. That what you want and what you should want don’t align.

Instead, he’ll move on with his life and you’ll move on with yours.

But you don’t want to learn how to fall asleep without him.

“Make me a deal,” you whisper.

He hums. Lashes shut tight as the morning light slips in through the window. “What?”

“If I wake up, and you’re still here…we do this again. Not…as a couple. But as two broken humans that find rest with each other.”

His eyes open.

“But if you’re gone,” you continue, “then we don’t. We don’t do it again, we don’t see each other again, we don’t reach out again. We cut ties. Officially. Block and move on. For real.”

He seems saddened by this, and you hate that you’ve made him sad. But you both know it’s for the best. This won’t be sustainable in the long run. And maybe it’s a bad idea to continue at all, but maybe you want to hold on to him anyway. At least for a little while.

Even if it’s just as friends.

Exes.

Two broken humans that used to make each other whole.

His lips press together and he nods once. “Deal,” he agrees, and you can tell by the look on his face, he’s already made a decision.

You aren’t sure which way, but you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. So, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your dreams to take hold. Melting into his arms and into the sofa as you finally find sleep quicker than you have in months.

You’re not sure how long you’re out. It feels like hours. A heavy slumber that leaves you rather refreshed as your eyes eventually flutter open. 

You don’t see Harry as you slowly adjust to your surroundings. And you don’t feel him, either. But you’re too afraid to really look. To sit up and realize that he’s gone. For good.

And then, just when you think you’ve lost him…you hear the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Good morning, Poppy.”

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley @myalovesharry

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Full Moon

Ok so I don’t normally post about Helluva Boss but the newest episode touched on an interesting concept I haven’t necessarily seen represented in media. Back when I was on Twitter (derogatory) a few years ago there was this now deleted viral thread where someone discussed how their struggles with mental health affected their relationship with their partner and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. 

This is such a good, short example of how anxiety and depression can play tricks on you. It becomes so easy to envision yourself as a nuisance, a constant burden to those closest to you because they cannot possibly genuinely enjoy your company, right? But in doing so you create this arbitrarily cruel version of the people you love, people who would otherwise never behave like this outside of your own mind.

It's mean. Because your mind wants to be mean to you under these circumstances. It wants to put everyone else's emotions and desires above yours, both in worthiness and validity. And that starts bleeding into your understanding of other people, especially those you care about.

Now. Helluva Boss.

"Can I get a fucking MINUTE to think after everything you put me through you pompous rich ASSHOLE? Treat me like one of your little butler imps, you can’t just dismiss me like that! I mean, you royal fucks think you can do this every time, like you can just play with our feelings because we’re smaller and not as important. Well I’m not letting you, BITCH! Let’s go!" - Blitz

I find it really interesting how Helluva Boss decided to approach this conflict between Stolas and Blitz. Obviously, the difference in power matters. It's the underlying tension of their entire relationship and their lives. Stolas is burdened by the mountain of expectations thrust upon him from a very young age while Blitz is constantly reminded that he can NEVER be part of that world, that he is "smaller and not as important" not just in Hell's hierarchy but in his own life and family. Stolas very literally has power over Blitz (through the grimoire, the arrangement, his position in society) and Blitz uses their relationship as an excuse to reverse those roles. But that power dynamic, in one form or another, never truly goes away. And for Blitz, it's a lot easier to paint Stolas as this manipulative symbol of power and himself as nothing more than Stolas' plaything. It's easier to be angry than to be vulnerable and accept that someone might care about him.

"Dismiss" is the keyword in that quote. All that Blitz has been able to process is that Stolas has decided to end the relationship that they have. He feels ls like a choice has been taken away from him so he lashes out because he's not ready to emotionally tackle what the rest of Stolas' offer might entail. If Stolas hates him, just wants to play with him, then he is justified in his anger, his self-destruction, his isolation. If the world is mean, you're "allowed" to be mean back.

But

In that moment he forgets that Stolas is someone he actually cares about. Someone he's known for way too long and clearly wants to keep in his life, no matter how reluctant he can be to admit it. Someone who is not innately cruel or manipulative but sad and desperate for connections in a lot of the same ways that Blitz is. And Blitz immediately sees that he's miscalculated something.

Somewhere along the way the fictional version of Stolas that he's allowed himself to be mad at and the real one that he's not ready to admit he cares about have merged into something real that he has actual power over. Stolas can get hurt and Blitz can be the one who does it. He has once again allowed his greatest fears (which Stolas so frequently symbolizes) to co-opt his loved ones, to give him an "out" even though he didn't actually want one in the first place.

I'm definitely not the first person to say this but I think this is an example of the miscommunication trope done right. Their individual struggles are what cause them to be unable to connect during this conversation or to even have a proper conversation in the first place. There is no convenient misunderstanding or third party fabricating this rift. Both of them have preconceived ideas of what the other one is thinking but those ideas are flawed and rooted in self-hatred. They also both shutdown in their unique ways when the conversation starts heading in the direction they'd feared it would.

Blitz and Stolas work because they're both fucked up in similar ways, because they want similar things. That's the same reason why they're uniquely designed to hurt one another. A fear of rejection and a yearning for happiness. To borrow a quote that has been used by literally everyone from Spiderman to Evangelical preachers, "hurt people hurt people."

anyway, I really liked this episode.

(twitter thread screenshots sourced from this reddit post)

[pawsmos]

100th post special!!!

this is art for my “Prince and the Knight” AU ive been working on for some time now.. here’s a meal whace nation!!

lore under cut!

KEHRHHEEB J LOVE THEM SO MUCH DUDE

vvvv

(im not that good with writing nor am i well versed in medieval honorifics and terminology or anything like that so there may be anachronisms)

(this is a separate au from any other medieval aus!! I’ve seen those and love those though)

(the rest of the drdt cast also exists in this au too btw. im considering making charles a butler or a lord or something. none of the cast are the king or queen by the way! that’s aces parents / Eden’s parents. ace also still has all his siblings)

tw for mild homophobia

- Prince Ace, a soon-to-be king, is arranged to marry Princess Eden from a nearby kingdom.

- Both Ace and Eden are upset about the marriage, as Ace is gay (he’s subconsciously aware that he isn’t attracted to women) and Eden is lesbian.

- They both feel resigned to their fate despite their discontent.

- While coping on the back balcony, Ace meets Sir Whit, the newly promoted head of the royal guard. (somehow. who knows how whit got promoted tbh)

- They talk, during which Whit makes joking advances towards Ace.

- Ace, though flustered by Whit’s passes, thinks about the consequences of both liking a man and betraying the kingdom.

(he doesn’t personally care about the latter but he does fear that his father would… idk execute him or something. he is also in denial.)

- Much to Ace’s dismay, they become close friends. However, Whit is aware of the upcoming marriage, so he tries to shut off his own feelings to save himself from feeling bad.

- A few months pass, in which Whit helps Ace overcome his own fears and come to terms with his feelings and sexuality. They start slow (like doing horseback riding together haha), but end up routinely sneaking out together.

- On one particular night, on the same balcony they met, just a day before the wedding, something happens. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Ace kisses Whit and REALLY likes it.

- He realizes that he wants this man. But, realizing that he might get caught, Ace runs away.

- Before the wedding, Ace and Eden finally meet. While preparing for the ceremony, they bond over their shared reluctance of their marriage.

- Eden confesses that she’s actually a lesbian, and there’s a lady back at her kingdom that she’s deeply in love with. (it’s arei LMFAO)

- Ace bluntly replies that he’s gay too.

- insert uhh lightbulb ding effect

- They conjure a plan to get married for convenience, and to appease their parents, but mostly so that they can pursue their own partners. They worry about the kiss though and the people who might be watching. Especially Whit and Arei.

- Skip to the wedding day, Whit suppresses his feelings (like usual) and claps while he watches someone he loves dearly get married off to another. Whit excuses himself from the wedding.

- For post-ceremonial reasons, Ace can’t apologize or even talk to Whit for another week.

i haven’t really thought about the rest but i assume that, once Ace is allowed to go out, he will be the one confessing his love to whit. whit gets “caught”, miscommunication,,,, idek they just… ARE IN LOVE. HAHA.. if you want to write any fics about this or make any art feel free! use the tag “#whace prince and knight au”

thank you!!

THANK YOU FOR READING MY CLICHE YAOI FANFIC ILY IF YOU GET THIS FAR.

THANK YOU FOR 75 FOLLOWERS TOO!!!!

id also like to say that i might start opening commissions because i need a form of making money. but umm i don’t know how to start a paypal or venmo or anything like that. LOL. digital gift cards could work i guess, uhhhh idk. dm me for info!

[bits-and-babs]

I imagine Mando is a virgin, do to his cult/religion.

What if fem/afab reader is Mando's partner on something and Din finds himself staring at their ass, their face, anything.

Reader notices and decides to lead Din through his first time?

𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐀𝐑 — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

» PAIRING : The Mandalorian x F!Reader

» CONTENTS : exhibitionism, masturbation, p in v sex, unprotected sex (I can hear you all screaming from here, I KNOW), cute, shy Mando. 18+ you N A S T I E S.

» DIN MASTERLIST : here || MAIN MASTERLIST : here

It’s so fucking quiet on the Razor Crest.

The Mandalorian had been suspiciously silent for the majority of your trip to Theed— made even worse by the knowledge that it was such a long journey. He had spent most of his time in the cockpit of the ship, pretending to be preoccupied with the coordinates that he hadn’t changed since setting off.

You didn’t think anything of it at first. The long drags of The Mandalorian's eyes that you could feel pull across your form, settling on your ass like a tractor beam had them glued to you. Of course, you’d just explained it away with exhaustion. For a moment, you even considered that you’d been afflicted with Hyper-Rapture, imagining things that weren’t there, inventing the gaze you felt skirting over your form.

No, you don’t think anything of it at all. Not until you walk into the cockpit of the Razor Crest one evening to find The Mandalorian thrusting into his palm and quietly whimpering out your name.

Mando hadn’t seen you, spilling into his palm and wheezing as though he’d been shot by a blaster in the side. His cum had run down the knuckles of his fingers, the two-tone gloves he consistently wore hanging off the controls.

Stars, you couldn’t shake the image from your minds-eye, nor could you ignore the echo of your whimpered name when you close your eyes at night.

It’s late. Mando has managed to settle the rambunctious Child into his cot, gently laying him amongst the blankets and closing the lid. It hisses softly, the mechanics locking with a quiet ‘click’.

You can hear his boots clang across the durasteel flooring, each footstep pronounced. Heat swallows your face as you stare at the Aurebesh lettering in your book, the lines all blurring into one when you feel him approach you.

Your name rings in your ears.

“He’s asleep,” Mando speaks softly, his husky tone soothing in its quiet volume. Looking up at him through your lashes, you carefully close the book you had pretended to preoccupy yourself with. Mando’s visor stares down at you blankly, an immovable object that makes your hands shake when you reach for him.

“… That’s perfect,” you whisper, voice cracking slightly when your palms touch the flight suit beneath the lip of his breastplate. You can feel his body flinch, his hip bones soft beneath the canvas.

“H-Hey,” he says cautiously, shocked by the sudden contact. You rub gentle circles with your thumb, chewing on the inside of your cheek in an attempt to ease your thumping heart.

“I heard you,” you break it to him gently, watching his body stiffen at your admission, “Why did you hide it from me?”

Mando doesn’t respond, your touch having stolen the breath from his lungs. He shudders, his cock hard already beneath the fabric of his suit. You see it twitch, responsive to your light touch.

You smile to yourself, careful as you unclip his utility belt.

“I can give you what you want?”

You insist upon fucking him in the pilot seat. Mando implores you to allow him to keep his armour on. Of course, you concede. This is outside of his comfort zone; he would want to cling to what makes him comfortable.

Straddling his lap, you feel the sting of cold from his tassets bite into the naked flesh of your thighs. The head of his cock rests against your clit, and your muscles buzz with a mixture of arousal and anticipation. You’re drunk on it, high on it.

“I haven’t-“ Mando speaks, his voice catching in his throat when you dip his cock through your soaking folds. It’s like he short circuits, choking on a thick syllable.

“Mhm?” You hum softly. You’ve taken control, your experience making it easier for Mando to relax into you. He leans forward, pressing the cold Beskar of his helmet against your collarbone.

“I haven’t… Done this,” he admits to you, his tone reserved- shy. Mando’s breath hitches in his chest when you settle the head of his cock against your entrance. He sinks inside you ever so slightly, a groan rattling his lungs at the promise of tight, wet heat.

“I know,” you whisper softly, easing down onto his length as you soothe him. Mando’s back arches against the leather of the pilot seat, a choked moan of your name escaping him— not unlike the ones you heard when you caught him fucking his hand.

You don’t move, your walls fluttering around the stretch of him in your cunt. Mando is choking back curses, his hands gripping the curve of your ass and burying his fingertips into the soft flesh there.

“Oh, fu-ughh- so tight-'' he rambles, pitchy in tone as you bury him to the hilt. He’s touching the deepest parts of you, so thick and long that you’re sure you can feel him settle amongst your lungs.

It’s immediately apparent that Mando won’t last long. His thighs are trembling, cock twitching inside you despite your lack of movement. You don’t mind. This isn’t about you.

“Does it feel good?” You check in with him, smoothing your palms down the reflective surface of his breastplate. Your body heat is so high that the chilled metal clouds with condensation the moment your skin rests against it.

“So fucking tight- Maker-“ he gasps in response to you squeezing around him. “I’m-I’m gonna cum-“

Delicately, you lean your head down to press a kiss to the slither of skin exposed between the neckline of his flight suit and his helmet. You follow it up with a long, slow drag of your tongue.

Mando cums with a haggard groan, his whole body shuddering with the intensity of it. His head drops back against the headrest of the seat, chest heaving as he sucks in laboured breaths. Your flesh aches slightly from the tight grip he holds.

“S-Stars-“

It makes you smile, because you’re sure he sees them dancing behind his eyelids.

END

[writing-mlm]

Is it real?

Summary: It’s thanksgiving, current plan: ignore your family, backup plan: stay for Alfred’s left overs. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader Wc: 7.1k A/n: I saw comments asking for part 2 so… rushed this out bc Thanksgiving is like… two(??) days away Warning: mentions of homophobic family but they’re silent the whole time, nothing negative is really just it’s just the feeling of knowing that they are

Damian had always known he liked men, there wasn’t one defining moment in his youth where it clicked. He didn’t watch some movie and fall in love with the lead actor, he didn’t have a love-at-first-sight moment that made everything make sense. It’s just something that’s always been. But falling for you had been something that had been gradual. 

At first, you were just some intern with a loud laugh and clearly hung out with not the best people. He’d seen you in the hallway of Gotham University, which was a surprise considering how large the campus is and he grew a little suspicious. He’s Robin, of course, he’s going to be suspicious of a coincidence. 

But falling for you had been incredibly easy when he looked back at it. He just remembers that one random night, after work and school, on your way back from patrol where he looked at you as you sang along (badly, he’d tease you and you’d say it was on purpose) to your patrolling playlist. It was this warm feeling that washed over him, his stomach tossed up and he was thankful that he got to spend his days next to you. It made him realize he’d been falling for a while now and in that moment, it all just felt right. 

Truly Damian had never expected love to be that simple. He had expected it to be something akin to trials of battle. Something he had to defend like he defended himself. How grateful he is that he was wrong about something. 

He considers himself lucky in that regard. 

He looks at you as the two of you sit in the garden, looking at the fallen white snow cloaking the nearly barren bushes. The cold is nipping at his nose and it’s starting to snow again. His pants are wet and cold, his hands tense with what he thinks are the early signs of frostbite. But you look lovely, you look like everything he wants and more. 

A part of him wonders if he deserves this. If his happy ending is something he has been able to get; if he’s atoned for his past. If the blood he’d split has finally dried and he’s able to truly move along. But he tries not to remind himself about his past, focusing on his present or whatever stupid thing Grayson always preaches about.

Sighing, he taps the cold bench with his knuckles before standing up. 

“I believe father should be done talking with your family,” He says and you hum, following after him. You walk hand in hand, your bodies begging for warmth. He notes the recent footprints that aren’t his or yours and figures it was Diana. She’d been wearing kitten heels and that’s the print of them. It makes him smile, figuring she probably got the hint. 

He glances at you as the two of you walk in tandem; he’s known about your family issues for a while. Sworn to secrecy because you didn’t want the others to pity you or try to somehow make up for your family’s shortcomings. You knew his family; you knew how much they liked you and how if they knew the truth, how your family wouldn’t even be allowed to step foot inside. 

He doesn’t know why, honestly he’s tried to imagine it, but you still love them. You still answer their texts, you still wish them a happy birthday even though they rarely do the same, and you haven’t spoken truly ill of them to anyone but him. 

You believed you never did anything remarkable; born to live in the middle child’s role for the rest of your life and he cannot imagine that. 

Gotham University is comparable to Ivy League in almost every regard. You managed to be one of his father's best interns long before you’d gotten your powers. You had enough self-preservation and drive to uproot your entire life, growing used to the harsh environment of Gotham alone. You’ve been beaten and broken enough times to make a grown man quit and yet, you put on the suit night after night, fighting crime with a joke and a smile. You had literally no one in your corner for years and yet he watches as you smile at the snow falling on your nose. 

He knows you’re incredibly strong and he wishes nothing but the best for you; which is why he’ll proudly wear your relationship on his sleeve. 

You look at him, feeling his intense gaze and he grins, kissing you again. 

“You okay?” You ask when he pulls away. He nods, looking back towards the manor as you exit the maze. 

“I’m happy I can kiss you freely.” Is all he says and you playfully roll your eyes. Your siblings are waiting on the porch while Damian’s siblings and further in the snow, talking using sign language when Cassandra waves you both over. 

“We have a plan,” She says. “We are going to act like I can’t speak. Only sign language with your family,” They do that every time the family is introduced to someone new, kept it up with Bernard for nearly a year before someone broke. You managed about two months but that’s only because you accidentally walked into a very heated conversation between her and Jason about ballet plays. 

“I agree.” Damian nods. 

“It’s only natural.” You agree. 

“Yo,” Jason suddenly says while smacking your arm. “Is your stepmother the mom of your sister?” You cringe when you think about it and the weird family drama around them. 

“No, she’s an affair baby,” You start and scratch your cheek. “She’s my mom's god-sister's daughter. Her and my dad didn’t date, though. It’s complicated.”

“Oh, okay,” Steph sighs. “Because they look so similar.”

“Oh, yeah. They’re cousins.”

“Huh?” They all blink and you glance at Damian. He shakes his head; he’s not going to explain this mess. 

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m going to need a full explanation,” Tim shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest while you inhale. 

“Okay, her mother is Lupe. Lupe and my dad slept together for about five years before they had my sister. My mom found out because Lupe’s mother told her because she thought my dad would ‘step up’ and marry Lupe; spoiler, he didn’t. My dad's wife  is Lupe’s older sister's daughter.” You explain, using your fingers to keep track of people. 

“Okay,” Cass nods. “So, how old is everyone and when did they divorce?”

“My sister, Nadia, is twenty-seven, Pat is twenty-four, Diana is eighteen, and Lupe is ten. My parents divorced before Lupe was born.”

“She has her mother's name?” Jason gasps, holding back a laugh. 

“Dad tried to change it; but you need both signatures. Everyone just calls her Lulu. My mom doesn’t acknowledge her.”

“Are we done here?” Damian sighs. 

“Yes, you can go back to kissing your boyfriend,” Tim rolls his eyes while Jason just shakes his head; still in disbelief that Damian had decided on his own that was in a relationship. He feels like he’s done that in another universe, too. 

“So,” Steph starts just before the two of you can walk away. “When’s your anniversary? Or do you celebrate both of them?” She teases and the others laugh. 

“I’m not answering that,” He grumbles and grabs your hand, pulling you away. 

On the porch, he looks at Nadia and her roommate. They’re holding pinkies, testing the waters while your fingers haven’t left Damian’s in nearly twenty minutes. He feels bad for them; despite his upbringing and hardships, he can confidently say that neither side of his family is homophobic. Not even in the slightest; he’s heard about Ra’s and Bruce’s escapades— although Bruce thankfully reassured him that his grandfather was not on his vast list of people he’d taken to bed. 

He goes to remove his hand, fearing you wouldn’t want your family to know but you squeeze his hand, keeping his hand firmly pressed against your skin. He looks at you and you offer a smile, guiding him to a porch bench while you wait for Bruce to let everyone back inside. 

He blinks, holding back a smile while you pull out your phone with your free hand. You’re playing some tedious game about placing blocks that he finds himself captivated in. It’s as if he can see your thinking in real time; understanding how your brain works. 

“So,” Nadia’s roommate— girlfriend, he corrects himself, Kendall, starts. Her voice feels almost surreal in the soft silence that fills the backyard. He’d nearly forgotten you weren’t alone. Nearly. “Are you two…”

“Dating?” You ask, voice carrying a sort of understanding that Kendall smiles at. She nods and you smile, nudging Damian’s shoulder with your own. “Yeah, we are.” 

“Cool,” She says, eyes darting to Nadia’s who just looks down. 

“Gross,” Pat says, eyes flickering to Damian’s. “You can do better.” Rolling your eyes, you return to your phone. 

“There is no such thing,” Damian answers and you pause, your thumb-stopping as you’re about to place a block. “Your brother is the best thing to happen to me.” Smiling, you lock your phone but pretend you’re still using it. Pat rolls his eyes but he doesn’t say anything further. 

From what you’ve told Damian he knows that Pat is an envious man. Envious that Nadia had won the lottery, envious Diana got your parent's love and affection, envious that you were able to escape the suffocating clutches of your parents when no one else could. 

He feels bad for Pat. He wanted to be an elementary school teacher but your parents had pushed for a ‘more respectable’ degree. You said after that he lost his spark. Became a shell of himself; not that you liked him before all that. He wasn’t a good brother to you, always thought you were too childish. Too head in the clouds to do anything. It was strange, considering the close ages between the two of you and you remember a time the two of you were close. 

The door opens and Damian looks over at his father as he fixes his jacket. His neck is tight but he forces himself to relax and he smiles. It’s the smile he puts on for a crowd, during gala’s, during meetings; whenever he has to put on his Brucie Wayne persona. Because anyone who knew Bruce, really knew him, knew his smile was different. 

“Come on, children.” He says, stepping aside as Tim rushes in. 

“He’s too anemic to be in the cold for so long,” Jason snickers, stepping in after Tim. 

Damian has you walk inside first, watching as his fathers eyes track you with a solemn look. It’s the look he had when you opened up about your family and he looks forward, staring at the back of your head as you enter the room for the third time that day. 

Your step-mother is no longer on your father's lap, she’s sat next to him and settles with just holding his hand. Your mother is opposite to them, her expression— Damian hates to admit it, he’s sorry for even making the connection in his head— is nearly identical to yours when you’re annoyed. Your father— again, really, he’s sorry for the connection— has the traits too. It’s the eyebrows and nose flare with your mother, the eyes and lip curl with your father. 

He wonders if you realize it and that’s why you don’t like getting upset. The reason why you try to avoid conflict if possible. 

Lupe climbs onto your fathers lap, the coldness has only made her more tired and he kisses her head, providing the warmth you’d never gotten from him. 

Damian looks at you as you’re holding a recording device between your fingers; a conflicted expression clear on your face before Bruce slyly takes it and crushes it under his finger. 

“Bruce-!” You gasp but he shakes his head, hand on your shoulder. “Okay,”

The two of you take your seats again, your head naturally finding a home on his shoulder while his arm wraps around your shoulder; tracing shapes into your arm absentmindedly. 

Diana scowls as she enters the room; the two of you sit in the middle because she just knows- oh, she knows you’re doing this on purpose. You’re jealous of her so this is your revenge, you’ve always done things like this. Getting better grades, turning her friends against her (she doesn’t know how for that one yet, despite it being nearly six years ago), countless others and now this. You can’t just be happy for her. 

You ignore her, still playing that damn game that Damian doesn’t know why you play. 

For some strange reason, Damian remembers back to when you learned Wonder Woman’s identity. How your face had dropped and how he snickered when you muttered; ‘that’s an unfortunate name’ that Diana had raised an eyebrow to. You had quickly apologized, of course, later recounting how embarrassing it was when you were alone with Damian. 

You still call her Ms. Prince, though. 

His eyes flicker to Nadia and Kendall; Nadia is pressed in between your mother and Kendall, her leg bouncing while Kendall seems almost unfazed being between Nadia and Jason. 

He’s probably wondering when the food is going to be done; he’s been preparing for this day. Literally; him and Tim and sometimes even Duke will take on extra patrol shifts the day before and not eat the day of Thanksgiving just to make sure they have enough room in their stomach for the feast Alfred prepares. 

While Damian is a little sad that Duke wasn’t able to make it this year, he’s glad he’s able to spend it with his family this year. He says they’re getting better, it’s taken several years but the Joker venom is weaning off of them. He can tell and the doctors confirmed it. They’re good enough that he can have an actual meal with them again. 

You check the time; five-sixteen, and almost sigh. Dinner always starts at eight on the dot and man, you’re hungry. Alfred doesn’t let anyone in the kitchen for a nibble on anything; just a glass of water before he kicks them out. 

Maybe if you texted Damian he could sneak out and bring some food for the two of you. 

“No,” He whispers when you’re hovering over your texts, debating typing it out. Grumbling, you put your phone down and look around. 

There’s not much going on, a couple of conversations have broken out but nothing worthy of note. Bruce is almost guarding the door with the way he’s placed his seat, facing over everyone. You wonder what he talked about; you’re not stupid, you know it’s about you, but you want to know exactly what was said. It’s stupid but you worry that Bruce is tired of you, maybe he agrees with your parents that you’re just that kid. Nothing special. 

Damian feels your pulse when his hand travels to run across your neck, his fingers ghosting from your elbow up and you shudder. His eyebrows furrow when he feels the beating and he discreetly checks on you, your eyes darting about the carpet as your worry vein starts to show on your forehead. 

“Father,” Damian says and Bruce looks over, a quiet hm of acknowledgment coming from the man. “Can we be excused?”

“Of course, Damian,” He nods as a thank you and taps your back, beckoning you up from the couch and you follow him out of the room. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asks once you’re a couple of steps away from the room. You shrug, fingernails digging into the rubber phone case. He hates that; hates when you don’t give him a verbal response because how is he supposed to help? He’s great at reading body language, yes, of course he is, but he wants you to talk. 

“You’re worried about something,” He says as you’re traveling up the large staircase. The old wood creaks under your footsteps, the banister sharing it when your hand presses down against it. 

“Does Bruce like me?” You ask and he blinks over at you. 

“My father adores you. He’d adopt you if he could,” He reassures with ease and you smile. “You’re worried about what he spoke to your family about?” Nodding, he looks up the stairs and thinks for a moment. 

“I’m going to be honest with you; I have a couple of theories myself. The most likely one is that father invited them here on purpose; he wants to know them because he realized at the tree that your family doesn’t treat you well. He probably played the aloof character he often does and sang your well-deserved praises, watching as your parents squirmed.”

“You really think that?”

“I’d never lie to you,” He promises, kissing your knuckles. “Do you want to take a nap?”

“Yes, please,”

—

Damian had stayed awake at his desk while you napped on his bed, curled up on his blankets and his pillows, Titus happily sharing the space with you. He hates to admit it, but he definitely watched you as you slept; simply admiring you. 

The others had checked on the two of you periodically, finding Damian was more often than not simply sitting in the silence of the room. Jason wanted to make a joke, something about day one relationship bliss but he held his tongue, he didn’t know why. Don’t ask him. He totally should’ve made the joke. 

When you woke up, he put his book down and waited for you to say something.

“Is the food done?” He laughs and checks his phone. Two minutes until eight. 

“It should be once we head downstairs,” You smile this sleepy smile, face still pressed into his pillow and he swears his heart swells. With a quick fixing of your clothes and hair, the two of you head downstairs as Bruce is heading up. 

“Good,” He breathes. “I was on my way to get the two of you.”  He waits for the two of you to walk past before heading back down himself. Jason and Dick are helping bring the food into the large dining room. Two trays of food in each of their arms while Alfred carts in more trays. You can smell the food from the bottom of the stairs and you’re so glad Damian forced you to go. 

You can imagine the leftovers now. 

Bruce sits at the head of the table as he’s always had, Damian pulls out a chair, one away from the corner seat where he’d be sitting, and nods with his eyes for you to sit.  

“He’s such a gentleman,” Tim cooes from across from you. 

“Just because you were raised without class, Drake doesn’t mean the rest of us were.” Damian quickly replies. Bruce wants to smile; he’ll never admit he loves his children’s banter, but he puts on his old man's tired face to save Damian the embarrassment of knowing his father finds his actions cute. 

Cassandra takes the seat across from Damian while you find Kori next to you. Dick is next to her, but Mar’i is asleep in a mobile bassinet between the two of them. They promise she’s a heavy sleeper but everyone is ever aware of their volume as she sleeps. 

You wonder why more partners aren’t at the dinner. Jason usually invites at least one of the Outlaws, the Kents are almost always there, and maybe one or two of Dick’s Titans show up. You were hoping at least Jon would be there; it’s been a while since you’ve seen him. 

Stephanie settles next to Tim, followed by Jason. He likes to be as far as he can from Bruce without being too far because… Bruce and Jason's things. 

You don’t care where your family sits, honestly you try to block them out. Between your parents, siblings, aunt, and cousins (plus Kendall and your father's wife), you can’t bring yourself to care. 

The last of the food is set and Alfred takes the seat at the other end of the table. Head of household go on the ends, is what Damian had told you when you first questioned it. 

“Wanna say what we’re grateful for?” Dick grins the same way he does every single Thanksgiving that the others mouth the words as he’s saying it. 

“Sure,” Bruce nods, his eyes scanning over the table. “I suppose I’ll start, then.” 

“I’m thankful for my children finding happiness,” He smiles. “Wherever that may be.” He adds, looking at Jason. 

“Oh, I need a drink,” Jason mutters and grabs his glass, pouring whiskey out from his flask.

It’s Cassandra’s turn and she looks around before signing

‘I’m thankful for ballet.’ Everyone replies in sign, not because they actually want to reply, but because it’s funny. You catch your family's embarrassed glances at each other when they realize they have no idea what she said and no one is willing to translate for them. 

Tim doesn’t realize it’s his turn and returns to staring at his lap, trying to hide the fact that he’s working. Stephanie nudges him and he looks up, not even embarrassed that he’s been caught. 

“I’m thankful for the internet in the dining room.” 

“I’m thankful for…” Stephanie trails. “Cassandra.” 

“I’m thankful for alcohol,” Jason says as he takes another large gulp. He wanted to say guns, he always says guns, but you guess Bruce had told him not to this year. 

Kendall is next, her eyes flicker to you for a brief moment as she thinks. 

“I’m thankful that I have someone to celebrate with,” Is what she settles on before it’s Nadia’s turn. 

“I’m thankful for Kendall,” She smiles, her voice shaking as she says it. Kendall smiles down at the table, hiding her pink face. It continues on, your cousins are thankful for Kai Cenat, your brother says some corporate answer you forgot immediately after, Lupe says her iPad, your father says his wife, his wife says him, your mother said her husband, her husband said her, your aunt said her kids, and then it’s Diana’s turn. 

“I’m thankful that Mr. Wayne opened his doors to us,” She says in this sickly sweet voice that makes you inhale and hold your tongue. Thankfully that Kori’s hair mostly blocks you from the others, you shake Damian’s shoulder and he stifles a laugh. 

The married couple says sappy married couple answers and suddenly it’s your turn. 

“I’m thankful that I have all of my organs,”

“You’re still on that?” Tim glares, looking up from his laptop and you laugh, the others joining in. “It happened one—“

“Kids,” Bruce says and Tim looks back down at his laptop. He looks at you and you sigh. 

“I’m thankful for the blue— I’m thankful for the food Alfred cooked so tirelessly,” You say and the family nods to that, even Tim. 

“I’m thankful for (Y/n),” Damian says and Jason cheers when Dick slides him a twenty. “You’re childish.”

“And you’re predictable,” He sings, holding up the crisp twenty-dollar bill. Damian goes to say something but Alfred clears his throat and anything he was going to say dies before it reaches his tongue. 

“I’m thankful for another year with all of you,” Alfred smiles fondly at everyone, even you. 

“Dig in.” Getting food is nearly a free-for-all hell. It’s why Alfred always makes enough that you don’t need to reach too far to get your favorite foods. You pile food onto your plate, fighting Tim with the spoon and ever aware of your family’s bewildered expressions. 

It’s strange for them to see; you’re so happy here. Clearly, in your time in Gotham, you’ve been integrated into the family, settling nicely in their bunch. You’re laughing with Jason about something they don’t get, sharing a forkful of food with Damian because he wanted you to try the tofu ham he loves so dearly. You never liked tofu before, your mother tried once, but you love their tofu ham. 

You have inside jokes with them, even with Bruce. Bruce asks about your classes and they realize they can’t name a single class you take; they don’t even know your major. 

But somehow, someway, it’s your fault. You don’t call enough, you don’t text enough, you don’t come home. It’s not because of them; they’ve done nothing wrong. 

And you know that’s what they think. 

With the initial food free-for-all done, you settle into nice conversations that often have breaks of silence because you’re talking to Cassandra. It’s also the first time Bruce participates in the ongoing gag. 

“No, you nearly killed Jerry on his first Thanksgiving,” Damian insists to Jason. “You’re the reason we didn’t have a Turkey for four years.”

“I’m not the one who tried to kill me.”

“Pretty sure you have,” Tim comments, and Jason snorts before covering his face. 

“We agreed to no more suicide jokes,” Bruce lazily reminded. 

“Was it ever a joke…?” You test the waters and he sighs, holding his face while the others laugh. 

“That’s so rude, (Y/n)!” Diana shouts and everyone goes silent. Dead silent. “Don’t joke about suicide!” The others glance at her, unsure of what to do. You blink, pushing food into your mouth and slowly chew. 

“It’s harmless banter between friends and siblings,” Damian says. “You wouldn’t get it.” 

“Oh…” She settles in her seat. “I guess,”

“Anyway,” Stephanie looks away from her, giving you a glance that says ‘seriously, you’re related?’ and you just shrug. “Did Jason try to kill Jerry?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Okay, let’s ask Alfred.” Alfred looks up from his plate, wiping a napkin along his mouth with wide eyes when he sees the children have turned to him for his verdict. 

“Oh, well. That was so long ago, I suppose I’ve forgotten what’s happened.”

“Nonsense Pennyworth; your memory is sharp. No need to spare Todd’s feelings.”

“I know the demon spawn can be a bear but you can tell the truth, Alfred.” 

Bruce sighs because he knows this topic will never end.

“It wasn’t him.” Bruce blurts before covering his mouth with a napkin. Alfred gives him a thankful look but Damian slowly turns to look at Bruce.

“What?” Damian leans over, eyes wide as he stares at his father. “Who was it, father?”

“It was…” He sighs. “Me.”

Shouting erupts at the table, you and Cassandra sit, shell-shocked as years of a feud had been for nothing— something Bruce could’ve stopped long ago. 

‘Wasn’t it you?’ You ask and she nods, serving herself more mashed potatoes. You snicker, reaching over to finish Damian’s glass of wine. He takes the last sip of his father's glass, angrily downing it because the shouting has made his throat dry. 

“I cannot believe you let Todd take the blame,” Damian breathes as he settles down. “It’s been nearly ten years, father!” 

“Oh heavens,” Alfred shakes his head. “I shall bring out more wine.”

“Bourbon, please, Alfred.” Bruce and Jason grumble. 

“Having fun?” Tim grins over at your family. The bunch are shocked; well your cousins are eating this up and Lupe is still playing on her iPad. You didn’t expect anything less from them if you’re being truthful. 

“You have a… lively family,” Your father’s wife smiles. 

“Hopefully you’ll marry into it, right?” Tim continues to egg them on. “Then we’ll be one big happy family.” He winks at your mother who gawks.

“Yup,” You nod, much to Damian’s shock. “One big, gay, happy wedding, right, Dames.” He quickly collects himself and nods. 

“Honeymoon to whatever island you want; after our destination wedding. I’m thinking Istanbul or Cape Town, South Africa.”

“Mhmm, and then we’ll get a big mansion somewhere.”

“A farm, too.” 

“That sounds nice,” Kori agrees. 

“You’ll be my maid of honor, of course.”

“And Dick will be my best man.” 

“He’ll be mine.” You disagree, turning to Damian. 

“You cannot have both!”

“Fine, I’m taking Casandra.”

“No! She’ll be my maid of honor. Why don’t you pick Drake or something?”

“I’m busy that day,” Tim responds and Damian squints. “I might be able to squeeze you in.” Tim concedes. 

“I’m taking Jon, then.” 

“Oh my god,” Bruce puts his head in his hands as Alfred pours him a glass of bourbon. He downs it and Alfred quickly pours another glass. “There won’t be a marriage until you’ve finished college.”

“I didn’t know you moved that fast,” Jason teases. 

“It’s not fast if I’m sure he’s the love of my life.”

You pause, staring down at your glass as the room falls silent. 

Honestly, this is moving… fast. You’ve never been in love, at least you don’t think you have. You’ve never really known love; your father cheated for five years, your mother married your father's (now former) boss out of spite, your father is currently married to someone the same age as his eldest daughter, and your sister was in a hidden relationship. 

Your girlfriends have been nice. You liked them enough, they weren’t bad in any way. You enjoyed being with them but you wouldn’t say you’ve ever loved any of them. 

With Damian, you aren’t sure if what you’re feeling is love. Maybe puppy love but… love. You aren’t sure about that; you’d been joking about the marriage stuff. It was a joke to get your family uncomfortable. You weren’t even sure you wanted to get married! Let alone to Damian. 

The relationship was literal hours long at this point— sure longer in Damian’s eyes but he’s clearly had romantic feelings for you for longer than you’ve had them for him. Maybe you hadn’t realized before, sure, yes, that’s entirely possible. But you don’t love him just yet. 

“I’m gonna… use the bathroom…” Diana excuses herself, her kitten heels clicking against the freshly polished floor. 

Your ears are ringing as Damian continues his conversations like normal. You glance around, finding Tim’s eyes in the chaos that’s your current state. He raises his eyebrows and you must’ve made a face because he did a short nod. Damian says something; something about you. He wants your opinion about something but you don’t know what he said. There was just one fact running through your mind. 

He was in love with you. Like genuinely. 

You must’ve been a horrible gay boyfriend because you smile and ask him to repeat himself. 

“Oh, (Y/n),” Tim cuts you off, closing his laptop. “I wanted your opinion on something about… stuff; join me.” 

“Can’t it wait?” Bruce asks. He assumes it’s about his case because Bruce was considering asking you some questions about it anyway. It had to deal with your major and why not ask the kid who’s currently studying what he thinks? 

“Don’t wanna forget,” Tim shakes his head. 

“It’s okay,” You smile. “I’ll be back in the second, yeah?” Damian nods, squeezing your hand as you leave the room with Tim. 

“He’s a lot.” Is the first thing Tim says when you’re walking into a nearby room. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” You mumble, falling onto a couch with a loud sigh. 

“Really? Because he just said you’re the love of his life and you looked sick.”

“I’m just—“ Any reasoning dies before you find it and you look at him. “It was shocking.” You settle on saying. 

“Yeah, you’ve been dating for maybe six hours and you were asleep for half of them. Congrats, though. You’ve clearly won him over,” Tim settles across from you, his legs hanging off of the chair while he hangs his head, staring at the dead fireplace. 

“I don’t know what love is.” You blurt and he looks up, half interested. 

“Considering your family is a weird fucking situation, I figured.” 

“Shut up, fucking detective.” 

“Ouch,” He teases with a grin. “Put ‘World’s Greatest’ in front of it next time.” 

“Can you explain love? Maybe then I'll put the title.”

“You’re great at barging,” Tim sits up, now resting his chin on his fists. You stare at him, waiting and he sits there. Thinking. 

“If Jon was to walk through the doors and declare his love for Damian, how would you feel?”

“Upset. Confused.” You shrug. 

“How often do you look for him?”

“Not often. We’re never apart.”

“When you are.” He corrects, rolling his eyes. 

“Often, I guess. I worry;” You shrug. 

“About what?”

“During…” Glancing at the door. “Our side jobs, I worry that he’s been taken. I guess. Maybe worse. During classes I just miss him, I’m used to being around him.”

“Used to or want to?”

“What do you mean?” Your face pinches and Tim tilts his head. 

“Are you used to being around Damian or do you want to be around Damian?”

“I want to,” You answer without hesitation. “I miss him when I sleep and he’s not there. I think of him whenever I’m shopping because I often see something he would like. I’ve…” You trail off, rubbing your hands on your legs. “Never told him I’m mildly allergic to dogs because he loves Titus.”

“You’re allergic to dogs?” 

“Mhmm, my throat gets itchy for a bit when I touch them or something they’ve come into contact with. I try not to touch them too often. I think I’ve built an immunity, though.”

“I’d say you’re in love. I would never do that,” He laughs. “Maybe baby love and Damian’s full deep-end love, but love.” 

“Really?” You smile and he nods, looking you up and down as if he’s judging you. He totally is. 

“Yeah, only fools in love would do something that stupid.” 

—

When Diana returns to the dining room, you pay her no mind. You're holding your goddaughter as she stares up at you, holding your finger. Her eyes really are green like her mother's. She smiles, cooing when Damian strokes the top of her head. 

She’s not old enough to have normal food, but it doesn’t mean she likes it. She tries to grab the fork whenever she can and even tries to remove the tablecloth to get to the delicious food. Against your wishes, Kori takes her upstairs. Dick says she needs to eat and you reluctantly understand, missing her already. 

“It’s time for dessert,” Alfred announces as he stands some time after Kori comes back, Mar’i once again fast asleep. Everyone had finished their plates and slumped in their seats, sure they were going to fall into a food coma. 

“I’ll help clear the table,” You offer, standing up and grabbing some of the trays. Jason does the same and you stare at each other; silently agreeing you’d split the leftovers evenly if you don’t argue and alert the others. 

Alfred takes the trays the two of you don’t and once they’re set on the table, he watches as the two of you rush to grab the tupperware he takes out for Thanksgiving and pile food inside. 

“Do leave some for the rest of us,” He comments as he goes back into the dining room to fetch the dirty plates and utensils and you apologize but continue filling the trays. You end up with eight heavy bowls; four for you and four for Damian. It’s not a lot, all things considered. No one else really gets the vegan things so it's always going with Damian. But even with Jason’s filling, there’s more than enough for everyone else. 

You put your tubs into your toolbox, preserving them exactly how they are while Jason has to put his in the fridge after slapping several sticky notes and writing on the tubs that the food is his and he will shoot whoever takes them. 

You’re nearly tempted. 

Alfred returns with the dishes, scraping the bones and scraps into the trash before he places them in the sink to soak. 

“Go inside, you will not have first dibs on dessert.” He says, eyeing the two of you while you stand in the kitchen's doorway. 

“Aw man,” You frown, dragging your feet as you walk away. 

“I assume you stole the leftovers?” Damian grins when you sit back down.

“Absolutely,” You grin back, knocking his leg with yours. “All the favorites, enough for a week.” He nods in approval, once again looking over the table. 

Alfred wheels in the desert and you swear it’s like feeding time at the zoo because the right side of the table eye the trays like they’re raw meat and they’re wild animals who hadn’t eaten in ages. Even Bruce. 

He sets the left side first; which will have the same things as the right and your mouth waters when you see the knafeh. You know your family won’t love it the same way you do and god, you’re going to take the whole pan home. There’s an elaborate strawberry cheesecake, three pies (apple, pecan, and pumpkin), banana pudding, and crème brûlée donuts. 

“I’m gonna cry,” Stephanie whispers, her leg bouncing with anticipation. “It’s so beautiful.”

When Bruce gives the nod to dig in— after Alfred pre-cut slices and gave everyone warning stares—, the dessert free-for-all is more contained. Everyone gets two slices of each pie, two of the cheesecake, enough of the pudding, and three donuts. It’s typically that way but everyone starts trading for their favorite things. You trade your pecan and pumpkin pie slices for: an apple slice, a donut, and two cheesecake slices. Or you don’t. Maybe you made it up; it’s up to your imagination, really. 

Your focus is on the knafeh; everyone always gives you one of their slices out of tradition. No need to trade for those bad boys. 

Alfred pours eggnog for everyone as well— he even makes special ones for those with diet restrictions. 

“This is so good,” Your cousin says, face stuffed with pumpkin pie. “You’re like Gordon Ramsay, dude.”

“Thank you, young man.” Alfred gives him a warm smile that makes your cousin beam. 

“I’m a man,” He whispers to his mother, eyes twinkling. She laughs and ruffles his hair. 

“So, you two are in a real relationship?” Your father's wife asks, pointing her fork between you and Damian. “Like… actually?”

“Yup,” You nod, licking your spoon clean of the apple pie filling. 

“Unfortunately,” Jason teases. 

“Just so you know; I’m like totally cool with gay people.” She says, holding her hand in your general direction as if you were going to grab it. “I’m an ally!”

“Nice,” You nod again. She smiles and nods, sipping her spiked eggnog. She spiked it, and everyone saw. She’ll deny it later. 

“They’re clearly lying!” Diana shouts. You were waiting for that; she’d been incredibly silent for most of the dinner. It was only a matter of time. “(Y/n) is jealous that me and Damian clearly have a spark! He’s… he’s messing with Damian’s mind! You saw the way he looked at me at the tree and besides— (Y/n) has had girlfriends before!”

“I’m bisexual.”

“As if! You don't even like Ryan Reynolds and I remember when you were eight and you said you’d date Red Hood if he was a girl!”

“I never said that!” You quickly shout, face heating up as the others around you snicker. 

“Yes, you did! You made Nadia make you that Red Hood costume for Halloween and made posters of him! You painted our Nerf guns black! And you said you wanted to marry ‘Girl Red Hood’!” 

“No, I didn’t! Oh my god, I didn’t!” You swear, shaking your head. 

“You did,” Nadia nods and you cover your face, unable to look at the Wayne’s. “It was clear, in hindsight.”

“So,” Jason slowly nods. “Red Hood was your gay awakening?”

“No! I was not into Red Hood!”

“And then he was fixated on Robin for a while. The one with the swords,” Nadia continues and you almost sob, collapsing in your seat. “He wanted swords and he swore his Robin hoodie for almost two months straight; convinced dad to buy Robin bedsheets.”

“They’re lying,” Your voice is muffled under your hands. Damian rubs your shoulder but you can just tell he’s enjoying this. 

“It was so much worse than the Red Hood phase,” Pat slowly agrees. “Is that why you moved here?”

“No, because that never happened.”

“It did,” Your mother slowly agrees. “But you stopped because of…” She trails, looking at your father. The conversation dies there and you’re able to breathe. 

“Damian’s not even gay!” 

“Diana,” You groan. 

“Considering there’s a video going around of them kissing; I’d say he’s pretty gay,” Tim says and you look at him.

“You recorded us kissing?”

“Not me; that’s too weird for me.” He shakes his head, flipping his laptop to show you. “Diana was live and someone screen recorded. You’re trending with the hashtag: stuffing.”

“That’s just crazy,” You snicker but try to be serious. 

“Hickeys so soon?” Stephanie wiggles her eyebrows at Damian as she watches the video. 

“This is unbecoming,” Damian blinks at the video but everyone can see he’s red in the face. “I demand you stop playing the video.”

“I actually sent it to everyone already.”

“Drake!”

“Tim!”

“What?” He grins, looking between the two of you. “All of us have one— it’s a rite of passage for Bruce’s sort of kids to get caught making out and having it posted.”

—

Dinner wraps up, and you’re in the kitchen with Alfred, putting your leftovers into more Tupperware to avoid… all of them really. He’s washing the dishes, insistent that he does it alone and you let him. He won’t budge on his Thanksgiving dish duties for some odd reason. 

You’re finishing up when your phone buzzes and you check it. 

Diana : 

Mom and dad are yelling at each other because of you. I hope you’re happy. 

Just stop pretending you weren’t even bisexual yesterday. 

It’s actually really sad. 

They’re talking about changing custody because of you, now I won’t be able to see mom or dad EVER again. 

Nadia:

I can see Diana texting you

it’s not your fault

you know how they are

and i’m proud that you came out, sorry i didn’t say it earlier 

Your family had left in a haste, mostly rushed by your mother and father who climbed into a large uber with the kids and spouse. Your aunt and cousins were driven back by Dick. 

You:

thanks, you too, btw

Nadia:

LOLLL maybe one day

you two should come visit us one day, see the farm

damian likes animals, right?

You:

yeah

loves them

She sends you some pictures of animals she’s gotten over the course of a couple years and you smile. 

You:

oh he’ll definitely want to see them

maybe during spring break?

Nadia: 

sounds perfect. stay safe, ill worry about mom and dad 

You:

okay love you

Nadia:

love you too

—

Later that night, everyone is doing a late-night patrol when you hear Jason start speaking. 

“Girl Red Hood?”

“They were lying!”

“For Hood’s sake, he better pray that is true.”

[propertyofwicked]

WORKPLACE PREDICAMENT - LN

part 2 to homesick <3 (potentially a part 3 incoming?)

warnings - none, just heavy on the angst, hurt/comfort and a cheeky bit of fluff

masterlist

the sun rose late, light shining through the window, illuminating the empty white walls. y/n scrunched her eyes up, the sun too bright, as she kicked herself for not shutting her curtains when she went to bed the night before. it took a moment for her to even realise she was laying on her sofa, the chair so new and unused that the fabric was stiff, uncomfortable, and digging in her side. she pushed her body upright, her eyes searching for her phone as her mind ran over the events of last night.

she’d fallen asleep in the offices, lando had driven her home, and sat with her till she fell asleep. no, she thought, shaking her head - he held her till she fell asleep. and if she digs deeper in her memories, the feeling of his lips pressing a soft kiss to her head as he whispered goodnight plagues her brain, pulling at her emotions. she’d promised not to let her school girl crush on a colleague get out of hand, but when they kiss your head and hold you till you fall asleep - what else is a girl supposed to do?

y/n didn’t dare to imagine the HR nightmare this could be if she allowed the situation to develop, so much so that she sighed in relief that she had to following week booked off to allow her to move in and settle in the new flat.

lando, however, was panicking.

he’d awoken several hours before her, the jet lag complicating his sleep schedule. he wasn’t sure how long he’d spent staring down at her sleeping form, legs curled up into her chest as her head rested on his lap. his fingers played with strands of her hair, tucking them behind her ears as he fought back the urge to bend down and kiss her again.

their close friendship was inevitable, everyone thought so. their personalities complimented each other well, the two of them could always be found giggling about something together. however, it was only in this moment that lando realised his need to be near her, his calm nature when she was present at his races or the urge he felt to always make sure she was alright was more than friendship. he wanted to know everything about her, her favourite colour, what she was allergic to, how she got that scar on her knee.

the reason he felt an overwhelming urge to care for y/n the previous night, and the strong desire he felt to do it every night became clearer and clearer with every corner lando turned on his way to the mclaren offices. he had a strong feeling it was the same reason he felt ridden with guilt when he prised her arms from him this morning, holding her head gently before lowering on to the sofa as he snuck out of her flat.

lando norris had a crush. a HR violating crush, that could destroy her entire career if he acted on it.

as he walked into the offices, he found himself face to face with oscar, who looked him up and down for a moment, deep in thought, before returning back to his face, eyes widening in realisation. until that very moment, lando had forgotten about the reason he had even been in the offices at 3am that morning, the events of the night returning to his mind. he hadn’t been home in between, he was wearing the same outfit oscar had seen him in mere 5 hours before, however his clothes now had y/n’s vanilla perfume embedded in the fibres.

lando shook his head at him, pleading for the australian to stay silent. his eyes darted around, looking for an empty side room, before nodding his team mate in that direction, silently telling him to follow him.

“so…” oscar started, closing the door quietly behind him, “how is she?”

“she’s… good?” lando replied, unsure where to start.

“and you’re in the same clothes because…?” oscar continued, leading the conversation for lando to fill in.

“i haven’t been home?” he replied wincing a little at how it sounds, “but nothing happened. she was upset, so we watched a film and she fell asleep on me.”

“right,” oscar nods, starting to understand. secretly, he’d always rooted for y/n and lando, noticing the connection between the two of them as many others had.

“she hates being alone,” lando added, still trying to justify himself, despite oscar never accusing him of anything, “the new flat, she hates it. too quiet, too lonely. she just needed someone there.”

“not someone, lando, you. she needed you there,” oscar replied, deciding to finally bring up the elephant in the room. lando didn’t respond, deciding to nod at his team mate whilst remaining deep in thought.

“and i wanted that. i liked that she needed me,” he said finally, looking up to see oscar’s face bearing a satisfied smile.

“what did she say to you when she woke up?” oscar asked, with genuine interest. lando grimaced again.

“she didn’t.”

“what do you mean she didn’t?” oscar asked, confusion written over his face until - “you left while she was asleep?”

“i needed to go to work and she just looked so peaceful and-” lando started, sighing deeply before his next statement, “and then i realised i wanted to see that every day. her waking up, getting ready, you know, like, domestic stuff. and then i realised i like her a lot more than i thought i did, and a lot more than HR would be happy about.”

“fuck HR,” oscar said, clapping his hands onto lando’s shoulders, “you like her mate, and i know she feels the same. do what makes you happy, worry about the consequences later.”

“she likes me back?” lando asked, smiling at the news, whilst choosing to ignore this new side of oscar who suddenly doesn’t think about consequences.

“everyone sees the way she looks at you. you could literally kill a puppy and she’d still look at you as if you hung the moon and stars.”

lando nodded at him, feeling the conversation come to a natural end as they left the room, starting up a new conversation about the meeting they had later that day.

lando decided he’d speak to her about it when she came in for her shift later, he started planning how he’d ask her to join him for dinner that evening, or maybe he’d invite her out for a late night drive. but his chance never arose, y/n never showed up.

and he didn’t see her in person till the following week. he had walked into the paddock, his mood still low when y/n still hadn’t been at the offices, or on the jet for the race weekend. he knew she was ok, as she had been interacting in their work associated group chats, all the while leaving his texts on delivered for hours, and only responding with the bare minimum when she did.

had he gone too far? he hadn’t meant to call her angel, he hadn’t meant to over insert himself in her life. did she know how he felt about her and it wasn’t mutual?

he’d spent the whole week beating himself up, believing he’d made her so uncomfortable that she’d gone MIA, and despite oscar’s reassurance, he couldn’t help but be miserable. but upon entering the mclaren hospitality centre, he heard her all too familiar laugh, his eyes immediately darting around the room till it settled on her frame. her hair was tied up in a low bun, keeping her hair from her eyes as she conversed with oscar.

he walked up to them slowly, anticipating a negative reaction from y/n, but once again found himself surprised when she turned and smiled at him.

“hey, we wondered where you’d got to,” she started, “i need to take a few pictures of you both in the garage for instagram. maybe a track walk video for stories?”

he nodded at her, dwelling on her almost professional tone. she was smiling, but there was no friendly teasing about how late he was, no jokes about his hair being a mess.

“just gimme 2 minutes to dump my bag and im all yours,” he replied, smiling at her again before locating his personal room.

im all yours ran through y/n’s brain like a mantra that day, it felt like her brain was bullying her, constantly reminding her that he was in fact, not all hers. she’d spent the week thinking of lando, and only him. how he speaks, how respectful he is, his charming nature, his curls. he would be the death of her, and she could never have him. ultimately, she decided that distancing herself would be the best course of action. keep it professional, keep it friendly, keep your job - she tried to remind herself every time she caught herself staring at him for longer than normal.

y/n wholeheartedly believed the rest of the weekend went well. she got her job done, remained professional and kept all her clothes on when lando stepped out of his car, sweating lightly and looking as if the gods had sculpted him.

lando wholeheartedly believed she was being insufferable and childish. she wouldn’t talk to him if it wasn’t work related, always managed to be ‘busy’ when he needed to talk, and spent more time talking to some of the engineers than she had ever spoken to them before. he was seething. he wasn’t annoyed at her, per say, more himself for letting it happen.

which is how he ended up outside her hotel room, knocking aggressively on her door 3 times before stepping back and fiddling with his fingers.

when she opened the door, lando stuttered saying hello, taken aback at the way her hair framed her face. she was wearing one of his old t-shirts he’d given her after a work christmas party - it hung low on her, almost covering the small cotton shorts she wore underneath. to him, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“lando? what’s wrong?” she asked with genuine concern, her voice soft as her eyes widened at him. but for some reason, this angered him. how could she not know what was wrong?

“what’s wrong?” he repeated cruelly, watching as she flinched back at his anger, “you. you’re what’s wrong. why have you been ignoring me all week? i understand you were busy but not even a text back? and then, i see you in person and you act as if you hardly know me?”

he doesn’t know why he’s lashing out at her, it was as much his fault as it was hers.

“i had the week booked off,” she started explaining, noticing how lando’s face contorted from anger to guilt, “i booked it off so i had a week to move in to the flat and get settled. i didn’t text you ‘cos i was trying to move my stuff in, all whilst getting wifi installed and sorting out my bills?”

now, she was annoyed. she was giving him space, protecting herself from inevitable rejection. she knew she wasn’t being the best of friends, but that didn’t give him the right to turn up at her door and shout at her.

“and you couldn’t tell me that?” he argued back, “takes all of 20 seconds to put that in a text, y/n. i could’ve helped you move your stuff in. look, if i’ve done something to upset you, i’m gonna need you to tell me. ive been racking my brain for a week and not one thing is standing out to me.”

“look, lando. i’m sorry if you felt neglected, but i just needed to sort some things out. i’m here now, aren’t i? been here all weekend?”

“barely,” he snorted in response, anger still running through him.

“barely?” she questioned, “im right here? i did the track walk with you? i was in the media pen for your interviews? ive been here all weekend.”

“no, y/n, you haven’t. work y/n has been here, she’s been doing her job all week. my y/n is no where to be seen.”

her heart fluttered slightly, he claimed her as his own. she had to take a step back and remind herself that it meant nothing.

“i’m sorry lan,” she replied sadly, “i’m trying. i am. it’s just been rough recently.”

“i know, y/n,” he said, his tone softening for the first time in the whole conversation, “but im here for you. i want to be there for you when things get rough - why wont you just talk to me?”

she contemplated telling him the truth then and there, his sad eyes tempting her more and more every second she looked at them.

“i can’t talk to you about this lando. not right now,” she replied, pushing the door to close between the two of them. his foot stepped out, stopping the door from closing fully.

“y/n, i am in love with you. and i don’t know why or when it happened, but i am. and if that makes you uncomfortable, tell me to stop. but i want to be with you, i want to know your past, i want to be in your future. please, y/n, let’s just talk about this,” he pleaded, laying his heart out on the table for her to see.

“goodnight lando,” she said bluntly, slamming the door shut. lando stood still, his blood ran cold, his heart plummeting, and the hallway fell silent. he heard the lock turning on her door, and turned to leave. but then he heard it, he heard her sobs through the door, and the fabric of her t-shirt sliding against the door as she fell to the floor.

something told him to leave, but her door felt like a magnet, pulling him towards it, as he slid down to the floor resting against it. lando heard the way her breathing faltered, air getting caught in the back of her throat as she cried.

“y/n, i know you can hear me,” he started again, turning to speak to the door, “please, y/n. talk to me. what’s wrong? have i ruined this? ‘cos im more than happy to move on and pretend i didn’t say anything.”

he heard her sniff, taking a deep breath in as she did - he knew this was her attempt to regulate herself.

“i can’t lose this job, lando. i spent so long getting to where i am now - i can’t risk losing my job,” she said, her head in her hands and tears continued to spill.

“why would you lose your job over me loving you, y/n? that’s on me.”

“because i love you too,” she replied, defeated.

lando is pretty sure this is both the best and worst moment of his adult life. she loved him back, but she still sat on the floor of a hotel room, crying out to him from behind a locked door. he didn’t reply immediately. he understood her fears, he too had considered the impact on both of them if anything ever happened between the two.

“i love my job, lando. i love working with you, with oscar. hell i love everyone i work with. and i can’t put myself in a position of losing that all because i love you more than anyone else.”

oscar’s words ran through his mind on a loop - fuck HR, worry about the consequences later.

“y/n, please open the door.”

she said nothing, and his heart dropped once more, until he heard the click of the latch, and felt the door move from his back. he looked up at her once more, noticing that she still looked beautiful with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. he scrambled to his feet, taking the girl in a tight embrace as he walked the two of them into the room.

“i didn’t want to leave you that morning, you know.”

“i know,” she said, nodding into his shoulder.

“i just - i panicked, you know?”

she moved back, looking up at him confused - why was he panicking? mclaren were never going to sack their star driver over a workplace relationship.

“but then oscar said something that resonated with me.”

“you told oscar?”

“oscar knew before i did,” he said, shrugging, keeping his hands firmly on her waist.

“what did oscar say?”

“he said fuck HR. at the time, i didn’t see anything wrong with that. i knew you liked this job, but i was so ignorant to think you’d risk your career for me.”

“it’s not that i don’t want to, lan. im scared,” she replied, tears still rolling down her cheeks as her mind plagued with guilt.

“i know, angel,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead again, “i’m sorry for putting this on you. whatever you want to do next, i’m happy to do. if you want me to leave and never talk about this again, that’s fine.”

“i just need some time,” she said nervously, “i need some time to think. that’s not a no, it’s not a rejection. i just need some time.”

he nodded at her, not necessarily happy about the outcome, but happier than he had been all week.

“and that’s perfectly fine. you tell me when you’re ready and we go from there, ok?” he told her, raising a hand to push the hair out her face, before coming back to wipe away the stray tears on her cheek.

“do you want to stay?” she asked, pulling her hands away to twist her fingers around nervously, “we could watch a film?”

“i’d love nothing more,” he replied, smiling down at her.

he threw himself on her bed, as he always did, making sure he didn’t overstep her boundaries. this whole situation was new to the both of them.

“your hair looked shit this week, you need a trim,” she said randomly as she joined him on the bed, as if she’d been dwelling on it for a while. lando snorted, laughing at her abruptness.

“there we go, there’s the y/n i know - my y/n.”

[mrsjellymunson]

KNOCK AT THE CABIN | Part Two

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Written for @bettyfrommars, @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing ’s excellent Stranger Prompts challenge - thank you for this, friends!

Series Summary: After the events of the previous months, everyone is shocked by the unexpected return of an old friend. But how much has he changed?

Chapter summary: Some answers, more questions 😉

WC: ~8.5k

C/W: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, series CW for eventual Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut, post-S4, Upside Down exists, dark/supernatural themes, emotional scenes, eventual friends-to-lovers, descriptions of minor injuries, food/eating, mentions of canon-typical torture/experiments.

A/N: This series contains a lot of themes and scenarios that I haven’t written for before, I’d love to know what you think! Please comment and reblog, it means the world to writers, and reblogs mean work gets seen. Abundant thanks to @the-unforgivenn for beta-ing and playing The Thesaurus Game 😛 This series has a taglist so if you’d like to be on either it or my general one just lemme know in a comment, ask or message, I’d love to have you on board 🙏💙

Prev: Prologue Part One

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You wake earlier than they do, shards of sunlight peeking through Steve’s pathetically thin and badly arranged curtains hitting you straight in the face.

You don’t move initially, enjoying the sound of both boys’ soft, rhythmic breaths, grateful they’ve both had the opportunity to rest and sleep.

You use this moment of stillness to allow the events of the previous night to filter through your consciousness. Eddie’s still here. He’s somewhat warmer than he was, and is still breathing. You’ll take all of those as a win.

His arm is still wrapped around your ribs, his chest against your back. During the night, one of his thighs has made its way between yours, and his hips are now pressed up against the swell of your ass.

You suppose that if you look at it objectively, he’s in a pretty good approximation of the Recovery Position. Good for him. Promoting healing, aiding recovery, and all that.

And you suppose that if you look at it subjectively, having the entire length of Eddie’s body squashed against the entire length of yours, and having his leg pressed against you just there, stirs feelings that are inappropriate for you to be having right now. Such as how much you’re enjoying it. How safe you feel. How much you wish there weren’t even these small, thin pieces of fabric separating you from him…

He snuffles behind you, groaning softly, and his arm contracts, pulling you even closer to him. You’d much prefer it was more than just the involuntary tensing of a waking man that’s causing him to do this, but push that thought to the back of your mind.

You slowly turn your head as far as you can, only able to see a little of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair is fuzzy as hell, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

In what you hope is a soft and comforting voice, you ask,

“Morning, big guy. How’re you feeling?”

Eddie’s voice is cracked and broken, like he hasn’t used it in a while. It’s gravelly and low as he mumbles,

“Mmf. A little sore, but warm. God, it feels so good to be warm…”

His arm clenches around you again, and he pushes his face into the back of your neck.

Trying to cover an unbidden moan, and inject some levity, you reply,

“Well, thank goodness for that, otherwise all of mine and Steve’s efforts last night would’ve been for nothing.”

Eddie shifts, starting to get a sense of where he is and the situation he’s found himself in. It causes Steve to stir behind him and let out a little groan of his own, and you feel Eddie freeze.

Trying to calm him and keep this obviously bizarre situation simple and light, you mumble,

“Yeah, body heat seemed to be the best way to keep you warm. I don’t suppose waking up naked between me and Harrington was on your bucket list, right?”

Eddie’s cheeks don’t exactly flush (going from pale grey to pale pink far too much of a gradient to be entirely achievable right now), but you do notice a little warmth appear in them.

Eddie jests, at least you think he’s jesting, as his grip around you tightens again, stronger this time as his muscles wake up, and he chuckles lightly as he smooshes his face into your hair,

“Well, it's definitely not the worst place I’ve ever woken up.”

This rouses Steve enough that he’s now fully awake, and he seems to remember where he is too. He moves away from Eddie and sits up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Glancing over, he mumbles,

“Hey, man. So, there’s literally hundreds of things I wanna ask you right now, but I guess I’ll start with, uh, how are you?”

Steve’s face contorts with a mix of incredulity and embarrassment at the utter banality of the question he just asked.

Unfazed, Eddie replies,

“Honestly, dude? I’m not entirely sure…”

He tries to shift his legs to sit up, but realises how enmeshed they are with yours, and inadvertently pushes his thigh up even closer to you.

Steve continues, unable to stop himself.

“What happened? Where have you been? How did you even get here?”

Eddie lets out a long, low exhale.

Finally picking up on how tired Eddie still is, and how tangled your and Eddie’s limbs are, you guess Steve decides he doesn’t want to get into any of that right now and declares,

“Y’know what, I’m gonna go make coffee.”

He grabs some sweats and a crumpled tee, and heads out towards the kitchen, leaving you and Eddie alone.

Fuck, this is awkward.

After a short pause, you mumble,

“Yeah, I suppose we should get up too. The kids are gonna be beside themselves, I’d prepare yourself for a barrage of questions if I were you.”

Exhaling, you somewhat reluctantly extricate yourself from Eddie’s embrace, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for the pile of clothes you’re grateful you had the foresight to put out last night.

Pulling on jeans, a worn t-shirt and a woollen jumper, you sit back down and turn to Eddie, who’s now leaning up against Steve’s battered headboard, sheets bunched around his waist.

You notice his eyes are still sunken and red-rimmed, but he’s lost some of the sallowness that he had last night, and his features are significantly more relaxed.

As he sits up you have the chance to observe his torso properly. He’s thinner, and much paler, than the boy you remember. The odd appearance of his musculature that you could see last night is still abundantly present.

And there are scars. Lots of scars. They vary in appearance and colour, rough slashes and violent starbursts, in silvery white, muted pinks and shades of angry purples and reds. Some look smooth and well-healed, whilst others are raised and jagged. Some transect the inked designs you came to know so well, and it looks like he might’ve lost a nipple.

Realising you’ve been staring, you tear your eyes away and move them instead to Eddie’s face. He looks terrified, like he’s worried you’re going to find him abhorrent and run away screaming.

He starts to reach for the covers, to cover himself, but you lunge forwards and grab one of his hands in yours. You don’t break his gaze as you tell him,

“It’s okay, Eddie. You don’t have to hide yourself from me.”

His face softens, but his eyebrows remain pinched and his lips are still pressed tightly together.

Finally looking down as you stroke over his hand with both of yours, you notice that the wounds that you bathed and tended to only a few hours ago are practically healed, only a few areas of redness remaining where there were bleeding gashes and scarlet grazes. Some have almost disappeared.

You decide not to focus on this and concentrate instead on the fact that your friend, your best friend, the one you all thought was dead, is back with you here, right now.

Grasping his hand in both of yours, you murmur,

“However it happened, it’s really, really good to have you back, you know.”

He smiles then, and although it reaches his eyes, it does little to lift the grey pallor of his face.

He brings his other hand over, and as he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles he notices the ring on your thumb. He runs a pad over the contours of the skull.

“You- You kept this?”

“Of course! I wear it every day. It helps me remember my best friend.” Your voice gets quiet as you add, unsure whether you’re overstepping.

“It helps keep you close to me.”

You hold each other's gaze for a beat too long, and Eddie’s lips open as if he’s going to say something.

Before he has the chance, a ball of anxiety rises in your throat, and you decide you can’t take the risk of him… what?

Telling you you’re stupid? That it doesn’t mean anything? That he wants his ring back?

You know none of this sounds like anything Eddie would say, but in your fragile, exhausted state you need to protect yourself from the risk of emotional harm, no matter how small.

You remove your hand from his and bend to retrieve the clothes Steve left for him, reasoning with a small smile,

“We don’t want you getting cold again, right?”

Eddie starts to dress, grunting a little as his limbs start working again. He only has time to pull on the worn sweatshirt when the door bursts open and the kids rush in. Dustin first, swiftly followed by Mike and Lucas, whilst Will and Jane hang back in the doorway.

The three teens leap, grinning, onto Steve’s bed, whooping and hollering and rolling around. They’re full of questions and theories and tales of what they’ve been doing whilst he’s been gone, all talking over one another.

Whilst Eddie is smiling and laughing and you can tell he’s buoyed by their love and exuberance, you also know he still needs to recover from last night, let alone whatever else he might have been through these past few weeks. So after a few minutes you shoo them out, instructing them to go help Steve make breakfast.

Dustin’s the last to leave, pausing in the doorway as he turns back, running his hand down his cheek and saying, with an infinitely adoring expression on his face,

“I can’t believe you’re here, man. It’s so good to have you back.”

They share friendly smiles before Dustin turns on his heel and follows the others, his voice decreasing in volume as he heads down the hallway yelling,

“I’m on toast duty today! You guys ate all the good peanut butter last time…”

You both snicker at their antics, Eddie shaking his head a little.

You want to say more, but settle for,

“They missed you. We all did.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows and rolls his lips inwards into a tight-lipped smile, and you sense that he’s just as emotional as you all are.

He continues dressing, and you’re relieved the kids didn’t see Eddie’s scars, for all their sakes. You’re not sure whether they’re ready to revisit what happened in the Upside Down, and you don't want Eddie’s first day back with you all to involve him having to uncomfortably explain where they all came from.

He dons the rest of the unfamiliar clothing, and eventually stands, facing you. He spreads his arms wide and pulls a goofy face, raising his eyebrows high and flattening his mouth into a thin line, knowing how unlike ‘him’ he must look right now.

You never imagined you’d ever see your favourite black-loving metalhead in an oversized heather grey Hawkins Athletic sweatshirt, worn navy sweatpants and fluffy white sports socks, but needs must, and at least it’s all clean and he’s staying warm.

There’s a crash in the kitchen, startling both of you, but it prompts you to suggest,

“Come on, let’s go see what chaos those guys are causing.”

You direct him to the front of the house, and as Eddie shuffles into the kitchen all eyes turn to him. You see the kids take in his fluffy hair and new garb. He notices and, preemptively gesturing to himself and in a very close approximation of his Dungeon Master voice, says,

“If anyone says anything about this, I swear I will kill you. Got it?”

Mike and Lucas try to act like they weren’t even looking, and Dustin raises his hands in supplication. Jane laughs at the boys’ responses and Will smirks at the shenanigans, and you’re certain he and Eddie are going to get along just fine.

The kids have made everyone a simple breakfast of boiled eggs, toast and fresh oatmeal and they bring it to the large farmhouse-style table as everyone gets situated. Craving his proximity, you take the chair next to Eddie. Steve’s made a large pot of hot coffee, which is swiftly devoured by the four adults and almost instantly requires replenishment.

The kids want to fill Eddie in on, well, everything. Over breakfast there’s much chatter about what’s been happening in town, how the three of you ended up staying here, how kind and supportive Wayne and Owens have been, even a somewhat discombobulating discussion of what Eddie’s funeral was like. Plus there’s tales from the boys about D&D and stuff that’s important to the teens, most of which you zone out of.

Eddie is also properly introduced to the two he doesn’t know. He greets Will with a broad smile and claps both his hands around the boy’s slender one, a symbolic gesture full of characteristic Eddie warmth, welcoming another sheep even though this particular one has known the others for many years.

You don’t think anyone else notices, but you don’t miss the moment of extended eye contact and tiny nods that are exchanged between him and Jane, as they are introduced and shake hands.

Eddie seems to have a good appetite, devouring four warm, runny-yolked eggs, three slices of toast slathered with butter and jelly, and two large bowls of oatmeal with honey and syrup in rapid succession.

There’s some syrup on his chin when he’s finished. You want to clean it off with your thumb and suck it into your mouth, but you resist the urge.

The food cheers him, even seems to put a little colour in Eddie’s cheeks. Well, perhaps not colour exactly, but a move from grey to white is certainly progress. It’s hardly Cordon Bleu cuisine, but Eddie’s hoovered it up like it’s the best meal he’s ever had. You wonder what he’s been surviving on all this time to make such simple stuff seem so luxurious.

Coffee mugs are refreshed, the table is cleared, and there follows a semi-formal exchange of the personal items of Eddie’s that are in the cabin. Lucas returns his pocket knife, which Eddie thanks him for with a bro handshake and a half-hug, and Dustin gets down on one knee and presents him with his wallet chain on outstretched hands, as if he’s presenting a weapon or battle trophy to his commander. Eddie ruffles his hair and brings him in for a crushing bear hug.

Robin and Steve return his crucifix and boar’s head rings, which he dons, and you can’t help noticing that they’re slightly looser than they used to be. You’re grateful nobody questions why you don’t return the skull ring to him, or seems to notice the knowing glance and small smile that he gives you.

Dishes are cleaned and yet more coffee is brewed, and you head to the utility room to see how Eddie’s clothes are doing in the (noisy, and possibly unsafe) drier. As you return there’s a lull in the conversation.

Ever the direct one, Robin can’t stand the not knowing any longer, and as Steve pours the next round of coffees she blurts,

“So, what the fuck happened? We thought you were dead. You were dead. They fucking buried you!”

The kitchen falls silent for a moment, nobody sure how much Eddie wants to divulge or relive.

He wraps his palms around his steaming mug, and takes a long, slow, deep breath in and out before he starts talking.

“I don’t remember much after that night with the, uh, Demobats. I kinda remember being jostled into a van, or a military-type vehicle maybe? And tubes, bright lights, people shouting…

“The next thing I know, I’m in some kind of lab, a poky room with a tiny cot and metal furniture, and people coming in at all hours to prod at me and stick me with needles. They did all sorts of tests and injected me with shit, and they wouldn’t tell me what any of it was.

“I’m not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing that I can’t remember a lot of detail. It’s mostly just pain, agony, and being either chained or locked up. And screaming, so much screaming... Whether that was me or the others, I don’t know.”

You interject,

“There- There were others?”

He nods slowly.

“Yeah, definitely more than just me. I have no idea how many, who they were, what happened to them...”

His hands start trembling, and he lets go of the mug that’s started to shake in his grip, quickly putting his hands in his lap.

“I think the injections they were giving me were concoctions made from the… things they found… down there.

“Owens visited me a couple of times. He said he didn’t like what was being done to me but he wasn’t able to change anything. The last time I saw him he told me he was being transferred to a different site and didn’t think he’d be able to visit again, but he wanted me to know there was someone on his side.”

There’s a brief pause before he continues,

“The last, uhh, experiment was the worst-”

Eddie screws up his face and clenches his teeth at the memory, and balls up one fist, bringing it up to his pursed lips. He squeezes his eyes closed, and a tear appears at the corner of one eye.

You don’t know whether it’s the right thing to do, but you grab his other hand under the table, hoping it’ll give him comfort but fully expecting him to flinch away.

He doesn’t, and his hand clamps around yours in a fierce grip, almost crushing it.

Voice trembling and breaking, he continues.

“It was- Jesus H Christ- it was like liquid fucking fire. All I remember was feeling like they’d injected me with molten lava, and then there was so much shouting, and hands holding me down, and then everything went black...”

He pauses, and nobody else speaks.

Steve swallows, the tap drips into the sink and Robin’s rings clink softly against her coffee mug as she turns it anxiously.

“And then… And then the next thing I remember is coming to, and feeling cold, so- so fucking cold. And darkness, absolute darkness. And I was so scared, and I just started scraping and scratching at whatever was over me, and just kept scrabbling and digging until… there wasn’t anything over me anymore.”

You’re all stunned.

Someone says a quiet ‘fuck’, and you think you hear a sob, perhaps from Dustin.

Steve remains silent but runs a hand through his hair, palm coming to rest over his mouth, and Robin mutters a soft,

“Shit, Eddie.”

You all realise that Eddie wasn’t lying on a slab at all for these past two months, but was being experimented on, and it takes a long moment to sink in.

Eventually, Eddie says,

“Fuck. They really buried me, huh?”

To illustrate his point and as an attempt to inject some humour into the moment, he loosely combs his fingers through his fluffy locks and asks, “When I got here, did I have stuff in my hair?”

There are a few chuckles, and someone throws a balled up paper napkin at him.

There’s another short pause where nobody says anything, but then it’s like a dam breaks and everyone starts talking at once. Robin and Steve make comparisons with the Russians, the kids offer D&D analogies and half-baked scientific theories, and people ask Will and Jane what they think.

For the rest of the morning much discussion ensues, as well as the consumption of store-brand cookies and even more coffee, and you all try to fill in the blanks. Whilst some of the kids interject with ideas and suggestions, others sit quietly, mostly listening. You wonder quite how much secondhand trauma this is going to cause all of them.

As a group you eventually surmise that some shadowy branch of the military was battering Eddie and the others with all sorts of tests, and injecting them with unknown substances, goals unknown and refusing to tell anyone what they were.

Owens clearly never agreed with their approach, and it sounds like he tried to distance himself as much as possible.

The military finally took their experiments too far. Thinking they’d killed him, they eventually released Eddie’s body to his only family, Wayne, and allowed him to be buried.

Unbeknownst to them, their final experiment was the most successful, it just took longer to manifest than the others. Weeks, in fact. Just long enough for the scientists (if you could even call them that) to lose any expectation of a recovery, and for Owens and Wayne to organise a funeral.

Eddie had awoken, dazed, trapped and freezing and with no idea where he was, and had somehow managed to smash the lid of his coffin and scramble his way to the surface. On a rainy night, miles from anywhere.

Finally, Mike is the first to ask the question you think most of you have been contemplating.

“Dude, how did you even find us?”

At particularly painful points in his oration, Eddie has looked to you, seemingly finding comfort in your face, and his gaze doesn’t leave yours as he replies,

“Honestly? I don’t really know. I just had this… feeling… that I needed to come in this direction. And the closer I got, the more certain I was that this is where I’d find you.” Hurriedly, he looks around the rest of the group and adds, “Find you all.”

He carefully lays the hand not holding yours flat onto the table, and, eyes fixed on the faded floral tablecloth, he chokes back a sob as he asks a question that he’s clearly been holding back.

“Why didn’t anyone- Why didn’t you come find me?”

Robin grabs his hand across the table, wrapping it in both of hers, holding it tightly. There’s a beat of silence before she speaks.

“W-we didn’t know! They didn’t tell us anything about any lab. We thought you were dead. Eddie, that first night? They told us you’d died!”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and you see tears start to slowly run down her cheeks.

Eddie chokes, and his eyes lift to the ceiling.

Dustin’s the first to move as he scrapes his chair back and sprints around to Eddie, enveloping his shoulders and neck in a clumsy but aggressively enthusiastic hug as he mumbles into his friend’s shoulder,

“But you’re not dead. You’re not. You’re here, with us, now. You’re back, Eddie, you’re back...”

Lucas stands too, ruffling Eddie’s hair and half-hugging the top of his head with one arm, leaning his cheek against Eddie’s curls, and you lean into Eddie, placing your forehead against the side of his bicep.

Steve turns from where he’s been brewing even more coffee, and moves to place his hand on a patch of shoulder not covered by Dustin or Lucas, patting softly. As he turns back to the stove he comments,

“Yeah, man. D’you really think we wouldn’t’ve come got you? Fuck those guys and all their crappy experiments. No one does that to a member of The Party.”

You simultaneously feel Eddie’s grip on your hand tighten, and the rest of his body relax. Many of you are crying, the sleeves of Eddie’s sweater darkening in patches from the wet plops of Dustin’s tears.

Will and Jane are affected too, and you see their faces soften as they clasp each other's hands under the table.

Eddie’s breath deepens as he absorbs the love and affection of his friends. You guess he’s not used to this much positive attention, and has clearly received even less over the last few weeks.

You all sit in silence for a few long moments, allowing all this new information to sink in and emotions to settle.

Eventually the noise of the stove and the clattering of coffee supplies, together with a strong gust of wind and the increased pattering of leaves against the window, brings you all back to the room.

Eddie seems to have processed everything faster than the rest of you, his emotions shifting, and as Steve pours more coffee he becomes agitated, slamming his fists on the table, startling all of you with the ferocity of his movements.

You guess he’s angry not only at the testing he underwent, but that they lied to all of you, and let him feel hopeless, like nobody cared.

The kids move back as he stands and starts pacing, running his hands through his already-frizzy hair and shaking his head.

“FUCK! Those bastards! Not only did they use me as some kind of twisted lab rat, but they didn’t even tell you guys I was alive? And they let me think that none of you cared enough to come find me, visit me, get me out? GODDAMMIT!”

He slams a palm into the doorframe, and you all jump a little.

Turning back to the room, Eddie notices the effect he’s having on everyone, and, rubbing the back of his neck, says,

“I think I’m gonna go take a walk…”

He moves towards the back door, the expanse of the disused field behind the cabin seemingly the ideal place for him to get his head together.

But, spying the large axe leaning against the frame, he has a better idea.

“Hey, uh, do you guys have, like, logs ‘n’ shit that need chopping? I really need to, um, work through some stuff. Besides, it’s probably the least I can do, given how much heat and hot water I’ve already cost you all.”

He gives a sheepish snort and brings his hand to his face again.

It’s you who speaks first.

“Are you sure, Eddie? I mean, it’s been a stressful few days. Are you okay to be doing something so… physical?”

“Yeah, yeah… I’m feeling a little… pent up. Could do with working some of it off, y’know?”

You nod, figuring all of you are going to need different ways to process this whole bizarre and unsettling situation.

Dustin and Mike find some old tan workboots in a closet, presumably left by the previous owner. They don’t fit perfectly, and it looks like something may have nested in one of them at some point, but they’ll do for now. Eddie pulls them on over his loaned sweats and socks, leaving them unlaced.

Robin offers him his leather jacket. She’s obviously had a go at cleaning off as much of the mud as she can, but you can all tell it’s never going to be quite the same. At least it’s dry now, and Eddie takes it gratefully.

He grabs the old axe and the small hatchet that you use to chop kindling, unlocks the back door and steps outside, closing it behind him.

Dustin wants to go out to him, but Robin grabs him and holds him in a tight hug, explaining that he needs some time to process stuff.

The others give him space, some staying at the kitchen table to process their thoughts, others retreating to the living room and diverting their thoughts with the crackling cartoons that break through the terrible TV signal.

You choose to keep an eye on Eddie, staying back a little from the back door so as not to alarm him, but keeping him within your eye line.

You see Eddie pace a little, muttering to himself, then he shakes his head as if to clear it.

He turns to the log pile and hefts the axe a couple of times, getting the feel of it. He lifts a couple of modestly sized logs onto the stump, wielding the axe above his head and splitting them easily. Almost… effortlessly.

He chops a few more, flinging them into a pile with ease, then moves to lift a few larger ones, breezing through them with the same ‘hot knife through butter’ nonchalance.

It’s the most physical activity you’ve ever seen him do, aside from lifting the odd amp or two, which always left him puffed out. But he’s sailing through the woodpile with barely any exertion.

You can see he’s still processing the contents of your morning, as his features screw up occasionally and grumbled words and what are probably profanities spill from his lips.

As he hefts the axe through the tough logs you can see his eyes are getting redder, and his skin appears paler. You can’t see his body, but the tendons on his hands and neck are popping starkly underneath his translucent skin. And, the wind has picked up considerably since he’s been outside, whipping loose leaves and twigs around the cabin just like it did last night.

Eventually, he starts on the biggest, gnarliest logs. The ones you guys would only attempt when you really, really needed the firewood.

You hear grunts, muffled by the back door, as he works the tougher wood.

The axe gets stuck partway through a particularly thick log, and with an animalistic grunt Eddie yanks the blade from it. Easily lifting the log in his arms, he notches his long fingers into the groove and, in a move that startles you, he rips it into two pieces with his bare hands.

By the back door you suppress a gasp, your hand flying across your mouth and your eyes going wide. You’re not sure whether you should go to him, try to comfort him, or leave him to work through this in whatever way he needs to.

You don’t get the chance to decide, as he finally gets to a particularly old and knotty log that none of you have been able to get anywhere close to splitting. As Eddie slams the axe down into it with a ferocity you didn’t think was possible, he gets it far further than any of you have so far, but again, the blade gets stuck.

The wind picks up even more, as Eddie picks up the axe, log attached, and heaves it around his head, sending it spinning across the back field as he lets out a loud, feral and painful-sounding yell.

Breathing deep for a couple of moments, he runs a hand down his face and begins to trudge across the bumpy earth to retrieve it, coping easily with the rough and uneven ground of the ploughed field and his ill-fitting boots. You can see he’s still yelling expletives and occasionally waving his arms and shouting up into the sky.

The distance that he’s managed to throw the axe is substantial enough that he shrinks in your field of vision by the time he reaches it. You can no longer make out his expression, but as he comes to a halt you do see him bend over and place his hands on his knees, watching his back heave as he takes a few more deep, steadying breaths.

He lifts the axe and heaves both it and the attached heavy log easily over his shoulder with one hand. You consider that you’ve never seen him lift anything with such ease, save maybe his leather jacket, flung over his back, dangling it from one finger on a hot day.

As he turns and starts making his way back to the house, you notice that the wind has started to die down and is whipping less of Eddie’s hair around his face, and leaves and twigs begin to fall to the ground.

You hadn’t realised Jane had come to join you at the back door. Despite not directly knowing Eddie before, she says, in her characteristically deadpan voice, “He is… different now. Isn’t he?”

You purse your lips and nod, quick and small, and find it remarkable that this seemingly awkward young woman, who’s endured so much at the hands of so many, has developed such insight and tenderness.

After removing the axe from the gnarly chunk of wood and placing it by the back door, Eddie spends a few minutes arranging the logs he’s split into neat piles beneath the small shelter. The skin around his eyes is less red now, and his general demeanour seems more relaxed, controlled. Perhaps this has helped after all.

He takes a couple of breaths and composes himself before he heads back towards the door, holding the axe in one hand and a stack of logs atop his other arm.

Bashful, and conscious that you’d rather he didn’t know that you’ve been watching him the entire time, you take a few steps backwards and make like you’re just now coming to the door, opening it for him with a broad smile and directing him to the place in the living room where you store the wood for the fire, thanking him for his efforts.

As he places the last of the wood and starts to take off his jacket, you notice that his hands are again torn and bloody, splinters sticking out every which way and an angry-looking blister on one palm.

You assume that he’s reopened his wounds from last night, but the positions and patterns don’t match up. Everything from last night has almost completely healed, and these are all new.

Regardless of the peculiarities, they need attention, so you instruct him,

“Come with me, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You send him to your bedroom as you grab some washcloths, a bowl of warm water and the first aid kit from the bathroom.

You sit him up against your headboard, setting up your supplies on the comforter. Figuring it’s the most practical position for you to be in, you straddle his knees and begin dabbing at his cut and splintered hands with antiseptic. Realising there’s too much debris in the way, and wincing at the sheer size and quantity of them, you grab some tweezers, removing the splinters of various sizes that have embedded into his fingers and palms.

As you swap back to using the wet cloths and begin cleaning the blood from his skin, you’re perhaps less surprised than you should be to find that the new injuries have already stopped bleeding, and some of the smaller ones even appear to be closing up, apparently heading the same way as the cuts on his face and feet from whatever happened last night.

You work quietly for a few moments before your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“What was that? Outside, just now? You seem…”

“Different? Yeah, I know… Don’t ask me how it happened, but I feel different too. Stronger, faster…”

He glances at you through his bangs.

“Less in control…”

His brow is furrowed as he holds your gaze, and you guess he’s waiting for you to back off. You don’t.

“I guess they… changed me.”

You move to touch his chin gently with one hand, wanting to reassure him. You realise that by telling him this you’re going to reveal that you were watching him, but you forge ahead anyway.

“Listen, I’m not gonna pretend that whatever it is that I just saw wasn’t a little… unnerving. But I’ve never felt unsafe around you. Quite the opposite, in fact. And that hasn’t changed. I don’t think it ever will.”

He refuses to meet your gaze, and twists his battered hands together in his lap, seemingly fighting with himself.

“I should go. Leave you guys. You’re not safe with me here.”

A vice grip seizes your chest. All logic leaves you, and the only thing you can think about is never letting him go again.

“Eddie, no!”

“I don’t really know what their plan was, but I’m guessing they were trying to make me into a super soldier, or something. They’re not gonna stop. As soon as they find out what happened at the cemetery, they’re gonna try to find me. And if I could find you, they can find me.”

A ball of anxiety forms in you. You can’t let him go. You just can’t.

“I thought you were dead, we all did. I’ve only just found you again, after I thought I’d lost you forever. Please don’t say you’re going to leave?”

Your voice cracks and you swallow back a sob. You lurch forward and grip both of his hands with all the strength you have left, not caring that you’re getting his blood on you, and might even be hurting him.

If Eddie feels any pain, he doesn't flinch. But the sight of you falling to pieces in front of him, because of him, is apparently something he can’t bear.

“Okay, I won’t. I’ll stay tonight, at least. Then we’ll try to figure something out. Maybe contact Owens, see if he knows anything. Alright?”

He raises his head and looks into your eyes now, as you snuffle a little and manage a small smile. He’s yours for tonight, at least.

No, not exactly yours, you have to remind yourself. He’s safe, with all of you, for tonight, at least.

Something else decides to jostle for prominence in your mind, and you ask him, quietly,

“How did you find us? Really. How did you know where to go?”

Eddie takes a deep breath before shifting slightly, and he returns the grip on your hands.

You think you hear a little trepidation in his voice as he speaks.

“I don’t know if this is going to sound crazy, but… what doesn’t these days, right? It’s like- Even before… everything, it’s like every time I left you I left a part of my soul with you. And… it would stay with you all the time we were apart. And then whenever I was with you I’d find it again. That’s how I found you. It was like I was searching for a piece of myself, and somehow I just knew where to find it.”

He goes quiet, dropping his chin to his chest again.

His words play on a loop in your head. Even before… I left a part of my soul with you… and whenever I was with you I’d find it...

You shift forwards even more, closing the gap between you, and the movement makes you become acutely aware of your proximity. You become conscious of the feel of his firm thighs between yours, how good it feels. How, for the second time in less than twenty four hours, you wish there weren’t these thin pieces of fabric between you.

Something sparks in your chest: Could he feel the same way as you?

Your voice trembles as you practically beg him,

“I don't want you ever to leave, Eddie. I don’t want us to ever be apart, and always be there for each other. I don’t want you to ever be missing a part of your soul again. I want to be with you, always.”

Eddie huffs out a sob of his own, lifting your hands to his and nuzzling his face into your knuckles. He takes one and slowly turns his head until his round nose connects with your curled fingers. And then, ever so slowly, he connects his lips with the soft, sensitive skin on your palm.

Tentatively, he moves a little and purses them against the inside of your wrist, lightly pressing them there, inhaling deeply and his breath shuddering slightly as he inhales your scent.

You notice both of your breathing has quickened. You can feel Eddie’s as it passes over your skin, and you feel your heartbeat in your throat.

Eddie looks over at you. His body may have changed in myriad ways, but his eyes remain the same. They’re still the huge, beautiful, warm pools of cacao that have drawn you in since the moment you met. It’s the tether that makes you realise that no matter how else he might’ve changed, deep down he’s still Eddie. Your Eddie.

You move your other hand, gently taking his wrist, and move his free hand up to your face. You close your eyes as you softly kiss his palm, and then move his hand to cup your cheek.

Gently, almost imperceptibly, Eddie moves his thumb and touches it to the very corner of your mouth. You feel a heat in your belly and you turn your head towards it, skimming it over your lips.

Your eyes flick between his chocolate orbs as Eddie bends his thumb ever so slightly. The pad of it pulls at the plush of your lower lip a tiny amount, but it’s enough to create a gap.

Without thinking you start to open your jaw, and he begins to move forwards. As he pushes into your waiting mouth all you can think about is tasting him, and your tongue starts to move. Just as the tip of it is about to make contact with Eddie’s thumb, there’s a jarring yell.

“Hey, everybody! Grub’s up!”

You pull apart with a start, both inhaling sharply.

It’s Robin, calling from the kitchen. Of course you’re grateful that the mums never allow the kids to arrive empty handed, but a large part of you wishes that you and Eddie could’ve had just a little more time to explore… whatever this is.

You let out nervous chuckles as you smile softly at one another, and hold each other’s gaze for probably little longer than is strictly necessary before you gather up the medical supplies and you both stand.

You can’t help but take Eddie’s hand in yours as you pull him towards the kitchen, encouraging him to follow lest he misses out on the delicacy that is Dustin’s mom’s substantial contribution.

“C’mon, Claudia’s lasagnas are totally legendary. It may sound simple, but combined with Mrs Sinclair’s recipe for garlic bread, I promise you, you’re about to have a near-spiritual culinary experience.”

Still feeling the heat of what just occurred in your room you busy yourself with packing away the first aid kit, and then elect to sit across the table from Eddie. You convince yourself that you’re not avoiding him, simply allowing the kids the chance to get close to him for a little while.

As if reading your mind, Dustin immediately plants himself in the chair next to Eddie, swiftly followed by Mike on his other side. Lucas sits next to Dustin, and Will slides in next to Mike. They chatter excitedly about campaigns and creatures and characters, and to see Eddie flanked by his adoring sheep brings a different kind of warmth to your chest.

The conversation remains light over dinner. Jokes are cracked, teasing occurs, and you’re pleased everyone’s getting a break from the tension and horrors.

The culinary delights are as good as you’d promised, and Eddie hums and moans at the delicious bounty before him. He remains pale, but he’s definitely regained some strength, vigour.

He glances over at you after taking an especially large mouthful of the meaty dish, and after you stop giggling at his uncouth antics he grins at you, tomato sauce staining his lips and the sides of his mouth, confirming,

“You’re right, this is goddamn heavenly!”

At another point he takes a particularly large bite of some soaked bread, and herb-flecked garlic butter oozes all over his thumb. Your eyes are drawn to it as he brings it to his mouth and presses it between his plump lips, and your eyes connect across the table as he sucks it off, twisting the digit and temporarily giving himself the most salacious pout. He spots you looking, and leaves his thumb in his mouth for what you consider is altogether too long before pulling it out with a pop. You gulp audibly and shift in your seat, grateful for the general clamour disguising your arousal.

You haven’t discussed as a group whether or where Eddie’s going to stay, though it seems to be unspoken between all of you that of course he’s going to remain here until you can all figure out what to do next. You decide not to raise the earlier conversation you had about him possibly leaving.

Dustin’s the first to broach the subject, asking,

“So, where’re you sleeping tonight, Eddie? You wanna come bunk with us in the warmest room in the house?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, attempting to extol the virtues of the open fire. His excitement is palpable, and you envy the optimism of youth that can make even the least appealing flat surfaces sound like an enticing bedspace.

You interject on Eddie’s behalf, suggesting,

“Hey guys, I know it would be the coolest sleepover ever, but I think Eddie might’ve earned the luxury of an actual bedroom after what he’s been through recently, don’t you think?”

Dustin looks crestfallen, but recovers quickly, agreeing with an only slightly pouty,

“I suppoooooose…”

Without looking at the others, you turn to Eddie and proffer,

“You’ll stay in my room, right?”

Eddie nods, his curls bouncing, as he agrees, perhaps a little too quickly,

“Of course, yep, that sounds… entirely fine.”

You miss how Robin and Steve glance at each other, Steve raising an eyebrow as Robin smirks at him.

There’s a quick clean up as dishes are done and pans are left to soak. Craving normalcy, you pile into the small living room and manage to make it through about two thirds of another of Keith’s loaned films before blinks get longer, eyes start to close and heads start to loll.

Robin chivvies the teens to get their sleeping bags set up, and there’s the typical grousing and bickering as everyone tries to use the bathroom at the same time. You think at one point three of the boys are trying to use the sink simultaneously, jostling each other and spitting far too enthusiastically in an effort to spray their compatriots. It’s a small nugget of frivolity that makes you consider the possibility that you might just all be okay.

Steve moves the small electric heater from his room back to yours, and you retrieve Eddie’s clothes from the drier. He slips into his Hellfire shirt and clean boxers as you change into your Garfield nightshirt, and then starts to grab blankets from beside you.

Confused, you question,

“What’re you doing?”

“Oh, uh… I just thought I’d sleep on the floor, y’know, give you the bed.”

You’re aghast.

“Don't be silly, Eddie. There’s plenty of room. Sleep up here, please? I mean, it’s not like we never have before. All those nights in the trailer when I got too baked to make it home, or you got too baked to drive me, or both…”

You both chuckle at the fond memory. You wonder whether you’ll ever let on that sometimes you were faking it, or deliberately took too many drags from the last blunt, just so you could spend the night with him, in his bed.

He throws the blankets back over and, smiling, climbs in beside you.

Turning off your bedside light, the room becomes bathed in the low, pale blue glow of the moonlight.

You both lie on your backs, staring at the ceiling. Somehow it’s easier to talk like this.

Thumbing the skull ring on your hand, you want to talk about the… other thing that happened, but have no idea how to bring it up.

As you’re ruminating, Eddie beats you to it.

“I hope it wasn’t weird? Earlier, I mean. It was…”

Your thighs clench a minuscule amount as you recall the feel of him between them, and the lightest brush of your lips on various parts of each other, and you finish his sentence for him.

“Nice. It was nice.”

Shit. It was so much more than nice, you think to yourself.

“I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or anything. I guess I’m just a little touch-starved, y’know…?”

“I don’t. Honestly, I’m just glad to be close to you again. And if I made you feel uncomfortable then I’m really sorry…”

You can tell by the minor shifts in the covers and from his general demeanour that Eddie’s fidgeting with his hands.

“You didn’t, I promise.”

There’s another pause, and Eddie huffs out another small breath before he continues,

“Listen, I know the past twenty-four hours has basically been weirdness personified, and I don’t want to make it even weirder, but…can I… maybe… hold you?”

“I think weird is probably the understatement of the century, but it’s okay. And… I think I’d like that.”

You shift closer to one another under the covers, and you turn onto your side as Eddie moves himself to spoon behind you in an echo of your position last night.

He tentatively drapes his arm over you. He feels warmer than when you last did this, and more relaxed, and you press slightly backwards towards him as much as you dare, letting out a heavy, relaxed sigh.

You take Eddie’s hand in yours, threading your fingers with his, running yours over and between his digits and turning his forelimb this way and that. He hums into your hair and lets you move his arm however you like.

But you stop when you glance down in the dim light and spot a small tattoo on the inside of his wrist that you’ve not seen before. It’s definitely new. You know this because you’ve spent hours tracing over every inch of his inked skin, fantasising about following the images with more than just your eyes, imagining using your fingers, your hands, your lips, your tongue…

But this one’s not like any of his others. This one is small and simple, and looks like the outlines of two soft-cornered rectangles with a blocky W between them. It takes you a moment to process what you’re looking at, realising it looks a lot like one you’ve seen before. She’s had it covered with a delicate floral design (having connections in government really can get you anything, including underage ink), but you remember what it looked like.

Jane’s was a rectangle stacked on top of two horizontal lines, but when you looked at it from a different angle it became numbers: 011.

Looking at Eddie’s, you move the position of his arm. It turns the image a little, suddenly giving it more meaning, as you see it depicts a different number: 030.

Quietly, you croak,

“Eddie, what’s thi-?”

You don’t have a chance to process what any of it could mean as Eddie suddenly tenses, his head lifted from the pillows and his face flicking towards the window and back to you.

His brow furrows as he murmurs,

“Do you hear that?”

You strain your ears and hear nothing at first. But then, gradually, and from far away, you hear the disturbingly familiar sounds of flapping, shuffling and screeching.

Goosebumps appear on your arms and the back of your neck as you abruptly recall the only things you know of that make sounds like these:

Creatures from the Upside Down…

Prev: Prologue Part One

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Thanks so much for reading!

I really hope you enjoyed this part. The next one will probably be the last, and the taglist is open (as is my general one), just say the word, friend 🙂

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A/N 2: Did anyone spot the LOTR, Captain America and/or Make Up references? 🧝‍♂️🪓👍 (Also, completely by accident, AQPDO too 😜, and ETA: this and THIS 🫠)

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[books-and-omens]

God. I. I absolutely cannot sleep. And it’s nearly morning.

GOD.

Aziraphale, no.

Aziraphale. You are being manipulated. You are being showered with praise and acceptance that you have never received before, not like this. You are being told that you did extremely well, that you are the best of the best. This is *deliberate*. Metatron has never been on your side, he is telling you exactly what you want to hear. What you’ve been craving for the last four years, and for the six thousand years prior.

But they have plans for you, Aziraphale. They want you Upstairs so that you could do exactly what they need.

Aziraphale, stop.

(I’ll have to rewatch this. Have to collect the instances where Aziraphale is looking for approval. Fiercely hoping for approval. Throughout history, yes, and recently, too: those telephone calls after the Armageddon’t where he wanted Crowley to witness the good he’d s been doing. That burning need to tell someone that he did well and to hear it acknowledged.

Oh, Aziraphale is not at all taking his retirement from Heaven well.)

GOD.

You know what, I think Aziraphale is absolutely coming undone by the end. That process is certainly in full swing by the ball.

Because seriously.

The ball. The absolute fabulous madness of it. The drapery. The chandelier. Aziraphale going all-out with the miracles, retreating to the safety of Jane Austen where things go right and love prevails.

(Inviting Crowley to dance, too. Pulling him by the hand.)

Notice, too, Aziraphale’s desperate insistence that things cannot possibly be as bad as Crowley thinks they are. What a level of denial. Everything is fine, he is telling himself. Everything will be fine. I’m setting everything up perfectly to explain the big miracle, to avoid the existential threat we are both facing. We will be fine, nothing will really have to change, and I will still have Crowley.

(Oh, the vehemence. Close your eyes and pretend you are in another century. Don’t open them. Do not open them. Everything is fine.)

And—

Aziraphale is not handling retirement from Heaven well, but that’s only one of the things that are happening, isn’t it.

The danger to both of them is real. Crowley, too, is under existential threat (which Shax has helpfully reminds Aziraphale of, of course she does). They are not safe; they will never be safe while they are exiles, while Heaven and Hell can threaten both of them on a whim, while shining archangels can drop by at any point.

So what Metatron is offering at the very end is the power to do good and be appreciated, but also safety. You can be safe, he promises, your demon can be safe. You can even be with him, just as you are now—except you won’t be powerless against the rest of the world.

You won’t have to be fugitives, not any more. Not like you are now.

(It’s a lie. We know it’s a lie.

And Metatron must know full well that Crowley would never accept the terms as stated.)

They witness another thing, of course. Gabe and Beez. Their happily-ever-after.

There in the moment, Crowley is probably looking at them and thinking: we could do this. We could go off together. Yes?

Except this kind of a happy ending, Gabe and Beez being left alone but exiled, wouldn’t be a happy ending for Aziraphale and Crowley.

They’ve been in this exact place before. “We can go off together!”

And as before, this won’t work.

They have the Earth. They care about the Earth a lot, both of them. Aziraphale wants to win approval, yes, but he also very sincerely wants to make things better, to do what’s right, to be the change. And he wants, too, to win safety for him and Crowley. Wants them to be together, side by side; wants that to be allowed.

Wants them to do the right thing together. To have the power to do the right thing.

And everything they have built together falls apart.

(Angel.

Fucking Hell.

Stop the elevator between the floors. Get out. Get the fuck out. Get back.

Angel. You haven’t even seen what Crowley has seen in Heaven. What they were planning. What they need you for.

Angel.

NOT. LIKE. THAT.)

[heavenlyvision]

Bare II

Word count: 12.8k

Pairing: Liu Kang x F!Reader

Read part one ˗ˏˋhereˎˊ˗ first !

A/N: Part 2 is finally here !! I am sorry it took so long. I lost power at home due to bad storms that came through on Christmas night and have been staying elsewhere, it’s really messed with my writing schedule :((( hopefully the power will be back on at home soon <33 Anywhos, enjoy this creation of my insanity !!!

Summary: Liu Kang pushes you on his want to train you in self-defence and you get to the bottom of why it’s so important to him. Later that night, he wakes you up from his heat… he seems to be having a really good dream.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, angst but like not really, grinding, cockwarming, p in v sex, light edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, light burns, menace!Liu Kang, minor mention of creepy stranger

When you wake up you’re still in Liu Kang’s bed, it’s warm and comfortable but he isn’t in it. Dragging yourself up, you sit in his bed and look around the room, which is also devoid of his presence. Your limbs feel heavy as you move, the ground is cold on your feet as you get out of his bed.

The sound of your bare feet hitting the floorboards is filling the quiet house and once you’ve reached the kitchen you can smell something good. There’s a plate of food and a cup of tea sitting on the counter, left for you, Liu Kang is nowhere to be seen but he seems to have made you breakfast and left you a note.

Looking at the note you can see that he’s… stupid. Big fire God is stupid. You skim it but essentially it has the vibes of “I have to go… we will talk about last night later.” Why are men dumb? You sigh and shake your head at the note, already exasperated with him, you wish he’d have woken you up to talk, how long would the conversation have taken.

All this note does is bring you unease, how hard would it have been to write something that doesn’t induce the fight or flight response in you? Seriously? All he had to write instead was, “Stellar sex, I am a busy fire God and have fire God shit to do but I am looking forward to seeing you later”…just something less ominous would have done wonders for you and your anxiety.

Now, you are grumpy, resulting in you eating your breakfast and drinking your tea, stewing in your annoyance. He is allowed to have doubts or whatever his note is meant to get across but leaving a weird note is, well… stupid. Briefly, you wonder what would happen if he came back and you were still here, his note said he intends on speaking with you later but that also feels like an aversion tactic.

To be fair, last night was more of a heat of the moment thing, you haven’t even considered what you would want from him. If he has no feelings for you then maybe it would be better to chalk it up to a mistake, you aren’t stupid, you like him… a lot and being a casual hook up is something you wouldn’t survive. Not from him, it would hurt too much but he doesn’t come across as having no feelings for you. He also doesn’t seem the type to do casual hook-ups.

Leaving without communicating with you properly is irritating, now you’re having to sit here and think of all the what ifs. It’s a waste of time and energy, especially since only one outcome is going to occur anyways. Still, you can’t help but sit here and wonder about what might happen, what he might want, if he would even honestly tell you what he wants.

The note is too vague and mostly conveys doubt in himself and his actions, it’s not explicitly stated but you know him well enough now to read between the lines. If he had felt completely guilt free, he would have stayed or woken you up to say goodbye. He had time to make breakfast, which means he had time to talk to you about this and chose not to.

Sighing again, you get up and clean the dishes he used for you, this day is going to be exhausting, you can already tell. You put your pants from last night back on and grab the rest of your things, ready to head back to your quarters. At the last second you remember the book he gifted you and run back to the room to grab it, it’s still on the nightstand where you left it.

Picking it up, you look it over and take notice of the copy he got. It’s the same published copy you had, which must have taken a bit to find because you got your copy some years ago now. He used some sticky notes for thoughts that wouldn’t fit in the spaces between the words, you did the same thing with yours. He’s properly read it; you can tell by the way his annotations are well thought out and eloquent. It’s such a kind gesture and it displays care for you in a way you’ve never experienced before.

A memory you have with your ex is when you’d asked him if he’d ever read your favourite book and he all but laughed in your face. You just wanted to be able to talk with him about it but obviously he never cared all that much for you. Relationships are hard and messy and now you are wondering what exactly you want. Grabbing the book and everything else you came with, you leave. Ready to walk back.

With the daylight, the trip through the Fire Temple is significantly easier to make. Nothing is obscured and you know exactly where you are, though you know you had poor visibility last night, you still can’t help but feel silly over getting lost and showing up at Liu Kang’s door the way you did.

You also can’t help but feel a little miffed by his blatant avoidance of you this morning, he gave you great sex, great orgasms, and the best gift you’ve ever received only for him to duck you in the morning. What the hell is that? You think the note wouldn’t even be that bad if he had said something less vague.

The walk back is filled with you angry mumbling to yourself, trying to understand his motivation, trying to understand how you’re feeling. Reading yourself and how you feel at any one point is hard, it’s why it took you so long to realise that you weren’t happy in the relationship with your ex. You knew something was wrong, you just took a bit to pinpoint it and by the time you had, it didn’t matter anymore.

Leaving was too difficult and you were comfortable, well, maybe not comfortable but it was familiar. The effort of moving out or asking him to move out was a hard thought and it left you feeling trapped. Clearly, he did not feel the same, having no trouble kicking you out when he was done with you.  

When you get back, the house is quiet and dark, the curtains are open but it’s still cloudy out after all the rain last night. It actually looks like you might get more. You decide to change out of the clothes you’re wearing into some fresh ones, finally wearing a pair of your own clean, dry underwear.

For a good chunk of the morning, you read the book gifted to you, reading over Liu Kang’s thoughts as you go. He has given well thought out insight into how the book has made him feel and why he thinks certain choices were made by the characters. A lot of the thoughts he had align with your own, he even picked up on a couple small things you hadn’t considered in all your read throughs.

It’s still one of the most thoughtful things someone has ever done for you and as you sit here reading how much thought he has put into his notes, you realise that being just his friend isn’t what you want, everything about him has captivated you. You aren’t sure what it is exactly you want from him but you don’t want things to go back to how they were before.

Before you lose your courage, you get up and leave to go looking for him. Waiting on him could take no time at all or too much time and you aren’t willing to wait right now. You aren’t exactly certain on what you’re going to say when you find him but if you don’t find him now, you might not ever tell him how you really feel.

Honesty is hard because it leaves you feeling exposed and open, honesty regarding how you feel is something you struggle with but you aren’t going to let your own hang ups get in the way. Not with him.  

The first drops of rain start to spit onto the ground below you and you consider going back to get an umbrella before ultimately deciding against it. Right now, finding Liu Kang is urgent, you only hope you find him fairly quickly. Especially if it’s about to rain now like it did last night.

The first stops you make are all his usual hang outs but he isn’t at any of them and you’re starting to get wet, the rain isn’t harsh like last night but you certainly aren’t dry. The last place you check is where you usually meet for tea but he isn’t here either, how is it that you seem to have the worst luck when it comes to finding him.

By the time you decide to give up your search and go home, you’re thoroughly soaked, your stomping footsteps have the water flicking back up at you. It’s chilly, not freezing, due to the fact it’s about midday or early afternoon, you can’t be certain on the exact time but either way the water has a cool bite to it without freezing you to the bone.

When you stomp your way into your house, Liu Kang is already there, seemingly about to leave after not finding you. He’s the tiniest bit damp but nowhere near as wet as you, looking to his right hand you see he’s holding an umbrella. The thought of a Fire God using an umbrella is funny to you.

He speaks first, “You need to stop going out in the rain.”

“In my defence… it hadn’t been raining like this when I left,” you shrug at him with your hands slightly raised.  

He retorts, “Was that not your last defence too?”

“Maybe,” you mumble, eyes averting his.

His tone is amused but also exasperated by you when he asks, “Why were you out there?”

“I was looking for you,” your eyes meet his again, “I wanted to talk with you.”

“I said I would talk with you later,” he seems confused.

You argue back, “No, you wrote a weird note that said you would talk with me later, which thanks for that by the way. Totally didn’t fill me with dread reading that first thing in the morning.”

“It was not my intention to worry you,” he steps closer as he speaks.

“Well… you did.” Your arms cross over your chest, still a bit cold. “How hard would it have been to wake me up and talk with me then.”

“I did not want to wake you.” He considers you for a moment, “You were sleeping so peacefully.”

You only scowl at him, it’s meant to be a kindness on his behalf but it felt cruel waking up to a weird letter from the man you slept with the night before. One that you have feelings for at that.

There’s quiet in the room for a moment, a quiet he breaks, “You should change out of your wet clothes.”

You hum at him and move across the room, slipping your shoes off first and leaving them at the front door. You’re only gone from the room for a minute, quickly changing out of your wet clothes into some dry ones, too many outfit changes for today.

Back in the living area, he’s moved to rest against the dining table, not sitting at it but waiting by it, for you. You stand in front of him and awkwardly shuffle your weight back and forth on both feet.

“What exactly about my note upset you?” He’s careful as he speaks, not wanting to upset you further.

“For starters, you left a note.” You look at him, brows raised a touch, “And secondly, your note displayed nothing but guilt or regret, it’s not a nice thing to read after a night that… after a night like that.” Your gaze avoids his again.

He takes in a breath, “My intention was not to make you feel bad…but I am not sure last night–”

“–I am gonna have to stop you right there, big guy.” You cut him off and talk before you’ve fully thought through exactly what you want to say, “I don’t want to hear about how you’ve talked yourself into thinking it was a bad idea. I liked it… I like you.” You’re internally screaming, you just admitted you liked him without thinking it through properly.

“You are making this difficult,” he sighs.

Your brows pinch at his statement, “I’m making what difficult?”

He gestures between the two of you, “Putting distance between us, this is not the most conventional situation, and I am not certain I am good for you.”

Of course, that is where his concerns lie, you tell him clearly, “I don’t want there to be distance between us.”

Initially, his voice is firm, eyes intense, “I do not have the luxury of being selfish…” And then he softens for you all at once, “…But you make me want to be.”

Your skin feels warm at his words, “You have a bad habit of saying things that make me incredibly happy.”

The beginnings of a smile are forming on his face, “Should I stop?”

“…No.”

He smiles full at your response; it’s tinged with a kind of smugness you would normally find unappealing but can’t help but enjoy on him.

You’re not going to let him know that though, “Don’t smile at me, I am still upset about your stupid note. Your pretty words haven’t changed that.”

“My note was… not well thought out. I apologise,” he seems sheepish, his apology genuine.

Keeping a straight face, you reply, “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I think so too,” his smile is so tender as he looks at you.

The way he’s looking at you makes you break, your mostly faux annoyance dropping from your face. You step closer and wrap your arms around him, hugging him. The action confuses him a bit, or at the very least catches him off guard. It takes him a second, but he hugs you back, pulling you closer to him and holding you firmly.

He’s warm and he smells nice, and you could stay here indefinitely, “Just to be clear, you like me too, right?” You feel embarrassed asking him, but you want clarity.

He pulls you back to look at you, both his hands reach up and hold either side of your face, his hands are gentle with you, “So much.”

The smile that breaks out across your face is large, beaming up at him. His eyes are bright, dazzled by your happiness. He leans down and kisses your cheek; you turn your face to the side slightly so you can kiss him on his lips. It’s quick, a small peck but he uses his hands on your face to adjust you, he leans down and takes your lips in his properly.

His kiss is full, heady. He moves his hands from your face to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your arms move up to loop around his neck. The hands on your hips wander slightly, moving to your back, the back of your head before moving back down to your hips. He’s overwhelming you completely, his touch is everywhere, his lips are soft but firm, demanding in the way he kisses you.

Suddenly, you’re being lifted, he’s pulled you up and he sits you on your dining table, your legs open for him to stand between. His lips go from yours to the side of your face, pressing kisses to your cheek. He trails them down to your neck; his mouth is hot, and his kisses are wet. He lightly sucks at your neck, nipping you every now and again. He’s being careful not to leave any marks behind, but he very clearly wants to.

The gasps and small noises that he pulls from you can’t be helped, you’re sensitive, especially to his touch. He trails his kisses back up the length of your neck, ending right beside your ear. His breath against you makes you shiver and hold back a whine.

“You are such a reactive little thing,” he mumbles against your ear and he’s right; you are but you could’ve sworn you weren’t. It’s just him.

Fighting back another shiver, you go to reply to him, but he breathes on your ear and what would have been the beginnings of your sentence cut off into a small whimper. When he pulls back, he has a very pleased look on his face. You’re scowling back at him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

One of his hands reach up and grasp the side of your face, he angles you up slightly before leaning down and planting a full kiss on your lips. One you accept and return, despite your annoyance with him.

He moves back and hums, “As much as I would love to stay here and play with you, I have to go.”

“Cruel.” You comment, pouting at him.

He has a light smile on his lips, the rest of his features easy as he looks at you, “I will see you tomorrow, I’ll come get you.”

You can’t help but be sceptical of him, his tone is hiding something, “For what?”

“I am going to begin teaching you self-defence,” his expression holds steady, he’s not asking anymore. He’s being polite but his tone has an underlying dominance to it, not willing to argue with you on this.

So, you sigh at him, displaying that you’re still not completely on board, “Fine.”

“You will do great,” his hand holds onto yours, gripping it once in encouragement.

The concerns you have don’t have anything to do with how you might do performance wise, it’s more that you don’t really see it necessary and would rather avoid a fight it you could. Like you’ve told him previously, he keeps you separate from everything for the most part, so you don’t really understand why he wants this of you so badly.

The only reason you’ve continued to be so difficult about this is because it feels like he’s keeping something important from you and you’ve been trying to push it out of him. But as you’ve just witnessed, he is not entertaining conversation regarding this anymore. Not like that will stop you though, you just have to find a better opening.

“I am not worried about that,” your own hand grasps his once in response.

He knows what you mean, he’s been aware of the way you’ve been feeling him out every time the topic of ‘training’ comes up. He isn’t going to divulge anything though, instead he smiles politely at you and kisses you again. For the final time before he departs, his absence already felt the minute he’s out the door.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

In the morning, Liu Kang keeps his promise. Which is unfortunate for you, it’s early morning and quite frankly, it’s too early for you when he’s knocking on your door. You don’t even want to get up and let him in, but you do. Which is quite the effort for you, but you manage and potter over to the front door, pulling it open to reveal him in all his glory. He looks good, he looks ready for the day… you do not.

His eyes are alight with mirth when he sees the state you’re in, still in your pyjamas, completely unkempt and unready for the day, “You look lovely,” he comments.

You groan at him, “It’s too early.”

“It is early, I can make some tea for you?” He’s trying to butter you up, since you’ve finally caved into what he wants.

You step to the side so he can enter, “I would like that.”

He moves closer to you, leaning down to kiss your cheek before brushing past your frame. He’s familiar with your kitchen and puts the kettle on, “You can get changed, it will probably be done then.”

“I will be back,” you smile at him, having him in your kitchen making tea for you makes your chest bloom with happiness.

Your footsteps can be heard shuffling back down the hall towards your room, Liu Kang can be heard opening cupboards in the kitchen. The clinking of mugs can also be heard as he grabs a couple of them for the pair of you.

In your room, you move over to your set of drawers, considering what would be most comfortable for today. You assume he’s going to have you moving around quite a bit, so you’ll have to wear something light and easy to move in. The safest bet is a pair of pants and a simple shirt, basic but should get the job done.

Once you’ve changed, you walk back to the kitchen where Liu Kang is, he’s sat at your dining table waiting for you. A cup of tea sitting across from him, for you.

You sit down in front of him, “Thank you for the tea.”

“You are more than welcome,” he answers, watching you as you take your first sip.

It’s warm and made exactly how you like it; he always makes it perfectly for you. A man of many talents. The tea soothes you, making you feel better about starting the day so early.

Your words are mostly spoken into your cup, “You better not make this a habit, I am not a morning person.”

He hums at you, “I make no promises.”

Your eyes squint at him over the rim of your mug, annoyed at the possibility of him waking you up this early regularly. He just smiles graciously back at you.

After tea, he washes up your mugs, even though you protest. Then he’s leading you out of your house and to a quiet area of the temple you have never been. It’s secluded but open, the perfect area to have tea. Not to Liu Kang though, to him it’s the perfect area to teach you self-defence.

You haven’t told him, but you actually know self-defence to a certain extent. You were single and living by yourself in the city for some time, so you had taken up some classes on it. It went fine, you aren’t skilled or anything, it’s just the basics in case you get assaulted or mugged. You know enough for if you need to get someone off you long enough to get away.

Your experience in the classes is part of the reason why you didn’t want to do this in the first place, the teacher was sketchy. He never did anything to you, but he enjoyed teaching that class a little too much and his hands lingered for just a little too long sometimes. You don’t know if it was malicious or not, but you were uncomfortable enough to never go back and not enrol in any new classes.

The idea of doing this with a stranger was a hard no but having it be Liu Kang makes it easier, you’d still rather not do it but that’s more because he’s keeping something from you. Something you will find out today, he will be answering your questions because you aren’t going to keep doing this for no reason. And you know he has a reason; he isn’t doing this just for kicks.

“Are you listening?” He asks you suddenly.

Was he talking? “Yes?”

“What did I just say?” He looks at you pointedly, waiting for your wrong answer.

You look off to the side, trying to think hard about what he may have been saying, “…Something about how… this is important, and you want me to take it seriously?” you try, your face cringing as you finish your sentence.

He looks to you and sighs, “Essentially, yes.”

A proud smile breaks out across your face, “See? I was paying attention,” you tell him, nodding your head.

One of his brows raise at you slightly, he knows you didn’t hear a thing he was saying before. He comes up to you, both his hands reach up and hold your face between his hands, his eyes looking into your own intensely. “This is important, focus. Please?”

“I will… sorry,” you feel bad, his eyes are pleading with you to take this seriously, so you will.

He leans down and kisses your lips softly, “Thank you.”

You hum at him in acknowledgement, momentarily distracted by his kiss, wanting more of him.

“I just want you to know some self-defence, it will be basic, and I will help you,” he assures you.

You aren’t worried though, “Sounds good.”

He moves behind you, “Okay, I am going to grab you from behind, do what you think you should do and then I will show you the correct way to free yourself.”

“I am ready, just go for it,” you tell him, he’s obviously a bit nervous, he doesn’t want to upset you or make you uncomfortable.

His arms wrap around you, under your arms, normally you would try and slide down between his arms to get away but his hold under yours means you won’t get very far. Instead, you lean all the way down and pull his ankle forward, using your weight and his loss of balance to push him back. He goes down and you go with him. His hold on you lessens and you use the opportunity to get yourself free and stand back up, you’re looking down at him now.

He’s on the floor looking up to you, his eyes examining your own, “You have done this before.”

“I never said I hadn’t,” You reply, he squints at you, and you give him your hand to help him up, which he takes.

When he’s on his feet again he asks you, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why haven’t you told me why it’s so important I know self-defence?” You counter.

He sighs at you, “I want to know you can take care of yourself.”

“Yes but it’s one thing to be able to care of yourself and another to learn self-defence in case of bodily harm,” you emphasise, “This came out of left field, Liu and you know it. Something changed for you, and I want to know what it was.”

“My feelings for you changed, I want you near me, always. I want to be with you, to care for you, always… but I can’t be.” He’s frowning slightly.

You look at him dubiously, “And so your solution was teaching me how to defend myself in an attack?”

“No.” He answers quickly, “My solution is bringing you with me.”

“What?”

“The champions, will be gathered soon and I will be spending a lot of time at the academy… it’s selfish of me but I would like you to come with me, I would like to have you beside me and I would feel better about that if you could defend yourself.” He’s still frowning, clearly unimpressed with his own wants.

“I will go with you anywhere,” you tell him because you would, you would go anywhere, as long as he is beside you.

He reaches for you, both his hands resting on either of your shoulders, his expression charmed by you and your words, “I would like that.”

You smile tenderly at him, “You realise you’ve been kind of silly, keeping this from me?”

“Maybe but how long did you keep your feelings for me to yourself?” He retorts.

“Not the same,” you huff at him, “And you did the same thing,” you point out.

He hums at you, a hand lifting off your shoulder to hold the side of your face, gently cradling it, “I will fix it now then, I like you and would like you to stay by my side.”

“I suppose I will come with you,” you’re pretending to be apathetic, but his words make you so happy.

His eyes lift with his smile, “I need to know the extent of your self-defence training.”

“I know only the basics; I know how to evade an attacker and get myself free of a hold. I don’t know much else.”

“It is more than I thought,” he’s smiling brightly at you.

“What?” You are confused as to why he is so happy right now.

“It means I can teach you offensive attacks,” he informs.

You frown at him, “If I am going to be with you, do I really need to know how to attack someone?”

“It would make me feel better,” he replies, his thumb strokes your cheek.

Your tone is serious as you address him, “Liu, I don’t want to have to attack someone, I hope you know that.”

“I know and hopefully, you won’t but I’d like to know you could.” His expression is serious and so is his tone.

“You’re pushy,” you complain.

The side of his lips quirk up in a smile, “Only because I care.”

“You will not be teaching me any attacks today.” He opens his mouth to protest but you hold a finger up, “No, I have to think about it, attacking someone is different from defending yourself.” You’re looking at him firmly.

You aren’t one of his champions, you are not a fighter. You learnt self-defence out of concern for your own safety and well-being, learning to attack someone is something else entirely and you will have to think on whether or not you want to learn something like that.

“I would like you to consider it, but I understand,” he says before pulling you to him, holding you firmly. You can’t tell if he wants to comfort you or himself.

You sigh against him, “I will show you all I do know today, though.”

“I would like that,” he speaks into the top of your head.

So, you show him all you know. You spend a good amount of time showing him the different kinds of self-defence moves you know, and he helps you, teaching you better ways to do things or correcting your form. It is informative and you’re comfortable with him, his hands are warm, and they guide you.

His touch is innocent, his only intent is helping you show him what you know. He has no ulterior motives, and you realise that the teacher you had was definitely just creepy because this man you’ve slept with is holding you with the innocence of a man who has never seen you naked and has no desire to, his only desire is teaching you and seeing what you’re capable of.

“What is wrong?” Liu Kang asks.

Your face has betrayed your silent moment of realisation, a deep frown set in your eyebrows that you hadn’t noticed, “It’s nothing.” You smile at him, dropping the frown from your face.

He takes you in for a moment, determining if he should push you on this but lets it go, the both of you picking up where you left off. It isn’t until late morning, almost midday that you both stop.

“You know significantly more than I thought you would,” he says.

Looking to him, you reply, “I told you; I only know the basics.”

He makes a sound of amusement, “You know a bit more than the basics.”

You’re a tad shocked, “I do?”

“You do.” He confirms.

“How odd,” you comment.

“Come on, let’s walk back,” he grabs your hand and leads you back. The walk is quiet, and you enjoy the warmth of his large hand for most of it.

Beside you, he squeezes the hand he’s holding to get your attention, “Are you okay, with everything?”

“Yeah, I am okay.” You assure him.

He isn’t sure and tries to offer you an out, “I am being selfish by wanting you with me, you do not have to come.”

“I meant what I said, I would go anywhere with you,” you smile at him and lean into his side.

He hums from beside you, “Good.”

₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

He doesn’t stay long with you; he has to leave for the rest of the afternoon into the evening, but he said he would visit you later in the night if it isn’t too late. You had told him to come by even if it is late, but you don’t know if he will.

The tail end of the day is spent doing whatever you can, mostly though, you read the book Liu Kang gifted you. The notes he left are like reading his mind, they’re extensive and you’re wondering what you could do in return. Something kind that he’d like, something he can appreciate as much as you appreciate the book, but you don’t know what exactly that would be.

Looking to the clock on the wall, you can see the time has slipped by quickly, closer to midnight now. You peel yourself from your spot on the couch and move to lock the door before deciding against it, hoping Liu will stop by and let himself in.

Instead, you potter down the hall and slip into your bed, reflecting on things, head full of thoughts. The day had taken more out of you than you expected it to, you’re still a little stunned that you know self-defence well enough to impress Liu, though he didn’t think you knew any sort of defence, so his surprise is warranted.

You suppose you took those classes fairly regularly for a while and you enjoyed learning, so it shouldn’t shock you completely that you know it well. It’s a damn shame about that teacher though, you really hope he isn’t still teaching.

Thinking about that city fills you with a sense of melancholy, so many bad memories you left behind but also some good things too. You think, you’ll want to go back soon, to see the few friends you had there, maybe go back to that café with Liu.

The plushness of your bed is calling you, and you find yourself sinking back further into it, adjusting yourself so you’re completely content. The comfort of the bed has your eyes drooping, dozing off and drifting into a quiet slumber. Your dreams are empty, thoughts clear for once and you feel warm, comforted. It’s peaceful and you don’t remember the last time you’ve had such a tranquil sleep.

But then the warmth has you getting hot, body temperature rising uncomfortably. You can’t move and eventually your body wakes you up, startling yourself slightly. When you open your eyes, everything is dark and your mind is hazy from the sleep but with what little consciousness you do have, you realise what the cause of the heat was. Liu has crawled into bed behind you and pulled your body to his, his arms keeping you close but whatever he’s dreaming about has his powers a bit out of whack. You wonder how much time has passed and how long he’s been in bed next to you.

His skin is burning up and it’s unfortunately what woke you up, he was unintentionally overheating you while you both slept. Shuffling, you turn around in his hold and put a hand on his face, he’s very hot. He unconsciously pulls you closer to him, a hand wanders down to your hip and pulls you to him. Your front collides with his and, oh? You can see now why he’s burning up; his cock is solid against you.

A sigh leaves his mouth from slightly above you, his cock grinding into you lazily. The hand you have on his cheek quickly taps at his face to wake him; you’re surprised by his unconscious desperation, and you briefly wonder what he is dreaming about.

He wakes up at your touch on his face, his eyes bleary as he looks down to you, he hums in question at you; wordlessly asking why you woke him up.

“Uhm, you…” The words trail off, you can’t seem to find out how to phrase what you want to tell him and now your sleepy brain is needy for him.

Liu grunts at you, fully aware of his own situation now that he’s awake, “Did I wake you?” His words are mumbled, still half asleep.

Your brain is a few steps behind your mouth and your response is to mutter out, “You are hot.”

His eyes close again but his mouth rises into a lazy smile, “You think so?”

You take a second to think of your words first this time, “I mean, yes but you were literally hot, your heat woke me up.”

“You think I am hot,” he teases you, voice deep with sleep.

Sighing you ask him bluntly, “What were you dreaming of?”

One of his eyes open to look down at you, eyebrow raised, “Guess.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, you don’t like guessing games, “You sure you can’t just tell me?”

He doesn’t reply, his smile is sly.

He’s the one who was so worked up he almost burnt you in your sleep, “Are you sure you’re in a position to tease?” You enquire.

“And what do you mean by that?” You’ve caught his attention now.

“I mean, you are the needy one right now,” you observe.

“Hmmm, I may be needy,” He mocks your usage of the word, “but I will make you desperate,” his hand pulls your thigh over his hip, his hard cock pressing directly into your core; it makes you gasp. “Want me to show you what I was dreaming of?”

You fight the urge to grind yourself against his dick, not wanting to prove him right. You want to show that he is needier than you, at least tonight but with the way he holds your cunt firmly to his cock without so much as moving an inch, you think you might lose this battle. He’s so hard against you and you’re itching for him to move, to give you a fraction of relief but he’s only holding you, nothing more.

His gaze is unbothered, clearly, awake Liu Kang has far more control than asleep Liu Kang, “Answer me.”

You can feel yourself growing wetter the longer he holds you to him, you’re fighting against yourself. The urge to take what you need growing, but you doubt you would even get close to succeeding.

“Love your facial expression, do you know how desperate you already look for me?”

You look away and pout, “It’s not intentional…”

A finger hooks under your chin and makes your gaze meet his again, “It never is,” his tone is amused, “You wear all your thoughts on your face,” he comments.

“I want to know,” you answer his question from before, his brow raises and you clarify, “I want to know what you were dreaming about.”

“Are you sure?” He’s straight faced as he asks.

“Always.”

Suddenly, he rolls over and takes you with him, he sits you on his lap. You’re sitting on his cock and you’re trying so hard not to grind down into him, though you really would love nothing more than making him cum in his pants for you. He rips your underwear and sleep shorts off, the display of strength astounding to you. Instead of dropping them to the floor like a normal person though, he burns them, he burns your underwear and shorts to a crisp in front of you.

You’re shocked, “Wh– What the hell?”

“Next time, keep your bottom half bare,” he shrugs.

“Liu,” you’re still shocked, he might be a little bit more needier than he’s letting on.

“Yes?”

Your expression is stunned, “You could’ve just put them on the floor.”

“I could have, yes.” He confirms. “Can I stuff you full now? Or do you need another moment to scold me?”

You’re at a loss for words, torn between scolding him and wanting to be full of him. His face is unbothered, but his eyes are knowing, he knows what you will pick, and you really wish you were more spiteful, to teach him a lesson, but you want him inside you.

“Hmmm, I think…” his fingers slip to your pussy, sliding through your folds and spreading your slick all over yourself, “…You need me to fill you up right now,” his fingers are coated in your wetness when he removes them, he shows them to you before pushing them into your mouth.

Your lips wrap around his fingers and suck, cleaning them of yourself. Liu grunts at the feeling of your tongue licking at them, his eyes carefully watching the way your lips are engulfing his large fingers. His gaze is far away as he watches the way he pulls them out of your mouth, obsessing over your mouth, over your lips.

His focus comes back, and he frowns, his hands pull your shirt up and off you quickly; the action surprises you. Gathering yourself, you say, “Do not burn it!”

The expression he wears is amused and for a moment he looks like he’s considering burning it in front of you, just to see your reaction. He ultimately decides against it and chucks it on the floor, something he could have done to your shorts and underwear.

“Pleased?” He asks, raising a brow at you.

“As much as I can be after you’ve…” your retort trails off because he has completely ignored you, pulling his cock out of his pants as you were speaking.

And as you look at his big dick, you’re struck, completely wordless and salivating as you look at it and the way his hand grips himself. His thumb rubs over the tip of his cock, he must’ve been having one hell of a dream because he is incredibly hard and slick. His own precum dribbling from the head of his cock in thick globs, his thumb spreads it all over himself, hand dragging it down over his length.

His cock is shiny and coated in his own mess, you’re practically drooling, your cunt throbbing with your overwhelming need for him, “Liu,” your voice is breathy as you call out his name and it makes his cock jump in his hand.

Your hand reaches out to replace his own, holding him firmly but gently, you stroke up and down his length. Your movements spread more of his precum over his large cock, your thumb rubs at his tip, smearing it all over. His breaths are picking up, his hips twitching, holding back from fucking into your hand. His eyes are shut, savouring the feeling of your softer and smaller hand on him.

“Put. It. In,” he hisses out between clenched teeth, “Or I will.”

You hesitate, finding it an opportune time to tease him, “Why? Are you getting needy?” Your voice singsongs to him, full of mirth.

His eyes flick back open to look at you, his gaze dark and hungry and you feel like maybe, you did not have the upper hand you thought you had. Now, you think, he was maybe indulging you. His finger moves to your core, spreading your slick all over yourself again.

He avoids your clit and lightly pushes the tip of a finger into your pussy hole, only to drag it out and play with your cunt by smearing your arousal all over yourself. The action has your hand pulling back from his cock, grabbing at his wrist, holding onto him. He is working you up purposefully, not giving you any real pleasure. And it really does feel like a punishment because you already wanted him.

You go to ask him for more, “Can you–”

“–Shhh,” he cuts you off, not giving you the chance to request more from him, “You think I am needier than you?”

You don’t answer but your lack of a response is still a response.

“Hmmm, I will remind you of how fun you are to play with, how desperate you get for me,” his fingers still slide through your slick cunt. “How easy it is to have you cumming for me.”

Your pussy clenches down on emptiness, wanting so bad to be full of him. Wanting him to stop teasing you and force his cock inside your very wet cunt but you made a miss step, mistaking his directions for a moment of weakness. And while you were right about his need, he’s certainly not going to give up the control that easily.

God, you just need him to stop being so cruel, his cock is thick and heavy and slick, oozing precum still, but he’s not willing to give you the satisfaction, not now, not after your taunt.

“Liu, please– I… want you,” his fingers still avoid your clit, only really making a mess and not giving you any satisfactory pleasure, you feel like you might shed a tear.

He hums in thought at you, his gaze on your cunt and his fingers, “You want me?”

As you go to answer, his fingers slip over your clit, rubbing tight circles into it very suddenly. Your body collapses forward, hands coming out and landing on his chest to hold yourself up. He chuckles at your reaction, at the way you’re already borderline shaking on top of him. His fingers are relentless, and he was right because you’re already right on the edge and just as you think he might push you off it, he pulls his hand back. It lands on your hip, fingers wet and sticky from your cunt.

They drum against your skin, “You were saying?”

You glare at him, your voice shakes, “That was mean.”

He only smiles politely at you, his expression easy, unbothered by seemingly, everything. He’s waiting for you to speak, and you know exactly what he wants to hear but you only purse your lips and stare at him.

He tuts in response to your defiance, “Got to ask for the things you want, love.”

You pout, “I want you.”

“I am right here,” he retorts, the hand on your hip slides up the side of your body, landing on your tit.

His free hand comes up and grabs at your other tit, he fondles your chest, his hold firm. The way he’s groping you is driving you up a wall and his cock jumps against his abdomen at the way you whine for him. His index and middle fingers pinch your nipples between them as he grabs at you and another pitiful whine comes from you. He releases a mix between a sigh and groan at the sound, obviously struggling with his desire for you.

Your eyes are big and pitiful when you look to his, “Liu, please, I want you inside–”

“–Not what I want to hear,” he cuts you off, eyes stern as he looks at you.

Leaning forward, he presses his lips to your neck, your hands move from his chest to hold onto his shoulders, and you’re surprised at how hot he has gotten again. His body temperature increasing with the way he’s restraining himself; his mouth sucks a mark into your neck and his tongue is hot as it licks at your skin.

His hands grip your hips and pull you closer to him again, his mouth sucking marks into your neck, your chest. He’s working his way down, leaving hot and wet marks against your skin everywhere his lips go. Once he’s reached your breasts, he takes a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking at it, the warmth of his mouth makes you twitch on top of him, a gasped whine exiting your lungs at his ministrations.

He pulls back but bites at your nipple lightly as he does, it makes you jump and gasp, “Liu, please…” He makes a noncommittal noise, still not hearing what he wants from you.

The grip he has on your hips moves to your thighs, he’s grabbing at your skin, enjoying the softness of your thighs, his hands are hot on your delicate skin, and you squirm in his lap. His gaze locks onto your thighs, and you think you know what he wants, probably wants to leave marks on them.

After he gets an eyeful, his eyes look to your cunt, your slick dripping down your thighs with how little he’s given you. So horny for him and he’s done nothing but edge you once and fondle you. One of his hands slips from your thigh to your pussy, fingers immediately massaging your clit, you’re so worked up that you moan at the slight touch. His other hand grips harshly at your thigh, grounding himself.

“You are so wet,” he observes, his fingers still rubbing your clit, “Why don’t you end your suffering and tell me what I want to hear?”

Your response isn’t much of a response at all, only a small broken whimper passing your lips. The pathetic sound has Liu’s abs tightening, his cock twitching, the heat he’s radiating increasing, obviously he’s torturing himself at the moment. He looks delicious and as much as you’d love to see how much it’d take to break him; you don’t think you would survive it.

“I need you, please,” you break for him, eyes pleading, wet and almost crying, so close to finishing and wanting him to let you. He doesn’t reply though, and it worries you, so you beg, “please, Liu –nngh– need you to– I–” You’re incoherent and your voice is whiney but when you look into his eyes, fuck. He looks… feral.

His hand speeds up for you, his grip on your thigh loosens just the smallest amount, enough so you can grind down onto him a bit. You’re leaking down his hand, down his wrist, your nails dig into his shoulders and right as you’re about to cum again, he pulls his hand away… again.

The sound you release is a borderline sob, your pussy is throbbing with need, and you’re so confused as to why he didn’t let you cum. Your eyes fill with unshed tears as you look at him, your voice is small when you ask, “Why?”

He wears a large smile on his face, eyes still feral but he seems to have found a new kind of resolve, “Something wrong?”

You’re speechless, are you still being punished? Why didn’t he let you cum, did you not give in to him? “What did I do wrong?” Your brows are pulled up, worried.

“Nothing, you have been perfect,” he smiles assuredly at you, but his expression has an underlying wicked hunger. He taps your thigh, so you hold yourself up, “I’m going to stuff you full now,” he informs you and at his words you hold yourself up for him.

You don’t want to get your hopes up, now feeling like his show of mercy will come with conditions but you are really hoping he will fill your cunt. He grips his cock in his hand, pulling you closer to him, when you’re in reach, he rubs the messy tip of himself through your folds. The pair of you already a mess in your own rights, the action mixing the two together.

“Take the tip,” he directs, voice firm, warning you to only take the tip of him.

“Yessir,” you murmur in response as a joke, but his dick twitches the smallest bit in his hold.

For your own sanity, you don’t tease him for it, fearing you may not survive anymore edging. You do as you’re told, lowering yourself onto his cock and taking only the tip of him, with how wet you both are, it’s an easy fit. You take his tip well, but you are slightly concerned with taking the rest of him; right now, you think, if he slammed up into you all at once, you’d cum on his dick alone.

Your thighs are burning slightly at how you’re having to hold yourself up, trying not to take anymore of him. He’s breathing heavily, his skin getting hotter again, his hands move to your thighs and grip them, pulling at the supple flesh. Your pussy is pulsing around the tip of him and he’s doing everything he can to hold back, having a specific plan for how he wants to fuck you tonight and doesn’t want to ruin it by losing control here.

His thumb slips to your clit and rubs into it, flicking at it, it makes you moan and has you itching to sit down on him. Wanting to feel completely stuffed full, “Liu, I want –nghh– I want all of you.”

“That’s too bad because I want you to do as I say,” he replies harshly, voice hissed between his clenched teeth. His commanding voice and the attention he’s giving your clit makes you clench down on him, he continues talking, “I want you to cum, that’s what I want.”

Something about him tonight is driving you crazy and you were already so close to cumming before he spoke but now, after hearing him tell you what he wants, you’re a split second away from cumming. The final straw is when you look down to where you’re taking just the tip of him, your own arousal sliding down the sides of his cock, the mess is obscene, and it makes you cry out.

Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders again, needing the leverage as you cum on him. The feeling of your walls fluttering on the head of his cock makes him groan, loudly. His head falls back on the headboard and his eyes close, needing a moment to recover before making his next move.

The breaths you release are huffed; he’s finally let you cum and it makes your previously unshed tears slip down your cheeks. The relief you feel is euphoric, your head dizzy with how good it felt. He only edged you twice and you just about lost your mind, if he ever tries to do that properly, he might kill you. Or drive you actually insane.

He opens his eyes to look at you, “Crying over the tip of my cock?” His tone is cocky, knowing he’s pulling you apart so well.

“No,” you lie, a hand moving off him to wipe at your cheeks but one of his own hands stop you, grabbing your wrist.

“Leave it, you look cute, crying over my dick,” he muses aloud to you.

You look at him sceptically but don’t wipe your face all the same, letting him have his way. When he’s sure you won’t wipe your face, he drops your hand.

“Sit down,” he says, “Take it all, for me.”

You feel yourself flutter with excitement, looking forward to finally being full of him. You slide down his length, taking more of him, slowly as you do. The stretch of him is delicious and you think, even if it hurt, you wouldn’t stop, your need for him outweighing any pain. You want him in you, want his pelvis grinding into your clit, need, you need his pelvis grinding into your clit.

The both of you are so slick and sticky the sounds can already be heard in the room, a soft squelching as your cunt sinks down on him. His hands hold your hips, helping guide you down onto him fully, you’re taking your time, wanting to be careful. Your hands move to his pecs, open palms splayed on his chest, there’s heat radiating from him, hotter now than when he almost overheated you in your sleep.

“You’re –nngh– really h–hot, Liu,” you tell him, concerned by it.

He smiles at you suggestively, and if you weren’t still trying to take all of his cock, you would roll your eyes at him. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he reassures you, knowing you are worrying for him and his wellbeing, even with his cock a few inches in you.

He’s getting impatient at how long it’s taking you to get all of him inside you, his frustration reaching a head. Instead, he takes control and shoves you down on him, filling you all at once, the shock of it, of being so full suddenly, the slap of his pelvis against your clit, it makes you cum on him very suddenly. Small whimpers falling from your lips, your hips unconsciously keep grinding into him, riding out the high. Your cunt clenching down on him, hard, with your orgasm.

A guttural groan comes from Liu, you can feel it rumble in his chest under your hands, “That’s it– mmph– love how easy you cum for me–” he sighs out, relishing in the way you’re gripping his fat cock.

Your hips come to halt, done grinding down into him but his hands on you keep moving you against him. Encouraging you to keep grinding, it makes your stomach do flips, barely even coming down from your high before he’s trying to get you to cum again.

“It’s too much–”

“–I thought you needed it,” he counters.

You shudder against him, already on the edge so quickly after your last orgasm. You try to tell him how it feels, how it’s so overwhelming. Having his cock grinding so deeply inside you, having your clit drag against his pelvis, it’s so much. But nothing leaves you, nothing but a few more tears and small whimpers.

His expression as he watches you is sure; he knows what he’s doing, and he knows what he wants from you. You play right into his hand, and nothing brings him more joy than that, “You want to know what I need?” He asks you.

You shake your head at him, not really paying attention.

“I need you to cum again,” he tells you and he’s serious, his hands grip you harder and drag you against him firmer.

The added pressure has you cumming on him again, your cunt squeezing him tightly as you cream around him, again. He moans pleasurably, overjoyed at you doing as he says and at the way your cunt cums messily around him. He twitches inside you, sensitive and needy for you but having too much fun playing with you to stop.

Even as your body jolts from overstimulation, he doesn’t stop dragging you against him, still forcing your hips to grind down, “Liu, I need a moment–”

“–No, you don’t.”

With the way he’s filling you completely and the stimulation on your clit, he’s going to kill you, or have you passing out on his cock. Your arms struggle to keep yourself up, shaking against his chest. One of his hands leave your hips to pull you to him, your bare chest pressed to his own. He’s so hot.

How he’s holding you now, he leans back slightly, feet planting on the bed. Using his leverage to grind up into you as he forces you down on him, it has you moaning into his skin. The hand on your back slides up and grabs at the back of your neck, holding you to him.

“I know you’re already close again,” his voice is breaking, holding back his own sounds of pleasure until they only come out as whiney breaths.

You whinge against him, “I can’t–”

“–You can, and you will.”

His skin is so warm, so firm, all his muscles moving against you. His large cock fills you so well and you want him to actually fuck you, but you’re concerned you might not be able to take it. You’re drooling on his skin now, just from his incessant grinding, the thought of him actually fucking you has your cunt clenching and brain short circuiting.

“Come on, love–” his words are cut off by his own gasp, you’ve cum at the sound of his voice. It’s low but pitched with need and he sounds so fucking good that you cum on the spot, your pussy choking his dick harshly.

He groans at the way you grip him; his hands stop dragging you down onto him, but his hips chase yours, his own desperation showing in the way he’s rutting against you. His arms wrap around you, holding you to him tightly. He keeps grinding up into you and it makes you whine into his neck.

He’s breathing heavily next to your ear, borderline whimpering at the way you wrap so tightly around him, at the way you came so nicely for him.

“Liu, you –hah– feel too good –mmph– too much,” you mumble against his skin, his shoulder wet from where you’ve been drooling against him.

“–Hah– I am not even close to done with you yet,” he huffs in response, his hips still grinding up into you. With how he’s holding you, you have no choice but to take what he gives and what he’s giving right now is desperate grinding, still not fucking into you properly.

He moves his face into your neck and licks at the length of it, it makes you shudder against him, "Last one, and then –mmm– I’ll fuck you.”

You’re dazed as you check with him, “Promise?”

He hums at you, “Promise.”

His hips keep grinding up into you, his hand on your hip encouraging you to do the same, wanting you to finish for him. Your body is tired, but you rut down against him, it makes him hiss and then he bites your neck. The sounds he would have made muffled by his teeth in your skin, the feeling has your cunt spasming on him.

He pulls his mouth back from you just to lick and suck at your skin and then he’s biting your shoulder. The small pain driving you up a wall, it makes your pussy leak for him, your breaths are stuttered and you’re going to cum again.

He mumbles against your skin before pulling back a bit so you can hear him, “The way you’re gripping me, fuck–” He’s about to moan but instead bites your neck again, harder this time. The shock of the pain goes straight to your cunt and you cum on him, again.

You’re lucky he’s already pressed you completely to him because you would’ve collapsed onto him. Whines and whimpers are pulled from your chest, more tears slip down your cheeks and you feel so far away from your body, you don’t even feel like you’re on Earth anymore.

Liu is groaning into your skin, he pulls back and lathes over his bite mark with his tongue and when he looks at it, he hums in contentment. Pleased with the impression of his teeth in your soft skin. His hips have stopped grinding up into you, giving you a needed break, you’re slumped against him, breathing heavily.

“Been doing so good for me,” he compliments. You can only hum in response to him, you’re out of it.

He lets you catch your breath; his hands stroke up and down your back, his lips press kisses into your skin, over the bite marks he’s left. He’s giving you a quiet moment to gather yourself and you really appreciate it because at this point, you don’t even know how many orgasms he’s given you, but your body does and you’re feeling fucked out.

Once your breathing is normal, you tell him, “You’re going to kill me.”

He chuckles at you lightly, amused, “No, I’m not.” He pulls your head back so he can press his lips to yours, taking away any chance of you disputing him.

The kiss is kind and tender and a stark difference to how he’s just pulled multiple orgasms from you. He kisses you softly, his tongue slips into your mouth, and you melt against him. Your thighs spreading open further on him unconsciously, it has his cock inching just the tiniest bit more inside you and it makes you moan into the kiss.

He grunts against you; his hands grip at your hips. His body heat is still hot, he’s itching to fuck you but being as patient as he can be. When he pulls back from the kiss, he nips your lip lightly and it makes you gasp. He only smiles easily at you when you glare at him for it.

“Need you to move, want you on your hands and knees for me,” he taps your thigh, and you start pulling up, it has you releasing gasped whines. Just as you’re at the tip of him, his hands hold you on him, “Look at the mess you’ve made on me,” he practically growls out the words.

When you look down, the mess is obscene, so much of your cum coats his cock. Creamy ring at the base of him, you look to Liu but he’s looking at his cock and how messy it is. His dick jerks at the image, his hands hot on your hips.

“You are such a messy little thing, love the way you cum for me, so fucking easy to have you creaming on me, fuck–” he closes his eyes for a moment, he’s working himself up. He takes a breath and looks at you, eyes dark, “Hands and knees.”

Taking the hint, you pull yourself off him completely and shuffle around on the bed. You face the headboard and sit back on your knees, feeling a bit embarrassed at arching your back for him and hesitating to do so. He gets off the bed and stands up, removing his pants properly. He moves to the foot of the bed and points in front of himself, giving you wordless instructions.

You do as he indicates and move in front of him, he tells you, “Hands, knees,” and makes a spinning motion with his hand, instructing you to turn your back to him.

Turning around, you lean onto your hands, you feel sheepish as you do. Liu’s hand pushes your upper back down until your chest is on the bed, his other hand pushes your thighs open for him. You arch your back for him, your ass and cunt on full display. When he pulls away to look at you, he groans.

His hands play with the globes of your ass, pulling them apart and staring at your pussy, “Perfect, stay like this.”

Faintly, you can hear shuffling from behind you, you aren’t sure what he’s doing. But it shocks you when Liu drives his cock into you all at once, your body jolts forward and you moan. Liu curses lowly at the feel of you around him again. His curses are hissed and breathy, and he holds his hips to your ass for a moment, collecting himself.

Once he’s taken a second, he pulls out of you and forces himself back in. His initial choice in pace is already so devastating, his thrusts are harsh, stuffing his cock into you with each one. All you can do is take it though, so you do, because as overstimulated as you are, the way he’s finally fucking you has you feeling so blissed out, you wouldn’t rather be doing anything else.

He fucks into you so deep the tip of his cock kisses your cervix, your moans are pitiful, almost whimpers from how well he fills you, from how well he fucks you. He has you seeing stars and you would be embarrassed at how close you are to cumming on him again, but it feels so good, and you’ve been far gone ever since he stuck his dick in you completely the first time.

Liu’s moans flow more freely from him like this, letting himself indulge after robbing himself of the pleasure he desperately wanted from you. He was torturing you before sure, but he was also balls deep in your tight cunt, not doing anything but grind into you, his self-restraint is godly, and he thanks all that is good for it because he really does love making you coat his dick in your cum. He loved having you cry for him, overstimulated and needy, he’s going to cum at just the thought of it if he’s not careful.

Your moans hit a higher pitch and his thrusts pick up pace, knowing you’re close and still wanting another couple orgasms from you before he finally fills you with his cum. His hands on your hips fuck you back onto him as he thrusts forwards and you’re clenching down on him, a small pathetic whimper exiting you as you cum on him.

If you hadn’t already been arched the way you are, your arms would have given out and had you face planting into the bed below. Instead, you whimper at your unknown numbered orgasm and drool into the sheets. Mind swimming with thoughts of him, of his large hands, how hot they are against your skin, about the thick drag of his heavy cock against your walls, how easily he pushes you off the edge, so sure in his actions, so sure you’ll cum for him when he wants it.

Your pussy throbs around him, he grunts but doesn’t stop fucking you, he own need overwhelming him, his spoken thoughts not all that coherent anymore, “G –hah– you feel so fucki– feel so divine –nngh– mm going t– hah– to fuck all my cum inside you, fill up your –nngh– tight little –fuck– cunt,” his breaths are whiney, and his head is lost in the feel of you.

His hand reaches around your front to rub at your clit, the stimulation has you shrieking and trying to crawl away from him, “Liu– I –hah– can’t please–”

You keep trying to crawl up the bed away from him, but he pulls you right back with no effort, “Yes you can– I need you to –hah– fuck–”

He holds you back easily, you have no chance to escape his punishing thrusts and relentless fingers. He’s still mumbling nonsense but not only is he barely coherent, but your thoughts are barely coherent, all the blood rushing to your head. You can’t understand what he’s saying but it’s a mix between praises and curses.  

His fingers don’t stop and you cum on him, he’s effortlessly pulled another orgasm from you, and it makes your moan border on a yelp. Tears flow down your cheeks onto the bed sheets, you’re so sensitive now, your mind so far gone. He’s growling behind you at the way you pulse around him, the noises he makes barely human.

His hands are so hot on you, his skin burning up, he grabs both of your hands and pulls them back. Using you as leverage to fuck into you, he’s also making sure you can’t try and crawl away from him. His thrusts are wild, the wet noises in the room are so obscene, you think you’d die of shame if you had even half your wits about you.

You’ve heard the phrase fucked dumb and you thought you had been fucked dumb, last time Liu fucked you, but this is insane. He’s going to send you to an early grave, and you don’t even care, not with how delicious he sounds, the moans and grunts he’s letting out have you ascending to a higher plane.

His grip on your wrists are firm but he drops them and grabs your hips again, just to pull you back, your legs drop to the floor in front of him. Lucky he’s holding you up because you are not capable of it at the moment. Your front half is still pressed completely into the bed, Liu holds your lower half up, your tippy toes just barely grazing the floor. His dick is hitting everything inside you that has you folding in on yourself and insides twisting, he might make you cum again, you’re going to need some kind of higher being to take mercy on you because you are fucked.

He's animalistic behind you, focusing on his own high, at least you thought he was, but his hand reaches for your clit again and you try to squirm away from him. You are unsuccessful, you’re so weak and he’s got you in the palm of his hand and he knows it. You can’t even verbally protest, only wiggle and whine below him.

“Want you to –hah– fuck– I need you to squirt for me,” his voice is deep, laced with so much hunger.

You try to tell him, “I don –ah– ’t th –mmph– ink I–”

“You can.” He’s steadfast, certain you can and that he will make you.

His fingers slip over your clit, everything is so slick, both your lower halves slippery from all your orgasms. He’s not gentle, his thrusts are harsh, and his fingers are determined, his cock is bullying its way into your cunt, hitting so deeply inside you, you go cross eyed.

The build-up is making you crazy, everything he does is pulling you apart by the very fibre of your being. Your cunt is clenching down on him like a vice, the pleasure feels like too much and you squirm against him, trying to get away again. Nonsensical words fall from your lips trying to warn him, but he only laughs deeply at your attempts at evasion; he’s happy he’s getting what he wants. A particularly deep thrust sends you over the edge, you cum… everywhere.

Liu groans at the sight of you squirting for him, on him, his thrusts don’t slow, if anything, they speed up. Chasing his own high now, so ready to fill you to the brim with his cum. He’s trying very hard to keep his powers under control, not wanting to burn you but his hands are hot against you and the closer he gets to his high, the less control he has over himself.

You’re crying from the pleasure, it’s been so intense, you don’t even feel like a person anymore. You can’t even moan, the noises you make are small whines and cries. Liu is obsessing over how your cunt swallows his cock, how well you take him. He’s also enjoying the small sounds you’re making, his ego inflated hugely tonight.

Everything about you right now has Liu just about losing his mind, the sounds he lets out are wild and unrestrained. All you can do is take it and wait for him to finish, and you really want him to finish. You want to hear him cum, want to feel him twitch inside you as he finishes.

You clamp down on him harshly, the sudden tightness of your cunt has Liu keeling over slightly, moans breaking off into whimpers as he fucks his cum into you. His hands burn you and he fucks your hips down against the bed so it holds you up, wanting to remove his hands as quick as he can.

He grabs at the footboard of the bed, the wood smouldering under his hands, he’s burning his handprints into the wood. He humps into you for a while, riding out his high, rutting into you to keep his cum inside your pussy. You’re pressed to the bed, completely absent.

When he’s gathered some control back, he leans down over you, “Are you okay?”

“I– I think so,” you slur out, mouth mostly pressed into the mattress.

He hums and slowly pulls his cock from you, he takes a moment to watch his cum leak from you, wanting so badly to stuff it back in but knowing you’re already so sensitive and he doesn’t want to push you.

“Did I go too far?” He asks, scared he’s broken you.

“Mm good,” you singsong out, shakily giving him a thumbs up, “Worth it.”

He scoffs at you in amusement, eyes tracing over your fucked out body, landing on the light burns he’s left on your hips. Red handprints left behind; the sight has his ego inflating but he also feels guilty.

“Need to give you a cold shower,” he comments.

You murmur out to him, “Bit late for that.”

“For the burns,” he clarifies.

“Hmm?” You didn’t think they were that bad, you remember him being hot, not burning you. Getting up slowly and with Liu’s help, you twist to look at your hips, “Well, I’ll be.” You smile stupid at the burns, “I like ‘em.” You say before flopping back onto the bed.

“Need to run them under cool water,” he presses you.

You only groan at him, “Can’t move.”

He sighs at you and picks you up, carrying you to your bathroom. He has to hold you up in the shower but he’s happy to. Your legs are like jelly and you’re barely conscious.

You remember why this happened and ask him, “As good as your dream?”

“So much better,” he kisses your cheek, “In my dream, you only came a couple times, this was way better.”

You gape at him, “What?”

He just smiles happily at you, pleased with himself.

₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A/N: THANK YOU FOR READING!!! I know it took me way longer than usual and I really appreciate all of you <33 As always, if you have any thoughts, questions, requests, my inbox is open ! P.S. the discord server got snippets of this way more and were updated more frequently, if you’d like to join send me a dm :))))

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 3: Getting a Pet

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Finding a pet/Getting a pet (it was originally finding a pet, but I changed things up a bit)

Summary: You think it's time for you and Matt to get a cat.

Warnings: Fluff. Established relationship. Cats. Mentions of future children.

Word Count: 2k

A/n: This is solely based on me wanting a cat. I did have a different version of this already written, decided I didn't like it, and whipped this up in, like, two hours today. I hope you're not mad at me, but the first draft really wasn't it, so I decided to interpret the prompt differently/change it.

Read Me On AO3!

It’s been three years since Matt Murdock stumbled into your life, broken and bruised. A normal person would have run if they had seen The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen knock at their window, but not you. You invited him in and fixed him to the best of your abilities. 

Three years ago, you met the man you fell head over heels in love with. The man who broke your heart then put it back together. The man who once believed he would never love again, that he didn’t deserve it, finally allowed himself to find some peace in your arms. Comfort. Love. 

You moved in together two years ago, and you haven’t looked back since. In fact, you only seem to be moving forward. 

Since he’s been with you, he has been using you as an excuse to Foggy and Karen for why he doesn’t need a dog. He thought he would never have to worry about getting a pet ever again. Until a week ago. 

You were sitting on the couch, head resting on his chest to listen to the steady beating of his heart, when you suddenly blurted out, “I think we should get a cat.”

Suddenly, Matt didn’t have to worry about telling people why he didn’t need a dog anymore, but he had to face you, the love of his life, and talk to you about getting a cat. 

Up to that point, you hadn’t often seen him too stunned to speak, and the times you had, he was facing a greater evil—a greater evil than a cat. 

“What?” you remember him asking.

You nodded against his chest. “Dead serious,” you said, lifting your head to look up at him. You had that determined look on your face, the one that always made Matt’s defenses crumble like wet paper. He could feel it as he brushed his fingers over your soft skin, trying to gauge what you were thinking. 

“I’ve always wanted one,” you continued your reasoning, “and I think we’re ready. You know… for a fur baby.”

Because the idea of a baby was and still is very far in the future.

Matt could feel the excitement radiating off of you that night, and though he had never imagined himself as a cat person, there was no denying he was wrapped around your finger. “You really want a cat?” he asked. 

“I do,” you answered, with an almost childlike excitement.

“I just… are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, it’s a cat,” he emphasized.

“Your point being?”

“They’re… stealthy. And needy, sometimes.” That was the only argument he could come up with. 

You snorted at that. “So, they’re you,” you said, “just… smaller.”

Matt opened his mouth, closing it just as fast. You got him, fair and square. “Alright, I can respect that,” he said.

It was so serious to you that you sat up straighter to look at him. “Of course you would. Think about it. They’re independent, low-maintenance, and they purr. Plus, Foggy and Karen will forever shut up about you getting a guide dog ‘cause we’ll already have a cat,” you said.

He couldn’t possibly argue with that logic. But deep down, he knew. He knew the moment you brought a cat home, he’d be doomed. But he couldn’t say no to you.

“Okay, fine,” he caved, though the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “Let’s get a cat.”

Fast forward a week, and you have dragged him to one of New York’s animal shelters to find a cat. Fall has fully settled over the city, the air crisp with a slight chill, and the streets lined with leaves of red, orange, and yellow. Matt’s hand is intertwined with yours as you step inside, and though he tries his best to act casual, you can feel the subtle tension in him. The smell of hay and litter toy with his heightened senses. It’s a lot all at once, but he promised that for you, he would do anything. 

This is a decision you will have to make together. So, he forces a smile when you look at him with that worried crease between your brows, and he tells you it’s okay. He’s got this. You choose to believe him. 

“This is exciting,” you murmur as a volunteer leads you through to the room where the cats are held. “We’re getting a cat!” You want to jump up and down and screech like a banshee, that’s how happy you are he said yes, even though you know he did it more for you than for himself, but if you start acting crazy now, they might never let you leave. 

“I like to say, ‘let the cat choose you’,” the volunteer says once you have reached your destination. “So, please, take your time. Also,” she turns around again, toward Matt, “if one of them tries to nibble on your cane, just tell them no.”

You swallow a giggle that threatens to escape. “Thanks,” you smile at her as she leaves, leaving you alone in a room full of… well, cats. 

You have never been closer to heaven. 

“I don’t want anyone nibbling on my cane,” Matt mutters beside you.

You shake your head, laughing. “Relax. They’re just cats.”

Cats of all shapes, sizes, and colors lounge around the room, some curled up in cozy beds, others batting lazily at toys hanging from strings. You take note of the numerous cat trees, some attached to the wall. It looks like a feline paradise. 

A few cats are eyeing you already, but most of them seem rather unimpressed. They must get a lot of potential new parents every day. 

Matt can feel your pulse quicken as you take a few steps forward, letting go of his hand to crouch down near one of the more adventurous kittens—a fluffy gray one with bright eyes.

“Hi,” you almost squeak, reaching out carefully to offer your hand. The kitten sniffs at your fingers before deciding to nuzzle into them. “Oh, you’re so cute. What’s your name?” You read the tag around his neck. “Bruno. Nice to meet you.” You’re not sure why you are telling him your name, but it seems like the right thing to do. 

You feel so warm inside, like you are taking the one step you have been wanting to take from the start. Getting a pet with the man of your dreams. Though you seem to be enjoying yourself a lot more than Matt is. 

He’s hesitant as he steps closer, folding his cane now that he is out of anyone’s eyesight, and he tilts his head slightly to listen to the kitten’s movements—the soft rustle of his fur, the tiny pitter-patter of paws on the floor, and the barely audible purring that you seem to be coaxing from him.

He can’t deny that he is a little jealous. You’re so enamored with him. If he could purr, he would.

“This was a great idea,” you say, turning to grin at Matt, who still hasn’t quite moved past the threshold of the room. You can tell he’s trying to maintain his usual composed demeanor, but his body language betrays him. 

It’s funny to see your usually so stoic boyfriend nervous and almost scared of a few tiny kittens. The smell must be overwhelming, you know, but it can’t be the only thing holding him back.

“Matt,” you hold out a hand for him to take, “come on, don’t be shy. They’re not gonna bite.”

“Maybe not bite,” he says.

“You fight crime on a nightly basis, and you’re scared of cats?”

He frowns. “I’m not scared.”

“Sure,” you say. With a smile, you take his hand in yours again, guiding him toward a small black kitten that’s been quietly observing from a perch by the window. You’re not sure why, but the little guy reminds you of him. Calm, reserved, but always alert. 

The kitten’s sleek fur gleams in the light, and when you bring Matt closer, he lets out a tiny, curious meow. The volunteer said to let the cats choose you, but you have never seen a more beautiful specimen—except for the human-cat right next to you.

“Meet potential fur baby number two,” you murmur.

You guide his hand toward the kitten.

Matt crouches down beside you, but he’s hesitant. For a second, you think he’s going to pull back, but then the kitten nuzzles right into his hand, and he stops dead in his tracks.

A soft smile spreads across Matt’s face—one of those rare, unguarded smiles that makes your heart flutter. 

“He likes you…”

He chuckles softly. “I don’t know… seems like this one might be too calm for me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Too calm? Suddenly, you want a high-maintenance cat? A second ago, you wouldn’t even touch him.”

“Just saying… might be nice to have a challenge.”

“I think we, but especially you, have enough challenges in your life,” you retort. “Maybe a calm cat is exactly what we need.”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps stroking the kitten’s fur as he curls up even more. Matt has something about you that puts both humans and cats at ease, you notice. The same thing that makes you want to curl up in his arms is making this tiny kitten trust him after not even a minute together. You watch the scene unfold, your heart swelling with affection. He’s so good at this.

You join in eventually. The kitten doesn’t shy away; he seems oddly content with the two of you already.

“So, what do you think?” you ask softly after a moment.

Matt tilts his head, considering, and for a second, you wonder if he’s really thinking about the question or if he’s just stalling. But then, he lets out a quiet sigh and says, “I don’t know… what do you think?”

You smile. He’s been through so much, been so used to carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Something as simple as getting a pet—something that brings warmth and comfort—might feel strange to him. 

You remember how it was when you started growing closer. When he asked you to move in with him. When he told you he loved you after you told him first, afraid you might still slip away from him as most people in his life have. Dealing with something small and fragile scares him. Having something to look after and care for scares him. Maybe that’s why you haven’t talked about children yet; he’s scared of making a mistake, of hurting the people he loves and has sworn to protect. But that’s not who Matt Murdock is to anyone but himself.

“I think,” you say, slipping your arm through his and leaning your head against his shoulder, “that you deserve everything good in your life. That’s why you should decide.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingers still brushing through the kitten’s fur. Finally, he nods, and the smile on his face turns just a little softer, a little more real.

“I love you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I love you too.”

The kitten meows. His collar says ‘Pumpkin’, and that is oddly on the nose, you think. The two of you, finding a cat in October, and his name is Pumpkin. 

Matt chuckles. “Okay, I heard that.” And then, turning toward you, he says, “Let’s take him home.”

Your face lights up. “Yeah?” you ask.

“Yeah. I mean, I already have the best thing I could have in the world, right here,” his chin tips toward you, “but… you’re right. We could use a little calm in our life.”

You press a kiss on his shoulder. “Then let’s do this. Let’s take him home.”

Pumpkin. 

Pumpkin Murdock. 

That doesn’t sound so bad. Now all you need is his last name, too. 

Soon.

Very soon. 

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hello,

could I request a Hannibal one-shot, where he and fem!reader have been busy with work and he is really needy.He comes back from and just sneaks up to the reader, just planning on kissing her, but soon discovers how much his body missed her.(nsfw?)Sorry,if this is weird

Hannibal X Reader: Cravings

Warnings: smut, hanjdob, blowjob, teasing, dirty talks, gn reader, female anatomy, male anatomy, penetration (p in v), domish reader (if you squint), no use of y/n, doggy stlye, not proofread.

Word count: 1,3 K

Your scent hits him the moment he walks through the door. It doesn’t matter how many times he feels it he will never grow tired of your smell. He moved towards you in large steps, his eyes softening once he saw you staring at his bookcase. You haven’t realized he’s home yet and even though he doesn’t want to scare you he can’t seem to get your name to leave his lips. Instead he stalks over to you in silence.

You feel his hand wrapping around your waist. You know it's him instantly due to the feeling of his lips on your neck.

“Hello handsome.”

The pet name makes Hannibal's ears grow pink. He nudges your neck with his nose nuzzling your skin. There had been no ulterior motives for his caresses, he merely missed being near you, but before he could stop himself his hips bucked forward. He could feel his hard on pressing against your ass a small whine leaving his lips.

You move your head to the side allowing him to kiss your lips. You nip at his bottom lip a small grin making its way to your face at the groan Hannibal lets out. He’s usually not like this. He loves touching you but it’s normally in a more restrained manner. The only times he gets this touchy is when he’s needy for you. You’d been busy with word the last few days causing you to have many late nights and consequently spend less time in Hannibal's arms. It was only a matter of time before he became restless for your touch and it seemed the time had arrived.

You turned around,maneuvering your body so that you could face him. His pupils were extremely dilated revealing his need for you.

“What's wrong baby?”

You caressed his cheek, your nails scraping against the skin. Hannibal closed his eyes, sighing at the feeling of your hand on his body. His hips buck forward causing you to shift your attention to his groin. A lazy smile spreads across your face as you take in the outline of Hannibal's desire for you. 

“Is someone needy?”

All Hannibal could do was nod as your hand moved to palm his dick through his pants. Hannibal was usually seen as a composed individual but when he was with you all his walls seemed to come down leaving him completely pliable. He was puddy in your hands and you adored it. Hannibal groaned as your hand came into contact with his bulge.

“This hard already? I’ve barely touched your love.”

“I can’t help it. I need you.”

“Oh my poor baby. Have I not been giving you enough attention?”

Hannibal gazed at you pleadingly.

“Let's fix that shall we? Go sit on the couch.”

Hannibal rushed to do as you asked, his body relaxing into the couch as he watched you. You strode over to him slowly reveling in the way he licked his lips as he observed you. Once you were close enough you sank to your knees crawling the rest of your way to Hannibal in all fours. You ought the way his hips bucked up at the sight of you making you smirk. You placed your palms on Hannibal's thighs leaning over so that you could blow some air onto Hannibal's clothed dick. He hissed as you inched your hands closer and closer to his dick. You unzipped his pants, your hand moving into his briefs. The moment your hand came in contact with Hannibal's dick he couldn’t help but moan.

“My, my, aren't we pent up? Don’t worry baby, I'll help you out okay?”

You tugged his briefs down allowing his dick to spring free. You watched it bob for a moment before shifting your body closer. Your hand moved to stroke Hannibal's dick making him throw his head back. You observed his chest heath as your finger circled the head, collecting his precum on your thumb. There were beads of sweat on Hannibal's neck, the heat of you near him becoming almost unbearable. He thought he’d have to beg you to give him what he wanted but before he even had the time to form the words you’d taken him in your mouth. The sound that left his lips was otherworldly. His hands moved to your head, guiding your movements. You bobbed your head up and down, allowing Hannibal to tug at your hair every once in a while. You’d never grow tired of the sounds that escaped Hannibal's lips as you pleasure him. Your hands grip onto his thighs as he ruts up into your throat, the action causing you to gag a bit.

“Fuck-ah ugh-feels so good.”

Hannibal isn’t always super vocal but when he’s needy for you it seems something snaps inside him and the words just start to spill out.

“Perfect so-shit- perfect darling.”

You hum him a small thanks, the action causing small vibrations to Hannibal's dick and consequently making groans. You can tell he’s getting closer to his release so you double your efforts. You move your head faster, your hand moving to wrap around the base of his dick. The other hand moved to his balls caressing them gently.  It doesn't take long before Hannibal is seeing white. You feel his seed fill your mouth as he cums. His body shakes as he continues to spill into your eager mouth. You take it all without any complaints swallowing his seed with a smile.

“Come here.”

Hannibal tugs you up from the floor, pulling you onto his lap. His lips crash into your in a hungry kiss. Before you can even think properly Hannibal’s ripping your clothes off your body. His lips latch onto your neck, sucking purple bruises on your skin. All you can do is moan out his name as his hand finds your nipple, his fingers moving over the small bud. His other hand grips onto the flesh of your hips, fingers digging into the skin. You rock your body forward, subconsciously searching for some relief. To your surprise Hannibal is already hard beneath you. It always fascinated you how fast he was able to recover after coming.

“Need to be inside you.”

The words leave his lips as a growl. He isn’t asking you anymore. He’s telling you. 

“Okay. How do you want me?”

Hannibal thinks for a moment. 

“Get on the couch. On all fours.”

You nod, moving to climb on his lap. Hannibal watched you crawl onto the sofa moving to position yourself as he had wanted. He placed his knee on the couch tugging your body closer to his. A small gasp left your lips as you felt his dick nudge against your pussy. Your hands latched onto the edge of the couch as Hannibal started to enter you. Your breath got caught in your throat, only being released once Hannibal had fully interred you. He waited for you to ocustum to the size of him for a moment before beginning to move against you. Your body jolted forward as Hannibal began to pick up the pace. His hand found its way into your hair, tugging at it forcefully. You let out a loud moan, your body lifting a bit from the sofa. Your nails dig into the material of the couch as your mouth falls open. You can hear Hannibal's grunt behind you. His hand moved over your back, tracing your spine as he continues to fuck you dumb. You lean your head onto the couch.

“Ah Hannibal, I'm close.”

“You gonna cum for me huh?”

“Yes-fuck-right there!”

He’s almost reaching the edge with you all he needs is to hear you moan out his name as you gush on his dick. Hannibal reached over your body, his hand moving over your stomach towards your pussy. Once he finds your clit he zeros into it, his fingers moving over the bud until you cumming.

“Hannibal!”

Your voice sends him over the edge, his hips continuing to rut into yours as he spills his seed into you. His need for you seems to have been quenched for now. But it won't be long before he’s craving you again. He’s always been insatiable when it comes to you. 

Not that you’re complaining.

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

A Pair Made in The Pits Chp 3.5

Summary: The aftermath of Y/n and Agent Fowler's Kidnapping back at the Autobot Base.

WC: 623

A/n: Have fun

First ... Previous

The base is silent. The kids have been sent home, allowing them to grieve in their own ways. The only child who remains with their bot is Miko, saying she doesn’t want to go back home to host parents who barely tolerate her, and she would much rather go for a ride with Bulkhead. Optimus leaves for his habsuite, exhausted by the turmoil from not only Megatron’s plans, but from losing two friends in the span of 48 hours. The normally proudly tall, strong leader now hunched, making his way down the halls half-sparked.

He broke his word. Again.

Losing his footing, Optimus leans against the wall to his left, pausing to recollect himself. His optics are shaky, unable to focus on any one thing, blurred beyond comprehension, and he’s sure if he had a set of lungs, they would be inoperable.

I didn’t keep them safe. I didn’t keep her safe. I didn’t keep him safe. I failed Cybertron.

I am no Prime.

“-imus. Optimus. Optimus!”

Startling out of his fraying state, the leader of the Autobots looks up and slowly focuses in on the worried look on his sparkmate’s face. Noting that he was looking up, he realizes at some point he’s fallen to one knee, still balanced on the wall. Using said wall as a weight-bearing source, Optimus lifts himself from the ground and closes his eyes, regretting anyone seeing him in such a state- he is a Prime and a Prime can not crumble.

“Ratchet, I apolo-”

“Up hup hup,” Ratchet shakes his hands, successfully cutting Optimus off. “As your physician, I am ordering you to get to your berth and rest after today… and as your sparkmate, I am asking you to talk to me.”

He wants to express his appreciation and gratitude towards his medic, but with the way Ratchet throws Optimus’ arm around his shoulder allowing himself to be leaned on for support, already going on about how he should be taking care of himself and to rely on him more, Optimus knows he’ll never be able to come up with enough words to even touch the surface.

Looking down at the one he loves the most, he quietly utters, “I promise, my Spark.”

And he swears to himself he will keep his word.

 Primus damn him if not.

* * * * * *

“Miko, I’m going to have to take you home at some point.” Bulkhead tries to goad the girl into finally agreeing to go home and rest. Said girl sitting in the passenger seat, blankly staring out the window, watching the desert sands fly by, her eyes drooping every so often.

“No. Just a little longer… we- we haven’t found her yet.” She whispers, her normal spitfire personality nowhere to be seen. Bulkhead rolls to a stop, conflicted on what to say. There’s nothing he can say or do to uplift her spirit.

“Miko, we don’t know where Starscream may have-. What I mean to say is, we don’t know where Y/n’s body is.” Bulkhead does his best to gently explain that they may never find Y/n’s body, knowing he’s failed when he feels the girl curl up on his seat, legs hugged tightly to her chest.

Another moment goes by before Bulkhead gets an idea, “You remember how I lost my friend, Cliffjumper? Well, since we couldn’t bring him back to base, we made a small site to remember him. I-I know it’s not the same, but you can visit it anytime you’d like.”

“...please?” She lifts her head just a smidge, something other than emptiness shining in her eyes since she was told about her first friend in the US.

By the end of the next hour, another rock structure stood by Cliffjumper’s gravesite.

Taglist: @the-unhinged-raccoon @hystericalanarchy @mythicallystupid @darkfangx399 @nixblizzard16 @crowleysthings @delectableworm

[reverie-starlight]

{tell me a story - atsumu}

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. I’ve been having a rough time lately and was craving some comfort, so I figured I’d finish this draft I started a couple months ago. fluff, comfort, reader is in university, this hasn’t been thoroughly edited, that’s it <3

atsumu knows you haven’t been sleeping well this week.

he’s noticed your constant yawning in the mornings when you’re getting ready in the bathroom together, he’s seen the way you fight to stay awake in the car before he drops you off at your university’s campus. he’s seen the way you struggle to perform some simple tasks in your usual timeframe, as if your mind is completely fogged over.

you’re tired. exhausted, actually, and atsumu is determined to help you.

he knows when something’s up- he’s been with you for years and lived with you for about half of that time. he knows that your sleep cycle gets a bit screwed over when you can’t stop the thoughts long enough for any sleep you DO manage to get to be restful.

he doesn’t push it at first, hoping this time around he’s flat out wrong and it isn’t more than a lump in the mattress or that you’re just too warm at night- those are things he could fix for you without a sweat (pun intended and he pats himself on the back despite its mediocrity, but hey, he’s an athlete, not a comedian). truthfully nothing would be difficult for him to fix as long as you’re the person he’s making things better for.

but when it becomes clear to him that his initial assessment is correct, he knows what he needs to do.

you never tell him when you’re struggling to sleep, a bad habit he’s tried to get you out of, but he guesses that at this point you don’t have to tell him, anyway.

so when it looks like you’re getting ready for another late night, he leans in the doorway and stares at you with crossed arms.

you sigh, not looking up from your computer. “I’m okay, atsumu. go to bed, I’ll be there soon.”

he doesn’t move from his spot and you groan, tilting your head back against the sofa. “you’re not going to move unless I go with you, is that right?”

“you’re so smart, baby.”

he watches you melt a little, fighting back a smile and it does ease his mind a bit, knowing that you’re not yet immune to him.

finally you give in and shut your laptop, rolling your shoulders back.

once he gets you into bed, he doesn’t immediately close his eyes to go to sleep and you raise an eyebrow questioningly, wide awake.

“get comfortable, baby.”

you shuffle a bit further under the covers, and shrug. “okay, now what?”

“want me to read you a bedtime story?” he’s joking, honestly a little surprised he even got this far, but when you don’t immediately move to swipe at his shoulder, he looks at you.

you’re not meeting his gaze, but rather looking at his chest and picking some fluff off his sleep shirt. “that bad, huh?”

you pout a little. “I can’t turn my brain off.”

he sighs and pulls you closer to him. “it’s okay, baby, I’m here. what can I do for ya?”

you nuzzle into his chest and his arms tighten around your body. “can I take you up on your bedtime story offer? your voice is soothing… maybe it’ll help to focus on something other than my inner one.”

he nods and rests his cheek against your head as he thinks. “hmm, an actual story, or do ya just want me to talk?”

“story,” you decide, somewhat shyly. he smiles a bit and kisses your forehead.

“ya don’t need to be embarrassed, it’s alright,” he says, and he means it.

“it just feels a bit… juvenile,” you admit.

he shakes his head. “but it’s okay to want that sometimes, baby. yer not gonna get any shit from me about it.”

this seems to comfort you a bit and you nod, allowing yourself to relax your muscles a bit so you’re not as stiff.

he takes a moment to think about what story he could tell you, and decides on a fantasy retelling of how you met, and when he started to fall in love with you, starring you as the monarch and him as your loyal servant.

while he talks, he rubs up and down your back ever so slowly in an attempt to calm you down more.

the longer he talks, the heavier your eyelids feel. the soothing tone of his voice coupled with his steady heartbeat lull you into finally feeling that sense of security and sleepiness you haven’t been able to reach in a while.

he trails off once he notices you’re asleep and stays up a bit longer to make sure you don’t become restless again.

he smiles at the feeling of your breath against his neck and settles his head against his pillow, allowing sleep to pull him under as well.

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

should we keep track of how many fics of mine end with the characters falling asleep??

hope you enjoyed!!

[chelseasdagger]

Restoring Faith

Father Paul Hill x Reader

Summary: You pay Father Paul one of your midnight visits and he finds himself struggling with his sworn devotion

Warnings: religious themes, sacrilege, smut, oral over clothes (m!receiving)

Author’s Note: This is a late birthday present for @chellestrash​ , my true love of my life, and I hope I’ve done this little idea you love justice :’) I’m absolutely positive I didn’t make it sounds as pretty as some of the other fics, but I hope it will be alright :)

Word Count: 4k

The cold air sends a shiver down your spine as the gravel crunches beneath your feet. Wrapping your arms around yourself tighter, you keep your head down to protect your face from the wind. You follow the path that connects the great big church to the smaller house just behind it, the trail only visible due to the moonlight pouring down from above.

You’re no idiot, you’re aware anybody could see your somewhat frequent visits to see him. However, you convinced yourself that it was okay to go, so long as you waited past midnight to take the trip. Whether it was actually a valid excuse was a whole other subject. One you didn’t particularly want to think of and potentially use to talk yourself out of doing this.

Stepping up the old, creaky stairs of the small porch, you give one last glance over your shoulder to the abandoned street the church faces. There’s not a person in sight and you raise your hand to knock on the wooden door.

It opens after a moment and you smile at the sight of the priest in front of you. He’s dressed completely in black, excluding the stark white collar that frames his neck. You can’t help your eyes from giving him a quick once over, taking in the dark button up shirt tucked into the form fitting slacks that drape down his legs. His voice calling your name brings your gaze back to his face.

“How…,” he trails off, craning his neck higher and looking past you, “how can I help you?” His greeting is stiff, and you know he’s worried about curious eyes possibly seeing you here. You can’t fight the way your lips pull into a smirk at the idea of him already getting nervous.

“I just had a question, Father,” you begin to explain, and notice him looking at you with cautious eyes. “Is that not what you said? That we can come to you and seek guidance? Ask questions about our faith?” You can admit that it was slightly unfair using his own words against him, but it works all the same. He bows his head before nodding once, silently stepping aside and allowing you to walk inside.

It’s the same as it always was, with the couch being the only real centerpiece to the room. The curtains are drawn closed on each of the windows and it gives the sense of seclusion from the rest of the small island. The three lamps that line the right wall are all lit, painting everything in a warm glow. You’ll never get over how welcoming his home was, how it provided a safe space when you needed an escape. 

The sound of the door clicking shut makes you turn around to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, slightly hesitant as he stays silent and waits for you to speak first.

“Nobody saw me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you flash him a cheeky smirk. Paul responds wordlessly with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He steps further into the room, his arm brushing yours as he walks to the small, open kitchen area. 

“I haven’t seen you at Mass,” he finally breaks his silence. You watch as he grabs an empty glass from the drying rack beside the sink before filling it with water from the tap. “Can I get you anything?” he offers with wide eyes, motioning towards the cup in his hand.

“I was sick,” you pick the first thing that comes to mind, “allergy stuff since the weather is changing.” The lie rolls right off your tongue. You watch as he drinks his water down, fixating on the way his Adam's apple moves with each swallow. Giving yourself a mental shake, you answer his earlier question.

“And I’m okay, thanks,” you decline his offer as you lean against the back of the couch. The priest says nothing but gives a solemn look your way.

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” he speaks gently into the quiet room. His dark, brown eyes look sincere, enforcing the truth behind his words. There’s a small pout on his lips and you’re not sure if it’s from your faux illness or if he can somehow sense that you’re not speaking the truth. Either way, he continues with the conversation.

“But I’m glad you’re feeling better. W-What can I do for you?” He sets his glass down on the small counter beside him. “You… um, mentioned seeking guidance? What about?” His eyes are focused onto yours and you find yourself only able to keep eye contact for a few seconds before his stare feels like too much. 

“Well,” you begin with a light laugh under your breath, “I just wanted to have you read to me again.” Your fingers toy with the thick seam of the couch cushion. “Is that okay? It just—it helps, is all.” You’re not certain the explanation makes a ton of sense, but there is truth behind it. His words help; it relaxes you to come and listen to him read, even if you don’t always find yourself secure in the faith you grew up with.

When you look up at him again, Paul is standing with a genuine smile on his face. It’s clear he likes hearing that he can help, and you feel a twinge of guilt shoot through your chest at how he genuinely enjoys what he does. It makes you being here that much worse, knowing how content and devout he is.

“Of course, I-I can do that,” he replies, his voice somehow even quieter than before. “Did you have a certain story you wanted me to read from?”

You think over his question for only a short moment. Deep down, you knew you could listen to him speak about even the most mundane things, including what he had eaten for breakfast. His voice was the thing to calm you, not the words he spoke.

“I don’t really care. Whatever you’d like, whatever we left off with,” you flash him a small smile. The priest nods only once before walking towards his bedroom, disappearing into the shadows of the small corridor leading to the door.

You let out a big breath of air you weren’t even aware you were holding in. Being alone with him felt good, it always did, but you couldn’t deny the guilt once again growing in your chest. Deep down, you knew this was wrong, but it always felt good when the guilt shaped to something else. Something stronger and impossibly difficult to ignore.

There’s only a small moment for self reflection before you hear his footsteps echoing out on the wood floor again. You glance towards the sound and find him returning back into the main room with the Bible wedged between his arm and his side. His fingers are busy, rolling the fabric of his long sleeve up to just above his elbow. As inch after inch of his skin is exposed, you find yourself unable to look away from the veins trailing up the inside of his arm.

He repeats his actions on the opposite side, gazing up at you from under the few strands of hair that have fallen out of place. Your lip finds its way between your teeth subconsciously, your own way of anchoring yourself and ignoring the need to tuck the loose curls back behind his ear.

“In moments where I truly begin to doubt my faith, I…” he trails off, fixing the last roll of his cuff over his forearm. He grabs the Bible and brushes his thumb over the raised letters as he continues, “I like to look back on the story of Job.”

You can’t even stop the exasperated sigh that leaves your body. He looks up at the sound, his head tilted slightly like a confused puppy.

“Job? Really, Father? I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of restoring faith,” you curl your fingers to create air quotes over the last two words. Paul gives a small smile, lowering his head. He’s dealt with your opinions regarding faith and why God allows things to happen as He does.

“Maybe… maybe to some but I-I find that it’s a reminder,” his voice is quiet and calm, already slipping into his usual pattern of speech when he’s behind the lectern. He steps deeper into the living room and passes by you, making his way to the empty couch.

“A reminder to trust in Him even when we’re not sure of-of the path,” he finishes. You’re thankful he’s behind your back so he doesn’t see the way your eyes roll at his canned response. He must’ve seen the tension in your body though, taking note of the way your arms are still crossed over your chest, because he tries once more to get you to listen.

“You do remember that he was rewarded? In the end?”

“Yeah, but he went through hell to get it… hardly seems fair,” you answer him.

“Well, the Lord, He—,”

“If you say ‘Works in mysterious ways’…” you cut him off with a warning glare as you finally turn to face him.

Paul lets out a breathy laugh, staring down at the thick book in his hands. “I was only going to say that He doesn’t always…” he pauses for a moment, searching for the right words, “reveal His plans to us in a way that makes sense at the time. That’s all,” he finishes with a tight-lipped smile.

There’s a brief moment of silence that hangs in the air as you wait for him to move past this conversation. His quick inhale fills the room as he clears his throat quietly, his arm gesturing towards the couch.

“Shall we?”

“Of course,” you respond softly, your words tucked under your breath. He walks around to the front of the couch, his eyes fixed on you as you follow his path. He sits down as his fingers curl around the blue, knitted blanket that’s sprawled out across the cushion beside him.

“Here, let me—,” he doesn’t finish his sentence before draping it across the back of the couch. There’s a spot for you now, close enough that you knew you’d be touching him if you sat beside him. As tempting as the offer is, you find yourself shaking your head gently.

“Is-is something wrong?” he asks, his big, dark eyes searching yours. They’re wide and innocent, truly worrying that he overstepped. Once again, you’re reminded of how pure the man before you is; you nearly reconsider your original idea that made you seek him out tonight in the first place.

You shake your head as you stand in front of him, silently kneeling down and sitting on the floor. The priest’s expression instantly grows apprehensive. You flash him an innocent smile but his unsure glare never falters.

“I’ll just listen from here,” you tell him, trying to ease his worries. He looks hesitant but eventually swallows before opening the Bible. His long fingers splay out across the thin pages, turning them one after the other before finally stopping on a page.

He opens his mouth to speak, the words flowing effortlessly off of his tongue. His voice falls into the deep, rumbly tone that you only ever hear when he’s reading to you. There’s no audience, no image he has to maintain, and the words are so quiet it seems almost as if he’s reading to himself. You’ve always preferred these moments, when he appeared the most authentic he could be.

The more he reads the more comfortable you feel. Your body begins to relax and an idea strikes up in your mind. As he turns the next page, bringing in a deep inhale to continue the sentence, you let your head rest against his knee.

He immediately stutters over his words, repeating the same sound over and over. He never breaks his concentration though, and eventually pushes through and finishes the sentence. Not before flashing you a warning look as you rest your cheek against his leg, though.

It isn’t entirely inappropriate and would even be seen as a normal, platonic gesture. But given his profession, you knew it was absolutely not appropriate. You don’t pull away however, just keep your body slumped against his leg.

He continues speaking the old words, his pronounced sentences dissipating into muttered whispers the longer he goes on. Admittedly, you felt special that this tone was reserved only for you; there was a faint flare of pride in your chest knowing that you were the only one to hear his words so rumbly it’s as if they never fully left his chest.

At some point though, you begin to grow bored of just sitting there and waiting for him to finish. Usually these late night reads brought your anxiety down enough just to fall asleep on the priest, leaving him in the most awkward position of not knowing how to convince himself any of this was okay. But right now, you’d rather have some fun.

Paul knew something was up the second he saw your hand reaching towards him out of the corner of his eye. The muscles in his leg immediately tense, you feel it from under your skin. But you don’t want to raise his suspicion so soon.

Stretching further towards the Bible in his lap, you spread your fingers and place both palms over each side. Once his view is completely shielded from the printed words, he immediately looks into your mischievous eyes.

“What—what are you doing?” he asks confusedly. His eyebrows are pulled together as he awaits your answer.

“Just wanted to see how much you knew,” you reply genuinely. You knew the man had poured over this book time and time again, searching for meanings deeper than the blatant lessons that were spelled out for the reader. It always sent a conflicting feeling coursing through you, the way he could recite word after word from memory as if he was the one who had conjured them up. Conflicting because you liked the reminder of how devout he was, and isn’t that just a multifaceted guilt trip.

Paul smiles at your youthful game, and mentally accepts the challenge. He parts his lips before the words fall from his tongue.

“And when the days of the feast had run their course, Job would send and sanctify them, and he would rise early in the morning and offer burnt offerings according to the number of them all,” he begins, never looking away from your face as he repeats them with no hesitation.

“For Job said, ‘It may be that my sons have sinned, and cursed God in their hearts.’” The priest can’t stop from chuckling at the end of his sentence, having looked at your own genuine, bright grin. “Thus Job did continually.”

Once he’s finished, he flashes you his own smile before glancing down at your hands covering the pages still. You slowly remove them, giggling under your breath at how he passed your unofficial test.

The priest licks his lips once before clearing his throat gently, continuing again with his reading. As the minutes pass, you find yourself not paying much attention to the actual weight of the words. You just focus on his muttering voice until you're reminded of how sweet his last stutter sounded. And because you just can’t help yourself, you’re determined to hear it again.

Snaking your hand up his thigh, you feel his body grow stiff all over again. That adorable stutter becomes prominent once more, his eyes quickly focusing on your fingers rubbing up the inside of his leg as he attempts to finish the paragraph. Trying to pace your plan, you curl your fingers around his thigh and give him a moment to get used to the feeling.

“What are you doing?” These words are the coldest he’s spoken all night, yet you stay silent and wait. It takes him longer this time to finally react, to give his consent in the smallest agreement possible. It’s so minuscule that anybody else wouldn’t have noticed, but you know him awfully more than you should.

Half a nod. That’s all it takes, and you let your fingers graze lightly over the black slacks. They're taught from how he’s sitting, and you can see the outline of his thigh through the stretched material. His voice shakes now, the tone less steady and sure, as he forces himself to keep reading.

You’ve got to admit he’s doing better than you thought. He doesn’t stop reading, you assume he’s just trying to focus on something else, anything but your hand moving between his thighs. You must’ve hit a sweet spot though, inching near the little alcove where his thigh meets his hip, because the next thing you hear is a shuddering exhale as he halts his reading. 

And there it is only a second later—the outline of his cock showing through the dark dress pants. It never took very long, although this time it seems even quicker than usual. He continues to grow there, until you can see the fabric straining to accommodate for his now swollen head. You’ve barely touched him and he’s already so responsive.

Now that you can physically see the effect you have on him, there’s truly nothing that can stop you. Sure the nagging guilt is still in the back of your mind, telling you that you shouldn’t do this, but you push it away as much as you can. He looks so tempting right now: the loose strands of hair falling into his face, his lip caught between his teeth as he suppresses his groans, the faint twitch his cock gives when he feels your finger lightly drag along the base of his length. You love seeing him this desperate for you.

Your one finger lightly tracing the length of him is truly all it takes for the first twitch to happen in his trousers. The sight makes your mouth nearly water and you finally curl your fingers around him properly. Your grip isn’t too tight considering it’s over two layers of clothes, but it doesn’t stop the choked grunt from finally escaping his lips.

Still you continue, leaning closer until your breath is fanning over the bulge. He feels it, you can tell from the way his fingers clutch the book that’s resting on his other leg. The veins in the back of his hand become more prominent the harder he grabs it. Every part of his body is conflicting itself; he wants it but he knows he shouldn’t.

Still you wait, staring up at him and silently asking again if this is okay. He doesn’t stall as much this time—his eyes squeeze shut tightly before nodding quickly again, forcing another inhale through his nose.

You don’t waste a second and quickly press your tongue flat against the outline of his tip. Slowly licking along the length, you watch his body reel from how hard his stomach clenches at the feeling. He begins to shut the Bible but you grab his wrist before it can close all the way. You shake your head slowly, attempting to convince him to keep it open.

“Y…You know I can’t.”

“I like hearing you, Father,” you mumble quietly in the room. He stares down at you with an expression you can’t quite describe. There’s no emotion on his face, but his eyes look pained, no doubt from the name you referred to him as. He hardly moves except for the shallow breaths that you can only notice because of how close you are to him.

Waiting for his reaction seems to drag on for hours before he finally sighs through his nose and opens the book. You notice the way his fingers shake as he smooths out the page before trying to remember where he left off. Your lips pull into a smile as you hear his strained voice fill the room.

Squeezing the base of his cock tighter, you drag your tongue across his tip again before wrapping your lips around it. The story is cut off with his deep grunt, and you hum around him at the pleasant noise. The priest has his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling as he tries to regain his composure.

You knew this was an awful, sacrilegious act you two were doing, but it doesn’t stop the heat growing between your legs. Leaning closer into him, you work your mouth on him faster, sucking harder through the fabric. His hand closest to you grips the edge of the seat as he seethes through his teeth.

Paul finally looks down at you, staring into your eyes that have never once left his face. You hold his gaze before glancing wordlessly to the book still in his hand. The whimper that he barely slips out is your new favorite sound, replaying it in your head as you shut your eyes.

“A-As long as… m…my breath,” he’s cut off with a shaky inhale. He tries to read aloud, but his voice trembles the entire time.

“Keep going, Father,” you pull your mouth away from the outline in his black trousers to encourage him. There’s a long, dark stripe along the fabric from your tongue, but another wet patch where the head of his cock is straining against the material.

“As long as my-my breath is in me, and t-the spirit of God is in my nostrils—,” he’s finding each word more impossible to speak. You never allow him to give up though, rubbing your hand over his thigh to support him.

“My lips will not speak f…falsehood, and my tongue will not utter deceit.” He manages to finish the paragraph before taking deep breaths, swallowing thickly and trying his damndest to not look at the sinful scene in his lap. But his body betrays him once more, twitching into your mouth when you hum sweetly around him as a reward for finishing what you asked him to.

Pressing your tongue right in the ridge under his swollen head, you hear a new sound escape his pressed lips. It's a guttural, raw twist of your name and it’s unexpected.

“Oh… Oh—Wait,” he tries to warn you but it’s much too late. His release happens without him realizing, his body moving while his mind doesn’t have a chance to catch up. When you feel him pulsing in your mouth you glance up at him and oh, what a sight it is.

He’s completely disheveled, biting down into his hand to muffle the noise he’s ashamed for anyone to hear, and the veins in his neck are protruding just above the edge of his collar. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this, but you always make sure to memorize the sight down to those details. To always keep the picture in your mind.

What really catches your attention though, is the stream of white bubbling up through the taught fabric around his sensitive tip. You didn’t realize he would have finished quite this fast, but you definitely don’t mind it. Squeezing the middle of his length tightly, you slowly slide your hand up, determined to get all of it out of him.

Paul’s thighs are beginning to shake from the sensation and you can only imagine how good it must feel for him. You stick your tongue out as you lap up the mess he’s made, and his thighs jolt to close around your body. His sensitivity to your every touch leaves a desire that burns hotly in the bottom of your stomach. You love the feeling of having power over him, admittedly too much.

Once he’s clean, you finally let go of him altogether and sit back on your legs. He’s left panting in awe as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You wish you could see inside his head, try and understand what he’s thinking. But right now his dark eyes are glossed over and he looks as if he’s somewhere completely else.

“Thank you, Father.”

He scrunches his eyes shut tightly the second the words fill the air. It’s silent except for his panting as you rest your head on his knee once more. This time it is a platonic action, your way of showing him you’re there without words. And there you sit beside your priest in the small, old house behind the great big church, with the weight of everything that just happened.