#Not actually but it is the tag I have the third movie under

[legolasghosty]

oh shit i forgot to send a new one! brain mush.

uh. let's say 75 please?

No worries, thanks for sending these, they're really nice!!! More Holograms (and the introduction of I think the last major character...)

Julie laughed and followed her brother in, Reggie and Alex on her heels. Fuego was standing beside the receptionist’s desk. He looked up and smiled when he heard them approach.  “Ah good, I’ll let Mr. Covington know you’re here.” He turned away from them, pink nails clicking against his tablet. Julie was about to ask about the agenda for the day when she heard a crash behind her. She whirled around to see Alex lying on the floor, someone else practically on top of him, clearly having just bowled him over. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry,” the new person exclaimed, scrambling to their feet and holding out a hand to Alex. “I wasn’t even looking.”

(Send me a number and I'll write that many words in my WIP and show you!)

[golden-ebony]

Ten's a Crowd ·ᴥ·✿˖°

♡ Pairing: Logan Howlett/female!Reader

♡ Word Count: 2.4k

♡ Rating: Explicit 18+

♡ Warning/Tags: SMUT! MINORS DNI, p-v, oral fem!receiving, a tad of overstimulation,

♡ Summary: As Robo said: Logan would turn your plushies around before fucking you raw btw, he told me himself—pulls em off to the side with a gruff little “You don’t wanna see this next part bub” before turning you every way BUT loose.

♡ Note: @robo-writing MADE A POST THAT MADE ME BOTH SCREAM CHUCKLE AND INSPIRED TO CREATE THIS PIECE. robo is also one of my favs so check them out too!

You wanted to take it slow with Logan. Even if every bone in your body wanted to jump his, you actually liked him and didn’t want to do anything you believed could sabotage your budding relationship. This was a mutual yet unspoken understanding between the two of you. 

He had every intention of taking things slow with you–make his intentions clear. Having met you while you bartended at his favorite spot, you had seen him pick up and take a few girls home. You were different, and he wanted to make that clear. 

Still, every time Logan dropped you off at your apartment, it became more charged. After your first date, he simply dropped you off. After your second and third date, it ended in short yet sensual kisses. The tension was building the entirety of your fourth date. When Logan had you pressed against your apartment building door, your moans were smothered by the passionate open mouth kisses. And by god, you wanted to give in, but mother nature had other plans for you. Despite either of your wishes, you called it a night.

Your fifth date was at a drive in-movie. You brought the blankets that were laid out in the bed of Logan’s truck. The both of you admittedly got a handsy during the movie, practically missing the end of the movie.

As Logan parked in the front of your building, he carried the folded blankets that you brought to your building door. Before he could offer to bring the blankets up for you, you muttered the four words he had been waiting to hear for almost a month.

“You wanna come up?”

Logan couldn't help but perk up at that question. Your voice was as sweet as honey, and the soft glow of the porch light framed your face perfectly. He tried to keep a straight face, but the corner of his lips tugged into a small smile when you invited him up.

"Course," he said, his voice rough and low as he tried to contain the lewd thoughts that started flooding his brain. 

As you brought him up the elevator, the tension between the two of you was thicker than the blankets he carried. You needed him–need him bad. 

As soon as you entered the apartment, you told Logan that he could put the blankets on the couch. He haphazardly tossed them on the cushions but didn’t take his eyes off you. The intensity in his eyes was betraying the restraint he was trying to maintain for weeks. 

Barely a beat afterward, you were all over each other. The kiss was sloppy, your tongue immediately submitting to his. Logan’s hand roamed slightly under your sweater, fingers pressing against the warmth of your skin. 

Stumbling backward toward your bedroom, Logan kept his lips on your, drinking in the taste that he desperately wanted–hell, needed. As he laid you down, he didn't break the kiss, slowly trailing his hand up your thigh. His lips found their way to your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin.

“Been thinkin’ about this all night, darlin’,” he growled against your neck as he hovered over you. His grip on your thigh tightened, earning a gasp from your lips. “Just like that, baby, I need to hear ya.”

Logan’s other hand hiked up farther near your head until his hand began crushing something soft, something smaller than a pillow. Still focused on marking the skin over your pulse, he moved his hand again just to squish another item, almost losing his grip on the bed. 

With a hint of frustration, Logan’s eyes glared open. His stare was immediately met with glossy, black buttoned eyes of a brown cow and the cheery eyes and blushing face of…maybe a dumpling, he thought.

He paused his lips’ freezing against your skin. Logan pulled away slightly to get a better look at what was under his hand. He chuckled, his voice gravelly as he looked down at the squished yet irate octopus.

You sighed due to the loss of contact, swiveling to see what had caught Logan’s attention over the woman he was making out with. He had a mixed expression of confusion and amusement. 

“You find my plushies entertaining?” you softly giggled, propping yourself up by your elbows.

“I just…” Logan’s voice was gruff with a smirk as he sized up the 6–no, 8–plushies eyeing him down. The cow, dumpling, octopus, platypus, jellyfish, hot sauce bottle, bumblebee, and mushroom propped against your pillows all had their eyes on Logan, silently judging him. “I just didn’t expect an audience. Your little posse is a bit intimidating,” he teased, looking down at you with a cheeky grin.

“Didn’t think you were one to falter under pressure,” you chuckled. From your back, you turned to look at your plushies. You gave him a tantalizing look as you grabbed the angry octopus from his hand, shaking it in his face. “They’re just here to be cute.”

“Yeah, they’re cute.” Logan’s attention was diverted back to your exposed abdomen from your slightly lifted sweater. A deep growl emitted from his chest as he lifted your sweater further to reveal your plum colored bra. His large hand cupped your right breast as a wry smile grew on his lips. “But what I’m planning on doing with you…it’s far from cute, sweetheart.”

Logan was quick to remove your sweater, throwing it toward the  mushroom, causing it to fall off the bed entirely. He dipped back down to your lips with a renewed passion. Dropping the octopus on your nightstand, you were quick to tug at Logan’s t-shirt, practically begging to lose it.

Ripping it off, you could feel your arousal pool at the sight of his broad, hairy chest and sculpted form. Over your head, he tossed his shirt. It landed over the eyes of the soft platypus, but you didn’t notice. You were too enveloped in the hot kisses Logan was lying between the valley of breasts down to the waist of your leggings. His rough hands massaged your breasts until they popped out of their constraints. 

Ragged short moans fell from your lips as he grazed and twerked your hardened nipples. Your hands raked over his larger hands before moving to his taunt shoulders, nails scraping his shoulder blades. Logan grunted as he felt your nails rake across his shoulders, his darkened eyes locking on you, hungry and filled with lust.

“Love the pretty moans you make for me, baby,” Logan groaned, his hands moving to the sides of your leggings to wiggle you out of them. Taking your panties with them, you were exposed to Logan. The glisten and scent of your arousal was too tempting.

Feeling his warm breath against your aching cunt, you inched forward, desperate for any form of contact, “Please, Logan. I need to feel you…”

Without another word, Logan applied a heavy striped lick against your cunt all the way to your pulsing clit. A stuttered moan escaped your lips as Logan buried his face into your cunt, wrapping his arms around your soft thighs to pull you closer and keep you legs opened wide.

“Hm, so fuckin’ sweet. All for me, sweetheart?” he muttered against your cunt, the vibrations causing a shiver to run up your spine. You almost missed what he said as tongue lap and darted into your sopping core at a speed that had to be sinful. 

You could barely get the words out. Your mind was reeling with such intense pleasure that Logan could only grab your attention again by nipping on your inner thigh. You quickly winced 

“You gotta speak up, darlin’. I gotta hear you,”

“All for you, Lo-Logan! Because of you!” Despite your volume, your voice came off small and pathetic as your need for Logan grew.

Rewarding you, Logan pressed a harsh kiss against your clit, sending shockwaves through you. Your hips tried to buck but were secured firmly by the strength of Logan. He was practically making out with your cunt, his nose adding just enough pressure to your clit to run you like a facet.

“So goddamn pretty, so perfect,” he softly breathed against you, darkened eyes temporarily meeting your lust-blown ones like man possessed. Your head tilted back in ecstasy, his stare too intense.

Your finger interlocked with your comforter and his hair. The grip Logan had to keep around your thighs only grew harsher as you thrashed around him. It was a vicious cycle. Your elevated moans drove Logan to delve deeper which only made your thrashing worse and your moans more boisterous. Logan knew you’d learn better once you woke up with the bruised prints in the morning. You knew you’d cherish them. 

From your tightened grip on his hair and the sheets, Logan knew you were near your edge. His name was spilling out of your lips as if it was the only word you knew now. Coming up for air didn’t matter; Logan was prepared to drown in your soaked core.

Your climax was almost violent, your legs quiver as you released. Logan lapped it up like a dying dog, the taste of you making him moan. He couldn’t help but rut against the edge of your bed as he licked you clean through your high. The friction was welcomed but not enough.

Your body relaxed as you tried taking in deep breaths to regain a semblance of control. Before releasing your thighs, Logan affixed one last bold brush to your ruined cunt for good measure. Your cheeks were flushed as you looked down at him again. His eyes locked with yours, dark and intense. His eyes seemed almost feral, his need for you evident. He needed more–more of you, all of you.

Logan slowly kissed a path up your body, pausing momentarily to admire the indented prints he had left on your hips. He relished the taste of your skin, his lips leaving a trail of light kisses along your thighs, hips, your stomach, your chest. Your body was still quivering 

Finally, his face, still damp with your arousal, was mere inches away from yours, a smug smile on his lips. He gave you a moment to catch your breath before he spoke, his voice a low, rough whisper.

“You okay, darlin’?”

You huffed into a small smile. It floored you how he’d asked, knowing damn well he could still feel your toes curling and your leg involuntarily shaking. It floored you further how badly you still wanted him.

Kissing the corners of your mouth, darting your tongue to gather the remainder of your arousal from his face, you hand grazed his growing bulge. You received a strained grunt from Logan.

“Why do you still have these on?” The sound of your rough and sultry voice, your question–it only made the strain in his jeans worse.

Standing and exposing his full physique, he was quick to remove his jeans and briefs.  Your eyes went wide as the sight of his thick, engorged cock, the tip already leaking down a vein. 

Logan chuckled lowly at the sight of your reaction. Seeing your widened eyes and parted lips, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“So goddamn greedy, baby. Didn’t get enough already?” he mocked, laying down to cage you under the weight of his body again.

In response, you pulled him closer, your lips attached to his neck. Your tongue smoothed over every nip. Logan growled, his cock finding some relief from the friction against your hip.

Logan's eyes softened as he was again face-to-face again with the soulful eyes of your cow, slightly tilted on its side. Its fallen comrades were on the floor, preemptively averting their own innocent eyes.

He spoke gruffly, under his breath, “Uh, yeah, you don’t wanna see this next part, bub.” He picked up the cow and spun it around, leaning it against the headboard.

Your plushies didn’t see it, and you could barely handle it. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes as Logan continued to roughly push into you climax after climax after climax. From your back to your stomach to your side, your body was completely coated with sweat and pleasure. Hearing you moan, beg, and whimper only drove Logan to push you further and further till the only word you could conjure was his name.

“It’s not too much, sweetheart, yeah?” Logan’s warm breath groaned against the back of your neck, raising the hairs on it. His bulky arm hooked around to belly, trapping your pelvis against his. He had slowed his tempo in comparison to the previous two rounds, but he hadn’t been this deep. With his leg The tip of his cock was pressing faint kisses against your cervix. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he could witness your face contort in continued pleasure. “You can take it, baby. Taking me so fuckin’ good all night.”

Your voice was gravelly–surely going to be gone in the morning–as your exhausted eyes peered toward Logan, “I-I can’t, Lo-gan…not again.” 

“C’mon, just one more for me, baby. Fuckin’ sinful how good you feel,” he murmured against your flushed cheek. 

You nodded as you watched Logan hand move down to your overstimulated clit. The slightest pressure was enough to make your soft walls abruptly clench around his cock with a lusty ring. Rolling your hips against his, Logan was close to losing it. A growl escaped Logan’s chest as he picked up his pace–a stuttered pace. 

“That’s it, baby. Let it happen. Drench my cock.”

“Fuck, Logan!” You cried, your entire low body trembling against his. Your own arousal dripped down to your thigh, dampening your blanket.

Logan pressed your arched back closer to his hairy chest. With one final thrust, he was incoherently grunting before staining your walls with his seed. Filled with his warmth, you felt your body completely relax–finally. 

Logan's breathing was ragged against your neck. The only things that filled the room were your and Logan’s shared pants and the scent of your mixed arousals. He held you like that for a few moments, his heart pounding against your back. Logan was now having second thoughts about ravishing so rashly for your first time.

“Too much?” Logan asked, his voice tired and laced with concern as his hand softly massaged your side.

You wrapped your hand behind you to caress Logan’s cheek. A weak smile formed on your lips, “No, no…it was…” You couldn’t find the words. Your brain was foggy with gratification. Instead, you reached for your irate octopus on your nightstand. Quickly inverting the plushie, the octopus now had a gleeful expression. 

Handing it to Logan, he gruffly chuckled, accepting your response. He planted a chaste kiss on your cheek with a satisfied smile. It was just the beginning for you two–or the ten of you.

♡ note: i love hearing y'all's thoughts

[othersidedd]

Let me take care of you

Joel Miller x f!reader

🤎 You're sick and Joel wants to take care of you.

🤎 tags: no outbreak or maybe were in jackson however you wanna imagine it, sickness, soft dom joel, caring joel, kissing, joel talking you through it kinda, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, praise, joel cums in his pants from just eating you out

🤎 wc 2.5k

🤎 a little bit self-indulgent short thing cuz im sick again for the third time this month and im honestly so tired of it (and i wish joel miller would take care of me)

🤎 reader has hair she can braid, pink lips and is smaller than joel

-

You had been feeling under the weather for a few days now, waking up with a dry throat, guessing it'll probably pass when you get a glass of water, but instead it stuck with you, then it was your nose next, midday suddenly realizing you cant get any air through your nose.

A day after that it all really hit you. You woke up to an aching all over your body, getting up from the bed, rubbing at your forehead, attempting to ease some of the pain. You tried to breathe with your nose, but still nothing. You groaned in annoyance and pain, waking up Joel, who was still peacefully sleeping next to you. He slowly blinked, adjusting his eyes to the bright sun beaming from the window, making you glow in the light as Joel watched you, but you definitely didn’t feel all that shining and glowing right now.

"Is somethin' wrong, baby?" his voice called, still rough and slow with sleep. His eyebrows furrowed with worry, a hand reaching for your cheek. He softly traced your cheek with his thumb. "Jesus, you're burnin' up." He brought his hand up to your forehead, laying the back of his hand flat on your hot skin.

"Everything hurts, I just wanna sleep for a bit more," you told him, looking at his sweet, dark brown eyes filled with concern about you.

"Ya' stay right here, I'll go get the thermometer." His hands left your body and you laid your weak body back on the white sheets, sighing with the acceptance of it all, you really weren’t feeling well, and you would have to stay in bed for at least today.

As he came back and sat next to you on the mattress, checking your temperate, you both figured out you really were burning up. In Joel’s words, you had a dangerously high fever. He told you to relax and stay in bed, while he ran to the pharmacy to get all kinds of medicine to help get you back on your feet.

Only back then you didn't know that you would still be staying in bed after a week, feeling like an eternity with your body locked up in one place. This sickness was hitting you hard. You mostly slept through your days, and even when you could rarely stay awake for a few hours, you couldn't do anything. Your body was so weak, even standing up made your head spin.

Thank god Joel was there for you. You tried to tell him you could take care of yourself, however he insisted on helping, and there was no use trying to argue with him, he was a persistent man, and you were also lying, there was no way you could have taken care of yourself when you were like this. He made food for you, he read your favorite book for you, the pink cover of it looking silly in his big, rough hands. He even helped you get to the bathroom, the fever still making your legs wobbly. He carried you to the couch on the days you wanted to watch a movie to pass the time. He laid with you when you fell asleep, his comforting hands around your waist, and his hot breath in your hair.

And of course, he gave you all those medicines he bought. He would feed you a strange tasting liquid with a spoon, demanding you to open your mouth afterwards to make sure you actually took it all, then spray something up your nose, and then, your favorite, he would rub those creams on your chest and back, running his calloused hands on your soft skin. It felt comforting, his touch so gentle and knowing, soothing away some of the aching in your body. But his hands on your chest, only inches away from your breasts, also had your stomach twisting with want. You'd stare at his face with pleading eyes, as he focused his gaze on his hands spreading the cream on you. But either he didn't notice the glint in your eyes, or he just didn't want you like this, all stuffy and messy, because day after day, his hand left your body, fixed your shirt and kissed your cheek, wishing you a good night.

-

"Open up, baby. Stick your tongue out." You rolled your eyes, but still obeyed, sticking your tongue out at Joel sitting in front of you on the bed, soft mattress dipping under his weight. You still tasted the metallic taste of the medicine faintly on your tongue.

"Good girl," he cooed, smiling at you. You laughed softly, the praise slightly stirring something in you, reminding you of all the times you've been on your knees before him, hearing those same words, but in a darker tone.

"Gotta' make sure you take everything I give ya'." You gave him a look, a mad one, maybe, but you didn't actually want him to stop. He was teasing you, and whatever he was trying, was working, your face flushed, and your touch deprived body tensing up at his filthy words.

"Stop talking like that." You slightly pushed his shoulder, only earning a soft laugh from him. "I'm all messy and sick," you said, more to yourself, trying to stop the arousal twisting in you. You hadn't even looked into a mirror that day, but you could only guess what a mess you were, sitting on bed in your worn sleep clothes, hair falling out of your now loose braid, holding an used tissue in your hand.

He reached for the small container of cream on the bedside table, twisting the top open with ease. You were only wearing a small pink tank top, giving Joel all the access he needed for this. He dipped two fingers, his index and middle, into the soft cream, your eyes closely following their every move, causing you to feel a familiar heat between your thighs. He brought the fingers to your neck, softly starting to work the cream onto your skin, starting at the neck.

"You're still burnin' up,” he stated matter-of-factly as his hands worked on your skin. They were slowly starting to make their way down, now massaging the cream into your upper chest. You felt your nipples harden at his touch, the action clearly visible to him too, the hardness of them poking right through your thin shirt. His eyes flickered to yours, lips now forming into a small smirk. His hands inching lower, you could sense this wasn't about the cream anymore. Your breath hitched in your throat, lips slightly parted.

"You look beautiful," he whispered as he slowly brought his lips to yours, giving you a gentle kiss. His hands sat right above the soft flesh of your breasts. You huffed and opened your mouth to protest, how could he find you beautiful in this state? But he quickly stopped your attempts, "Shh, don't say anythin'." To make sure you got the message, he closed his lips on yours again.

You breathed out his name, hands tugging at his old gray t-shirt, trying to ground yourself, but also wanting to pull him closer, get more from him. He softly brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, his sweet eyes looking at you with so much love and gentleness. "I know, sunshine, you've been feelin' so bad." His hand still resting at your chest finally moved lower, gently massaging over your clothed breast.

"Let me make you feel better." Your head dizzy with the sickness, and now also arousal, all you could do was nod, hoping that would be enough for him, enough to not stop, enough to give you more.

He slowly tugged your shirt over your head, leaving you in only your panties. His gaze moved over your chest, always savoring the sight of your pretty flushed nipples and soft skin, as if every time was his first time seeing you like this. He kissed your jaw, neck, collarbones, making his way down, feeling the feverish heat of your skin on his lips, sucking gently, tasting the sweetness of you on his tongue. As his mouth finally found your breast, you leaned your head back, a slow exhale escaping your parted mouth. He knew just the way to touch you, and tonight it was all about you.

"Lay down for me." His big hands guided your back to find the soft sheets, making sure your head was resting on the pillows. Joel hummed in satisfaction, moving himself towards your feet. His thumbs tenderly teased circles on your hips, "Let's get these off," fingers finding the waistband of your white panties. He slowly tugged them down, taking his time, letting you relax and feel every moment. He tossed the damped underwear aside, rough hands gently guiding your legs open.

You loved when he was like this, Joel Miller, the big, rough, mean man, touching you like a sacred thing, like you could break at any moment. His touch so full of care and love.

His breath tickled your skin as he kissed along your thighs. You suck in a long breath as he softly held your legs, thumbs circling the skin, and kissed right next to the wetness between your legs. You felt yourself struggle for breath, your nose still stuffy.

"Breathe through your mouth, baby," he guided you, other hand reaching for your lips, other still staying at your thigh, holding you open for him. His index finger pushing against your pink, soft lips, your body responding to him, parting your lips. The digit gently pressed at your lower lip, holding your mouth open. You took long inhales through your mouth, Joel feeling the hot air on his finger.

A soft whimper escaped your mouth as he licked your folds, dragging his tongue along your wetness. The sweet pleads from your mouth as he worked you with his own, went straight to his cock, feeling the hardness in his boxers. He looked up at you, as he slowly dipped his tongue into you, your parted mouth, slight string of saliva running down your chin, wetting the finger still in your mouth, gently, but firmly holding it open, your face flushed the most gorgeous shade of red. You moaned his name, hips bucking up, grinding into him. Joel savored the taste of you, even if this was for you, that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to enjoy himself.

"This what you needed?" His lips found your clit, sucking gently, causing you to throw your head back, body shivering from the sensation. "Needed me to make you feel good?" You couldn't answer, only frantically nod, barely even registering the words in your hazy mind. His digit left your mouth, trusting you to keep it open with all your moans and whimpers. The hand traveled down your body, touching your neck, chest, stomach and thighs. He rubbed your thigh, trying to ground you before speaking again, "Tell me, beautiful."

Your voice came out hoarse and dry, more like a broken cry, "Yes, fuck-. Joel, yes, please, I need you." He smiled at you, a soft, comforting smile.

"That's my good girl," he cooed, a calloused finger finally finding your opening, slowly pushing inside of you. Your back arched at his digit working its way inside of you, your breath fast and unsteady. "Easy, let's take it slow," he didn't want you to overwork yourself, already feeling weak due to your fever. He slowly dragged his finger in and out, feeling the way you were soaking it.

"Look at me." You opened your eyes, hadn't even realized they were closed, lost in all the pleasure. You gazed at him with heavy eyelids, meeting his eyes, glimmering beautifully in the dim light.

"Keep your eyes on me, okay?" You tried to respond, half the word disappearing into a moan as he pushed his finger deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside of you. You fought to keep your eyes open, soft whines filling the silence of the night. His mouth returned on you, gaze still connected to yours as he licked your clit. The sight of him like this, between your legs, mouth working on you, lips and jaw glistening with your wetness, eyes full of eagerness to please, was enough to almost bring you to the edge.

Joel loved this too, his precum dampening his underwear, cock twitching with arousal. The way you looked, so messy and ruined under his touch, your whimpers and begs in the thick air, how you let him take care of you. He saw the way you were struggling to keep the eye contact, brief moments of eyes closing, moans getting shorter and louder, signaling to him that you were getting closer. And he was too, he felt that familiar tug at his stomach, causing him to groan against you.

"My sweet girl," he mumbled in between sloppy sucks and licks. "You're doing so good for me."

His words went straight to your cunt, hips bucking up into him, his finger curling inside of your soft walls. He stared at you with hunger and fire in his eyes, like he never wanted to stop, like he was enjoying this just as much as you.

"Joel-," your words cut short by another flick of tongue against your red, aching bud, "Ah- I'm gonna-". You reached your peak, back arching from the mattress, crying out his name.

He felt you come undone on his finger, your walls squeezing around his digit. He watched you writhe under his touch, listening to your cries of pleasure, hearing his name on your lips over and over again, pushing him over the edge too, grunting as he felt his release paint a wet spot in his boxers.

You both watched each other come undone, his finger still softly moving inside of you, letting you ride out your pleasure. Breathy moans and groans traveled in the air as you collected yourself.

Joel slipped his finger out, bringing it to his mouth, licking the flesh clean. He leaned over you, hands on either side of your head, closing you in, bringing his lips to yours. You tasted yourself on his lips, gaze traveling around his still clothed body, surely he needed the release too, you were ready to help him, even if your body was aching and screaming at you to go to sleep, but then, you noticed it, the wet spot on his pants.

"Did you...," you whispered between the soft kisses, staring at his crotch with slightly widened eyes. He looked down at himself, then back to you, and nodded, eyelids heavy and breath still uneven. You laughed softly, running your hand in his dark curls. "Joel Miller, the man you are," you smiled at him, eyes bright with amusement, earning a low chuckle from him.

"C'mon now, lets get you to sleep, baby." He laid his bigger body next to you, hands resting on your bare waist, holding you close to him. Planting soft kisses on your neck and shoulder, you drifted off to sleep with Joel holding you, taking care of you, like he always does.

-

🤎 im so sorry if theres any errors im sick and tired :( please tell me your thoughts if you have any !!

[library-ghoulette]

With You Always

Pairing: Copia (Frater Imperator) x gn!reader (lightly implied, that forehead kiss can be platonic if you want it to be)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Second person POV, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst

Words: 931

Summary: Papa V Perpetua's ascension and catchy new single raise difficult feelings for Copia. Luckily you're there, and you know all the right things to say to assuage his insecurities.

A/N: I wrote this because I have been both listening to "Satanized" on a loop and feeling the need to comfort my comfort character all day long.

You can also read this and all of my other fics on ao3!

Blasphemy! Heresy! Save me! From the bottom of my heart, I know—

"You're doing it again."

"Hm?" You look up, confused, from the invoices you've been filing. "Doing what again?"

Copia is seated at his desk, staring at his computer, brow furrowed and a sour expression lining his face. He doesn't look up at you when he answers.

"Singing."

"Oh." Your cheeks color with embarrassment. The new song has been stuck in your head since it premiered last night—to much fanfare for the new Papa—but you hadn't realized that at some point you had actually begun singing along under your breath. "Sorry, Pa— Frater. I'll keep it down."

He gives a little hmph in reply, and you return to your filing. The office—it used to be Sister's office, but you're just about used to the larger space being Copia's now, used to the new uniform, used to most of the changes even if your tongue still stumbles on the new title from time to time—fills with the soft sounds of papers shuffing into folders and the clicking of Copia's mouse. It's relaxing… Well, kind of. Just when you think to yourself that his clicking is starting to sound a bit aggressive, you hear him swear at the computer with a level of vitriol that frankly seems a bit much to throw at a humble spreadsheet.

"Everything okay?" you ask timidly.

"Of course everything is okay. Why would it not be okay?" Copia replies, voice tight in that way it gets when things are decidedly less than okay.

"You've just seemed a bit on edge today? Since the premiere?"

He gives you a brief look over his shoulder before quickly looking away. "I'm fine."

"You know, if you want to talk about—"

"I don't."

"Okay." You shrug, slide the file cabinet drawer closed with a satisfying thud, and open the drawer for the next range of letters. Continue transforming chaos to order, one form at a time. You've known Copia long enough and worked with him closely enough not only to clock his tells, but to know that he will break in three, two, one—

As though on cue, he sighs heavily and pushes back from the desk,rolling his chair around to face you.

"It's not even that good, this song, you know? 'Satanized'? 'Urges to burst'? What the fuck is that?"

"It is awfully catchy," you venture.

Copia snorts, incredulous. "Catchy? You know what song is catchy? 'Rats' is catchy. Now that's a lead single. I was nominated for a Grammy with that one, you know."

"I know."

"And 'Call Me Little Sunshine'!" Copia continues, triumphant. "Another Grammy nomination! And I could have won, too, if…"

But he trails off, and in the heavy silence following that if, you hear what is left. If there had been a third album cycle. If he was still Papa. If he'd had just a little more time…

Copia abruptly turns to gaze out the window, jaw set, his eyes glistening. You know that he's not really seeing the early spring day on the other side of the stained glass.

After a moment, he asks, "They seemed happy, didn't they?"

"Who?"

"My— the ghouls. In that video, they seemed happy." He swallows hard. "With him."

This isn't about Grammys, you know, or tours, or albums, or movies, or any amount of success that can be measured in accolades or dollar signs.

You close the space between you, coming to stand at Copia's side, close enough to reach out and thumb away the tear tracing its bitter path down his cheek.

"They're not going to forget you," you say softly. "You know that, right?"

"They already have."

"No, listen to me." You apply gentle pressure, turning his dear, sad, stubborn face up so that he has no choice but to look at you. You repeat, more forcefully this time, "They are not going to forget you. Not the ghouls. Not anybody. I mean, how could they?"

And now it's your turn to blink back the tears prickling your eyes.

"How could anyone forget everything that you've given to this Ministry? Yes, the songs, the tours, the movie. But it's more than that. You've touched millions of hearts, given countless people joy and comfort and a sense of belonging."

"But— but I'm not Papa, anymore."

You shake your head. "It doesn't matter. The entire Ministry, everything we're doing here? It could end tomorrow, and you would still be with all of those people forever. Your songs, your words, memories of nights filled with music and magic, all of that love… Nothing can undo that. Not time or distance or different outfits or some new guy in a shiny mask."

Copia chuckles in spite of himself, the laugh causing more tears to fall. But these he quickly wipes away, and takes your hand in his. "Such a stupid mask."

It's a pretty cool fucking mask, but wisely, you keep this thought to yourself, instead reassuring him, "There are plenty of people who still consider you their Papa."

For the first time all day—honestly, for the first time in longer than that—some of the tension melts out of Copia, his shoulders dropping out of their anxious hunch. He runs his thumb over your knuckles and asks, almost shyly, "And what about you?"

"Me? You even have to ask?" You bend down and press a kiss to his forehead, feeling the worried creases there smooth a little, as though your kiss is a balm to his very soul. "You'll always be my Papa."

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

Alright, BuckTommy Fluffebruary Day Three: Spider-Man Kiss is up on AO3, too! It's dumb as hell, someone needs to pay Eddie to deal with these two. Tagging @bucktommyfluffebruary.

The rock-climbing gym isn’t too busy, because it’s a Tuesday and the middle of the day. Buck, Tommy, and Eddie are probably the biggest group there, and they’re definitely the loudest. There was no way this was going to turn into anything but a race with increasingly ridiculous conditions so they might have a chance at beating Tommy.

Buck and Eddie are fit, they’ve had to climb up and down buildings, they're on ladders all the time, they’ve done their fair share of rappelling into dangerous situations, but they’re not doing medevac out of canyons, ravines, and mountains as often as Tommy does. He’s an absolute beast and only lost one race because he’d gotten a penalty for not skipping the right hold. Buck had laughed at his perturbed expression and given him a consolation butt grope while Eddie was busy doing a victory lap.

“We never stood a chance,” Eddie says, sighing.

“Nope,” Buck says, but he can’t sound glum because of how his boyfriend’s ass looks in the harness.

He gets gently shoved by Eddie, who clearly clocks the dreamy tone of his voice. “Nuh-uh, we’re getting burgers after this, I’m not getting ditched so you two can hook up somewhere. Eyes down, Buckley.”

Tommy smacks the top of the rock wall and looks over his shoulder with a cocky grin. “Time?”

“Shut up, you won by like five seconds,” Eddie calls back with a wave of disgust.

As Tommy rappels down, Buck hands off the rope to Eddie and steps closer with the intention of steadying him when he reaches the ground, but then Tommy stops about two-thirds of the way down and looks back at him. Buck steps back just in case he has to grab the rope with Eddie, but Tommy doesn't look like he's struggling.

“Can I fulfill a two decade old fantasy real quick?” he asks.

Buck squints suspiciously. “Here?”

Tommy grins. “Yes.”

"I'm not being charged as an accessory to public indecency," Eddie says, and Buck elbows him.

“Yeah, alright,” Buck says to his boyfriend, grinning as he steps closer to the wall again, ready for whatever Tommy proposes. “What’d you have in mind?”

Tommy comes down a little further and does a sort of lunge against the wall, tipping himself backward until his face is hanging in front of Buck’s and his toes are hooked under one of the holds.

“Oh, my god,” Eddie says faintly. "Really?"

“What are you doing?” Buck asks, laughing.

“I showed you this movie,” Tommy reminds him, and Buck feels a lightbulb go off. He'd actually seen this one as a kid, forgotten almost everything about it, and rewatched it with Tommy without alerting him to the fact that, yes, he was eleven when Spider-Man came out and he had actually seen it with Maddie.

When he steps forward and holds Tommy’s head in his hands, he scratched his fingers through Tommy's hair as he kisses him sweetly. There’s minimal, respectable tongue, because they're in public and there are underpaid gym employees around and also Eddie is like five feet away and has already dealt with a lot of their second honeymoon phase bullshit today. There’s also no rain, which is probably for the best, it looked uncomfortable in the movie for the actor.

It’s strange not having to tilt to avoid crashing their noses together, and Buck smiles when he feels Tommy sigh through his nose against his own chin. When he steps back, Tommy looks dazed. He hopes it’s from the kiss and not the blood rushing to his head.

“Aren’t you supposed to go save New York now?” Buck teases.

“Nah, just the greater Los Angeles area,” Tommy replies cheekily, smiling. Seeing the scrunchy expression upside-down is adorable. Buck comes in and kisses him again before stepping back once more.

Tommy moves himself back to a vertical position and drops down to his feet, and Buck is there to unhook him. He kisses him gently then, too, because Spider-Man also got kisses when he was right-side up.

When he turns to Eddie, his best friend looks thoroughly done with both of them but does hold his phone up. “I did get that on video. You’re welcome. Buy me a burger.”

“I will buy you so many burgers,” Tommy says, greedily reaching for Eddie’s phone. “And fries, a milkshake, whatever you want.”

“You’re such a fucking nerd, Kinard,” Eddie says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll take onion rings instead.”

Buck leans in and peers at the video, and yeah, okay, he does get a fluttery feeling in his stomach when he sees it. He’s definitely putting it on Instagram and backing it up on every cloud he can get his hands on.

“We’re so cute,” he sighs, leaning against Tommy.

“We’re adorable,” Tommy agrees. “Jesus, I am also never wearing grey shorts when we come here again.”

“Yeah, I’ll crop your bulge out of the Instagram post.”

“Oh, god, give me my phone,” Eddie groans.

–

Buck posts the video with the caption: Went to the gym and found a friendly neighborhood Pilot-Man. Might keep him forever.♥️

firepilotTK This implies I was bitten by a radioactive pilot and gained the abilities of a pilot through their venom. Which is exactly how I got my job, actually. firepilotTK ♥️♥️♥️♥️

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we begin our first 5-digit word count chapter (I can’t be stopped, someone take away my keyboard) and I find a stride of about two chapters per week, I want to say that: A) I fully intend on finishing this story. I plotted out the whole thing before I started, have made a few adjustments given the pacing I’ve done so far, and with how it’s broken down right now we’ll reach the end in 2-3 months. B) Thank y’all from the bottom of my heart for reading! If you have theories or thoughts or feedback please don’t hesitate to share them! I love hearing what you think of the plot and the characters, and every interaction means the world to me. Whether you’re only reading or leaving comments as well, thank you so damn much. I’ll see you next chapter (it’s gonna be a doozy) <3

Chapter Title from Bells in Santa Fe by Halsey.

Word Count: 11.2k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You throw a punch, and Phase One: Operation Quick and Bald goes. Not well, but it goes. Contains usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

Ben dodged the third punch in a row, grinning widely right up until the fourth one landed on his face.

“Ha!” She yelled, drawing back to shake her first out. “Take that, you weirdly fast man.”

Ben rolled his eyes, rubbing his face lightly. It hadn’t hurt—he’d barely even felt it—but She was being real fucking smug for someone who’d only just landed a hit after a damn week of attempting to do so.

“Yeah, sure, Sunshine. Keep it the fuck up, and at this rate it’ll only take you another couple thousand years to surpass Muhammad Ali.”

She raised her brows at Ben, pausing with a tilt of her head. “You were a fan of Muhammad Ali?”

He nodded, giving her a scrunched look of annoyance. “I’m a fucking American, and there ain’t nothing more red-blooded American than punching commies like that son of a bitch did.”

“What?”

“When he fought the Russian, and won. That’s fucking American.”

“Ben, you’re thinking of the plot of Rocky IV.”

“No, Muhammad Ali fought that Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass.”

“No, Sylvester Stallone fought the Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass. In a movie.” She laughed to herself. “I’m shocked you even saw Rocky IV, let alone were so impacted by it to let the plot override your knowledge of a real life person.”

“Shut up,” Ben grunted, moving his hands back to a defensive stance. She fucking always won these stupid arguments, and Ben couldn’t actually prove it, but he knew She was changing the fucking internet she loved so damn much to match her claims. “Go again.”

“Someone missed nap time.” She muttered under her breath, even though she knew Ben could fucking hear her, but put her fists up anyways. “Can this be the last one? I’m hungry.”

Instead of answering, Ben just launched himself at her, and She jumped to the side with a yelp.

“What the fuck, Ben!”

He turned and threw another punch, feeling pleased at the smooth way she ducked away and met it with a punch of her own. Her face had lost the pissy shock, laser-sharp concentration replacing it. Her eyes were narrowed, darting across Ben as he moved, her bobbing and weaving wasn’t entirely shit, and her heart was controlled with her breathing. She landed her second punch, this one on his shoulder, and Ben laughed, delivering one of his own.

“Christ, Sunshine, you’re fucking weak.” He laughed, examining Her carefully for any loss of control.

“I’ll kill you with my bare hands, Bitch.” She growled, lunging forward and grunting in frustration as Ben dodged with ease.

“That’s my line.” He taunted. “And you couldn’t even kill a man with an assault rifle if he was a fucking foot away from you.”

“Blow me.”

“I’ve been fucking trying- Fuck!” She landed her third punch, and it burned. Ben reached to touch where she’d hit and felt the skin mending across his jaw.

She was grinning in a wide, toothy, satisfied way. “Suck on that, cunt.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, looking down at his hand to see it raw and red from the contact with his face, with some of his fucking hair stuck to it.

“Did you burn off my fucking beard!” His head shot up to see a half-sheepish, half-amused look on her face, lips curled and eyes wide.

“Oops.”

He yelled her name, and she had the fucking nerve to giggle. “We said no fucking powers!”

“I forgot.” She said lamely, her face less and less apologetic by the second, giggling again as she offered some of the most insincere comfort Ben had ever heard. “It’s not even that noticeable! You look just as good as before!”

His anger faded, and he gave Her a cocky smirk, raising his brows. “You think I look good, Sunshine?”

“I’m being nice. Don’t ruin it.” She muttered, her face adorably flushed, and Ben didn’t miss the skip of her heart.

“Whatever keeps you up at night.”

“That’s not the phrase.”

He winked. “I know.”

She scoffed and turned away, but not before Ben could see the slight smile on her lips. “I’m going to shower, I’ll meet you in the living room in fifteen. If you’re not there, with food, I’m eating the TV.”

Ben frowned, calling after Her figure moving down the hall. “Has the TV been edible this whole fucking time and you didn’t fucking tell me?!”

Her laughter echoed back down the hall. "You're real fucking gullible, grampa!"

“You know I can’t fucking tell when you’re joking about that shit, you bitch!”

“Fourteen minutes, cunt!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to make food in fourteen minutes?!”

“You’re a big boy, you’ll figure it out!”

Grumbling a string of cusses Ben hoped She could fucking feel, Ben grabbed a cup of instant noodles and threw them in the microwave, wondering if She would notice if he spit in hers. After pulling them out, grabbing two spoons from the counter that he almost immediately bent, spilling one of the cups as he noticed the damaged utensils, spilling the other when he noticed the first spill, and having to start the whole damned fucking thing over, Ben made his way to drop on the couch next to where She sat, wet hair clinging to her pretty face.

“Heard a lot of swearing, Pretty Boy, everything ok?”

He grunted, shoving Her noodles against her chest and letting go, not giving a fuck if she had a grip on them. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Just asking a question,” he could hear her shit-eating grin. “Thought it was a free country. Thought a patriot like you would appreciate me exercising my first amendment right.”

“That protects you from the government, not me.” Ben parroted back the words She had yelled at him after he’d made the apparently fucking fatal mistake of saying “first amendment right” in her presence.

She chuckled, her voice teasing. “Didn’t know you were capable of retaining information about something other than yourself.”

“Well, your tits were looking great while you were bitching. It helped.” He grabbed the remote, raising it to the TV. “I made food. I’m picking what we watch.”

“If you pick Game of Thrones so you can watch the sex scenes again, I’m figuring out a way to kill myself and doing it on your bed.”

“Whatever gets you in my bed, Sunshine.” He winked. “And I’m invested in the fucking plot, it’s not just the sex scenes.”

“It’s mostly the sex scenes.” She said, not even flinching at his flirtation. “Just go watch porn. See how fast you can break the fleshlights. If you do all three in ten minutes, Butcher owes me twenty dollars.”

Ben scowled, not enjoying that She’d apparently been making fucking bets with Butcher about his masturbation. “I can last longer than ten fucking minutes, I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“Prove it.”

He grinned widely at Her as her face flushed adorably, her own phrasing catching up with her head. “I’d be honored, Sunshine.”

“You’re like a fucking rabbit in heat.” She muttered. “And if you do last longer than ten, Hughie gets the money, so keep that in mind when you’re jerking it to dragon boobs after I go to bed.”

“The dragons don’t have any fucking boobs, dumbass, the fucking hot lady queens do.” Ben said smugly, ignoring her eye roll. “And I would ‘jerk it’ in the privacy of my room, but someone won’t give me a fucking phone.”

“Yeah, the CIA. I’d actually back you up with Mallory, Pretty Boy. I think giving you a phone would be really entertaining.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.” He snapped, and she laughed.

“Can’t rely on just a handsome face to convince her that you somehow deserve the internet.”

“Handsome face?” He grinned at her, and only the slight stutter of her heart told Ben she heard him.

She made a mock face of thought. “Maybe if we suggested parental controls…”

“I’ll kill you, bitch.”

“I’ll make you the most useless and sad eunuch to ever grace this sorry planet, cunt.”

Ben glared at Her, and she reached over his arm to press play on the remote.

Most of the days since the failed Sister Sage mission had been like this. She and Ben got up, trained, ate, trained more, and then watched TV with dinner until She retreated to her room and Ben fought sleep for the rest of the night, alone. Neither of them mentioned how he’d saved her, or how She had started a habit of slapping Ben awake—he was pretty fucking certain that at this point she had figured out another way to break through the nightmares but was purposely choosing to fucking hit him instead—before she’d sit next to him for an hour or two after. Ben liked this unspoken arrangement, and liked even more how She had silently agreed to it. Just because he didn’t actively hate Her right now didn’t mean he was about become a sniveling pussy mess about feelings. Even if the lack of active hatred had morphed into something pulsing in his chest that he didn’t understand, and didn't fucking want to. Making Her instant noodles and not killing her when she lied to him for fun or called him “Pretty Boy” was as far as Ben would bend.

It had been mostly radio silence from the Boys, though Butcher and Cocksucker had visited two days after they’d dropped Her and Ben back at the safe house, as Cocksucker had managed to break his arm. There had been a long, incredibly boring and poorly told story as to how the injury had occurred, involving a supe, Nikola Tesla and something called a Cybertruck, but Ben had pretty much tuned out the entire fucking conversation once he realized they weren’t here for him at all. The only thing that had kept him from retreating to his room for the duration of the visit was the small falter in Her heart when she touched Cocksucker, her jaw clenched as Ben and Butcher watched Cocksucker’s arm heal into place in a fucking disgusting manner.

When She’d let go, she’d given Ben a weird fucking look with tight lips and sad eyes that he'd only seen before on Cocksucker. It had passed quickly, her face returning to apathetic and bored, her eyes regaining the sharp amusement they usually held, but fuck it had confused him. She and Butcher had started talking about missions and planning and other mind-numbing shit, Cocksucker shaking out his arm as if he didn’t trust that it was healed, and Ben had needed to piss and gone to do just that. Before he’d left, he’d caught Her a look of where the hell are you’d going, he’d grinned back with a wink of why, you want to join me?, and she’d rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Butcher. When he’d returned, Butcher and Cocksucker had left and She was glaring at him, arms across her chest.

“Are you an idiot, or just a dick?” She’d snapped.

He’d frowned at Her, trying to figure out what had made her all fucking bitchy. As far as Ben was concerned, he’d been fucking amazing, only calling Butcher a pussy twice and managing to refrain from talking to Cocksucker at all. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Butcher told me we’re moving on operation Quick and Bald soon. He told me you knew. Why didn’t you fucking tell me?!”

“Oh,” Ben had rolled his eyes. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

He’d shrugged. “Well, you fucking know now, so get over it. And what kind of fucking shit codename is Quick and Bald?”

“Fuck you, it’s an accurate and descriptive name.”

“How the fuck could that be ‘accurate and descriptive’?”

“Because two key factors of this phase of my plan are the quick and the bald.”

“Your plan?”

“Yeah, my fucking plan. That I fucking deserved to know the status of.” She’d scowled. “Butcher says it’s almost ready. He’ll get us in two days once it’s in place.”

That had been five days ago. Starlight and Cocksucker had dropped in after two days, full of apologies and updates that Ben didn’t give a fuck about, and when he’d asked Her for more information about the plan, she’d told him to “suck her dick and shove his questions up his ass until they reached his brain.”

So Ben still had no fucking clue what Quick and Bald was about.

Aside from Her lingering anger at him for apparently having the fucking nerve to ask questions about the jobs he had to do—an opinion he had made the mistake of voicing, leading the unwelcome lesson on the first amendment—She was being impossibly easy to talk to, and Ben was getting dangerously close to not only enjoying her company, but finding her comfortable. Part of him was hoping she’d say something very, very soon that would allow him to grip onto hatred, or at least indifference, for the rest of his time in this stupid fucking situation.

Instead, in a way that made Ben think God himself was out to fucking get him, he’d started to tell her things. Fucking voluntarily.

One of those nights where sleep had gripped his head and pulled him under, struggling and roaring, he’d woken up once more from only the force and sting of her hand across his face. She’d sat next to him again, and he’d asked her more questions about before, all of which she’d answered with a faraway, insufferably sad look in her eyes.

“How many siblings did you fucking have again?” He’d pressed once.

“Four,” She’d responded, a wistful smile on her face. “Two brothers, two sisters. All younger.”

“Your parents had four more kids after you? What, were you that fucking annoying they needed to try again four fucking times?”

“No, I was just so adorable they needed to try and recreate my perfection. Once they realized that was impossible, they gave up.” She’d smirked, and Ben hated that somehow he didn’t doubt her words. “Well,” she’d mused to herself. “That and they fell violently out of love with each other.”

“Violently?” He’d made a face, and she’d nodded solemnly.

“I shielded my siblings from a lot of flying plates.”

Ben found another thing to hate. Her parents, and how fucking sad she looked. “You miss them?”

“My parents?” She’d snorted. “I miss my dad. I hope my mom gets her head popped.”

He’d coughed to cover a laugh. “No, you fucking smartass. Your siblings.”

Her answer was quick and soft. “Every fucking day.”

Ben had grunted, watching the distance return to her face, and before he could stop himself, he was talking. “I didn’t have any siblings.”

Before he could curse himself out and try to distract Her with something else, she had been looking back at him with wide, focused eyes. “Do you wish you did?”

“I never thought about it,” he’d muttered. “My father was such a fucking dick I’m surprised he even got my mother to marry him, let alone fucking have one kid. I think he hated me enough to never fucking risk it again.”

“Risk it?” She’d kept her voice impossibly gentle as she’d asked, and it made his skin crawl all weird.

“I was the biggest fucking regret of his life. If he could go back and stop me from happening in the first place, make my mother flush me out, he wouldn’t have fucking hesitated.”

She’d paused, and a very fucking stupid part of Ben had thought she was going to let the conversation go. Of course, he should’ve fucking known by now that She damn well wouldn’t.

“What was your mom like?”

He hadn’t fucking expected that, and it had shocked him enough to answer. “Kind. Too kind for my father, he saw it as fucking weakness and told her all the fucking time. But she was so fucking kind.” He took a heavy breath. “She was full of love, and I have no fucking clue how. It was fucking stupid, all her love, even for my piece of shit father. He’d yell at her and threaten her and mock her, but she still fucking loved him. She fucking loved everything.”

Her voice was still gentle from beside him. “Like what?”

“Animals. Cats specifically. My father had all these fucking hunting dogs he loved more than anything, certainly more than me, and the only good thing he ever fucking did was trade one to get her a cat. It was massive, fluffy and gray, and it was a fucking asshole to everyone but her. It ate like a fucking elephant, shed like a whore in summer, but she loved it so fucking much.” At this point Ben had really wished he would shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t, and he was going to have to figure out a way to blame Her for that later. “She loved art. Painting. She tried to get me to love it too, even though I could barely draw a fucking worm. But I’d try, and she’d frame all my stupid, shitty drawings and hang them around the house until my father saw them and threw them in the trash. She loved music but couldn’t carry a tune if her life fucking depended on it. They’d go to the opera because my father would donate a ton for the publicity, and she’d come back all damn giddy. I’d wait up, just because she was fucking contagious when she was that happy. Even my father felt it, enough to just go straight to bed and not kick my ass for still being awake. She was fucking smart, too. Real fucking smart. My father would joke he wished she was a man, because then her brain would be useful. She would’ve fucking jumped for joy if she saw the world now. Met a fucking woman doctor.” He paused, looking back down at Her beside him. She hadn’t looked away from him, and there was none of the pity he’d expected to see on her face. It was just open, listening intently to his words with no malice or trickery behind her eyes.

“She sounds amazing.” She’d said softly, a small smile he didn’t understand on her face. “And your dad sounds like a fucking cunt.”

Ben had chuckled in surprise. “Fucking understatement of the damn year, Sunshine. That pussy would’ve tried to pry your degree from your fucking hands.”

“Let him try, I’d burn his fucking face off and laugh while I did it.”

“What were you even going to fucking do with a PhD in archeology?" He’d asked, and she’d huffed a small laugh.

“Anthropology, Pretty Boy. But nice guess.” She corrected. “And I’m honestly not sure. I’d quite literarily only just actually received the degree before everything… changed.” She’d sighed. “I had a few job offers, but mostly in academia and business. What I wanted was to work with nonprofits to help people.”

“Help people?” He’d given her a disbelieving stare. “With a prissy fucking degree?”

“Yeah, dickwad. Help people. I was a cultural anthropologist. I specialized in the evolution of cultures and ways to combat systemic cultural oppression.”

He’d stared at Her blankly. “You’re going to have to take down the fucking fancy talk by seven, Sunshine.”

“I studied how the government and culture is mean to people on purpose, and how to make them stop being mean.” She’d said flatly.

“Oh.” He’d rolled his eyes at the dirty look she was giving him. “Oh, fuck off. It wasn’t that painful to say.”

“Yes, it was.” She’d mumbled, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

“What’s there to fucking argue about?”

“I just called your beloved country an ‘oppressive system’.” She’d watched him wearily, but her heart remained steady. “Doesn’t it mar your refined American nationalism?”

“Do you fucking want me to be mad?” Ben had asked, raising his brows at her. “I can definitely find it in me, that’s not a fucking issue. But usually when we fight about this shit, you get all bitchy and don’t talk to me for way too fucking long.”

“I mean, no, I don’t want you to get mad…” She’d frowned, examining him with yet another fucking confusing look. “Does it really bother you when I ignore you?”

“No.” He’d snapped quickly. “It’s just annoying, and I don’t like having to fucking deal with it.”

She’d hummed with an amused smile on her face, and the conversation had moved on to something else. Ben had shoved down the way it had been so easy to talk about his mother with her, until it was somewhere in his gut and he didn’t have to think about the way the feeling rolled around inside him.

And he refused to even acknowledge how when She would smile now, he’d have to fight himself to not do the same.

———-

It had been a week since the Sage incident, a week since Ben had saved your life—you'd locked everything about that particular action from what you thought of it to how it made you feel somewhere deep in your chest—and you were starting to lose your mind a little bit. When Annie and Hughie had stopped by with nervous words about delays in your meticulously prepared and incredibly well-detailed plan, you’d been willing to wait another day, maybe two, before executing operation Quick and Bald. Now it had been three days, burgeoning on four, and you were worryingly close to leaving the safe house just to yell at Butcher. Ben could stay here, or follow you and help you beat Butcher up for all you cared. Which was, admittedly, worrying within itself. Especially because the whole point of operation Quick and Bald was to take preventative measures against Ben’s needless brutality.

Over a month ago, right after you’d moved into the safe house and when you had been ready to throttle Ben’s neck every waking moment—an urge that hadn’t entirely waned, but was now undercut with a weirder, stronger urge to be near him without any murderous intent—you’d spent the hours quarantined in your room perfecting your plan to get Ryan Butcher the fuck out of dodge. When they’d come to pick you and Ben up for the whole Neuman test, you’d left it in the van for Butcher to find, and had been waiting since for him to set up the dominoes so you could knock them over.

At this point, you’d be happy with not even “dominos to knock over” and just “one singular domino to throw at someone." You had begun to develop a habit of staring down the hall from the living room, trying to will someone to appear with at least a fucking update. So far this strategy was not working, and had apparently started to garner attention.

Sitting on the couch, the TV white noise in the background and noodles in your hand cold and forgotten, you felt a foreign rush of oddly tight concern run through your body. You frowned, heard your name from next to you, and turned to find that Ben had been poking your arm.

“Are you fucking alive?” He grunted, watching you with a frown.

“Literally? Yes.” You answered with a tight smile. “You have noodles on your face.”

He reached up to feel for them, not looking away from you. “What the fuck do you mean literally? How can you be fucking metaphorically alive?”

“Mind-body problem, Pretty Boy. And it’s not metaphorically, it’s philosophically.” You lean back, grinning.

“You’re a real fucking pretentious bitch sometimes.” He grumbled, still trying to find the food stuck to his beard.

“If you made me a shirt that said that, I’d wear it.”

“I’m not going to fucking make you a shirt, Sunshine. You couldn’t make me learn to fucking sow with a gun to my head.”

“Because the gun wouldn’t affect you at all?” You pointed to your own chin, mirroring where the noodle was caught.

He sneered. “Because I’m not a pussy.” His hand found the stray piece of his dinner, and he pulled it from his jaw.

“Big words from the man who took two tries to make me instant ramen- hey!” A wet noodle hits you in the face.

“Ramen your ungrateful ass didn’t even fucking eat.” Ben gave a pointed look at the abandoned cup in your hands, the food inside having long lost any heat. “Don’t fucking test me, or I’ll actually spit in your food next time.”

“Drama queen,” you muttered, peeking back at the door. “Like you don’t already do that.”

“I fight the urge to be a fucking bitch, unlike certain women.”

You nod absentmindedly. “Butcher.”

Ben snorted behind you, and a smile you hoped he didn’t see crept onto your face.

“Yeah, sure Sunshine.” His attention returned to the TV, and you did your best to not stare down the hall, trying to ignore the hope that the door now shrouded in darkness would open.

A successful effort that made you jump out of your seat when it did just that with an aggressive bang.

Ben was faster than you, practically launching himself over the sofa and bolting down the hall, a dangerous look of alarm the last thing you saw on his face before he was gone from the room.

“Shit, no! It’s me!” You heard a high-pitched shout from the shadows of the entrance. “It’s Hughie!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You heard Ben’s growl of a response.

Butcher’s voice drawled from the shadows. “Oi, take a deep fucking breath and put the bloody kid down.” 

“Someone fucking answer me first.”

“Put him down, Soldier Boy, before we knock your ancient ass the fuck out.” The impatient, clipped words of MM responded, almost drowned out by Frenchie's shout.

“Can someone turn on the fucking lights? It is as dark as Monsieur Butcher’s heart and asshole!” 

“I- I don’t feel good.” Hughie’s voice stuttered.

“Ben!” You flicked on the hallway sconces, illuminating a scene of Ben’s full body weight pressing Hughie to the wall, Butcher and MM trying with practically negative success to pry him off, and Kimiko gripping one of Frenchie’s arms as his other groped around for direction. You let out a very long, very loud sigh. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s fucking late,” he snapped, not letting Hughie go. “They shouldn’t be here so fucking late.”

“This ain’t your real house, Mate.” Butcher grunted, still trying to move Ben. “We can be here whenever we bloody well please.”

Hughie wheezed out your name in a pleading tone. “Your plan is ready. We’re here to- fuck- we’re here to get you.”

That got you moving, crossing to the end of the hall in quick, frantic steps. “It’s ready? Are you sure?” Hughie gave a weak nod, and you rolled your eyes, shoving Ben shoulder. “Put him down, dumbass. He’s not a threat, and honestly, probably the worst one to have gone after. Just, like, strategically.”

Ben glared at you, but let go. He glanced at where MM and Butcher were still grabbing him, and gave them a venomous look that got them both to let go and take hasty steps back. He shot a glowering look of they could’ve fucking waited until the morning in your direction.

You wrinkled your nose at him. No. Shut the fuck up. You turned to Hughie, not even bothering to hide the desperation you felt in your imploring stare. “It’s all ready? All of it? A-Train agreed to help? We’re sure Ashley has the information? We’re sure neither one is going to tell Homelander, and we’re not about to walk into a fucking trap?”

“Yes, yes, yes, kind of, and yes.” Butcher counted off on his fingers as he answered. “But we’ve got to go right fucking now.”

“Kind of?” Anxious energy rushed through you—that still-strange feeling lighting under your skin—and you ignored the weird look Ben shot you as it did. “What do you mean, kind of? If you fucked this up, Butcher, I swear to God-"

“Calm the fuck down, Love.” Butcher snapped. “It’s going to be fine, we’ll explain on the way. But we need to go fucking now if you want this to work.”

You gave a sharp nod, starting to pull on your boot, glancing up with a pause when you heard Hughie say your name behind you.

“Do you, uh, do you want to get dressed first?” His voice was still slightly weak as he recovered from Ben’s force.

You glanced down at your body, and decided that the oversized shirt and cloth shorts would be fine. They were from the CIA spring fire-proof collection, and that was more than enough. “Nope. Let’s fucking move.”

You were halfway to the door when a crash sounded behind you, and you whirled around to see MM firmly blocking Ben’s path, the crash seeming to have been Hughie stumbling into the wall in an attempt to get away from the standoff.

“You’re not coming, Soldier Boy. This is a goddamn delicate operation, and you’re the fucking reason we have to do it in the first place. We can’t afford you throwing a tantrum and screwing us.”

“I’m fucking coming, and it’s not up for fucking debate.”

Off to the side, Frenchie snickered as Kimiko signed how many times do you think he’s said that before?

Ben shot them an annoyed look, his fists clenching. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothing,” Frenchie snickered, and his tone was so remarkably unconvincing that even if you hadn’t understood Kimiko, you wouldn’t have believed him.

Ben grunted and tried to move past MM, again to no avail.

He glared down at the firmly planted man, a familiar violent glint in his eyes. “You better fucking move now, before I make you.”

“Do your fucking worst, we’ll put you right back in the box. You’re not coming with us.”

“MM,” you said firmly, watching Ben's fists clench as the dangerous glint returns to his eyes. “We need to go.”

MM looks back at you, but remains in his place. “Are you fucking serious? You’re siding with him?”

“I’m not siding with him.” You keep your voice level, ignoring Ben’s smug face and grin. “We can’t leave him. The I go where he goes thing unfortunately goes both ways.”

“The safe house will hold him for five hours.” MM pushed, and before you could even shake your head, Ben cut in.=

"No, it won’t.”

You shoot him a look that says you’re being unhelpful, and he just returns it with his own of fuck off, you know you fucking want me there.

“Please, MM. He’ll stay quiet in the background, or I’ll burn his dick off. Right?” You direct your last words at Ben, giving him a pointed agree with me or I’m knocking you out and leaving you here look.

“Yeah, whatever. But I’m not staying in the fucking van like a pussy. And you’d better explain what the fuck is happening on the way, Sunshine.”

“Deal. But first they,” You narrowed your eyes at Butcher. “Have some explaining of their own to do.”

“Don’t lose your bloody mind, Love, it’s all in order.” Butcher said breezily, shoving past you to open the door. He gave a dramatic wave of his arm for you to exit, and with a look of doubt, you did.

The car ride was already poised to be uncomfortable. Butcher’s car was not equipped for seven people, let alone seven people where three were very large men, three were supes, and nobody wanted to have physical contact with two. As such, Butcher drove, MM sat in the front, you found yourself squished against one window with Ben between you and a remarkably uncomfortable Hughie, as Kimiko sat, slightly elevated onto their laps, between Frenchie at the other window, and Hughie. It was overall an unideal situation, made worse as your own frustration was amplified by Ben’s, and by Hughie revealing that it was, in fact, not all in order.

Your phase one, the original operation Quick and Bald had called for Ashley Barrett’s complete cooperation. You’d even painstakingly outlined all the potential ways to flip her—most involving something along the lines of hey, wouldn’t a job that didn’t make you so stressed you rip out all your hair and have to buy a bunch of wigs be nice?—and different ways to keep Homelander from finding out about her betrayal—Spain was lovely this time of year, and had a thriving BDSM community Ashley would love. While MM had managed to take care of your instructions for A-Train, the half of the plan you’d incorrectly anticipated to be more difficult, the Ashley situation was, in Butcher’s words, very fucking delicate, but we’ve adapted and everything will be bloody fine, so trust me and don’t be a fucking cunt about it.

You did not trust him. I didn’t help that you’d asked for any other possible details, and he’d pretended he couldn’t hear you. This suspicion was confirmed when, despite your incredible clarity that you would never step foot there again, Butcher seemed to be driving right to Vought Tower.

Your eyes had been steadily widening, panic starting to run through you the closer and closer you got, and you flinched when you felt Ben’s roughly shoulder nudge your own.

“What’s fucking wrong with you?” He’d asked in a low voice, barely audible over Hughie’s rambling explanation.

“You should listen,” you mutter back, trying to shut out the confusing concern he always seemed to feel at you, how it felt remarkably genuine, but was laced with anger that felt like it was trying to push out of your body. “Hughie’s explaining the plan.”

“Yeah, but all I have to fucking do is stay quiet, and I get to keep my dick. You’re being fucking twitchy and silent, and your heart is beating faster than it has all damn day, so don’t even try to fucking lie and tell me it’s fine.”

“It is fine, I’m fine-“ You paused as his words sank in. “Wait, what do you mean my heart-“

“Alright, here we go.” Butcher cut off both you and Hughie with a clap of his hands. “Everyone bloody out, let’s get this shitshow on the road.”

“Butcher,” you said, looking around to see you’d parked directly across from the tower entrance. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

“We’re meeting them right there.” MM answered for Butcher, pointing out of his window to something you couldn’t see. “It’s almost midnight, and Annie’s been making sure nobody gets inside but us.”

“But why?” You protest, even as MM leaves the car. “This,” you give a wide, general wave that hits Ben in the nose. “Cannot be the only option.”

“Both of them still have their trackers,” Hughie leans forward with an apologetic look as Frenchie and Kimiko exit the car. “This will look like they’re just getting a midnight snack, and hopefully Homelander won’t get suspicious.”

“Hopefully?!” You feel a rush of anger—not yours—and a twist of fear deep within your gut—absolutely yours. “Hopefully fucking Homelander won’t get suspicious?!”

Hughie gave an uncertain nod before very quickly scrambling to get out of the car. You take a long, deep breath, trying to steel yourself. A rush of what was becoming a familiar fuming and brittle concern ran through you. You look at Ben, to find his eyes locked firmly onto yours.

“Sorry about hitting-“

“I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You blink at him, taken aback by the firmness of his voice. “What?”

His hand moved to grip your thigh, his gaze not wavering. “I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You give him a flat look. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Why are you telling me that?”

His frustration leaked into you. “Because say the word, I’ll steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll fucking leave.”

“What? Are you insane?”

“You look like you’re either going to start fucking crying or burst into flames, and this is a stupid fucking idea.”

“This was my plan.” You snap. “And I’m not stealing Butcher’s car. Why do you even know how to hot-wire a car anyway?”

Ben’s grip tightened. “No, your plan was stupidly well fucking thought out.”

“That’s an oxymoron.” You mutter, and he ignores you.

“And even if they haven’t completely fucking blown the execution, they completely squashed any chance of safety.”

“It’ll be fine,” you say, the words sounding fake even as you say them. “It’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“What if he’s not?” His concern was starting to move to your throat, and there was something else, something sitting far deeper in your chest, beating and beating against you. Against you.

“Ben.” You place your hand over his. “I’ve worked too hard on this. This is the only way, and it will be fine.” You say the last words firmly and clearly, trying to make them sink into you. “Now take your fucking hand off of me, and get out of the damn car.”

He pulls himself from you, and even as his touch leaves, the concern and beat linger until he’s gone from the car. You drag yourself across the seats and ignore Hughie’s offer of a hand as you duck out of the car and onto the curb. You notice the 24 hour diner MM must have been pointing out almost immediately, half because—aside from an incredibly sketchy looking deli a few doors down—it’s the only building with its lights still on, and half because two very flustered teenagers are sulking away from the entrance, where Annie stands with her arms crossed. She’s already spotted your group, and has angeled her head in a signal to join her.

“You’re late.” She chides as you approach.

“Well, Starlight, I’d apologize, but it was those two fuckheads,” Ben and MM both receive a jabbed thumb over Butcher’s shoulder. “Who decided to draw out the bloody carpool process.”

“I told you not to call me Starlight anymore, Butcher.” Annie snaps, not giving him a chance to respond before she turns to you. “A-Train is, somehow, running behind as well. Hopefully Ashley’s just being resistant to getting food with him, but they’ll be here.”

“Isn’t running that pussy’s whole fucking thing?” Ben muttered, quiet enough for only you to hear. You step as hard as you can on his foot.

“Shut it, Pretty Boy.” You whisper over his grunt of what probably is more emotional pain than physical.

“Bitch.” He hisses back.

“Cunt.” You raise your voice so the others can hear you. “We should go inside, it’s risky to just… stand here.”

With nervous looks around and stuttered agreements, you all make your way into the diner. The lights are flickering, and it’s eerily empty with only a very nervous-looking blonde waitress at the counter. She makes a very big show of asking how many are in your party, leading you to a large, round table, and laying out the menus with shaky hands. Kimiko, Hughie, Annie, and MM try and offer her comforting smiles, though MM’s is strained as he keeps a vigilant glare on Ben. The waitress is staring at Ben herself, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, glacing back as she leaves to get your and Butcher’s coffee, Annie and MM’s tea, Kimiko and Hughie’s milkshakes, and Ben and Frenchie’s orders of “the strongest alcohol you’ve fucking got.” Your personal bet was it was going to just be very old beer.

“Why is she fucking staring at me?” Ben muttered to you, watching the waitress as she walked away. “Did you fuck up my beard that bad?”

“Your beard looks literally the same.” You dismiss. “And it’s because, as far as the public knows, Maeve killed you in a heroic act of self-sacrifice to stop your evil, anti-American attacks. That, or she wants to fuck you.”

“Hm,” he looks back at you, settling down into his seat. “Am I allowed to bring guests into the safe house?”

“No.” You say, a little more curtly than you intended. Seeing his wide, cocky grin, you clairfy. “It’s a breach of security. She would need to pass a CIA vetting and be approved by, like, twenty people. I don’t think she’d do that just to fuck you.”

Ben shrugs, his smirk only growing. “You did.”

“I’m going to cut off your balls and feed them to you-“

“Hey,” MM cuts you off, saying your name in a brisk, hard tone from across the table. “They’re here.”

You snap your head to the door, where A-Train is practically pushing Ashley into the diner.

You hear her voice clearly over the recession pop humming from the speakers. “Why can’t we just go to the fucking deli? They make these amazing meatball subs and supes eat free, so you could order for both of us- oh fuck no.”

“Oh, shit.” MM mutters, jumping to his feet with Butcher and Annie as Ashley notices them, and promptly tries to dash for the exit.

You don’t entirely blame her. You’d probably do the same. You had done the same, an unhelpful voice reminds you.

“I- Am- Not-“ Ashley is trying to get past A-Train, who hasn’t given up trying to herd her further into the diner. “Fuck- this-“

“Ashley, just listen to them, I fucking swear-“

“Why should I trust you?!” Ashley doubles over, out of breath. “You fucking tricked me! Midnight snack my fucking ass- Fuck no!” She raises a crooked finger at Annie, who has stopped in front of her. “Get the fuck away from me, you bitch.”

“Ashley, please listen to A-Train-“

“No! Just leave me the fuck alone! I don’t want to be a part of your weird fucking eye for an eye justice shit-“

“You kind of already are.” MM says as he locks the door behind her. “You work for Vought, your it’s motherfucking CEO. That makes you a part of this, like it or not.”

“Not!” Ashley shouts. “I don’t care what you have to say! Homelander’s going to fucking kill me, oh my god.” She starts to hyperventilate. “If he finds out I was here, he’ll kill you-“ She points a shaky finger at A-Train. “And then make me go on fucking TV to explain why you’re missing, and then fucking kill me-“

Butcher scoffs. “Bloody hell, lady. Calm the fuck down, Homelander ain’t gonna find out.”

“You don’t know that!” She shrieked. “He knows fucking everything! Especially since fucking Sage joined!” She spins around frantically, and her wild eyes lock onto yours. “He knows about them!” A shaking finger jumps between you and Ben. “Fuck! He’s supposed to be fucking asleep and now he’s fucking not! And he was so fucking angry about her, I’ve never seen him so fucking angry-“

Whatever else Ashley stutters about Homelander’s anger is lost to you as the world freezes. The feeling isn’t just under your skin, it’s up your spine, in your blood, circling around your brain. It’s fucking everywhere and you can’t fucking breathe, her words looping around you.

He knows. He’s angry. He fucking knows. He’s fucking angry. He fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and he fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and-

A white hot, impossibly calm feeling crashes over you. It’s angry, hungry and angry, but it’s grounding, sharpening everything around you. Suddenly the world is back in complete focus, Ashley’s shrill rambling scraping at your ears, and in the distance that weird fucking rhythm is sounding. As the feeling in your body returns fully, you realize Ben’s hand is back on your thigh. You bounce it, looking up to give him a glare, and find he’s not even looking at you. Instead, his eyes are trained on Ashley, narrowed and cold. You give a small cough, and when he glances down at you, the feeling of anger stutters with something lighter, though only for a second.

You give another bounce of your leg, a look of move your damn hand or lose it taking over your face.

No, not until you calm the fuck down his scowl responds.

You huff, standing abruptly, and his hand falls off at the force of your movement. Suddenly you feel a lot less solid, but reason that your legs are shaky from the Homelander of it all, and if any situation calls for fractured nerves, it’s this one.

“Ashley.” You call across the diner, trying not to stutter or chew off your lip as her protests falters and attention turns to you. “If you know who I am, you know I wouldn’t be anywhere near here if we weren’t certain it was safe. Just have some food with us, listen, and then you can go.”

Ashley gives you a scowl that might surpass Ben’s but nods tightly, yanking her arm from where A-Train had been trying to hold her in place. You sit back down as the group at the door returns to their seats, the poor waitress pressing herself against the bar as they pass. Letting out a shaky, unsteady breath, you try and still yourself as you look out the diner window. City lights. Music.

City lights.

Music.

It was safe. He knows and he’s angry but was safe and there were city lights and music.

Your breathing was no longer coming in short, distressed bursts, but getting air in and out of yourself still felt like an act of labor, and you needed to get it the fuck together before Ashley sat down.

City lights. Music.

You can’t hear the song the diner is playing, instead letting your whole mind turn inward, allowing the ghost of music you can no longer sing to wash over you.

Ashley sits across from you right when you regain control, and from the corner of your eye, you see Ben pulling his hand from where it had been inching towards yours.

Her eyes flit, nerves poorly hidden, from you to Ben to Butcher to Annie and back to you, and her voice is high and shaky when she speaks. “Well?”

“Ashley, we need your help.” Annie leans forward, palms flat on the table.

“Well, then we’re done. I can’t help you. They don’t tell me anything, not really.” Ashley tries to stand, but her arm is caught by A-Train. “Really?” A-Train hisses as he pulls her back into her seat beside him. “They don’t tell you anything my ass, we sit in on all the same meetings. And I pulled these files-“ He pulls out a thumb drive from absolutely nowhere and drops it on the table. “Using your name, so you clearly have access to them.”

“What?!” Ashley looks at the thumb drive like it’s going to either explode or start jizzing on her blouse. “Why would you fucking do that?”

“Insurance.” A-Train answers smugly, the thumbdrive clearly having his intended. “I can’t open it, so you’re going to tell them how, and then I’ll erase the records of you taking the files from the system.”

Ashley looks around at your group, shaking her head. “No.”

“Sorry, Mate. We ain’t really asking.” Butcher leans across A-Train, shoving the thumb drive closer to Ashley. “Do us this solid, and A-Train won’t go right up to Homelander and tell him about how he saw you also cuddly and tight with me, Soldier Boy, and his favorite missing person.”

Your heart jumps right into your throat. City lights. Music.

Suddenly, Ben’s elbow is planted against yours, and you’re pulled back down to earth just in time to hear Ashley yell, “This is fucking blackmail! I’ll fucking sue!”

“You cannot sue government officials, madame.” Frenchie says smugly, and Hughie shakes his head.

“That’s- Frenchie, that’s not even kind of true.”

“You’re also not a government official.” Annie adds.

Frenchie looks genuinely perplexed at this and gives Kimiko a confused frown, receiving a shrug in return.

“But,” you pipe up, your voice somehow bored and casual. “I’m legally dead. He’s-“ You jab Ben in the chest, and Ashley’s eyes widen. “Legally dead and an enemy of the state. You can’t sue either of us, not without admitting some Vought secrets that will be very bad PR.” You give her a twisted smile, leering across the table. “Help us, or, even if Homelander believes you, which we both know he won’t, you’ll get fired. And I’m sure they’ll be very understanding and normal about how they do it.”

You feel a flash of weird pride and realize you can see Ben fighting a smile in your periphery.

Ashley has a fearful expression, looking at where your elbow is still connected with Ben’s. “What- what's even on it?”

“Becca Butcher files.” You say, not taking your gaze from her, but you didn’t need to look around to see the sudden, rigidness with which everyone sat. You even felt Ben’s own shock run through you.

You’d be lying if you said hiding the exact contents of the file hadn’t been a very purposeful choice that you and Butcher had made. He’d cornered you, demanding to know what you planned on doing should Soldier Boy go after Ryan, and you’d told him that it wouldn’t be an issue. Ryan looked up to Homelander, that was why he stayed. He’d lost his mother, he didn’t trust Butcher, all the poor kid had was his insane, sociopathic father. Some part of you—small and sad and tired, still sitting on a staircase in Boston—understood that. But with Becca gone, gone forever, Ryan didn’t have a place to run like you’d had. Homelander was the default, and just kind enough to his son that Ryan could force himself to forgive Homelander again and again. Homelander was safe for Ryan.

You were going to make sure Ryan never saw Homelander as safe again. And that started with Becca Butcher and would end with you. So you and Butcher had agreed with a tight handshaked that he'd ripped his hand from right after, everyone was only going to know what they needed to. That was the only way it would work.

“Becca Butcher files?” MM repeats in a slow, incredulous tone. “You,” he turns with a look of shock to Butcher. “You knew about this? You’re fuckin okay with this?”

“I’m doing what has to be done, Mate.” Butcher answers flatly, then says your name. “Tell ‘em the plan, Love.”

“We need to get Ryan away from Homelander. Ryan needs to know about his mother.”

“No,” Ashley was emerging from the shock to try and stand from the table, but A-Train’s arm shot out, pulling her back down once more. “No,” she says again, looking around desperately. “Ryan, Ryan is all he has. All he cares about. You take Ryan he’ll lose his mind-“

“He’s already lost his mind.” Something snaps in your chest—a cruel feeling waking up as you watch Ashley fret about Homelander. “And I couldn’t give less fucks about what he cares about.” The feeling is crawling across your skin. “If this hurts him, good. It could never hurt him enough to make it right.” You hear drums and still can’t place where they’re coming from. “Now listen to the last fucking strand of your morality on your scalp and fucking help us.”

Ashley shakes her head again, this time with less certainty. “It’s- no- He-“ she pulls in a deep, unsteady breath. “He won’t stop until he gets Ryan back. He already is going insane about you and him and how he needs to get you back safe and put him back down, and if Ryan goes to then nothing will stop him-“

The drums are loud now, and something that’s usually there on Ben’s face is missing. Your own body doesn’t feel entirely normal anymore, but it’s not paralyzed or running. You can feel something in Ben caving, falling inward in a growing rhythm, moving in time as something in you grows. It's not in you now, it’s across you, coating your skin and singing with glee.

“Ashley,” the sound of your voice is a little far away, but you can hear it echo through you. It’s wired, hot, a warning.

“I- I can’t.”

“Yes, you fucking can.” You sneer. “You’re just too much of a pussy to do it.” Ben coughs in the way that you know means he wants to laugh, just as the drums stutter and move farther away.

“Please, I don’t-“

“Do not make me stab you.”

Ashley falters, looking you up and down. “You won’t.”

“Trust me, she will.” Ben smirks, giving you a nudge. “She’s surprisingly violent.”

“I, I won’t. I can’t. He’ll kill me-“

“You think we won’t?” Ben growls, any amusement in him gone as you feel something unbreakable and resolved through your body.

Ashley tries to run again, this time actually managing to get up from the table, but is knocked flat on her ass by A-Train before she can take two steps. You stand and give the itch, now under your tongue and your nails, a small scratch.

“Oh, fuck no.” You hear scrambling as you walk around the table and stop, staring down at Ashley.

She’s crawling back from you, back from the fire curling from your whole body, and disgust curls in your gut. For the first time you feel anger—insatiable and gory anger—all of your own. No city lights flash around you, no hollow music dances around your head. You don’t fear Ashley. She’s weak and spineless. She’s willing to cover her hands in Ryan’s blood, in your blood, to keep herself safe from Homelander. She’s staring at you, terrified, and you don’t need to touch her to know it isn’t even a fraction of all the fear you felt in that white room. That white room she knows about, may have seen, and is still trying to keep Homelander happy.

You bend down, letting all your hatred for Vought, for her, cover your features. When you speak, your words are clear and low.

“You are going to tell Butcher how to access the thumbdrive. A-Train and you are going to take some food with you, and walk back to the tower. You aren’t going to tell Homelander about this, and if he asks, offer him some leftovers. A-Train will erase your activity from the files, and you’re going to pretend the whole night never happened. If you tell Homelander about either me or Be-“ You correct yourself smoothly. “Soldier Boy, the last thing I will do before he locks me away again is kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

Ashley nods frantically, flinching when you raise your hand.

“Say it. Say that I made myself clear.”

“You-“ Ashley stutters, hiccuping. “You made yourself clear.”

You draw yourself back up. “Good. Butcher, I’m leaving. You can drive me and come back, or Ben can steal your car, but I’m leaving.”

When you turn, when you see the looks on your team’s face, all the anger is gone, and suddenly there is a crushing, painful weight of shame on your chest. They’re looking at you like Ashley had been, like you’re no better than Homelander. Like maybe you should go back in the room, it would be safer for them, it would be safer for everyone if you were far, far away-

“You heard the lady.” Ben is standing, walking around to your side. “It’s late. We’re leaving. Sunshine?” He offers you his arm, and you stare between it and your own, still covered in flame. Looking up, his face looks bored, as if this is just another Tuesday, and he offers his arm to women who are actively ablaze on a regular basis.

Your face feels slack, and all you can manage is to blink at him. I’ll burn you, Pretty Boy. It’ll hurt.

His brows subtly knit, and he doesn’t move. I’ll live, Sunshine. Don’t let them see you break. We’re going home.

You look back at your team, a wide circle of berth having formed around you and Ben. Butcher is looking between the two of you, and you recognize that glint in his eyes. You’d seen it before, but it’s only been really, truly directed at you once. In a graveyard in Boston, gravestones and bushes around you burning in the dead of winter, holding a bucket of ice that steamed off your skin. Under it, fear begins to creep back into you, exhaustion pushing it forward. Butcher reaches behind him, and your knees feel weak.

But you don’t fall. Zealous anger, strong and raw, spreads through you and Butcher’s movements still. You look down and find Ben’s arm unflinchingly looped through yours, his body at its full height as his eyes rake coldly over Butcher.

The silence hangs in the air, cut through only by Ashley’s quick, sobbed breaths. For a second you think the smoke seeping from you will overtake the room before anyone moves, but Butcher slowly reaches into his pockets, eyes not leaving Ben’s, and throws the keys at Hughie.

“Drop them off, Mate, then come right back. No bloody detours.”

Hughie stares at the keys, looking like he’s going to protest, but Kimiko grabs them before he can.

She turns to you, completely composed, no fear wavering as she locks your eyes with hers. I’ll take you.

Before you can thank her, Frenchie steps forward, signing as he speaks. “Mon Coeur, you cannot drive.”

She frowns. Yes I can.

“No, Mon Coeur, not legally.” Frenchie says, exasperated, and you have a feeling this is not first time they've had this debate.

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you. Fine. She signs back at Frenchie, throwing the keys at him. You’ll do it.

Frenchie stumbles as he catches them, giving Kimiko a shocked look, which she pretends not to see as she walks to the door, signing at you as she passes.

Let’s go before Butcher’s brain starts working.

A small smile threatens your face, and you move, tugging Ben’s arm only once before he falls into pace with you, Frenchie scrambling behind you both.

The car ride back feels longer. The moment you’d stepped out of the diner, your body had extinguished, and you had a worrying sense that the only thing keeping you from collapsing on the sidewalk was Ben’s arm firm through yours. No words were said for the entirety of the drive, you and Ben in the backseat as Frenchie drove and Kimiko lounged in shotgun, and your brain raced. Ben hadn’t let go, and the drums were fading in and out of your chest as he stared ahead into the night.

You arrived at the safe house, only a street lamp casting a dull glow across the street. The chill of the wind cutting against you as Kimiko walked you to the door, Frenchie mumbling something about keeping the car safe from Hooligans. Ben made to step inside, but halted, still not releasing your arm, as you stayed at the doorstep.

At his questioning glare, you tried to wiggle his arm from yours. “Go inside, Ben. I’ll be right there.”

He looked down at where he was still connected with you, and you felt reluctance in time with the drums, but he let go with a scowl. “Be fast,” he grunted, and stomped into the house.

You watched until he’d disappeared fully down the hall, turning to Kimiko only once his back was shrouded in the darkness of the house.

“Thank you,” you give her a soft smile, signing as you speak. “I- I don’t know what happened, I just-“

She shakes her head, and you trail off. I understand. I get angry too. She pauses, hands hovering for only a second. We are not like them. She points down the street, in the direction of the tower, and then past you, into the house. We get to be angry.

“I don’t want to be angry.” You say softly. “He wins when I get angry.”

Kimiko gives you a sad look, placing a hand on your arm. Her own frustration, her fear of Homelander, all the anger at the world, sinks into you. She holds your gaze for a second before drawing back to sign once more. He doesn’t win when you’re angry. He wins when you’re scared. You’re not Soldier Boy. Your anger is good.

You glance back into the house. “I think he- Ben- Soldier Boy- is scared. Or something. His emotions are really fucking confusing.”

You let him touch you. She signs. Does he know?

“He said he didn’t care, because he’s, and I quote, ‘not a pussy with something to hide’.”

But he’s scared? She gives you a questioning frown. Do you think it’s because of Russia? Could you fix it, like you offered for me?

“I’m not sure, but-“ you’re cut off as Frenchie honks the horn, leaning out the window.

“Mon Coeur!” His odd position makes his signing almost unintelligible, which he seems to realize, and raises his voice. “Monsieur Butcher says to get back ‘like a hare with a bomb up it’s arse'.”

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you, but signs a goodbye, giving your hand a small squeeze before returning to the car. As the engine rumbles, Frenchie pulling out the driveway, Kimiko’s calm faith lingers in you, and you walk back into the house, shutting the door behind you.

Almost all the lamps and ceiling lights of the house are off, the TV glowing from where you had abandoned it several hours ago. From the bottom of the stairs, you can see the upstairs hall is washed in a soft yellow, and when you reach the top Ben’s door is open, the light from within filling the hall. You stop at the entrance to his room, his back to you as he pulls a cotton shirt over his head.

You let out a small cough in a weak attempt to alert him to your presence.

“You’re allowed to just come in, Sunshine.” He grunts, still facing away. “I’m not a shy little virgin you need to pussyfoot around.”

You let out a small hum, walking over the threshold and stopping a few feet behind him. “Thank you.” You say softly, and he turns around to look at you.

His eyes are tired. Pained. Something looks like it’s pulling at him and it scares you. You’ve seen that expression before, when you’d woken him up that first day, at the Neuman mission, when you pulled him from nightmares with sharp hits, but never just there. It was always with something. This was like an island, just him and you, nothing pulling it out of him.

“Don’t thank me.” He says gruffly. Even his voice is drained. “You mostly held your own.”

“But-“

“And stop feeling bad about that Ashley bitch. She fucking deserved it.”

You stare at him. “You really believe that?”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “She was fucking pathetic. A fucking pussy. Fucking eating out Homelander’s fucking hand, brown-nosing him until he fucking cums and pays her, letting him take you-“ His jaw clenches. “I fucking meant it when I said we’re not going back Sunshine. I’m not a goddamn pussy liar.”

“I didn’t think you were. But, you…” Your voice fades as you try to find the words. “I could feel you. At the diner.”

“I fucking know, that was the goddamn point. I wasn’t going to let you start crying in front of those self-righteous pussies.”

“No, Ben.” You shake your head. “I could feel you. I could feel it.” You place a hand over your chest. “It was building. There was something beating against you, inside you. And you looked…” You watch him carefully. “Scared.”

“Fucking watch it.” He growls. “I don’t get fucking scared. I’m not-“

“A fucking pussy. I know.” You sigh. “I don’t want to, I can’t, fight right now. I’m so fucking tired. You can scream at me in the morning, but not right now, please.”

He stares at you, and just when you think he’s going to start yelling, he nods. “You’re…” He sounds strange. “You’re ok.”

Just like the last time he said it, the words aren’t phrased like a question. They don’t feel like a question. It feels like he’s just telling you again. But there’s something under it this time, something that makes his words almost unsure. Something that makes up your mind faster than you thought you would.

“Are you?” You ask quietly.

“Of course I fucking am.”

“Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to respond now.”

“You’re being fucking weird, Sunshine.”

“Please.”

He relents with a grunt. “Fucking fine. What.”

“I can fix it.” It’s so hard to keep his gaze as you speak. “It will take time, but I can fix it.”

“Fix what.” He scowls. “There’s nothing to fucking fix.”

“Your PTSD.”

“I don’t fucking have-“

“Ben, I could feel it. It’s dangerous. I could fix it.” You take a deep breath. “I can fix internal injuries as well. I offered to fix Kimiko’s muteness, but she didn’t want me to do it.”

“Then what fucking makes you think-“

“Muteness isn’t dangerous. And it would’ve been harder for me, I might have ended up mute myself. You’re dangerous like this. You can’t fucking control it, and don’t try and lie and say it’s under control. Ashley mentioned putting you back under, and you looked like someone was drowning you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine.” He leers at you. “You don’t fucking know me, know what it was like-“

“I do. You know I do.” You whisper, and the anger on his face breaks. “More than anyone else, I know. I can fix it, but you’ll have to let me. Just-“ You search his eyes, not sure what you’re looking for. “Just think about it. I won’t mention it again, I won’t even touch you, but my offer will stay on the table. Please, just think about it.”

Before you can leave, he grabs your hand. A rush of painful exhaustion runs through you, and there’s anger, but it’s not full of the fervor you’ve come to expect from him. It’s not even at you. It’s wide and almost consuming, leaving room for only a small kernel of something fragile and warm.

“I don’t care if you keep touching me, Sunshine. I've go nothing to hide from you, and that’s not going to change. But there’s nothing in me you need to fucking fix, so don’t fucking bother.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Ben,” You murmur. "But remember, you burn, I burn. Please don't burn." Your last words are soft, and the kernel pulses.

“Good,” he grunts, releasing your arm. A small smirk crawls onto his face. “Now I don’t care if it’s here or in your room, Sunshine, but you need to go the fuck to bed. You look like shit.”

Just as he says it, the full weight of your fatigue hits you. You give a mumbled acknowledgement of his words, and try to leave the room, but all the adrenaline is gone from your system and nothing is left to stop the failure of your legs or droop of your eyes. The last thing you feel is something pulling you up before your knees hit the carpet, the last thing you see is green eyes on your own, and you hear an amused snort from above you.

“Goodnight, Sunshine. Try not to dream about me.”

You try to object, but sleep pulls you under before you can even remember why you need to.

[rodentluvrr]

A helping hand

Pairing: Law x reader Summary: When you're rushing to submit your university application on the last possible day, an unexpected encounter with a tall, tattooed surgeon at a hotel makes everything a bit less/more complicated. CW: Anxiety, procrastination, swearing, college mentioned Word count: 3k+ words Tags: Modern AU, romance, enemies to lovers lowkey, slow burn, humor, surgeon/medical A/N: YOU FREAKS IM BACK‼️‼️ This fic literally happened to me in real life like it's inspired from personal experience —well, unfortunately without the Law part—but it felt like something straight out of a movie/fanfic and it NEEDED to exist out there. Anyway so if any of you want a continuation perhaps....it could turn into a series????😏 I had so much fun writing the dialogue between law and reader. Hope u enjoyyy. Let me know what u think :)

Returning from a short vacation at your parents’ house should have been easy. But today, it felt unbearable. The heat was suffocating, the city streets felt endless, and none of it compared to the real problem at hand—the fact that today was the deadline for your university application.

You had plenty of time. You knew this was coming. And yet, you spent the past week lounging on your parents’ couch, ignoring the looming deadline in favor of doing absolutely nothing. Now, in a desperate attempt to salvage your future, you were running through the city, searching for any open internet café.

Most were closed. They had small hordes of nerdy teenage boys loitering around, waiting for them to open and idly waste the afternoon on video games. When you asked, they shrugged, saying the cafés wouldn’t open for at least another hour.

You didn’t have an hour.

Panic clawed at your throat as you checked the time. If you didn’t register for your third year, you’d be disqualified—or, at the very least, your life would become infinitely more complicated. Your stomach twisted at the thought. Every step you took through the crowded streets felt heavier, more hopeless. You weren’t going to make it.

Then, you saw it. A hotel. It wasn’t fancy—probably a budget-friendly place for travelers passing through. It was your last hope.

You pushed through the glass doors without thinking, zeroing in on the man behind the reception desk. He had been talking to someone when you entered, but their conversation stopped the moment you rushed forward. You didn’t even spare the other man a glance. You didn’t have time for that.

The receptionist listened to your rushed, panicked explanation and, to your surprise, nodded in understanding.

“Actually, the hotel has a computer room available. You can use it,” he said.

Relief flooded you. “Thank you—seriously, thank you.”

He led you to the room, and the moment you stepped inside, your heart sank. It was small, cluttered, barely more than a glorified storage closet. And the computer—God, the computer looked ancient, a relic from the 90s covered in dust.

But you didn’t care.

You sat down, powered it on, logged in, and started filling out your information. Everything was going fine. Until the screen suddenly froze.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“No, no, no. Fuck- You have to be kidding me.” This cannot be happening right now. Someone must’ve cursed you. How could you be so unlucky?

Frantically, you clicked the mouse. Nothing. You pressed a few keys. Still nothing. The whole system had locked up.

Swearing under your breath, you stormed back to the reception. “The computer froze. Can you help?”

The man frowned, following you back into the room. He sat at the desk, clicking a few things, but it was clear he had no idea what he was doing. The more he fumbled, the worse you felt.

Then, sighing in defeat, he stood. “I’ll ask someone.”

You barely paid attention as he left the room and called out into the lobby. “Law?Do you know anything about computers? Come help.”

Heavy footsteps approached. A second later, another man entered the room. It was the man the receptionist had been talking to when you came.

And just like that, your stomach flipped for an entirely different reason.

He was tall. His presence filled the room instantly, suffocating in an entirely new way. He barely glanced at you as he moved toward the desk, but in that fleeting moment, you took in everything. Dark eyes. Tattoos, sprawling up his arms and chest, creeping beneath the open collar of his shirt. And his hands—his fingers were long, marked with the word DEATH, and it was ridiculous, truly ridiculous, how your mind wandered for a second too long about what those hands would feel like around your throat. Something about his presence made it hard to look away.

Your body felt too warm. You blamed the heat.

He sat in front of the computer, working quietly. He moved with precision, like he already knew the problem before even touching the keyboard. The other man had to return to the reception desk, leaving you two alone in the small room.

Then, without looking up, he asked, “What’s your name?”

His voice was deep. Slow. You hated that it sent a small shiver down your spine.

You told him.

He finally glanced at you, shaking your hand. His grip was firm, warm fingers enveloped your hand.

“Trafalgar Law,” he said simply.

You raised a brow. “That’s a mouthful.”

“You can just call me Law.”

Your fingers slipped from his, but he didn’t move away, still focused on the computer.

“So,” he said, “what exactly were you trying to do here, young lady?”

Young lady? You bristled.

“Trying to submit my college application,” you muttered, arms crossing.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Left it for the last minute, didn’t you?”

You scoffed. “Thanks for the reminder, Mr. Perfect.” Your irritation flared. He didn’t know you. He didn’t know anything about you.

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head before his eyes flicked back to you. “What are you even doing here, anyway? You don’t look like a tourist.”

You shifted, hesitating for a moment before answering. “I was visiting my parents. But I’m leaving in a couple of hours.”

His smirk faltered—just for a second, so quick you almost missed it.

“I could say the same about you,” you added, tilting your head.

His smirk widened just slightly. “I’m here for a medical convention.”

That caught your attention. You blinked. “Wait—you’re a doctor?”

His gaze met yours, unreadable. “Surgeon.”

You didn’t know why that information made your stomach flip. Maybe it was the way he said it. Or the way he was still looking at you, like he was waiting for something.

The computer’s screen was dark now. The man—Law—tried to turn it back on, but nothing happened. Neither of you spoke.

He held your gaze for a second too long, as if deciding something. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and walked out. You were left with only the hum of the old computer.

You exhaled sharply.

What the hell was that?

Before you could make sense of the moment, he returned—this time carrying a sleek, modern laptop. He set it down on the desk in front of you, flipping it open with one hand.

“Use this,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“The hotel’s computer is ancient. You’re wasting your time.” He leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Use mine.”

You hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered.”

His tone was dismissive, like you were wasting his time by questioning him. Rolling your eyes, you sat down and pulled the laptop closer. It was fast, responsive—so much better than the dinosaur of a computer you had been struggling with.

You started typing, fully aware of his presence hovering nearby.

After a minute, you glanced at him. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

“In case you need help.”

You scoffed. “Oh, so now you’re an expert on university applications too?”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “No, but considering you waited until the last second to do this, I’d say you could use some supervision.”

You shot him a glare. “I don’t need supervision.”

“Debatable.”

Your fingers tightened around the mouse, and you forced yourself to focus on filling out the application instead of arguing with him. But it wasn’t easy, not when you could feel his gaze lingering, watching your every move.

After a minute, you glanced up, noticing the tattoos creeping out from under his sleeves.

“Seriously?” you said, cocking an eyebrow. “Trying to look mysterious with all that ink? You think that makes you intimidating?”

His eyes flickered to his tattoos before returning to yours. There was something a little smug about the way he smirked. “Maybe I like it,” he said, a glint of challenge in his voice. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

You laughed, leaning back slightly in the chair, eyeing him. “Oh, I’m sure you think it makes you look all tough. But what’s the deal with all of it? Some kind of ‘bad boy’ aesthetic you’re going for?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, unamused. “It’s not about looking tough. It’s about expression. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Expression, huh?” You smirked, your fingers moving faster over the keyboard, trying to focus. “Looks more like a cry for attention to me.”

His lips curled into a darker smile, the playful tone shifting into something more intense. “Maybe I want people to notice. Maybe I don’t care if you understand.”

“Yeah, I bet. Probably trying to distract everyone from your actual personality,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s next? You’re gonna tell me you’ve got some deep, brooding backstory to go along with all this art?”

He gave you a flat look, but the smirk never fully left his lips. “If I did, I wouldn’t be sharing it with someone who can’t even bother to apply to university on time.”

Your head snapped up, eyes flashing. “Oh, you’re gonna bring that up again?”

He shrugged, uncaring. “What can I say? I’m just pointing out the obvious. You seem like the type to talk a big game but can’t back it up when it matters.”

“You’re full of yourself, huh?” You leaned forward, looking directly at him. “Maybe you’re just mad because you’re too busy getting tattoos to actually have any real emotions. Trying to hide behind your ink?”

His eyes narrowed, an edge to his voice now. “You don’t know shit about me.”

You couldn’t help the challenge that rose within you. “Yeah, well, you don’t exactly seem like the type to open up to anyone.”

The tension between you grew, charged and thick, but neither of you looked away. The air was filled with a sharp sort of energy, the kind that made everything feel slightly out of control.

He broke the silence first, his tone still steady but carrying an edge. “What makes you think I want to open up to you?”

You shrugged, lips curling into a taunting smile. “Maybe because you're not as tough as you act. You’re just scared of someone seeing through your bullshit.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his gaze flicking over your face like he was sizing you up. Then, without a word, he turned his attention back to the laptop and leaned against the desk again, his posture rigid, as if you’d pushed him too far.

For a few beats, neither of you said anything.

Silence stretched between you, heavy with something unspoken.

Then, he spoke. “You said you’re leaving in a few hours?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My bus is later today.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, but he didn’t move. If anything, he seemed to settle in, as if this was exactly where he intended to be.

Curiosity got the better of you. “So, what exactly do you do?”

He glanced at you, then exhaled through his nose, almost like he wasn’t planning to answer. But after a beat, he did. “I’m a surgeon. I told you, didn’t I?”

Your hands paused over the keyboard. “…Wait, seriously?”

“No, I’m lying for fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no mistaking the flicker of surprise that crossed your face. So he wasn’t lying? He didn’t seem much older than you—mid-to-late twenties, maybe—and yet, a surgeon? That explained the quiet confidence, the sharp, assessing way he looked at things.

“Huh.” You returned to typing, still processing the thought. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What does?”

You hesitated, then smirked slightly. “That you act like you know everything.”

He chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “I don’t act like I know everything.”

“You kinda do.”

“And yet, I was right about you needing help.”

“Wait,” you said, still reeling from the revelation. “How old are you, anyway?”

He paused, clearly considering whether he should answer. “Twenty-six,” he finally said.

You frowned. “And you’re already a surgeon? That’s… impressive.”

He didn’t seem to care much about the praise. “It’s just a job. You’re the one who’s in university, right? What are you studying?”

You stopped typing for a moment, taken off guard by the question. “Psychology,” you said, not quite sure why you were suddenly sharing so much with him. “I’m thinking about specializing in clinical psychology or maybe counselling. Something to help people.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his expression serious now. “That’s noble. But it’s not an easy path.”

You smirked. “Well, if it’s worth doing, it was never meant to be easy, right?”

He looked at you, his gaze softening for a second before he turned his attention back to the laptop. “True. But it can be frustrating. Surgery is like that too—people think it’s all glory, but it’s hard. It takes more than just knowledge. There are lives on the line every day.”

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the weight of his words sinking in. You hadn’t really thought about it like that, especially not from someone who was actually living it. “Sounds intense.”

“It is. But you learn to manage it. You have to.” His voice was quieter now, almost like he was lost in thought. “That’s why I’m here, actually. A medical convention. I mentioned it earlier.”

You blinked, still processing what he had said. “A medical convention? Here?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s in the city for a couple of days. Most of it is boring, but it’s part of the job.”

You couldn't help but laugh a little. “It sounds like the kind of thing you’d be more interested in than, I don’t know, enjoying the city.”

He gave a rare, genuine smile. “Maybe. But I’m not really here to sightsee.” He looked at you again, his expression softening for just a second. “I don’t usually get time to myself, honestly. The job’s demanding.”

There was an unexpected vulnerability in his words, and for a moment, you saw a side of him you hadn’t expected.

Before you could respond, your screen flashed—confirmation. Your application had been successfully submitted.

Relief crashed over you. “Oh my God. I did it.”

You leaned back in your chair, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. It was done. You wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of your own procrastination after all.

Law glanced at the screen, then back at you. He seemed disappointed. Time passed too quickly. “Guess you got lucky.”

You groaned. “Can’t you just let me have this win?”

“If you wanted a win, you shouldn’t have cut it this close.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, but before you could fire back, he pulled out his phone and handed it to you.

You blinked at it. “…What?”

“Your number.”

Your breath caught for a second.

He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t even looking at you, as if this was just an afterthought to him. But the way his fingers gripped the phone—just tight enough to betray the fact that maybe it wasn’t as casual as he made it seem—told you otherwise.

You raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”

He finally met your gaze again, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Damn him.

With a small huff, you took the phone from his hand and started typing.

Law watched as you typed in your number, his arms crossed, expression unreadable. When you handed the phone back, you couldn’t help the smirk tugging at your lips.

“You’re planning to call me? See me again?”

He scoffed, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Oh? Then why’d you ask?”

His jaw tightened for half a second—so quick you almost missed it. Then, with a slow shrug, he muttered, “Maybe I like to keep an eye on people who make dumb decisions.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Right. Because procrastinating an application is a crime now?”

Law tilted his head slightly, studying you. “It’s reckless. But I guess you enjoy living on the edge.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you glanced at the time and felt the reality of your departure settle in. Your bus would be leaving soon.

Pushing your chair back, you stood up, adjusting your bag. “Well, guess I should get going.”

He cleared his throat, as if dismissing the moment, and straightened up. “Anyway, I guess it’s good you’ve got this sorted. You’ve got your bus to catch and all.”

You stared at him, unsure of why you suddenly didn’t want to leave. Something about the conversation—about him—was making you rethink everything.

You hesitated, before speaking. “Yeah. I’ve got to go. But… thanks for the laptop. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without it.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, though his eyes followed you closely. “No problem. Just don’t make a habit of waiting until the last minute next time.”

You shot him a look, but he was already watching you with that unreadable expression again, dark eyes glinting with amusement.

He didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t move, either.

For a man who had spent the last 45 minutes teasing and judging you, he looked… hesitant.

His fingers tapped against his phone in an irregular rhythm, like his body was betraying the indifference he was trying to project.

You tilted your head. “What? No sarcastic comment? No parting words of wisdom?”

He exhaled through his nose. “…Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

There was a pause, a hesitation so thick you could almost touch it. Then, just as you turned toward the door, you caught the slightest movement—his fingers twitching, like he was about to reach out. But he didn’t.

You bit your lip.

Something about the way he held himself, rigid and unreadable, sent a strange, conflicting feeling through you.

You took a step forward, then stopped. Looking back at him, you said goodbye.

You turned back toward the exit, feeling his gaze still burning into you as you walked away.

You left, but that feeling didn’t. Something about the way he’d been so close, his gaze lingering, made you hesitate for just a second.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if you’d ever see him again.

[americasass91]

Use Me

Hello there! I know I’ve been M.I.A. for awhile. And literally haven’t written anything in like 8 months. I’ve been going through a shit ton. (Divorce, job change, all kinds of fun stuff) And I really lost my spark to write. And then the Fnaf movie came out. And seeing Josh Hutcherson on screen again lit a fire inside of me! That boy was my original crush (long before Evans). Peeta Mellark will forever have a piece of my heart. That being said, here’s a little something starring Mike Schmidt! I know, I know. It’s not a Chris Evans character? What’s wrong with me? Josh is fucking pretty. That’s what’s wrong with me. Like, I have a problem. Don’t get me wrong, I still think Chris is pretty and hope the best for him. But…he’s not been my muse lately. I said a long time ago that I wanted Josh to fuck me like a screen door in a hurricane. And it apparently still holds true today! So, I hope you enjoy it even though this is not a part of your regularly scheduled programming! Also, this takes place after the events of FNAF. Also, Also. Not sure if the people on my Taglist for Chris’ characters want to be tagged in Josh’s. If so, just let me know!

*DISCLAIMER*, If you’re under 18, this is nothing for you to be reading. Go away.

Words: 3.3k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut, p in v smut, oral(f rec), unprotected sex, language, Mike being good, um I think that’s it

💙💙💙💙💙 

“Listen Y/N, I’m gonna need you to stay and work the next shift.”

You turn around and look at your manager as if she had suddenly grown 3 heads. “Excuse me? I don’t think I heard you right. It sounded like you said you needed me to stay and work the next 8 hour shift.”

She rolls her eyes as she goes back to charting the current patient she’s working on. “You know that’s exactly what I said. Look, I have no other options. Hannah called off.”

“Again? This is like the third day in a row! How is that fair exactly?” You put your patient’s paperwork down and cross your arms over your chest as you stare at her expectantly.

She doesn’t even bother looking at you as she answers. “I don’t know what to tell you Y/N. She says she’s sick. I can’t have her come in if she’s sick.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “If by sick you mean hungover! She literally posted on Instagram last night about her night out on the town!”

She glances over at you. “There’s no way to prove if that was from last night or if it's older. Now just get back to work and I’ll let you have an hour and a half break instead of an hour.”

Now you’re pissed. “Yeah, see, that's not going to work for me. I’ve already been here for 16 hours because Kim was late. I’m not working Hannah’s whole ass shift. I have plans. I finally get to see my boyfriend after weeks because our schedules weren’t lining up. I’m not staying.”

“You really don’t have a choice. I wasn’t really asking you, I was telling you. There’s no one else to cover.”

Tears started welling up in your eyes out of frustration, exhaustion, and the possibility of not being able to see Mike again. “There’s a bunch of other people that can cover! What about you? You’ve only been here 8 hours. It would make more sense for you to stay.” 

She turns in her chair to look at you now. “Y/N, I have actual plans. My husband has a work party. And the rest of us have husbands and children to attend to. Not just ‘hanging out with my boyfriend.’

Now you’re seeing red. “So what you’re saying is because I’m the only nurse on this floor not married, I get the shitty end of the deal and have to cover when other people call off?”

“No. If you had legit plans then I’d be more sympathetic. But you haven’t even been with this boy that long. You don’t need to spend every free moment with him.”

“I’m sorry but who do you think you are? My mother? Because I’m a grown ass woman. And if I want to hang with my boyfriend on my time off then I’m going to! I don’t really need your approval for it. I’m not staying.”

You grab your Stanley and start heading towards the locker room to grab your stuff. 

“Y/N! If you don’t stay, then you can forget about this job.”

You turn around just before reaching the end of the hallway. “Well, then I guess you’re going to have to stick around and cover Hannah’s shift. Stick it up your ass, Jan. I quit.”

You don’t even stay to hear what she has to say. You quickly run to your locker and grab all of your stuff out before you start to cry. You can’t believe you just quit. And it’s not just because of your boyfriend. You haven’t been treated right since the first week you started. This was just the last straw. You just hope Mike won’t be disappointed in you.

💙💙💙💙💙

After a quick shower and outfit change at home, you reluctantly find yourself pulling into Mike’s driveway and getting out of the car. You haven’t gotten to see him in about 3 weeks and you know you look like shit from not only your long ass shift but also because you cried on the way over.

You head to the front door and open it up. He always leaves the door unlocked when he knows you’re coming over, and get hit with the aroma of pasta. Mike’s cooking you dinner. That makes you want to start crying all over again. He’s the sweetest.

“Babe? Is that you?” You hear him call from the back of the house. He quickly comes towards the front and sees you. His smile falters when he sees the state you’re in. “Babe, are you okay? What happened?” He quickly wraps you up in a hug. 

You try your best to keep it together but a few tears fall. “I quit today.”

He pulls out of the hug but keeps his arms around you. “You did? Babe, that’s fantastic!” He pulls you back in for another hug and picks you up to twirl you around.

Your mood instantly lifts and you can’t help but laugh. “It is?”

He sets you down and pulls you in for a quick kiss. “Of course it is! That place was treating you like shit! And Jan was a bitch! What finally made you do it?”

He lets go of all but your hand and leads you into the kitchen so he can continue making spaghetti. He sets you down at the table and pours you a nice big glass of wine he bought just for tonight. “I want to hear all about it.”

He goes back to the stove and continues making dinner while you rehash the last 16 hours.

He turns around with the sauce spoon in his hand and his other on his hip. “Hannah called off again? Jesus, how does she still have a job? Didn’t she do this to you last year during Christmas?”

Oh, shit. You had forgotten about that. She did do this last year! You had plans to fly home and see your family for the holidays when Hannah unexpectedly came down with ‘the flu’. Jan had called and needed you to work since nobody else could cover. You felt like since you were still new at the time that you couldn’t say no. Now you’re getting pissy all over again. 

“Oh my god! You’re right! Maybe the bitch has some vendetta out against me. I’ve never done anything to her though! I’ve been nothing but nice!”

Just then your phone dings, alerting you of a text. You quickly check it. It’s from Hannah.

I can’t believe you threw a tantrum and quit just because I wasn’t feeling my best and couldn’t come in. Wow. All so you can hang out with your piece of shit delinquent boyfriend. You sure have your priorities straight.

“Fucking cunt!” You yell as you throw your phone across the table. Then immediately you slap your hands over your mouth just as Mike turns around to see what you’re yelling about.

“What’s wrong? Who was it?”

You remove your hands from your mouth. “Mike, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to curse that loud. I hope Abby didn’t hear me.”

He waves you off. “Babe, she’s not even here. She got invited to a sleepover at Natalie’s house. We’re alone. You’re good.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank god! I don’t want any of my bad habits to rub off on her.”

Mike just chuckles and turns back to the sauce. “If she turns out anything like you, I’d be entirely okay with that.”

You can’t help but feel a blush creep up your neck. He was always saying sweet stuff like that. You get up and hug him from behind and press a kiss to the back of his neck. “You’re too sweet.”

He turns around in your arms and grabs your face and gives you a proper, toe-curling kiss. “I mean it.”

After a few more shared kisses, Mike finishes up dinner and fixes you both a plate and a glass of wine for himself. As you’re sitting there twirling your spaghetti around your fork, you can’t help but think about Hannah’s text again. And then all of the little snide remarks she’s ever made to you come flooding back.

“Babe?”

You snap out of your thoughts and Mike comes back into focus. “Yeah?”

He puts his fork down. “I asked if there was something wrong with the spaghetti? You’ve hardly touched it.”

You look down at your plate and realize you’ve just been twirling it around your fork. “No, it’s fine. Just thinking about what Hannah said and how much it pisses me off. I’m sorry, I’m not meaning to ruin our time together.”

He smiles and grabs both of your plates and gets up and places them on the counter. He comes back over and holds his hand out to you. “Come on.”

You grab his hand with no hesitation and let him pull you out of your chair and let him lead you to his bedroom.

He turns around to face you right before you get to his bed. “First of all, you could never ruin our time together. I love getting to spend time with you no matter what. Second of all, it sounds like you need to let out some anger and need a distraction.”

You can’t help but feel all tingly at the smirk he’s giving you. “What did you have in mind?”

He backs up a little and sits on the bed and looks up at you. “Use me, Y/N.”

You shake your head. “What? What do you mean?”

He reaches out to grab your hands to pull you towards him. “I mean use me. Use me to distract yourself and to take your anger out on. I’ll be a good boy and do whatever you need.”

That almost had your knees buckling. “Oh.” He lifts your shirt up and starts pressing kisses along your stomach while running his hands from your back to your hips and down to your ass. You’ve never been in this position before. Sure, you guys have only been together for like 5 months but anytime you’ve ever been intimate, he’s been the one who’s taken charge.

He pulls back and looks up at you. “Use me, baby. I got you. Tell me what you need.”

You decide to run with it and take control and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I wanna sit on your face.”

He lets out a little whimper as he moves back on the bed. “Fuck, baby. Please sit on my face. I want you to suffocate me.”

He lays back and patiently waits for you to remove your pants and panties. You hesitantly climb up on the bed. You’ve never done this before with anyone but have always wanted to try it. You climb up until you’re straddling his waist and lean down to kiss him. 

He returns the kiss enthusiastically and grinds you down onto him so you can feel how hard he already is for you. It makes you let out a small moan into his mouth. The making out only lasts for a few more minutes before you pull away and start climbing up until you’re hovering right above his mouth.

Before you fully lower yourself onto him you grab his hair and yank so that he has to look at you. He lets out another beautiful whimper. “I’m going to ride your face until I can’t think of anything else but your tongue. You’re going to be good and make me cum as many times as I want, right?”

He nods instantly. “Yes, I promise I’ll be good for you.”

“Good boy.” You tell him, which makes his eyes roll to the back of his head. Hmm. Who knew he had a praise kink?

You let go of his hair and grab onto the headboard with both hands before you slowly lower yourself onto his waiting mouth. 

He immediately grips your thighs and pulls you even harder on him and starts eating you out like a man starved. “Oh, fuck!” You throw your head back and start grinding on his tongue. He gives you a few more licks before he sucks your clit into his mouth and starts lapping his tongue back and forth against it. “Oh, god. Fuck, Mike! You’re so fucking good at that.”

Your praise has him moaning and whimpering into your pussy, heightening the experience that much more. He moves his right hand towards your ass and gives it a nice squeeze before moving towards your pussy and immediately inserting two fingers.  It makes you start grinding faster, feeling yourself already close to the edge.

He starts pumping his fingers in time with your grinding, pushing you even closer to the edge. You can’t believe how quickly he got you there. 

“Mike, please! Gonna cum! Make me cum.”

He pumps his fingers even faster and lightly bites down on your clit, knowing it’ll make you fall over the edge.

You scream his name out and grind on him until it’s too much and you lift yourself away from his mouth. To which he whimpers out, “where’s that pussy going? I wasn’t done yet.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Jesus. I almost passed out from how hard I came. Give me a minute.”

“So I did good?” He looks up at you with big eyes and his chin glistening with your juices.

You pat his hair. “You did so good, baby. Made me feel so good.”

He smiles and wraps his arms around your thighs and presses soft kisses to the inside of them. You close your eyes and take a minute to enjoy that before you look behind you and see his erection pressing painfully against his jeans. You need that inside of you. Right now.

You remove yourself from his face and he lets out a little whine. “Don’t worry. I’m not done. Need your cock, baby.”

You’ve never seen him undo his belt and slide his jeans down that quickly before. It almost makes you chuckle. “Eager, are we?”

He nods as he pushes his jeans down far enough that his cock springs free and hits your ass. “Need to feel you around me, babe. Please.”

You lean down and pull him into a kiss which he returns generously. You can taste yourself on his tongue. He grabs his cock and hits it against your ass, signaling that he’s ready for you to slide onto him. You take the hint and lift up and back until he catches at your entrance. He’s the first one to break the kiss as you slowly slide down onto him. The little whimpers he lets out as you sit flush against his thighs is music to your ears.

You decide to tease him and just stay resting there for a minute while looking down at him. He has his eyes clenched shut and a death grip on your hips. He opens his eyes after a few moments and looks up at you. He reaches his right hand up and places it on your cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “Go ahead and use me babe. Take what you need from me.”

You slowly start moving your hips back and forth, never really lifting them up and down. The friction against your clit is so delicious. You place both hands on his chest and start moving your hips a little faster. “Oh, fuck baby. You feel so good. You’re so deep.” 

“Yeah? Am I making my girl feel good?”

You smirk down at him. “Oh, yeah. You’re being so good for me.”

He lets out another whimper as he grabs you by the back of your head and pulls you in for a heated kiss. This one sloppy and desperate. His hand that’s still on your hip starts moving you a little harder against him. He pulls away from your mouth and kisses his way up your neck towards your ear. “Come on babe. Cum on my cock. I can feel you clenching around me. Cum for me so I can be good and cum for you.”

This time you’re the one letting out a whimper. “Yeah? Want me to be your good boy and cum for you? Fill you up?”

“Please.” You whine out, moving your hips even faster than before. You can feel your orgasm coming like a freight train. There’s no stopping it. 

“Oh yeah. I can feel it. You’re gonna cum for me. Do it. Make a mess on me babe. Please, I need it.”

“Yeah? You need me to cum for you? Need to feel me cum? Oh, god Mike. I’m almost there. Please don’t stop.”

He continues helping you grind your hips against his. You’re almost there. Just a little something…..

“I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

That did it. You’re pitched off the edge and silently scream out. The edges of your vision going white. You can vaguely hear Mike whimpering out your name as he does as promised and fills you up. You slow your hips down until you can’t move them anymore and slump down against him with your face tucking into the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around you and rubs his hands up and down your back.

You both stay like that until your heartbeats return to normal. You lift up your head just until you can see him, almost nose to nose. He’s the first to speak. “So, did I do good for you?”

You let out a chuckle. “You were so good, baby.” You can feel him twitch inside of you at the praise. “But, we need to talk about what you said.”

Mike scrunches his brows for a few minutes before his eyes go wide and he realizes what he said. “Shit, I did not mean to say that.”

You can’t help the disappointment that crosses your face. “Oh, well that’s okay. It was in the heat of the moment.”

He quickly wraps his arms tighter around you. “No! That’s not what I meant. Shit. I one hundred percent meant it. I just wanted to make it special when I told you. Not in the middle of an orgasm. You deserve better than that.”

You smile and press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I appreciate the thought. But I really don’t need anything special. I already have you.”

His smile lights up his entire face. “I love you, Y/N.”

This time you press a kiss to his lips. “I love you, too Mike. Like, a lot.”

“I bet not as much as I love you.”

Just as you’re about to retort, Mike’s cell starts vibrating, causing you to jolt with fright since his phone is still in his pocket which your leg is pressed up against.

“Jesus Christ.”

You quickly get up so that he can grab his phone. “Hello?”

You go into the bathroom to clean up. You come back in with a wet cloth to clean Mike up. He just hangs up as you come in the room. “Everything okay?”

He smiles in thanks as you hand him the cloth. He goes about cleaning himself up. “Yeah. That was Natalie’s mom. Apparently Abby has decided she doesn’t wanna stay the night so I have to go get her.” He stands and pulls his jeans back up and smooths his shirt out. “Sorry we won’t be alone anymore.”

You pull him in for a quick kiss. “Nothing to apologize for. I love you Mike. And that means loving all of you. Which includes Abby. Whom you know I just adore. Go get her and we’ll have a movie night or something.”

He shakes his head and pulls you in for another kiss. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You just smile in return. “After the past year you’ve been through, you deserve to be happy.”

He chuckles as he heads out the door. “Ain’t that the damn truth!”

[respectthepetty]

Petty, I respect you.

I do.

However.

DONT BE QUITE ABOUT THE COLOURS IN ON1Y 1 BECAUSE I WILL READ A FULL THESIS ON IT, 20 PAGES!!!! 50 PAGES!!!!

PLEASEEEE Give

It

To

Meeeeeeeee 🥹

Anon,

You've opened a floodgate.

Because I always notice the colors, but just because I see colors doesn't mean I know why they are significant. Even if I see there is a pattern, it doesn't mean I understand its importance. And I don't think y'all should be subject to me screaming about Jiang Tian's paper bookmarks being yellow and pink in a book of (love?) poems where he has highlighted that "a girl's shyness is like a tender cherry under the sunlight" and "16- and 17-year-olds are like fruits in the morning sun, sparkling."

Sheng Wang asks who this is about, but we know who this is about. The colors mean things.

And more importantly, I actually didn't write weekly or episodic posts about shows until 2022. I used to wait until a show was over to write about the colors or background noise, and, mostly, I only did it when people would ask me about it. Big Dragon was the first show that I felt compelled to write weekly about the colors and background noise because it was so amazing, so 2024 is still an odd space for me to be in sometimes because as much as I love colors, I'm ALWAYS surprised how much y'all want to know about them . . . weekly . . . per episode . . . for all the shows.

I write for myself, but sometimes I think y'all don't need to witness me losing my shit every week for sixteen weeks over obviously color-coded characters in The Loyal Pin.

And sometimes I think y'all don't want to witness me losing my shit over colors that I can't completely understand like the grays in 4 Minutes.

And then other times I think y'all shouldn't have to witness me losing my shit over colors that I'm not sure are colors until I've watched enough episodes to feel sure that the colors are, in fact, coloring; then, the series, The Trainee, actually tells me the colors were coloring the entire time like I thought.

And that's why I try to be quiet about shows because I'm figuring them out in my head, or I'm waiting for enough information to feel confident about them, and I don't want to hog up the tag with my ramblings. I need to sit in it a bit to figure out what the colors mean.

Kiseki: Dear to Me was the perfect example. I didn't mention anything about colors until prompted by others because it took me until the third episode to feel certain that Chen Yi and Ai Di matched colors, then it took me close to the end of the series to realize all the cameo couples ALSO matched colors.

It took me until the end of My Love Mix-Up to realize Aoki's color had evolved.

It took me two seasons (and a movie) to feel secure that Kiyoi was a Heavenly Human in My Beautiful Man.

And it took me until midway through Semantic Error to figure out why the red disappeared.

That's how The On1y One is for me. I knew yellow/orange and blue would play some part in the story based on the posters, but I wasn't sure how until I started seeing more visuals appear.

Because even though I saw a yellow container of food for Sheng Wang in the first episode,

I didn't realize he mostly ate color-coded food until episode four.

It's such a tiny detail, so I could have easily missed it, but because I know that he is a picky eater, I feel like it's not simply a coincidence, and I quickly noticed it in the eighth episode.

But I needed to collect more images before I could state that. I needed to let the story develop before I realized it. I needed to settle into it. And that's why I wrote my halfway point post after a few people asked if I noticed.

Because I know I seem like a magician who shouts a lot, but I'm not. Sometimes, I have to be patient and let the colors sneak up on me while I'm simply enjoying the moment, like Sheng Wang's orange alarm clock nestled into the corner of his bed while he falls asleep on his light yellow pillow in his light yellow shirt.

I know not all visuals can be a literal bright yellow sign hanging from the color-coded boy's room, ya know?

I'm not Jenny who cannot grasp that she keeps taking food and drinks meant for Benny even when he realized if she could figure out the mug was about gay rights without realizing he was gay then someone smarter will along and piece the dots together . . .

Because like, girl, he's gay.

But it does take me time to collect images and get my thoughts in order, so until then, I'm going to be quiet.

Or as quiet as a loud ass like me can be.

[writersblockworks]

Played Modern Warfare games and finished the third one. I wanted to write something about Soap. But I’ve seen “oh he wants to propose when he gets back but never came back.” Look it’s great and gets me sad every single time. And I wanted to use this song anyways sooooo

Cw: Death, fwb

MDNI

Chance with you

Soap was never just a teammate to you, but a friend, your stupid friend, your annoying friend one of your closest friends, hell your most attractive guy friend.

Maybe that’s why it was so easy to slip into his bed with him after a hard mission.

It wasn’t always sex, sometimes you guys just cuddled, or just relaxed in each other’s presence. From his bed, to yours, to long missions under the stary night sky. Really anywhere you guys just became friends with benefits. And who better than your best friend?

Did you have feelings for him? Absolutely.

Did he have feelings for you? You didn’t know

Well, you didn’t know until after you guys came back from that mission. One less person stepped out of the car. God damn it took a toll on you all. Everyone dealt with the loss of a friend in their own way yet you all felt the same. You all lost someone important.

A few hour later you get called to the kitchen to find Ghost, Gaz, and Price all sitting at the table. Two chairs were empty. It was all different. Ghost wasn’t wearing his stupid mask, Gaz looked more tired without his hat, prices hat was off two and his beard was a mess. And you? You were wearing Johnnys dog tags.

It had been two hours but it seemed like everyone took on a new look. Your fingers mindlessly traced the engravings of the dog tags as you sat down. You all sat in silence for a moment before Price pulled out a piece of paper. He took a moment before sighing and sliding the paper towards you.

“I’m not in the mood to read.” You whisper. You tried to find any reaction on their faces. Anything but all you saw were hollow men. The men who were the best of the best. Now in front of you, sat a bunch of shells. Hell you probably looked the same to them.

“Johnny wanted you to read this.” Ghost replied. Your eyes widened slightly and you took the letter from the table and heard it up to read it.

From Johnny

Your heart stopped and you feel the dam almost break, yet you keep yourself composed. After a moment of staring at the silly doodles, you finally decide to open the letter and start reading.

[y/n]

I don’t know how to start this off. I really don’t. Usually I’m great with words. Before you came, I’d flirt with any attractive woman I could get into bed, I was a player, not wanting to settle down. Hell before we started doing this I told you and for some reason you accepted. But when you joined the team about two years ago, and that’s the first time I got tongue tied. I knew I had to get closer to you. I do have to admit that my intentions weren’t pure at first. You can hit me after you read this letter. But I came to actually enjoy your presence. In the morning I’d go on the early morning jog with Simon just to see you when I got back. I know I was sweaty and gross, but I didn’t care, and I don’t think you minded too much. Again hit me after just read love.

Before you could finish reading you were crying. Fucking sobbing. He had a bad feeling he told you and the rest of the task force. Yet you all just dismissed it as jitters. Even if you guys took it more seriously you guys had a job to do. You look at the guys and before you can ask how long they knew.

“Just keep reading.” Gaz whispered. You could see him crying a bit too. You look back at the letter, careful not to cry on it.

But after this letter. We can meet in the kitchen in an hour. I’ll make us some food and we can watch a movie on the couch and talk. And I don’t mean it like that, I mean actually just enjoy each other’s presence. I know you haven’t even told me if you feel the same, but damn. I love you. So much. And after tomorrow’s mission. I’ll give you this letter and read it when you can, at least when I’m not around. But if you feel the same. I’ll take you on the best date you’ve been on. I promise that. I’m nervous for tomorrow. But for all reasons. Makarov is the first reason, you are the second. I don’t want to make this awkward if you don’t feel the same, but I can’t hold it back anymore. I love you. And the next time wont just be a hook up, I’ll find away to make it better.

Also you look REALLY fucking good in that tactical gear. Nice ass.

Love, Johnny

You were trembling like a leaf. Holding back a wave of tears, a wave of emotions. You ran your fingers over the small doodles and placed the letter down.

“He asked me to give you the letter is he couldn’t do it himself.” Ghost whispered. The room fell silent.

“Since when did he plan for the worst.” You chuckled through sniffles. Yet there was no humor in your tone.

“He plans important things.” Price muttered. And at that you just break down. Pushing the note from you so you don’t get your tears on it.

At that moment you didn’t care how the others see you. Ugly crying, snot down your face. Gaz gets you a tissue box because Price and Ghost don’t know what to do (they did Gaz was just faster). Ghost makes you all tea and once you get yours and make it how Johnny likes it. You grab the letter and head to your room, well his room but you’ve stayed in there enough times for it to basically be your second room.

You sat in his bed and laid back. You felt numb. This morning you woke up and talked about the future with Johnny and Gaz. Now? You’re laying on his bed. His room felt colder. Johnny was gone. God damnit you should have just fucking told him. Maybe it would be-

No

God as much as you wished he was still here, if you confessed earlier. Taken a chance, risked your friendship more than you guys already had. It wouldn’t have made this outcome any different. All you could do was wish.

The days after were slow and quiet. It’s not like the boys ignored you, or you ignored them. They offered what they could. A shoulder to cry on dispute being on edge too. They offered food and water. And you did the same for them. It was the fact that mission briefs were quieter, no more stupid pranks. No Soap. No Johnny

You had taken some of his clothing, some drawings you found in his room that he did of you. His cologne he always wore. You even found a present he was going to give to you.

Weeks passed and you still slept in his room, and Price knew he had to make you go to your own room. Not to be mean, but for your own mental health.

The argument was an explosion. Yelling and screaming. But in the end you found yourself crying against Price as he held on to you tightly as if he were going to lose you too.

Your family did as much as they could to comfort you, your friends bringing you food and price letting them in for the 5th time this week even though it was only Tuesday.

Johnny’s family came to get the rest of his stuff in his room. Of course they left the things they couldn’t bear to look at and you kept them. Including his dog tags.

Even though you and the others were emotionally wrecked you guys still had a job to do. Hell if he saw you guys slacking because of him he’d be pissed. But you guys have a new motive. Capture Makarov and put an end to this shit.

Now it was the question which one of you got to kill him first.

—————————————————

Does the song fit? No, not really but who gives a fuck I love this song. I also have no friends who play the campaigns as well as multiplayer. And my friends and my bf who play cod don’t play the campaign. :(

I’ve never actually had a character death affect me like this. :(

So I’m thinking I need to go back to therapy for my attachment issues ANYWAYS

[celli-ohs]

yeowza!

part three of accidentally in love! series gamer!beomgyu x streamer!reader; college!au, fake relationship fluff, comedy, angst, smut

ATTENTION: reply/comment for tag list

3. Dom Toretto v. Heeseung Lee (written portion 1.75k)

“You’re seriously doing this? For a guy?” Yeji looks unimpressed as she drives you and Yuna towards Jeongin’s apartment. “Yeji, I’m just going to see if he’s my type.” Yuna waves her off. As the two girls argue about Yuna’s disastrous relationship status, you watch the city go by as you idly sit in the back seat. You’ve known Jeongin for only about two years now. You’d met him through Felix, as the two of them had many mutual friends. Throughout your two-year friendship, you’ve gotten to know Jeongin pretty well. He was incredibly friendly and welcoming, drawing you in immediately when you first met. Despite all of this, you were surprised to find he had no interest in fame. All of your friends, while great people, craved to be under a spotlight of some kind. All except Jeongin, who was very content with being a normal guy.

A part of you felt jealous of him. Jeongin is able to experience normalcy in his life, something you haven’t experienced in a long time. He gets to go to school, hang out with friends in public, and have a job as a teacher’s aide at the local preschool, gosh he even gets to argue with Financial Aid when they email him about his grant money. But most of all, you were jealous of the fact that Jeongin could have a love life. Not that you couldn’t, you’ve definitely tried, but you found that most guys saw you as a paypig or fetish of some sort. Your chances of having a normal dating experience were thrown into the trash before you could even realize it. So much for fame and fortune. 

Yeji parks the car and you all climb out. “He lives on the top floor right?” Yuna asks you, and you nod. Out of the three, you’ve been to Jeongin’s apartment the most. His last roommate was rarely home, making it a good spot for you to hang out when bored. “Apartment 143,” You answer, leading the girls to the lobby. As you press the button for the elevator, Yuna looks skeptical. “This thing doesn’t look safe.” You laugh at her. “It’s fine, get in.” You say, stepping in first. “This is the type of elevator they show in horror movies and a ghost pops up behind you before you die.” She argues again, the rickety old elevator slowly bringing you three up to the top floor.

“Yeah, but it’s kinda cool, right?” You smile. Your friends look at you like you’re crazy. You guys finally arrive at the top floor, exiting the elevator. As you guide them through the halls, Yuna whispers. “Okay, if he’s ugly, we’re just going to drop off the food and then go.” Yeji chuckles at this. “I hope he’s hideous then,” Yuna glares as you giggle. The three of you arrive at apartment 143, and Yuna eagerly knocks. A couple of seconds go by and no response. She knocks again. Silence. She knocks for a third time- actually, more like she bangs on the door- when Yeji stops her. “Let me call him, maybe he’s not home yet-“

“Yo Dom Toretto, were you speeding across town? How did you get to my apartment before me?!” Jeongin shouts at you all as he walks towards you down the hall. But he’s not alone, trailing behind him are two tall men who look confused at the situation. “I actually went the speed limit this time, you just drive like a granny.” Yeji retaliates. Jeongin cackles as he reaches the door. “Hear that Heeseung? Yeji thinks you’re a slow driver.” At the sound of his roommate’s name, Yuna perks up. “Oh, uh Heeseung, Beomgyu, these are my friends Yeji, Yuna, and Y/n.” 

You peek over from behind the girls and smile sweetly before waving. You notice one of the men’s eyes go wide. He seemed to recognize you. “This is Heeseung and Beomgyu.” Jeongin points out, and you learn it’s the one named Beomgyu who is looking at you with bulging eyes. “Hi! So nice to meet you guys! We just came by to bring Jeongin some food.” Yuna shows off the fancy bag full of your leftovers. “Oh, nice,” Heeseung says as Jeongin finally unlocks, letting everyone inside. You’re the last one to enter when you notice you’re actually not, Beomgyu is still outside. “Beomgyu? Are you coming in?” Jeongin asks, confused. He shakes his head. “I-I think I should go.”

“What? Bro I didn’t even get to show you my PC-“ Heeseung clams up, throwing a suspiciously guilty look towards you girls, before whispering something you can’t hear. As Yeji and Yuna set up the dining table, you watch quietly from the kitchen counter as Jeongin and Heeseung try to convince Beomgyu to stay. Usually, you’d mind your business, but you couldn’t help but feel responsible, seeing as you were most likely the reason Beomgyu wanted to flee so badly. His eyes haven’t left you once since your arrival. He looks terrified. Eventually, Beomgyu does come inside, but he heads straight to the bathroom, avoiding you.

“Holy shit, this looks so good.” Jeongin is giddy as Yeji reheats the pasta in the microwave. “We also brought some pizza, the seafood stew, and some risotto!” Yuna smiles. You can see her lingering towards Heeseung, though he seems more interested in Yeji, who couldn’t care less about him. “The only upside of having famous friends.” Jeongin jokes. As Yuna playfully hits his arm, Heeseung looks surprised. “Wait, you guys are the famous friends this dude keeps talking about? I thought he was just a pathological liar.” You laugh at Heeseung, his surprise seems genuine. “Jeongin what have you been telling this guy?”

“Nothing! They just don’t believe I could be friends with people like you.” He argues. “Yeah, because you’re like a loser who has no friends outside of me and Beomgyu,” Heeseung says bluntly. “I’m friends with Changbin and Jisung too!” Jeongin reminds him. As the two of them argue, you notice Beomgyu spying from behind the wall of the hallway, looking at you again. Hoping to try and make him feel more comfortable, you give him a warm smile and a little wave. It has the opposite effect though, as he ducks away to hide behind the wall completely. “Shut up- Hey, why don’t we give a tour of your new room Heeseung? Let the girls see your-“ “Beomgyu! Where did you go?” Heeseung shouts, changing the subject. 

“I think he’s over there,” You gently point to the hallway, and Heeseung walks over to grab the other man and drag him to the table like a child. “But I already ate at the barbecue place!” Beomgyu tries to argue, eyes flitting over to you with fear in them as he attempts to run away. “I call dibs on the pizza!” Jeongin grins, already digging in. “You guys want any?” Heeseung offers a plate (it’s stacked with enough food for two people) but you all refuse. “We already ate, but why don’t we drink-“ You clear your throat interrupting Yuna. “Sorry, but I actually have to get going.” You point out the time. “Oh yeah, me too, I’ve got a dance class in the morning,” Yeji remembers. You’re already making your way to the door, slipping on your shoes. “Thanks for bringing the food over,” Jeongin pauses his feast to walk you three out. 

“Of course, we don’t mind at all,” You smile. “Next time maybe we and the others can go together,” You offer, as the other two girls gather their things. “If you’re paying for my plate, then yes,” He jokes. You laugh, playfully scoffing at him. “Oh, hold up!” Heeseung calls out from the table, and he runs over quickly. You can see Beomgyu has made himself comfortable at the dining table, and now he refuses to get out of his seat. “Are you guys busy next weekend? My frat is throwing a party for my birthday, it’d be really cool if you all came,” Heeseung invites you three (you decide to ignore the fact he’s only staring at Yeji as he asks this). “Oh yeah! You guys should totally come!” Jeongin seems excited at the prospect. 

“We’d love to go! Right?” Yuna looks at you and Yeji with hopeful and bright eyes. t. “Sure! Can we invite our other friends too? I’m sure the boys would like to come too.” You ask. Heeseung nods eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, invite whoever you want. It’ll be lots of fun,” As the others are busy talking about the party (minus Yeji), you glance at Beomgyu, he’s picking at his food. You wonder what you could have done to upset him. “I’ll ask the group chat later. I’m sure Felix is down if he’s got the time, he’s been wanting to come ever since that party he made that cake for Yeonjun’s healed arm.” Jeongin adds. “Do you guys just throw parties for anything?” Yeji asks, raising a brow. “Yeah, pretty much. My sophomore year we threw a party for my buddy Sunghoon cause he went to the doctor for the first time without his mom.” Heeseung shrugs. 

“That’s surprisingly supportive,” You laugh at this, stepping through the front door as Jeongin holds it open. “I’ll clear up my schedule, just text us the details, Jeongin.” You wave as you three girls say your goodbyes. Jeongin and Heesung wave back, closing the door. You sigh as you all settle into the creaky elevator again. “So,” Yeji clears her throat. “Is he your type?” She turns to Yuna. You both look at her expectedly. “Nope. Not at all.” She answers with a smile. “Why do you look happy then?” You ask, confused. “Because I thought it was funny how much Yeji doesn’t like him.”

As you and Yuna chuckle at this, your other friend huffs, crossing her arms. “You're one to talk, Y/n literally scared a grown man.” She argues. “So I wasn’t the only one who noticed that?!” You sound shocked. “No yeah, that guy was weird. Maybe he’s a hater.” Yuna concludes. You don’t say anything as you all exit the elevator and head back outside to Yeji’s car. You don’t know why, but something feels off, you don’t think someone who hates you would act like Beomgyu did tonight. With a yawn, you decide not to dwell too much on it. It’s not like you were going to give someone like Beomgyu, much less a hater, your time of day.

Bonus:

beomgyu's reaction is inspired from when he went on lee young ji's show no prepare season 3 finale and met park boyoung (in all my time of being a moa, I've never seen him be so shy before, he looked scared lmao)

beomgyu thought y/n was a figment of his imagination until she waved at him when he was hiding in the hall

felix knows changbin and jisung because his older brother chris is a music producer, and they've worked with him before

felix live streams when he bakes, including yeonjun's (forgotten) cake from hubba hubba! but he was only able to drop it off though because of his busy schedule

after the girls left, jeongin explained who exactly his famous friends were to both heeseung and beomgyu

previous | next

yeowza! masterlist

taglist (open): @ancnymcnzjy @hybeboyenthusisast @wonnyy1 @justandloyal2961 @sseishiross @bubbbblessssss

[scourgeofmyownbrain]

Ironhide, Ironhide, Ironhide. It's the Ironhide Height Chart, everyone! Ironhide did not show up as much as I thought he would, Ratchet too. There's only like 8 universes where he shows up (in a meaningful way).

Quick Disclaimer, if any of the images look weird, it's because I had to stitch a few separate images together to create a full body shot of the character. And Yes, I am aware the TFO ones look stupid, these characters show up in background shots or for like 3 seconds tops. I didn't have anything else.

Here are links to my Bumblebee Chart, my Optimus Chart, my Megatron Chart, my Shockwave Chart, and my Ratchet Chart. For future reference, all these charts will be filed under my "Transformers Height Charts" tag and my "aka the adventures of a..." tag.

Master Post

Explanations and Sources below the cut.

RID 2001 - ~13 feet (TFWiki, lucky me, this one was easy)

Unicron Trilogy Energon - ~13 feet (No source, I got this number by assuming Optimus's height between Energon and Cybertron was the same and then comparing Ironhide to Optimus. For the uneducated, the Unicron Trilogy has given each of its 3 seasons separate names and 3 separate art styles.)

Gen 1 - ~16 feet (TFWiki, No additional comments)

WFCT - ~16 feet (No Source, but this design is identical to Gen 1 so who am I to complicate things.)

One V1 - ~16 feet (Pre-cog.*deep breath* Okay, so this movie doesn't have any actual numbers, aside for some bullshit ones from a Walmart Promotional. I've been using the Knightverse Optimus number as a baseline since these were at one point said to be vaugly canon to each other. And the Bumblebee-Optimus scaling is the same. I got this number by comparing Ironhide to Optimus. Idk man, this movie has made me develop a twitch.)

Animated - (Animated has no actual numbers, but the lovely @phoenix-inanis has provided a frankly astounding resource with their own calculations for the heights of all the TFA characters. Go look at it, it's wonderful -> https://phoenix-inanis.notion.site/TFA-Height-Chart-f6ad2960ca8c4c5b859ee4958723aaa4?pvs=4.)

One V2 - ~18 feet (Post-cog. Again, no numbers, plus I can't actually find a full body picture of this form. My method of "knocking off or adding two feet" has been pretty accurate so far (I got Bumblebee right), so I'm just going to keep doing it. God, my head hurts...)

Bayverse V1 - 22 feet (TFWiki, mr bay is my favorite he gives me heights for free)

Bayverse V2 - 24 feet (TFWIki, yes, for some reason, Ironhide just grew a few feet in between the second and third movies. This happens a lot)

Aligned Cont. WF/FOC - ~25 feet (So, I had nothing, and I had to look into the trailers for the game to get fucking anything. I was able to get a comparison between him and Optimus, and I was able to guestimate, but it was not perfect, and I probably need to actually play the games to get a better comparison. Also, once more, ALC coming in with the steel chair and snatching first place for being freakishly tall. why does this keep happening?)

Front and back layers separated for your viewing.

[drivinmeinsane]

Shot Through the Heart

※ Colt Seavers x GN!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: You've worked with Colt off and on for years, building an easy rapport with the stuntman. The rest of the crew sends you to check up on him after he's bad off following a stunt that seems to have caused his nearly career-ending injury to act up.

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes.

※ Content/Tags: Fluff, Caretaking, No use of y/n, Mentions of old injury, Budding Love, Pre-Relationship, Solely based on the official trailer uploaded to YouTube by Universal Pictures

※ Word count: 3,052

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: The devil works fast but I work faster. That three and a half minute long trailer sure possessed me. Needless to say, I'm excited for the movie's release in a few months.

The setting sun is blinding you on its long journey below the horizon. You squint against the light at the block of apartments as you pull your vehicle into a stop alongside the curb. You really hope you’re at the right location. You’re not sure if you trust your crewmates to have given you the right address. You honestly did not really want to be here at all. Many of the crew for this particular production had worked with Colt before, so it really was wildly unfair that you had been unanimously volunteered to check up on the man after he was a no-show for the past couple days. Sure, he had called, but no one had actually laid eyes on him to verify his condition.

You put your car into park and open the door to step out into the evening heat. You immediately feel smothered by the warmth, and you reach across your center console to grab the items crowding your passenger seat. You withdraw, burdened, and nudge the door closed with your knee. You manage to hit the lock button on your key fob before you duck into the small parking garage. A flood of relief washes over you when you immediately spot Colt’s obnoxious brown and yellow truck. There are surfboards still resting in the bed of the vehicle. It’s parked haphazardly with no regard for anyone else’s need for the space. You’re in the right place at least. You skirt around it, eyes scanning for apartment numbers. You mutter his unit number under your breath while you look for it. You’re juggling a heating pad, multiple ice packs, and a bag of food. You’re not sure what you’re going to be walking into. 

After what feels like an eternity of searching, you finally locate what you hope is his front door. With your hands full, you contemplate figuring out how to knock. You finally decide to just bang on the wood with your elbow. There’s no response or any whispers of movement. You sigh and hit it again, more aggressively. You know he’s home. The lifted monstrosity in the parking garage is proof enough. He avoids going anywhere without it. 

You double down and are in the middle of hammering on the door for a third time when you finally hear muffled cursing gradually getting louder as the apartment’s occupant gets closer. To your relief, it’s Colt Seavers himself who yanks the door open hard enough you’re briefly worried he’s going to pull it right off the hinges. You open your mouth, about to launch into a bantering complaint about how he left you to rot on his doorstep when you register what exactly you’re looking at.

The man crowding the doorway is wet, straight from an interrupted shower. His shaggy, blond hair is falling into his eyes. The light from the setting sun reflects an orange glow on the water droplets racing down his body. He looks like he’s on fire. You drag your eyes from his obscenely exposed chest to his face. You try to pretend that you’re not talking to a very damp, very naked man preserving the last dregs of his modesty with only a towel wrapped around his narrow hips. You’ve just agreed with yourself not to acknowledge how large his hand looks clutching the fabric. 

“Where’s the fire?” He asks. His annoyance fades away at the realization that you’re the one bothering him out of the blue. 

“The guys sent me on a welfare check. We haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“I’m clearly alive so you’re welcome to-” He pantomimes you leaving by walking his fingers in the air “-report back that I haven’t died yet.”

“Welfare, not proof of life. Besides, you look like shit and I brought some supplies.” You argue, raising your arms to show your wares.

He looks like he’s thinking about pushing the issue, but he deflates, exhausted. He purposely lets out a dramatically weary sigh and gives you only the barest amount of space to get past him. You squeeze through the door, grazing against his wet arm. You hear him close and lock the front door behind you while you openly gawk at his apartment. 

“You live like this?” You ask, slightly aghast. The place is a mess. There are plants and exercise equipment everywhere. The stuntman hovering behind you clearly has his priorities. 

“Sure do. Just going to go finish rinsing off. I’d say make yourself comfortable but you’re already on your way,” he remarks, casting an amused glance at the way you’re wobbling while trying to extract yourself from your shoes with no hands. 

You frown at his back as you watch him skirt around you and head in the direction of his bathroom. He’s moving jerkily, almost stumbling. His back is definitely messed up. You really hope it’s something that you will be able to assist with in some capacity. You know first hand how stunt work takes a toll on the human body. 

Following the sound of a television, you manage to make your way to the living area. You shove over some electrolyte packets and gardening tools on his coffee table to create room for the bag of food that you made for him. The heating pad and ice packs get dumped on the floor next to one of the legs. As for yourself, you settle in on his couch to wait. You’re not surprised to see that he’s left an Indiana Jones movie playing on the screen. It seems like the kind of thing he would watch.

From the bathroom, you hear some muffled complaining before the shower kicks on. The sound of the rushing water does little to cover the noise of the shower curtain hooks on the rod as he wrestles with the material. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, thankful you didn’t hear Colt fall trying to get over the edge of the tub. The last thing you wanted was to wrestle your naked crewmate while on the phone with emergency services. 

Only a few minutes pass before the water cuts off and you hear the door open. You can’t help but notice that you didn’t hear the sound of his bedroom door closing. There’s just the sound of footsteps and rustling fabric. He emerges, wearing a pair of garish pajama pants. He’s still distractingly shirtless, because why wouldn’t he be? It’s not as though he has a guest that is trying very hard to be normal about this entire situation. There’s a towel draped over his bare shoulders in the effort to contain the mess produced by his sopping wet hair. Trails of water are running down his neck and soaking into the cloth. 

Colt practically drags himself over to you. He lowers himself onto the cushion at your side, and makes an effort to avoid leaning against the back of the couch. You turn to face the blond man, taking a hard look at him. He looks even worse up close than he did when he greeted you at the door. Exhaustion is deepening the fine lines in his face and his eye bags nearly have their own luggage. 

“How are you doing? Really?”

He gives you one of his goofy grimaces and flashes a thumbs up. He can’t hide the wince as movement pulls at his back muscles. The look you give him in return is unimpressed. 

“Can you even function?”

“Barely,” he says with a groan as he tries to get a little more comfortable. He still looks painfully stiff.

You suppress the urge to give him a comforting pat on the leg and instead lean over to dig the meal you had brought for him out of the bag. You shove a tupperware container, a wrapped sandwich, and a plastic fork at him until he takes them. He looks bewildered. 

“Eat. The dressing is in the small container hanging out in the salad greens.”

“Did you make this yourself?”

“I’ve worked with you enough times to know how you are, so yes.” You admired the man’s discipline, but it had been cause for concern while you desperately scoured your kitchen looking for something to make that wasn’t going to fall under the umbrella of junk food. 

“Maybe I should reinjure myself more often then,” he says with a smirk and raises his eyebrows. You don’t dignify him with a response.

He balances the container of salad on the armrest next to him and sets to work on unwrapping the sandwich. It’s grilled chicken breast with a truly ridiculous amount of lettuce and tomato. You hadn’t dumped condiments on it, not wanting it to get soggy during the car ride.

“I’m here to play nursemaid so can I do something about all of that? '' You gesture to his dripping hair and his hunched over body.

He looks up from the sandwich like he’s holding something precious in his hands. “You made me this. You can do anything you want with me. I’ve only got a few limits.” 

You roll your eyes at his suggestive tone before rising up onto your knees. You shuffle closer, knees mere inches away from grazing the outside of his thigh. The towel slips freely from his shoulders and he doesn’t complain when you drape it over his head. You gently work the material over his hair. Colt starts in on the sandwich while you work carefully to dry him without putting unnecessary pressure or movement on him. You take a corner of the towel and wipe away the water that has trailed down his face and his neck. You don’t go any further down than his collarbone not daring to drag the fabric over his chest. You have to cling to some level of professionalism between coworkers. He leans into the touches in the areas you are willing to wipe dry. You pretend not to notice. 

He eats like he’s been starving ever since the last day you and the rest of the crew had seen him on set. He probably had been if he was still in this bad of shape days later. You leave him to start in on the salad. On your way to hang the towel over the shower curtain rod to dry, you stumble over a stray weight that had been left in the middle of the floor. You manage to suppress your pained noises despite the tears leaping to your eyes. Why had you been volunteered for this? Your crewmates had been suspiciously giggly and evasive when you had protested. They had just made excuses and jokes about how you were Colt’s favorite person and you being the one to check on him would make his day. What a load of crap.

“What do you usually do for your back?” You ask, coming back into the room and trying to not let on you nearly had your own medical emergency just out of sight. 

“Just uh… stick the tens on it and stretch it out.”

“Gotcha. Finish that up and we’ll start on your back,” you tell him. You crouch down next to the coffee table and gather the ice packs. You won’t be using them today. The injury has sat for too long.

“Thanks, nurse,” he responds around a mouthful of greens.

You cross the apartment and pull open the door to the freezer. You cram the ice packs onto an already sizable stack of them sandwiched between the freezer wall and bags of frozen vegetables. The refrigerator itself is covered in receipts, bills, coupons, business cards, brochures… You’re really not sure how Colt is able to find anything. You suppose that it’s all his own brand of organized chaos. 

You make your way back to the living room in time to see him clamp the lid back on the tupperware container. You give your head a little shake. The man inhaled an entire sandwich and a salad in under fifteen minutes. Impressive. You hope his stomach handles going from zero to a hundred with more grace than yours would. You don’t feel like holding his hair back while he vomits. 

“How do you want to do this? Floor, couch, or bed?”

He twinges his back when he twists to look up at you. You’d laugh if you hadn’t felt a sting of worry at the way he winced. You know Colt’s a tough man. You have seen him take hit after hit over the past few years. He must be hurting badly to be showing this much sincere discomfort. You’ve seen him ham it up as a joke, but this was the real deal.

“I’m glad one of us thinks I’ll be able to get off the floor. How about you take me to bed, beautiful?”

He heaves himself off the couch and you trail after him into his bedroom. The floor is messy like the rest of the house. You’re not sure if he’s always this disorganized or if it was just something that has resulted from him not being able to keep up with it due to his back. Given the state of his fridge, you’re strongly considering that it’s the former and not the latter. 

“How do you want me?” The flirtatious tone isn’t quite coming through as intended with him standing like he’s auditioning for the starring role in a live action adaptation of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. 

“On your stomach, please. Do you have lotion or anything I can use on you?” 

He groans as he makes his way onto the bed and lays face down. He’s unable to relax, the muscles in his back are too tight. “I have some vaseline in the bathroom. Right drawer.”

You set the heating pad down on the bed next to him after plugging it in. You make another trek to the bathroom to search for the aforementioned vaseline. It’s not hard to locate and you manage to dodge the weight this time. You’re not about to wreck your foot on it again. Once was enough. 

You settle on the bed next Colt, careful not to jostle him. You swipe your fingers though the vaseline to collect a sizable dollop of the substance. You set the container aside and liberally coat your hands with what you had scooped out. Your eyes catch on the long scar running alongside the stuntman’s spine. It’s pink and raised, a fairly old wound but not old enough to fade to silver. You weren’t there when Colt got the injury. You’d been on another set halfway across the world, but the things you’d heard months later from people who had been present when it happened weren’t good. He had nearly died and if he had… you would have just been left with memories spanning the hours spent with this cocky man. You would have likely said a few words at his funeral, if you had even been able to make it, and that would have been the end of Colt Seavers. He would be just another stuntman who died doing what he loved. The thought puts a pit in your stomach. You push it aside, he’s still alive and he’s waiting for you to get on with the program. 

The initial touch of your hands against his bare back causes you both to tense up and go deathly quiet. Your pulse is hammering in your years and you swear you can hear the sound of his throat as he swallows. You try to not knee him in the side as you start to massage the expanse between his broad shoulders. It’s not long before he’s melting into the mattress, relaxing under your touch. You work him over, section by section. You gently knead the raised line of scar tissue, helping to discourage the excess building of collagen. A little lower and he’s groaning when you carefully dig your knuckles into the skin above his waistband, forcing the tight muscles to yield. He’s limp and unresistant when you catch him by the hip and pull his pelvis in your direction to better align his spine.

Thankfully, you spot an already dirty shirt nearby. You pick it up and wipe your hands on it with a grimace. Most of the vaseline has either ended up on the man currently face down on his bed or had absorbed into your palms, but you still didn’t want to risk tracing it through the house before you slathered your hands in dish soap to remove any oily residue. As a final token of care, you lay the heating pad across his lower back and turn it on the medium setting. You’ve done all you can do for him.

Colt is so still and quiet that you’re sure he’s fallen asleep. You turn away from him and inch towards the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb him while you begin your exit from his apartment and back to your vehicle. You nearly leap out of your skin when he shifts enough to catch hold of your forearm. His hand is so large that his middle finger and thumb nearly touch.

“Please stay.” He sounds tired, vulnerable. There’s no charisma or bravado to his voice.

You feel your face soften as you take in his words. “All right.”

You scoot back towards him and lay down on your back at his side. The bed is barely big enough for the both of you like this. It’s intimate, too intimate, especially since your arm is still in his grasp. You can’t bring yourself to mind. The line between being coworkers and whatever this is was blurred a long time ago anyway despite your best efforts to tell yourself otherwise. You're starting to realize your crewmates might have been more aware than you were. Those assholes.

When Colt rises up onto one elbow and leans over, taking all the time in the world to project his intentions, you don’t turn from him. You just bring a hand up to brush his still damp hair out of his face. You guide the stuntman the rest of the way in, your hand migrates to cup his bearded cheek. The kiss you share is inevitable and unhurried. It feels as natural as breathing.

[beefrobeefcal]

Dave Made Me Believe feat. Dave York

Summary: Dave is kind of a jerkwad with an agenda. for my own Dave York Made Me Believe challenge.

FBI!Dave York x f!reader | Rating: 18+ MDNI | Word Count: 1,974

Content Warnings: dave york is a jerk and bad lover, aliens, back seat sex, unfulfilling sex, bad sex, male orgasm, no female orgasm, vertical defenestration, old ladies, allusions to missing cats

Author's Notes: i apologize for how dumb this is. thank you to me for being such a noob and getting this posted before midnight on halloween. also, I have only even see one episode of the x-files (the one with the tapeworm human hybrid - yeah that one) and the two movies.

Thank you to @noxturnalnymph for their eyes and support and love and @strang3lov3 for humoring me and my delusions. thanks be to @saradika-graphics for the dividers

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this in the early hours of the day after Halloween.

You were just supposed to be helping a government agent investigate the cat disappearances that were plaguing your neighbourhood. It was supposed to be simple and painless and like maybe a week’s worth of work tops.

But it wasn’t. 

Dave York had knocked on your door a week prior, looking unamused and vexed that he had been saddled with this task by the higher ups. He said he needed an ‘in with the locals’ to discuss this ‘epidemic’ while he rolled his eyes at you. He seemed like a jerk, but his badge compelled you to cooperate. It meant a week off work - paid - at least because he was able to flash his badge and official letterhead at your boss, and thusly, you were at his side while he went door to door, taking statements while he looked like he wanted to hang himself.

The first day, you couldn’t get anything out of him beyond his name and his absolutely horrendous sweet tooth. Every home you were invited into, you were offered coffee or tea, and in both of them, he would ladle sugar into the cup. Both coffee or tea became syrup and he actually drank it. You could do nothing but assume that his government job came with amazing benefits - specifically dental. 

The second day was much like the first except it rained. 

The third day, however, was different. It was raining again, but one of the old ladies that you stood back and watched Dave interview said something that gave you pause. She’d mentioned that she had let her cat, Jojo, out the back door because had been scratching and clawing at it, and even though he had been an indoor cat his whole life, the crazy way he’d been behaving made her feel like she had no choice but to let him out.

“... and as soon as I opened the door, there was this bright light and big, low noise that - “

“Thank you for your time.”, Dave interjected and closed his little leather bound notebook. He glanced at you as he stood up. 

“But the light and the-”

“Thank you again, Mrs. Roman. Please let my friend here know if little Jojo comes home.”

His forced smile and cold eyes stifled any further chance of the story coming from Mrs. Roman’s mouth and she nodded. You and Dave walked out of her house and back into the rain. 

As you stood under the awning of your front door with Dave, watching him scribble notes in his little book, you decided that if Dave was going to kill you or seize your house or force you into a small room with nothing but saltines and crab juice to eat, he would have done it by now. You cleared your throat.

“So why didn’t you want to hear Mrs. Roman’s st-”

“Mouth. Shut.”

You stared at him incredulously. This was ludacris; you had spent the last three days following him around, ensuring the neighbours trusted him enough that they didn’t give him any friction, and he wasn’t even willing to tell you what you were doing beyond asking old ladies about cats. You tried to push for more information, but you were met with a cold glare and a firm finger pointing directly at your face.

“No.”

Day four started like all the other days with Dave knocking at your door, you open it, and you are greeted with his sour puss. Normally, you would have followed after him wordlessly and begun your routine, but today, you just stood back in the open door.

Dave had already taken a few steps before he realized you weren’t following. He turned around and gave you a “Are you coming?” full body shrug and you crossed your arms in response. You knew how to talk without words, too. 

Dave huffed and stalked back towards you, and once there, he put his hands on his hips.

“What now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. What now? How was that an appropriate response to you? When had you offered any resistance? You had gone along with everything he had thrown at you with no questions because of the badge he carried and you felt you were doing your civic duty by cooperating. But what now?

“Eat shit, pig.”

You flipped him off and slammed the door in his face. 

You didn’t see Dave the rest of the day but he did show up again the following morning, same as before with a knock and a scowl. This time though, he held out a paper coffee cup from the bistro down the block. You took the coffee and you both silently made your way to the house at the end of the cul de sac.

That house was a little weird. It never seemed to adhere to the HOA standards and looked more dilapidated each spring when winter subsided and you were always surprised to find that it was still standing. You had mentioned it once to one of your older neighbours a few years back and they said that Mrs. Anastasia von Beavertrout was a recluse and didn’t bother anyone so you and them shouldn’t bother her. On the rare occasion that you watched the house long enough, you did see movement and the occasional light, so you ignored it for the most part.

But now Dave was marching you right towards it.

In what could only be described as the let down of a lifetime, the one and only Mrs. Von Beavertrout was real and was a recluse, and that was about the most interesting thing about her. She had no information to offer Dave in his line of questioning, and was fairly pleasant, although the tea she offered you tasted odd and made your head feel light. Dave had declined the tea, despite the old woman’s crooked sweet smile and gentle pushing. Dave was not one who liked to be influenced to do anything, let alone that, even if it was an old lady asking nicely.

You’d spent the majority of the day there, feeling like you were lost in a haze as she and Dave were conversing, and the hours seemed to slip away. Now that you were walking back down the street, it was well past dusk and the kids were out trick’r treating, dressed in their spooky best. While you would have been happy to just meander back home, Dave was on a mission. When you moved a little too slowly for his liking, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you along to keep up. 

As you got closer to your paved walkway up to your door, Dave yanked you over to his car and shoved you into the backseat. You didn’t react until he was already in the driver’s seat, pulling away from the curb. 

“What - Dave?”, you drawled out.

You sighed when he didn’t respond to you and laid back, watching the houses and kids and lights pass by in a blur, although you doubted Dave went any faster than 20 miles an hour. You were fairly certain now that you’d been drugged by that weird old bat and the more you thought about it, the more the absurdity of Dave and his old lady interviewees made you laugh.

“What’s so funny back there?”

Dave’s voice cut through your giggling and you sighed with a stupid grin on your face. 

“Nothing… just funny because you’re actin’ like you’re hunting old lady aliens or somethin’.”

Dave slammed on the breaks and youabruptly smacked into the back of the front seats, getting wedged between them and the backseat on the floor.

You groaned and he got out and ripped open the back door, pulling you back up onto the seat and leaning over you.

“You didn’t hear or see anything today. Got it?”

HIs intense stare and firm tone told you that this was no time for levity, but you ignored that inner voice and sat up and kissed him. 

Much to your surprise, he kissed you back. 

Even more to your surprise, he pushed you back and crawled on top of you and he deepened the kiss. Just when you felt like your head was clearing up enough to enjoy, he pulled back and crawled off you and out of the car. 

You sat up. “Whoa, wait - Dave? Was that - what’s-”

It was then you realized he’d driven around to the back alley and up behind Mrs. Von Beavertrout’s home on the hill, overlooking the valley below. “Why did you bring us-”

Turning back to Dave, he was hastily undoing and removing his pants. When he saw your eyes go wide, he raised his brows and gestured to you as he stood with his dress pants and white briefs around his ankles. His cock was peaking through the bottom of his dress shirt right below the last button. You took the hint and pulled off your leggings and underwear. 

“We don’t have much time.”, he grunted against your mouth, crawling back on top of you. He managed to close the door behind him.

Oh. Dave was one of those guys. No prep and he spit in his hand and pumped his dick a few times then gave you a cocky half-grin before pressing against your hole. You watched his tongue pop out in concentration as he worked his way in. You winced once but he didn’t seem to notice (if he cared at all) but once he was fully seated, his mouth came down to yours; even if he was a bit of an inconsiderate lover, he was a hell of a kisser. 

He began to move his hips, setting an even and steady pace. I might actually come. You thought to yourself.

“I kn-know you figured it out… the aliens. It’s what I’m working - uh… uh - trying to work on.”

You wanted to roll your eyes. “Aliens don’t exist. Just shut up and fuck me.”

“I know, I know…I didn’t… I didn’t actually need your help but you’re hot and - oh fuck… you’re pussy is perfect.”

Shut the fuck up and do NOT ruin this. Your thoughts were trying to keep you on track to at least getting an orgasm out of this asshole, so you tried to play along. “So what? You’re like a… like a Fox Mulder Alien X-Files guy but real?”

“Yeah,”, he nodded. “Some-something like thaaaa - oh fuck, you close, baby?”

This was painfully bad sex. You were getting poorly fucked in the backseat of some federal assholes’s sedan and he was going to blow his load before you were really even wet with something other than his saliva. 

“Yeah… sure.”, you mumbled as he whined softly and rutted into you. 

A few more thrusts and Dave pulled out and let out a long, loud, open mouth groan right into your face. His cum covered your mound and disappointment wasn’t a strong enough word for what just happened.

Before you could make a comment or push him off you in the most insulting way possible, your eyes caught movement over Dave’s shoulder in the window. It was Mrs. Von Beavertrout, but her eyes looked a little larger and her mouth was open, baring her unnecessarily long, beaver-like teeth.

“What the fu-” was all you got out before the old woman smashed the glass and a blinding light enveloped the cab of the vehicle. 

You heard Dave scream and felt his body get ripped off of you as he was sucked out the window.

And then it was dark again. The only sound was your shaky breathing and the light wind running through the grass outside. You were alone. 

Dave York made you believe, even if he didn’t make you cum. 

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

obligatory boop.

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 23

Eminem x FemReader Fanfiction

Summary : Em gets a little jealous when Y/N catches the attention of a new beat maker he works with.

Tags : Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Smut (P in V, oral)

Y/N’s POV 

Telling Talia the truth about your relationship with Marshall definitely made your life easier. As it was to be expected, she told Jamal, but the two of them actually promised to keep it a secret from everyone else. You spent a lot of your time at Marshall’s but, on occasions, he would spend the night at your place too, and the four of you would hang out. You would spend as much time as possible with your boyfriend, even though the two of you were drowning in work, you with uni, him at the studio. However, you made it work. You spent every night together, except for one night a week. He usually had his family over for brunch on Sundays, so he would sleep alone at his place on Saturday night. The rest of the time, though, you had a little routine. Whether it was at his place or yours, both of you left stuff at each other’s house. By usual relationship standards, it was moving pretty fast, but it felt right for the two of you. After all, before even getting together, you were hanging out all the time so it wasn’t like you were just getting to know each other. 

At that point, you had been together for about two months and your relationship was still a secret. Everyone at the studio had really enjoyed meeting Josh at Talia’s birthday dinner and they seemed disappointed when you announced that the two had broken up, a couple of weeks afterwards. Obviously, they didn’t know the reason why and you were officially single. One of the drawbacks of no one knowing that you were spoken for is that they tried to get you to date and set you up with some people they knew. You tried to tell them that you weren’t really looking for a relationship, but they didn’t seem to care too much. It had sort of become a running joke in your household. 

Come on, Talia said during dinner, Royce’s cousin is pretty hot. If you’d been single, you should totally have gone to dinner with him ! 

Well I’m not single, you giggled. I feel bad for Royce and Porter though. It’s the third time they are trying to set me up with someone and I end up refusing all the time. I hope they don't take it personally ! 

Especially when they come up with such fine choices, she replied. The men they want to set you up with are total snacks !!! 

Yeah, they’re pretty attractive, you agreed. 

I’m right here, Marshall said with a chuckle. Do you remember me ? You know, your boyfriend ??? 

Feeling threatened, Em ? Jamal asked with a grin. 

Not at all, Marshall replied sternly. 

Not that we’d blame you, Em, Talia said playfully. I mean, that basketball was like half your age and twice your height ? Not to mention that he was buff… 

Remind me why we’re eating with them and not at my place, babe ? He asked you with a faux-exasperated face. 

Because we want to spend time with Y/N ! Talia shrieked. You’re basically stealing our bestie, Em. 

I’m not stealing her, he said as he rolled his eyes.

After dinner, the two of you were cuddling on your bed, watching a movie and talking about outfits for an appearance Marshall was supposed to make on some documentary. 

You can’t have me wear the Saint Laurent jacket all the time, he chuckled. People are going to think I only have one outfit. 

But you look so good in it, you said. Plus, it really shows off your muscles. Like, your broad shoulders and everything… 

Not enough, apparently, he muttered under his breath. 

What ? You asked. 

Nothing, he sighed before getting up. 

Suddenly, he seemed a little bothered. You paused the movie and looked at him. He was standing in front of your mirror, inspecting himself, looking displeased at what he saw. You got up and hugged him from behind. 

You look handsome, you whispered in his back. 

I don’t, he groaned. I look like one of the seven dwarves. 

You don’t, you giggled. What’s up with you ? Are you stressed out about this documentary ? 

Not really, he said. I mean, I couldn’t care less. 

What is it then ? You asked as you ran your hands on his stomach. 

Don’t do that, he grumbled before removing your hands. 

You looked at him, not really understanding. One minute you were cuddling and the next he didn’t seem to want you touching him. Plus, his snapping was sort of unusual. You sat on the bed and patted the mattress so that he would sit next to you. 

Want to talk about it ? You asked softly. 

Do you agree with Talia ? He asked. 

About what ? 

About those guys. he said. Do you think they’re better than me ? 

You stared at him in disbelief. To you, it seemed like a stupid question. Of course they weren’t better than him. 

You know she was just kidding, right ? You asked. 

Yeah but… Are they ? He asked. 

Of course not, you said. Why would you even worry about that ? 

I think it’s pretty obvious why, he sighed. Just… forget it alright ? 

He groaned again and got undressed. You thought he’d stay in his boxers, as he usually did when you went to bed, but he put on sweatpants he had left in your room a while ago and a tee-shirt, as well as a hoodie. He got under the covers while you stared at him.

What ? He asked in an annoyed tone. Why are you staring at me like that ? 

Nothing, you said timidly. Are you… cold ? I can adjust the room’s temperature if you want. 

I’m good, he said. Let’s go to bed, ok ? I have a big day tomorrow. 

Sure, you said in a sad voice. Good night. 

You quickly got into Marshall’s discarded tee-shirt, using it as a nightgown and got into bed. After turning the lights off, you got into your usual position, expecting him to cuddle with you as he always did, but he didn’t. It made you a little sad, although you knew it probably wasn’t a big deal. You were spending almost every night together and he was entitled to some distance if he wanted. This was your first night without cuddling and, without being overly dramatic, it felt like the end of an era. Even though the temperature of the room was perfectly fine, it felt cold. You grabbed a hoodie of his and put it on. When you got back in bed, he had turned and you could only see his back. 

I love you, you whispered shyly. 

Love you too, he mumbled. 

You didn’t sleep too well that night. You ended up tossing and turning a lot, wondering what was on his mind and what you could do to make it better and if you were the one to blame. You hated that kind of mood. Back when you were with Simon, he would often be grumpy over small stuff and give you the silent treatment. This had led to you second-guessing everything and overthinking every time someone’s mood changed. Your heart sank a little as you fell asleep. 

Fortunately, in the morning, Marshall’s mood seemed to have improved. You woke up to him kissing your forehead. 

Hey you, you whispered in a sleepy voice. 

Hey, you little hoodie thief, he chuckled. 

Slept well ? You asked. 

Yeah, I needed that, he said with a smile. Mind giving that hoodie back ? I have to get ready for the day. 

There’s another of your hoodies in the closet. 

I want this one, he chuckled. 

It’s going to reek of me, you pointed out. 

Maybe that’s what I want, he chuckled. I’m going to miss you today. 

I’m going to miss you too, you said with a pout. How about we both blow off work and sleep in ? 

I’d love to but I can’t, he chuckled. We’re having a session with a beatmaker I’m really excited to work with. Why don’t you come by after uni ? You’d really like his work. 

Sure, you said. 

He seemed genuinely excited and it made you happy. He often smiled, but his happiness radiated even more when it came to music, the thing he was born to do. You loved that he shared that with you. Of course, you cherished the moments when it was just the two of you, because it allowed for more intimacy, but you just loved watching him work. 

When you were done with your day, you joined everyone at the studio. They had just finished recording a track with Chris, the beatmaker Marshall had told you about. Apparently, he had reached out through Porter and everyone on the team seemed to really like his stuff. You greeted everyone and they played the track for you. You immediately understood what all the fuss was about : Chris was insanely talented. What he did was different, but also in line with the vibe Marshall had chosen for the album. You complimented him and he ended up playing some of his beats for you while the others took a break. You also talked for a bit. The two of you were roughly the same age, making you the youngest in the room, and you had a lot of common cultural references, seeing as his mother was french. You even talked about french rap music and joked around. He seemed to take a liking towards you but you didn’t pay much attention to it. You were spoken for anyway. Plus, he was clearly the type to flirt with anyone and everyone so you knew it was nothing special here. When they got back to work, you watched them and you couldn’t take your eyes off Marshall. However, the session ran long. Not that it bothered you too much. You always enjoyed hanging out at the studio, getting a preview of what they were working on. Plus, Chris kept on joking with you, either in English or French. Whenever they couldn’t understand, the others threw a side-eye at you, so you tried to stick to English. When the session came to an end, Chris came to see you. 

So, what did you think ? He asked. 

I love your beats, you said earnestly. You’re super talented and I just can’t believe that you started a few months ago. 

I have collabs with a bunch of other people, he said. They won’t be released for a few weeks, but maybe I can get your e-mail and send them to you ? 

I’d like that, you said with a smile. 

And then, maybe you can tell me what you think about them over dinner, a movie, that sort of stuff ? He added with a wink. 

You were a bit taken aback. You quickly glanced at the others in the room. Porter and Royce were excited, Jamal was staring sternly and Marshall’s eyed seemed to have turned a shade darker. He was pursing his lips. 

I’m sorry, you said, I’m not interested in dating right now. 

Can’t blame me for trying, he said with a smile before kissing your hand. 

He took a piece of paper and wrote his number on it before giving it to you. 

I really enjoyed meeting you, Y/N. Maybe you can give me a call when you change your mind about dating ? 

You blushed a little and mumbled before he left. His confidence was a bit unsettling. As soon as he was gone, Royce and Porter started groaning. 

What was wrong with this one ? Royce asked as he crossed his arms. 

Nothing, you said. I just said I’m not interested in dating. 

Will you guys just stop pushing people on her ? Jamal asked with a frown. I don’t need a thousand suitors coming to my house trying to woo her. 

Hey we didn’t plan for this one, Porter chuckled. But I think there’s something wrong with you, Y/N. This one was attractive, funny, french and more talented than any of us were at his age. 

Told you, I’m not looking for anything right now, you said. 

Well when that changes, you might want to give this one a call, though, Royce said. That’s the kind of guy you should be with. 

You shook your head and changed the conversation subject, going back to music. After everyone left, you got in Marshall’s car to go to his place. You were happy to finally be alone with him. Plus, it was a Friday night, meaning that the two would be able to spend the next morning lounging in bed. As soon as he got into the car, you grabbed his hand but he pushed it away angrily. 

Care to explain why you were flirting with that jackass right in front of me, Y/N ?! 

What ?! You asked defensively. 

Oh, please. “Oh my God, you’re so talented. I can’t believe you just started a few months ago”, he said, imitating your voice and vocalizing fake french words. You were practically riding his dick !!! 

I was complimenting him ! I also complimented you when we first met, if you recall, you pointed out sternly. 

He literally asked you out ! Marshall blurted. 

And I said no ! Why are you making a big deal out of it ? I like his beats, so what ? I like a lot of stuff. 

Yeah, you like him, he scoffed. 

I don’t even know him, you said. You like his work as much as I do, so what’s the big deal ? 

Yeah well I don’t think I’m going to use these beats anymore, he groaned. 

You looked at him and let out an involuntary laugh. 

He hit on me so you’re not going to work with him ? You asked in disbelief. 

Well I don’t want to work with anyone who wants to fuck my girlfriend, he said. It’s a matter of respect. 

Marshall… He doesn’t even know I’m your girlfriend, you said softly. Everyone thinks I’m single. 

Well maybe that’s the fucking problem ! He screamed. 

You stared at him in confusion. You took a deep breath and tried to keep your composure, even though you were startled by his outburst of anger. 

I’m lost here, you said. Walk me through it, because it doesn’t make much sense… 

You’re not here all the time. You don’t hear everyone commenting on how cute and sweet you are. On how they love you and anyone would be lucky to date you because you’re a goddamn catch. And how “That’s too bad for that dude Josh, he seemed great”. You don’t see everyone looking at you because you’re the brightest person in every room you enter. I do. 

He took a deep breath and avoided your gaze. 

And I know it makes sense to keep it on the low, right now, he added. We agreed to it and shit but then, I see you with that dude who is like half my age and talented as fuck and I’m like… It gets to me. That’s it. You heard Royce. That’s the kind of dude you should be with. 

You smiled shyly and took his hand that was balled in a fist. You kissed his knuckles and caressed his cheek as he closed his eyes and let out a sigh. 

So you’re… insecure ? You asked softly. 

If you want to call it that, yeah, he admitted with a groan. 

You really shouldn’t be, you said. You are the brightest person in every room, my love. Especially when you’re in the studio. You’re great and everyone reveres you.  Same goes for me. I only have eyes for you and every time I hang out here, I am amazed at how great and talented you are. And yes, I complimented that guy, because he is talented. But his talent and his beats, they make you shine even more because you are the one putting them to good use. You’re the one writing incredible lyrics and rapping them. No one does it like you. 

You think ? He asked. 

Of course, you said with a smile. And as for me practically riding his dick, don’t you dare say that to me again. Because yours is the only one I want to ride and I will prove it to you right now if I have to. 

He let out a laugh and kissed you. 

I’m sorry for losing my temper, baby, he said gently. And I’d love to take you on that offer but we’re in a public parking lot. 

Then let’s drive to your place and I’ll get on my knees to show you how much I appreciate you, you offered with a devilish grin. 

He laughed, kissed you again and wasted no time before starting the car. During the short drive to his place, you strategically placed your hand on his thigh, tracing circles on it, gently teasing him. When you got to his house, as soon as the front door was closed, you immediately jumped on him and removed his jacket and tee-shirt. Now that the two of you were alone, there was no reason why you should keep your hands off each other. You shoved him against the wall and immediately dropped to your knees. You undid his pants, letting his cock spring free and began licking the head. He closed his eyes and let you work your magic. You stroked him as you licked, taking as much of him in your mouth as you could. His fingers were in your hair, slightly pulling and encouraging you. 

I’m not going to last long, he warned. 

You shrugged to show it didn’t really matter to you. All you wanted was to pleasure him and for him to enjoy the moment. But he stopped you and made you get up. 

What are you… ? You began asking. 

I want to be inside of you, baby. 

He quickly undressed you and pinned you against the wall as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He immediately picked up a fast pace, wasting no time. He was thrusting into you harder than ever, kissing you sloppily. 

Say you’re mine, he whispered in your ear. 

Of course I am, you chuckled softly. 

Say it. I want to hear it. 

I’m… Yours, you said as he slammed into you. Yours only, Marshall. 

Right when you thought it wasn’t possible, he thrusted into you harder and made you come, taking the both of you to climax. You came at the same time and ended up panting on the floor. You were both sweaty, dripping messes, but as far as you were concerned, you were too stunned and exhausted to move. Your eyes were closed and you felt Marshall’s fingers stroking your cheeks. 

You’re a goddess, he said before kissing your forehead. 

You simply hummed in response. You were so tired you could fall asleep right then and there. 

Up, he said. Let’s shower. 

Bath ? You tried to negotiate. I don’t feel like standing up. 

Bath it is, princess, he said as he picked you up and carried you. 

I’m going to be so sore, you complained with a small laugh. 

Good, he said with a hint of pride. That’ll remind you of me. Of who you belong to. 

Territorial much ? You teased. 

He didn’t bother responding. He drew a bath and you settled in his arms and between his legs as he looked at you intensely before starting to wash your back. 

You don’t need to worry about anyone else, you said softly. There’s only you. You are the only one I want to be with. The only one I want to sleep with. 

I know, he said as he interlocked his fingers with yours. But… 

He stopped and sighed. 

What’s wrong, my love ? 

You don’t have to agree, and I know it’s early but… What if we went public ? Like, not “public” public, obviously, but… People we know ? He asked. 

You took a second before responding. You were a little stunned that he even suggested that. Plus, you didn’t feel ready, as you were scared that it might change the group dynamic. You didn’t want to suddenly become “Em’s girl”. 

I don’t know, you said. Do you think it would make you feel better ? 

I guess, he said. But you know, it’s not just a territorial thing. I mean, I want to claim you as mine so that the guys stop suggesting that you date and that these other dudes know that they should back off, don’t get me wrong but… Being with you feels natural. Pretending I’m not feels like lying. 

I’m not ready for people to know about us, you said. 

Are you ashamed of me ? He asked bluntly, his behavior suddenly changing. 

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. The idea that you might be ashamed of him seemed preposterous to you. He was the hottest man you knew, the wet dream of millions of people around the world, insanely smart and talented. If anything, you thought he might be the one ashamed of being with someone as bland as you. 

Ashamed of you ? Why would I be ashamed of you, Marsh ? 

You tell me, he groaned. 

That’s stupid, you said as you shook your head. 

Now I’m stupid ? Great, he said before getting up and leaving you alone in the bathtub. 

Marshall, don’t…, you began to say, but he left and went to his bedroom. 

You groaned as you got up as well, your body still sore from your earlier exertions. You grabbed a robe and joined him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist, looking pissed off. 

What’s with you, lately ? You asked. 

Nothing. 

Clearly, there’s something, you said. Yesterday, you got distant out of the blue, then you acted jealous before claiming me as yours and now you think I’m ashamed of you ? Where is all that coming from ? You asked calmly. 

I never thought a girl would be reluctant to tell anyone she’s dating me, he said. 

So, that’s ego, you pointed out. 

No, it’s not fucking ego ! If it was, I could easily get anyone else and it would be a done deal, he said as he rolled his eyes. 

Way to make me feel good and convince me to go public with you, you said sarcastically. 

He looked at you and sighed before taking your hand. 

I didn’t mean it like that, he said apologetically. All I’m saying is… I don’t understand why you want to hide our relationship, he said. I thought it was going great. 

It is going great, you said softly. 

So what is it ? He asked. Is it because I’m old ? Because of how I look ? What makes you so ashamed of me ? 

You looked at him in disbelief. He seemed sad and genuinely thought you were ashamed of him. It broke your heart. 

I don’t think fifty qualifies as old, Marshall, you said. 

Fifty-one, he bitterly corrected. 

You could be ten years younger or older, it wouldn’t matter to me, you know ? You said. And it's not how you look either. You look great. I mean… Have you seen yourself in a mirror ? 

I have, that’s the problem, he groaned. I’ve also seen the last two guys you dated and the men Royce and Porter keep on trying to set you up with. I know I’m not your type. 

Of course, you’re my type, you said softly. 

Come on, have you seen them ? They’re all at least 6”5, most of them are super buff… 

Yeah, well, I have dated tall men, you shrugged. But you’re muscular too. 

I’m not tall, he sighed. And I haven’t worked out too much lately. I think I’ve put on a few, actually…, he added as he touched his stomach. 

Marshall, I’m 4”9, you chuckled. You might not be as tall as other guys I have dated, but you’re still a freaking giant to me ! And I like your body the way it is. It’s freaking perfect. You might not hit the gym as much as you used to, but with all the time you spend fucking me in those weird positions, I think you work out just as much, if not more… 

True, he chuckled. But I don’t know, Talia said…

Talia was just teasing you, you said softly. You know how she is. She loves being mean to you. 

She’s a fucking bully, he said. 

But she’s like that because she likes you, you said. 

I know, it’s just… I’m a bit sensitive about that, I guess ? He shrugged. Like, I’m aware that you have a lot of options. And that some of them are literally half my age. 

Ok, you said calmly. I think we should address this because it seems like you’re obsessing over it, at this point. What’s up with your age ? You seem to make a big deal out of it. You have always pointed out our age difference, but it seems to bother you more, these days. 

Royce made a joke the other day, he admitted. Or a… comment. I don’t know. 

What did he say ? 

That if I wasn’t too old for you, maybe I would have had a chance to put you in my bed, he said. 

Well joke’s on him, you chuckled. Because we’re in bed together almost every night. And I love your age. 

You love my age ? He asked in disbelief. 

Well, I do love that you are experienced, you said with a wink. You’re the best sex I’ve ever had. Like, no one makes me come like you. And I had never even squirted before you. 

Really ? 

Yes, you giggled. And, the sex thing aside, I like the fact that you’re more mature than guys my age. So you don’t have to worry : I am not ashamed of you or anything. If we were the same age, we wouldn’t even be together. 

What do you mean ? 

Well, if I had met you twenty years ago, I would probably have thought you were an asshole, from what I gathered, you explained. And right now, I wouldn’t be as attractive. I’d be… older. You men age like fine wine but what you see of me right now is my prime. 

The asshole thing is true, he chuckled. But I’m not fucking DiCaprio, you know ? I’m not only into girls who are in their twenties. And for the record, you’d be beautiful at any age. I’ll still love you when you’re 51. I’ll be an old man by then and you will have put me in a retirement home, but I’ll still be crazy about you. 

You swooned at how sweet it was that he thought about loving you almost twenty-five years from now. It implied that things were serious between the two of you and that he thought your relationship might be going somewhere. You sat on his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck before kissing him softly. 

I love you, he said. 

I love you too, you whispered. I’m so happy and proud to be your girlfriend. 

You are ? He mused. 

Of course, you giggled. 

So… Can I ask why you don’t want people to know about us ? He asked carefully. 

I just don’t want people to get the wrong idea, you admitted. 

What idea ? 

That I’m dating you because you’re this famous rapper. I like the Eminem, talented dude part for sure. But I’m not dating him. I’m dating Marshall Mathers. I’m with you because you are the most caring, funny, nice and good-looking man I know. I’m more interested in your comic book collection than your career anyway. And I don’t want people to see me as just your girlfriend. I like being their friend too, you know ? 

I see, he said. That makes sense, actually. 

He kissed your cheek and played with your hair. 

Sorry for being a dick, he apologized. 

It’s fine, you said. There’s something else, too… 

Mmmh ? 

People knowing about us would include your family, right ? You asked. 

Well… yeah, he said. I guess I hadn’t really thought about that. But yeah, I guess. 

Now you might be the one ashamed of me, you giggled. 

Not at all, he said reassuringly. You’re right, it might be too early for that. But I am in love with you and I’m serious about us. So, at some point, I’d like to tell them about you. 

Aren’t you scared of what they will think ? You asked nervously. 

Not really, he said. They will love you. You have no idea how long they have been pestering me about dating, so you’re probably going to come across as some sort of savior. 

They won’t think it’s weird ? You asked. 

I don’t think so, he said. I haven’t really thought about that, I guess. I never thought I’d want to introduce anyone to my family anyway, you know ? But I know that they’re going to like you. You already get along with Hailie and I know that Lainey and Stevie will love you. But we’ll see how it goes when you meet them as my friend anyway.

You really want us to meet ? You asked in shock, suddenly nervous. 

Chill, he chuckled. It’s not going to be any sort of proper introduction or anything like that. But they usually come and watch football games with me, either here or at the stadium. There’s always a bunch of friends too. So I might invite you, Talia and Jamal. What do you think ? 

As long as I don’t have to wear stupid Lions apparel, you chuckled. 

You don’t get to disrespect my team under my roof, he said with a faux frown. 

It’s not the team, it’s the outfit, you corrected with a smile. I don’t even understand the rules anyway. 

Now I’m ashamed of you, he joked. 

You chuckled and kissed him. 

Be ashamed of me all you want, but I’m starting to get cold and I want my bath, you said as you got up. Care to join ? 

Sure, he replied with a smile. I’ll explain the rules to you, once again. 

No, you begged - fully knowing that he could be unstoppable when it came to talking about football. 

Come on, it’s easy, he began. 

I didn’t ask for it, you said sheepishly. 

But you just said you don’t know the rules of football, he said. 

Doesn’t mean I care, you giggled. I swear, if you start talking about football, I will rap some Benzino. 

Do that under my roof and you’re dead, woman, he said before tickling you. 

You tried to push him away but he was too strong for you. He pushed you onto the bed and buried his face in your neck, gently nipping at the sweet spot he knew you had. You couldn’t control your moans as he started sucking on it and untying your robe, exploring your body with his hands. You were sore but clearly ready for another round. After some sweet love making, you got back to the bathroom to draw another bath - the water being too cold now and saw your reflection in the mirror. You let out a gasp. Your neck was full of hickies. Marshall arrived behind you with a shit-eating grin. 

I’m going to kill you, you sighed. 

What ? Just because we’re not going public doesn’t mean I’m letting people think you’re single, he chuckled. 

They're going to think I’m dating a freak, you commented as you inspected the hickies and figured out they’d be hard to hide. 

I should have done that earlier, he said with a smile. Now maybe Royce and Porter will stop. 

If I have to walk around like this, I’m going to start leaving hickies too, you threatened. 

Don’t you dare, he chuckled. My kids are going to freak out if they see that. 

You owe me, then, you said sternly. 

Anything you want, princess, he said lovingly.

[capseycartwright]

have been tagged in many wip wednesdays and seven sentence sundays the last few weeks i haven’t replied to, so instead here is a tidbit thursday

Eddie Diaz is fourteen years old the first time he thinks he might be gay. He remembers the moment so clearly – he was lying in bed, curled up under the covers, and the thought struck him like lighting – sudden, and seemingly out of nowhere, sending a shock down his spine as he lets the thought wash over him.

He remembers thinking it – Eddie doesn’t quite remember why the thought came to him, though. He thinks maybe it was because Carson from his third period math class got a girlfriend – Emily, who played soccer for their school team - and had proudly boasted to everyone before the bell rang that he’d kissed her for five whole minutes and Eddie was sort of confused as to why you’d want to do that when he’d much rather see what it was like to kiss Carson, and –

Oh.

Fourteen-year-old Eddie didn’t know a lot of gay people. He knew they existed, in a mythical sort of way, like Sophia was convinced unicorns did, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually met a real-life gay person. He’d only ever heard about them – from movies, and television shows, and the way his parents murmured in quiet voices about what a shame it was that Mrs. Garcia’s daughter, the one who had moved to New York for college, was a lesbian now – she’d have found a good husband if she wasn’t that way inclined, his mother had lamented, and his father had nodded his stoic agreement, offering his hope that Isabella Garcia would change her mind and settle down with a good man, in the end.

People were gay, Eddie knew – but at fourteen, he had the distinct impression that he wasn’t supposed to be one of them. Ramon Diaz had old-fashioned ideas about who his son was supposed to be – the only Diaz boy in a house of girls, Eddie’s job was to be the man of the house when Ramon would travel. Eddie was supposed to be strong-willed, and he was supposed to keep his emotions to himself, and he was supposed to be a man. Never mind that he was still a child – Eddie was supposed to be a man, and the kind of man his father expected him to be, wasn’t a gay one.

Eddie was fourteen when he wondered if he could be gay, and he was fourteen when he took that thought and buried it as deeply as he could.

tagging @clusterbuck @hattalove @doeeyeseddie @thatbuddie @mellaithwen @sibylsleaves @henswilsons @littlespoonevan @roy-kents and anyone else who wants an excuse to post a wee bit of fic!