#also how the veteran pulled him down ���

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Ze has a special moment with one of the veterans ❤️ (2, no commentator voice)

Veteran: “You’re the savior of the people, you bring tears to my eyes.”

Ze: “No no, you saved Europe.”

Veteran: “My hero.”

Ze: “No, you are our hero.”

Veteran: “I pray for you.”

[asxgard]

Semper Fi | [3/8]

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!doctor!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: The push and pull as you figure out your relationship with Jack.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: I was listening to It Will Come Back and Too Sweet by Hozier while I wrote this, if it wasn’t obvious lol

Thank you all for the comments, reblogs and likes!! It makes my day🥹

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, angst, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies

not beta read

Even though you had laughed over pancakes — Jack complaining that you used far too much syrup for it to be remotely nutritious — he seemed to throw up hazard signs. Like he kept pumping the brakes, or stalled out the car completely on purpose at every turn. He bristled as you got closer and refused to throw caution to the wind, though he kept showing up on your front door like a wandering stray.

Frankly, his ability to both draw you in and push you away was fascinating. And annoyed the hell out of you.

While you could see he wasn’t regretting anything, you could feel his guilt. Even in the safety of his own apartment, he shut you out. While the quiet contentment with each other steadily became your thing, you wished he invited you into more than just his home.

Late one night only a few days after the rooftop kiss, with an ease settling into his shoulders, he pulled up his pant leg to reveal his prosthetic. You did not even flinch at the sight of it, just a wave of understanding taking over your features. The military background, the way his gait sometimes seemed off, it all made sense now. He didn’t talk about it and you didn’t bring it up. Just when he peeked out of his shell, it would slam shut again.

You refused to yield, but you also refused to pry him open.

Trying to take it one day at a time, you knew that whatever was taking root between you went beyond casual. Went beyond the hungry, lingering kisses and calloused hands on your skin. You struggled with how to call attention to it, worried it might crumble in your hands. You worried giving it a name would give it the power to be destroyed. It was in the secret that kept it safe, you supposed — from HR, from your insecurity or his over the gap in age, or the fear that it would all fall apart before it even truly began.

Your new normal became consumed with him. With his dry humor and smart quips, with how he seemed to anticipate your needs before you realized them. Jack became an ever present shadow for you, an ever watchful, comforting presence.

It was in those moments that you had begun to crave him: watching whatever sport was on or a random drama you indulged in, and the occasional late night trip to the corner store, or the slow mornings after shift spent at the diner, or sat at his dining table. The sensuality of your silences spoke louder than any words could. How he sought after your touch, innocently brushing your hand with his, and how he defied wandering his hands too far, even when you wanted him to.

—

The diner was slow, though you spotted a handful of regulars after spending so much time there. Jack sat down across from you, his back always needing to be against a wall, his eyes able to watch the room. You never questioned it.

He took his coffee bitter, with only a splash of milk, while you sweetened yours to the point he would question your sanity. He always looked amused whenever he did.

Your shift had not been any worse than any of the ones previous, but you could see the veteran patient had weighed heavy on Jack’s shoulders. The man was not unhoused, but spent most nights on the street due to his struggles with alcohol.

Jack was always calm and controlled, but with that patient…you could see the cracks.

He was staring into his coffee cup when you spoke, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hazel eyes met yours, soft and unreadable, but you could see the walls he was building back up. He usually did whenever you got too close, too personal.

He took a breath and relaxed his shoulders, lips pursed. “I’d like to. Eventually.”

An eyebrow raised at him, but you nodded.

“Have you ever considered not working in an ED? Thought perhaps a different path was better for you?”

You considered his question, pursing your lips, “I don’t think so. Most attendings I knew tried to deter me, saying I was better fit for pediatrics or ICU. Hell, one even suggested internal medicine. But I remember stepping foot into an ED on my rotations and it just felt right. The chaos never allowed me to overthink, you know?”

Jack nodded thoughtfully.

“I had a mentor, Dr. Galloway, and she was…she was just this ray of hope for people coming in. It never wavered. On their darkest days, there she was, smiles and comfort and undeniable skill. After all the death and despair, I knew that’s what I wanted to be for other people. I got called naive a lot. Told I wasn’t fit for the ED. It only made me want it more.” You explained, eyes flickering back down to your food.

“I’m sure you’ve made her proud.”

Your eyes snapped up, emotion squeezing your chest. You thought of Dr. Galloway and you smiled sadly. “Do you think about leaving?”

He went silent, the smallest tick in his jaw like he was debating something. “Sometimes, yeah, but I don’t know where I would be without it. The job…gives me purpose. In my days in the army, there was always clear instruction. Orders. Even in combat, I knew what I needed to do, a clear-cut role I needed to play. Patching up someone in a fire fight, or traching someone in the field, there was meaning. It mattered. When I lost my leg…” he trailed off, clearing his throat. “It gave me that sense of purpose back, somewhere to put my training to good use.”

It hurt somewhere in your chest at the thought of him always needing to be useful to feel worthy, to feel good enough. Allowing the chaos to quiet his mind, it felt strikingly familiar.

“Can I ask you something?”

He held your gaze.

“Do you regret it? Kissing me?”

“Do you want me to?”

You frowned at his non-answer and turned your attention back to your food. “That’s not an answer.”

“Do you want me to?” He stressed again, face scrunched in a clear sign of distress, though it was gone in a blink.

Your eyes flickered back up to him, taking in his stony features, hoping to find a flicker of anything to give away the thoughts in his head.

“No, I don’t.” You told him, ignoring the way your cheeks heated at the confession.

The smallest hint of a smile cracked on his lips, “Good, because I don’t.”

A smile of relief formed on your lips, though you still had a thousand questions buzzing around in your head. You didn’t press on it — not yet — fearing it would send you back three steps when you just advanced forward one.

“Why’d you leave New York?” He asked after a few moments.

You frowned, not particularly interested in talking about that. Your old hospital, your stupid, entitled co-worker—

“They had shitty cheesesteaks.”

He looked amused, but saw right through your little deflection. “But they had better pizza.”

You chuckled, “Don’t knock Pittsburgh pizza, it’s not bad.”

“It’s not good either.”

“It’s perfectly edible!”

“So you come here just for our cheesesteaks, then?”

You shrugged, “Change in scenery. The Pitt was also the first hospital that gave me an offer. Plus, the company isn’t so bad.”

His mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin, “I’m sure it leaves a little to be desired.”

Your eyes found his. “No, it’s perfectly desirable.”

—

You walked in one morning, taking in the day shift with new eyes. You had only ever really seen them in passing while you were getting off. You thought the next two weeks would be a fine change of pace, even if you would miss your grumpy attending.

The word ‘your’ sent a flood of heat to your cheeks.

Spotting Jack was easy enough, his eyes already on you. He was giving report to the incoming chief attending, arms crossed and hazel eyes watching you as you approached the charge desk. You knew he would be able to spot you in any crowd you ever found yourself in.

“I didn’t realize you were working today.” He said simply.

You offered him a smile, “They have me on days for a bit. Good morning, Dr. Robby.”

Robby side eyed Jack, before greeting you with a smile, “Morning.”

Jack pulled you aside near the stairwell, hand on your arm, “What are you doing?”

You raised a careful eyebrow at him, “You lost me, I’m confused.”

“Did you request days?” He asked tightly.

Your eyebrows raised, “Did I request days? Why would I do that?”

His frown deepened, “If you don’t wanna—”

You softened, “You’re the one keeping me at arms length, Jack.”

He processed that bit slowly, eyes looking far away.

“Look, I’ve gotta get to work, but if you wanna talk about this later—”

“Right. Yeah. Talk later.” And he was gone.

Emotional whiplash, that man.

—

Jack felt like he was tangled in a web of his own making, stuck between turning back and allowing it to consume him. He was hardly a man to back down from a challenge, but you were far too good to be twisted up in his mess. Part of him wanted to ask you to go, to run, because he didn’t think he would have the strength to. Not after knowing the comfort of your touch, the warmth of your voice and the sweet demise he felt in your lips.

Part of him felt he had thrown caution to the wind far too soon — kissing you on the roof without any thought. The heat of it had been burning underneath his skin for weeks, and he needed some relief. No time to consider the fall out, or the insecurities that lingered, just raw, untapped wanting.

He craved you, in a way he could hardly explain. He needed you in a way that felt insane. He wanted to pull you close and refuse to ever let you go. He wanted to crawl under your skin and make himself a home.

But he would have been a fool not to know that the feelings that were crawling around in his chest were not just ones of desire. That sat hot and heavy in his abdomen, but the flame flickering behind it? That scared the hell out of him.

You were the warmth of the morning first caressing his skin after a rough shift, your laugh a rare serenity within the Pitt, with a smile that lit up his night sky like the moon. You had an undeniable sweetness that had him aching for more, lingering on his tastebuds long after you had left his place.

Jack hoped by holding you at a distance that you would come to your senses. Realize that he was just an old dog with no new tricks, just greying hair and bite.

You kept accepting him into your apartment, even when he turned up late on a day off. It was mostly quiet between you, and you never showed if he was overstaying his welcome. Despite his hunger, he did not move any further than longing kisses and wandering hands, knowing that it would be his point of no return.

You deserved to know that before the tide pulled you both under.

—

You enjoyed working with Robby and the dayshift. Nothing beat nights with Jack, at work or not, but you meshed easily enough with everyone. You traded dumb jokes with the residents, got in on some of their bets, and told stupid stories from your med school days (ones you had once been painfully embarrassed about).

You worked hard, though, that was undeniable. The dayshift passed quickly, not slowed down by the emotionally constipated man stealing away your time. Before long, Jack was back, and found you immediately chatting cheerily with Robby.

Despite feeling the heaviness of his gaze, you did not turn to look at him. You wanted his attention and you wanted him to want yours.

“Have a good night, Robby.” You said with a warm smile.

He waved as you turned to get your stuff. Jack was on your heels in an instant.

“I don’t share.”

You blinked, turning to him, “I never asked you to.”

His eyes found yours, “I mean it, if we’re going to do this. I’m not one for half measures.

“Really? You’ve constantly got one foot out the door.”

He frowned, “I’m still figuring it out.”

“You know where to find me when you do.”

His hand found yours, turning you back to him, “Don’t let me in if it's just for fun. Don’t let me in if you’re not serious.” He said, his tone stressed, and you felt something lingering behind his words. “I can’t do casual. Not with you.” The last part came out mildly strangled, like he struggled to say it.

“You wanna come by after shift? I’d like to talk about it.” You said, smiling softly at him. “Because I am serious about you.”

His eyes darkened like he had fully given in, and heat pooled low in your stomach at the sight of it. Was that why he kept holding back? In fear of you not being serious about him?

Jack visibly swallowed, hazel eyes holding you steady. “I’ll be by in the morning.”

You squeezed his hand and he let go. You gathered your things and left, feeling a spring in your step.

[ Next ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion

Semper Fi taglist: @rosiepoise88 @stelliferousphoenix @yournerdmodziata

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith

Give me that grumpy man

I had a bet with a friend that I thought it was likely Abbot had a prosthetic. I feel so vindicated lol

[sweetsbelcva]

Castle Crumbling | Jack Abbot x Reader

⟡ He seems to know you better than anyone. A bloody nose and a quiet moment get him talking more than he wants to and feels the wall crumbling.

— fem!reader. No body/appearance descriptions. Age gap (20s and 40s). Reader is a resident and Jack the attending. Mentions of blood. Moments before a mass casualty event. Grumpy x Sunshine kind of.

a/n: This will have more parts because i want to explore this dynamic and i have more ideas but feel free to request and join the conversation!

— masterlist

Jack has never met someone that keeps him on the edge. Never. Veteran, an attending physician, and famous for his stoic face. There's no way you're breaking him.

"Hey, give me a break alright?" you say, sarcastic tone on each of your words.

Jack lets out a scoff that seemed a little too amused, arms crossing over his chest at your request. He looked at you like he was about to tell you to suck it up and get back in the ring.

"A break?" he asked, but his tone was softer than usual. Not exactly concerned,because this was you, after all. But still. "You okay?," his eyes lingered on your face for a moment too long. "You look like hell."

"I know, thank you!" You chuckle, getting ready to go stand close to the pink zone with Mel. Looking around the ER everyone looked tired until a second ago, a mass casualty coming in.

"Where do you think you are going?" he asked dryly, stopping you in your tracks with a firm hand on your shoulder although it was obvious it was a command. He looks for your gaze, you do look like hell.

He didn't even need to tell you why. You already knew exactly why he was pulling you back. He knew you hated being treated like a kid, but there was a slight look of worry on his face. He knows you, maybe too much already.

"But- Dr. Robby said..."

"I don't care what Robby said." the grip on your wrist tightening a little bit as he pulled you closer by his side. He had an annoyingly good way of making you feel so small, basically wrapping you up in his palm.

"You go to the sidelines" Or with me, his mind finished, but he didn't dare say it out loud. "Until you feel better" his eyes scan your face.

"Mel needs help," you say, knowing any excuse that i give him isn't enough.

Goddammit. He heard your excuse, rolling his eyes again. He was so tired of the constant power struggle between the two of you. You were relentless when it came to trying to defy him. He had an urge to just throw you over his shoulder and put you in the break room just so you wouldn't get into any trouble.

"You are my resident." He argued. "That means you listen to what i say."

You look at him, his gaze is heavy on you. Looking for any sign on his face. Her reminds professional, but also controlling.

"Alright," you say, hiding the smile that was coming off your lips. It falls as a smirk. "I’ll do what you say, fine"

He caught your smirk for a flash, raising an eyebrow as he noticed you trying to hide it. But he said nothing about it, letting his hand slowly drop from your wrist.

"Good" he said simply, returning to rearrange his go-bag with a few practical kits. But before you could run free again, he caught the slight frown on your face "Come with me."

You nod, following him. At the center of the pitt Dana is yelling the first ambulances will arrive in exactly five minutes.

Jack gave one last look around the entire pitt before he started walking, keeping a close watch on you to make sure you were following.He lead you to a spot in the hallway with an empty gurney, resting his left hand on the bed as he gestured for you to sit.

"Sit there" he said dryly, disappearing into a small supply closet before he pulled out a pack of gauzes.

"What?" you ask, sitting down. Then you see him disappear but a strange ring in your ears comes, blood running down your nose. You see him come out of the supply closet. It’s like he knew.

You place your fingers on the bridge of your nose, pinching softly and lean your head back. "How did you know?"

Jack rolled his eyes again at your shocked and confused face, letting out a soft scoff as he walked towards you— stopping right in front of you.

"i know you more than you think, smartass." He confesses. He gently, but firmly, grasped your chin between his fingers. "Let me see."

You gasp at his touch, the blush in your face doesn’t go unnoticed.

"It's fine" you say, letting him take care of you. Your heart beats so fast you’re scared he will listen. Your blood soaked hand hanging in the air.

Jack lets out a soft grunt as he took your hand in his. He always seemed so stoic and expressionless to everyone else, but he he was actually a huge softie when it came to you. In his head, at least.

Jack started to clean up the blood with a gauze, soft touches, making sure to clean you up without hurting you unnecessarily.

"I told you not to overexert yourself"

"Seriously, how did you see this coming?"

"I have my eye on you all the time." he said bluntly, throwing away the soaked gauze in his hand. He gently held your chin again, tilting your head towards him to properly look up your nose. He had a serious yet focused look on his face he was more concerned than he let on.

"I'm fine, Dr. Abbot" you say, it comes out more unsettling, your feelings bubbling up inside you. You can't help but smile softly at the fact he has his eye on you.

Secretly, he’s enjoying looking after you, care touches and his controlling demeanor.

"The hell you aren't, smartass" Jack said, scoffing softly as he leaned in closer and he started to help plug up your nose, pausing to look at you again.

"Well, you are a smartass too"

"Sure" he shrugs, his touch leaving your skin. Already missing the contact. "It helps me to do my job, but somehow you always seem to disarm me"

There was an amused look on your face as he secured the gauze properly in your nose. The bleeding would stop soon and you'd be able to go back to work.

You froze once he spoke, raising an eyebrow at his confession. Disarm?

"Is it because we argue?" you ask, your tone shy now.

"Oh please," he said dryly, his attention now directed back to you. He couldn't ignore the way his breath caught up on his throat as he looked at you. "Everyone knows you have some sort of way to get under my skin"

"Oh... But it's fun" you say, shrugging your shoulders.

"Fun?" his face not changing from the usual dry look. He was used to everyone looking at him with respect, never daring to push his buttons. But you did.

"Thank you... by the way"

You fall into a silence, a comfortable one. While you admire his features and he turns away, grunting and looking around the ER.

Jack places his palms against the gurney, and each arm around you almost cages you in. The sound of the ambulances and people already running out to help gets him out off his trance. He grunts again, getting up to stand tall again and not looking at you. He had said some things to you... It was better not to speak again unless its work related.

"Let’s go save some lives, Dr. Abbot" you break the silence again. Ignoring the pang in your chest as he pulls away from your body.

He knew you were right, it definitely wasn't the time to be distracted by you. He'd be an idiot to say that you weren't distracting, but he had to focus on work right now—not whatever it was that was going on between the two of you.

⟡ If you like it please reblog and comment. If you want more you can request!

⟡ dividers by cafekitsune / gif by patrick-stewart

[dreamwritesimagines]

Declassified [4] - Outranked

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 Please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Everyone has their bad days at work.

Warnings: Explicit language, yelling.

Word Count: 3937 

Series Masterlist

Fine.

Things with Bucky had been a bit strange, at least on your part.

Ever since that night at the office and that rush of excitement you had when your hand was in his, you had been trying your hardest to ignore the feeling but it simply didn’t let you.

Throwing yourself into work didn’t do the trick either, but at least the poll numbers were amazing.

You watched while he walked down the stage through the applause and shook hands with the people in the crowd. Even you had to admit that he didn’t need to do much, voters loved him and his genuine approach. Yet, to be safe, he studied whatever you gave him thoroughly to answer each and every question with ease, clearly having read every note you put in your reports as you asked him to.

He made his way to you and Kelsey, and you smiled at him while Kelsey checked his calendar on her phone.

“The next meeting is with Mr. Davis,” she said before he could even ask. “You have half an hour.”

“Great,” he muttered, shooting you a questioning look, and you nodded, then followed him out of the building to the sidewalk. He went into the blind alley right beside the building so that you could be away from anyone who could interrupt you, then turned to look at you.

“The usual drill?” you asked and he nodded.

“Mm hm.”

“I start?”

“Please,” he said, loosening his tie a little. “Ladies first.”

You took a deep breath and unlocked your phone.

“Overall it was pretty good,” you said, checking the notes on your phone as he leaned back on the wall. “Just one thing, you could’ve given more details when they asked about our veteran plan.”

He made a face as if he was already regretting it.

“I thought the same,” he admitted. “And I was going to, then I remembered you told me earlier to lean into education for this one.”

“Yes because that’s our opponent’s weak spot, I saw his project about education, it’s a fucking joke.” You scoffed. “By the way, you nailed the education question.”

He let out a relieved breath. “Good.”

“But like I said, we can just give the overall rundown the next time someone asks about it,” you said. “I actually already prepared a draft—”

“When?”

“While you were answering the question,” you said. “It’s short and to the point, and people should hear more about it, so if we overran by like ten seconds, it won’t hurt.”

“Yeah.”

“Because our ideas are fucking amazing,” you said, looking up at him and Bucky nodded fervently.

“Most of them were your ideas.”

“We came up with them together,” you told him. “And you’re the one who’s gonna carry those to the Congress, so let the voters hear it.”

“Okay,” he said. “Noted.”

“And next, Mr. Davis,” you said. “He’s a hard-ass, however he does have a soft spot for veterans and he’s a history nerd, so please, please throw in some sort of anecdote from your time in the trenches.”

“Birdie...”

“I know you hate talking about it,” you added in a hurry. “I know but we can, in fact, use him. Could be like um, like a fun memory.”

“Fun memory,” he deadpanned. “From the trenches.”

“You know what I mean, Bucky.”

 “I’ll try,” he muttered. “My turn?”

You cleared your throat and fixed your hair to keep your hands busy before rolling your shoulders back.

“Yes,” you said. “I am now ready for your feedback. Go.”

“How much caffeine have you had so far?”

“Two Red Bulls, one Monster, three cups of coffee.”

“What did you eat?”

“Some leftover pizza as breakfast and a protein bar. Oh, and coffee beans.”

Bucky pulled his brows together. “See, that also counts as caffeine—where on earth did you get coffee beans?”

“I brought them in a ziploc. Want some?”

“No thank you.” He hummed. “And how much did you sleep last night?”

“Um…” You checked the app on your phone. “I think it’s like two and a half—oh, there. Two hours forty-five minutes.”

 “That’s ten more minutes than the other night,” Bucky pointed out and you nodded your head, pride lighting up your face.

“Yes. I’m improving.”

“So proud.”

“Why thank you,” you chirped and checked the time on your phone, then stepped closer to him to reach up to fix his tie. “I literally told you Davis is a hard-ass, you have to look put together.”

A small smile pulled at his lips as he looked down at you, and you felt your heartbeat speeding up, but you forced yourself to focus on his tie before you stepped back, nibbling on your lip.

“There. Presentable.”

“Did you change your perfume?”

You tilted your head, then slapped a hand over your forehead with a grimace.

“I forgot you’re basically a hound!” you whined. “Sorry about that. Um—Max got this perfume for me and it’s really not my type of perfume but I wanted him to feel good about it, he’s not very skilled at choosing gifts.”

He raised his brows.

“Your boyfriend doesn’t know the perfume you use?”

“…No,” you said after a beat. “No he does. It’s on the vanity, he’s seen it a thousand times.”

“So he got you a different perfume on purpose?”

You blinked a couple of times, the simple question making your stomach churn in anxiety but you shook your head, trying to shake off the thoughts.

“Let’s go,” you said, and started walking with him following you. “Is it bad? The perfume?”

“It’s not bad, it's just not you.”

“Is it the serum?” you asked. “It makes you notice these types of things more?”

“Yeah.”

“How come you didn’t say anything about the other one?”

“I like how you sme—your—your perfume,” Bucky stammered and cleared his throat. “It’s uh—it’s a nice…perfume. In general.”

“Are you sure?” You stepped out of the alley and turned to look at him better while his campaign manager Paul approached you. “About this one not being bad? Should I go home and take a very quick shower and be back?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Paul cleared his throat, his eyes darting between you two. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Bucky said. “What is it?”

“You need to be on your way to Davis,” he said and turned to you with a frown. “And you should be at the office.”

“Okay.” You grinned at Bucky. “Hey, less exposure to perfume.”

“I feel like this is common knowledge, but I’d take your perfume over Davis’,” Bucky grumbled and you let out a laugh, then made your way to the car.

                                              *

 It was a busy day today, for Bucky and you. He was supposed to meet all these people and you had thousands of emails to send, and to make things worse, Paul had given you a bunch of things to do the moment you stepped foot in the office.

“He looks more pissed off than usual,” Caleb commented and you heaved a sigh.

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“No idea,” you said. “But hey, do you know how Bucky’s meeting with Davis went?”

“Kels texted me, it went fine.”

“Just fine?” you asked and he hummed.

“I’ll ask for the details.”

“Thank you,” you said and printed out the latest report, then walked to Bucky’s office to put it on his desk so that they would be ready when he got back. You cracked your back and made a face, then took a step to walk back to your desk but Paul stopped you.

“What were you doing in there?”

You pulled your brows together. “In Bucky’s office?” you asked. “I left the latest report in there. I figured he’d want to see it.”

Paul scoffed a laugh.

“Right,” he muttered. “And what about the report that I asked for, half an hour ago?”

“You asked for a full report Paul,” you reminded him. “I had to send some emails, so I—”

“I didn’t ask for excuses,” he snapped, making you pull back a little while the rest of the bullpen fell into silence. Your cheeks started burning in shame but you swallowed thickly, commanding yourself to be calm.

“I had to send the email to that journalist you were talking about today,” you said. “I figured that it was the priority—”

“I’m sorry, you figured?” Paul asked. “I asked you to do something and what, you decided it wasn’t the priority?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sounds like you did,” Paul said. “And sounds like we have a miscommunication problem here. You don’t decide on shit. I decide what’s important or not, you hear me?”

Okay.

You knew what to do in a situation like this.

Your whole childhood could be summarized with multiple people yelling at you, so it didn’t even take you long to snap into what was familiar. You imagined the walls going up around you just like you would when you were little, schooling your face into a completely neutral expression, keeping your eyes on Paul and not the whole office watching you.

“I don’t really give a fuck that everyone tells you you’re oh-so-smart,” Paul ranted. “I don’t give a fuck if Bucky—” he stopped himself and let out a bitter laugh. “Trust me when I say this, you’re not half as smart as you think you are.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see that Bucky had just entered the bullpen but since Paul’s back was turned to the entrance and he was so lost in his anger, he didn’t even notice people turning their gaze from him to Bucky.

“And when the stakes are this high, when we’re only a couple of months away from the elections...” Paul’s voice rose again and Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to let you screw this up for anyone in this team!”

Bucky took a step but you moved your hand from your side to raise it just a little before you curled your fingers into a fist. It was so subtle that neither Paul nor anyone in the room noticed it, but Bucky stopped dead in his tracks like a soldier given a strict order by his commander, his gaze burning you.

“So when I want something to be done,” Paul said. “You do it. You do not think about the priority order, you just fucking do it. Like you’re supposed to. We’re not paying you to think, we’re paying you to do as you’re told. Do you understand?”

You unclenched your fist and nodded, then turned your gaze to Bucky over Paul’s shoulder. Paul blinked a couple of times, his face going white before he followed your line of sight, and turned around.

Bucky didn’t even need to say anything to intimidate people, you were beginning to see it now. His cold glare was more than enough to pin one to their spot, hell, you weren’t even the person who was on the receiving end of it, yet you didn’t think you could move. The whole bullpen held their breath while Paul exhaled shakily, opening his mouth only to have no voice come out. Bucky stole a glance at you as if asking for your next order, but you shook your head slightly, making him clench his jaw. He turned to Paul, nodded in the direction of the door and stepped outside, Paul tripping on his own feet in his rush to follow him outside.

“Holy shit,” Caleb muttered and you bit inside your cheek, then returned to your desk, Kelsey rushing to you while Caleb scooted his chair to get closer.

“What an asshole,” Kelsey whispered. “I still have goosebumps, I’ve never seen Bucky that furious.”

“At least now we know what Howard Stark saw before he—”

“Caleb!”

“Sorry, too soon?”

Your hands were still shaky, and people were still staring at you but you grabbed your phone to send a quick text to Bucky:

Don’t. I’m serious. Don’t fire him, don’t threaten him, don’t do anything.

“Birdie, are you okay?” Kelsey reached out to squeeze your hand and your head shot up, then you tried to smile.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Caleb asked. “That was kind of harsh, even for Paul.”

You threw your shoulders back, trying to pull yourself together.

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s…it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

                                         *

Paul couldn’t meet your eye for the rest of the day.

In fact, you were pretty sure that he had jumped out of your way when you had to go to his office to get a file.

Even though you could tell Bucky wanted to talk to you, you weren’t exactly sure how long you would be able to keep it together and you certainly didn’t want to break down in the office, so when it was time for you to leave the office, you went home while Bucky was still out on a meeting.

You had already cried in the shower when Max texted you to say he would be working until midnight, so you ordered a bunch of snacks, put some music on, turned the TV on, found the news channel and put it on mute, then turned up the heat and got to work.

You were knee deep in the clean energy bill draft for Bucky to use in his next meeting when the roar of a motorcycle outside made you grimace and look up from your notes, your phone buzzing in your hand a couple seconds later. Your eyes widened when you saw the text, sitting up straighter like someone pinched you.

From: Winter Is Coming

Hey, I’m outside your place. Can you step out for a moment?

 Bucky?

Bucky was—

Holy shit, Bucky was outside.

You jumped on your feet and grabbed the empty snack packages, rushed to the kitchen and threw them into the garbage, your heart beating in your throat as you typed in your reply;

Be out in a sec!

You didn’t even question why you were so excited to see him, you just rushed to the bathroom to to brush your teeth and fix your hair as fast as you could, then made your way to the bedroom to grab your perfume from the vanity, your hand hitting the perfume bottle Max had got you out of the way in your hurry. You sprayed a couple of your own perfume on your skin, then ran to the living room to spritz it into the room as well. You threw the bottle on the bed and took a deep breath, then grabbed Max’s zip-up hoodie to put it on, grabbed the keys and walked out of the apartment.

Oh.

Oh alright, this was going to do wonders for your imagination.

Great.

Bucky was leaning against a motorcycle when you stepped out of the building, and he looked so irresistible that the fluttering in your stomach went crazy as you smiled at him. He eyed you up and down, and you shifted your weight from one foot to other, now realizing that you were in a crop top and tiny shorts under the unzipped hoodie; something very different than what he was used to seeing you in.

“I do have a doorbell, you know?” you joked, still holding the door open behind you and his eyes snapped to yours.

“I uh—” He frowned like he was trying to focus. “I didn’t want to disturb.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” You waved a hand in the air. “Come on in.”

He paused for a beat. “Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah, Max is working late as usual, it’s just me,” you said and made your way to your apartment with him following you. You opened the door to your apartment and stepped inside, your heart still pounding in your chest.

It was fine.

You had been to his place like a thousand times, and even bribed his cat Alpine into loving you with a can of tuna, so it just made sense that he would be here as well.

Completely professional.

Bucky’s eyes darted around the place before he closed the door behind him, then let out a breath.

“Whoa, it’s like a sauna here.”

“Yeah I need every room I’m in to be boiling,” you said with a laugh, taking off the hoodie. “I’m cold all the time, like, there was this one time I had to turn the heat on in June, Max was losing his mind.”

Bucky took off his leather jacket and you took it from him to hang it on the hanger, then made your way through the hallway with him following you.

“I got wine, beer…”

“Beer would be nice, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” you said as you both entered the kitchen and you took out two beer bottles from the fridge, then handed one to him.

“Thanks.” Bucky sat down on the stool and uncapped his bottle and you uncapped yours, then clinked the bottle with his. “Nice place.”

“Thank you,” you said and took a sip, perching on the other stool across from his. “So, what’s up? What brings you to my sauna?”

“I wanted to see if you’re okay,” he said. “After today.”

You scoffed. “Oh, I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t care what Paul does. How did the meeting with Brooks go?”

“She’s nice—”

“And she’s hot as hell,” you added. “Like, seriously...”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Did you get the chance to mention that we’re interested in that fundraiser?”

“Yeah, she says we can make that happen. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“That fundraiser would make really good optics and to be honest, she’s kind of a badass—”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bucky cut you off and you pursed your lips, then nodded.

“I don’t understand why people make such a big deal about it,” you said. “I’m used to getting yelled at, I’m okay.”

Fury flashed in Bucky’s eyes.

“This has happened before?”

“No no, not with Paul,” you said. “Which by the way, what did you tell him? He doesn’t even look me in the eye anymore.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “Means he listened.”

Butterflies returned to your stomach but you forced yourself to give him a reprimanding glare. “Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing much. I just explained what would happen if he pulled that shit again, very calmly.”

You had to bite back your smile. “Very calmly.”

His expression was almost too innocent. “Mm hm.”

You shook your head and took another sip of your beer while Bucky tilted his head.

“How?”

“What?”

“How are you used to it?”

“Oh.” You let out a bitter laugh. “I got yelled at a lot when I was a kid. It stops being effective after a while, to be honest with you.”

Bucky’s frown deepened and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I had this um…” You moved your hand vaguely. “I had this thing while I was growing up, I was incredibly skittish, so my dad kept yelling at me to think faster and talk faster and eat faster and—whatever you can think of, really. Kind of like a drill sergeant.” 

Bucky stared at you, a soft light shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I yell at him back nowadays,” you said with a small laugh. “One of the reasons why we don’t get along well. He raised me to be very outspoken, and now that my values are completely different than his, he doesn’t like it. You should’ve seen the last time they visited, we got into this huge political argument, and my mom just left to go shopping, and Max blocked it out and was like, making work phone calls in the bedroom while my father probably violated the noise ordinance laws of this building. My voice was hoarse the next day, it was crazy.”

Bucky blinked a couple of times.

“Sorry, you mean—” He paused as if he was trying to wrap his mind around the idea. “You’re telling me your father yelled at you and your boyfriend just allowed that?”

You stared at him, that familiar discomfort sinking in your stomach again before you shook your head.

“Oh it’s not like that,” you said. “He respects my father a lot, and he knew I could handle it.”

At least that was what Max had told you word by word, when you asked him where the hell he was during that argument seeing that it ended up with you bursting into tears in the bathroom.

“Did you tell him he’s not supposed to respect your father more than he respects you?” Bucky asked with a dry smile and you licked your lips, your heartbeat getting faster.

“It sounds bad when you say it like that,” you said. “But it wasn’t like that. Max is a great guy, we barely ever fight.”

Well, that was because you barely saw each other within the week.

“And um—” you stammered. “And we’re like, so in love.”

No I’m not.

The thought that flashed through your mind was so sudden and so unfamiliar that it made you stop talking and you swallowed thickly, frowning at yourself. 

What the hell?

When had that quiet doubt turned into an actual thought?

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice cut through your haze and you looked up at him to see that soft light playing in his eyes despite how tight his jaw was. “Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“…Right.”

He held your gaze in his, making your heart skip a beat before he downed the beer and put the bottle on the kitchen island.

“I should go,” he rasped out and your stomach dropped in disappointment.

“Oh, you could stay,” you said in a rush, hope clear in your voice even if you tried to hide it. “Like I said, it’s just me here probably until like midnight or something.”

“I really shouldn’t.” He gave you an apologetic smile and stood up from the stool. “Thanks for the beer though.”

“Of course,” you said and followed him to the hallway. He grabbed his leather jacket from the hanger and you fixed your hair, clearing your throat.

“By the way, you should ride your motorcycle more,” you said with a tentative smile. “It’d skyrocket the votes.”

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You took a step towards him when he opened the door. “Bucky?”

He turned around to look at you better. “Hm?”

“Why—” You paused for a moment. “Paul is your campaign manager. He outranks me and—was it honestly just because of me? Today, when you pulled him aside and gave him a talk?”

 “Yeah,” he said. “It was because of you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t like it when people think they can yell at you,” he pointed out. “So I’m not going to allow that. Simple as that.”

That warmth filled your chest again, a smile you couldn’t stop lighting up your face and you bounced on the balls of your feet, then nodded.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice a mere whisper and his eyes met yours, your heart beating in your throat again.

“Anytime,” he said softly. “Goodnight Birdie.”

With that, he closed the door behind him and soon enough you heard the engine of the motorcycle come to life, and drive away. Your cheeks were still burning and you pressed your palms to soothe the fire, letting out a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” you whispered into the empty room. “Goodnight Bucky.”

Chapter 5

[sipthegossip-if]

SIP THE GOSSIP! is a slice of life IF rated 18+ for explicit language, skippable sexual content, substance abuse, extra marital affairs and more. Best to be avoided if romance, drama and angst are not your cup of tea.

✭ DEMO (TBA) ✭ FORUM (TBA)

You have had everything in the palm of your hand since birth.

Fame, fortune and a last name that opened every door. Success kissed your feet, the billboards sang of your symphony and the public chanted your name.

Until they didn't. Until it all went up in flames.

After years of riding high on a streak of blockbusters— all conveniently produced by your beloved uncle— your perfect little world came crashing down when you found yourself tangled in a mess of scandal and allegations that left your reputation in shambles.

One fucking scandal. That is all it took to turn your carefully curated kingdom into a graveyard. You lost thousands of followers across all your social media accounts, all your endorsement deals and the industry turned its back on you.

But you persisted.

Once the dust settled, you clawed your way back. Starred in films that had no connection to your dearest uncle. You are more than your family name.

But here's the thing: they all flopped. Badly, at that.

And you found yourself, once again, at rock bottom.

But you see, you were born with this insatiable hunger in the pit of your stomach. It refuses to leave you alone. It's sunk its teeth deep into your intestines. You have tasted the top, and you're not afraid to bleed for it. So, you did what you thought was best for you at that time. Disappear from the public eye for a while.

Now, after a long silence, you've decided to make a comeback by doing what you have always been good at. Using your connections to gain a spot in the upcoming romantic drama TO THE MOON AND BACK with just enough buzz to restart your career. You know the right people. You know the wrong ones, too. And you're not above using either, pulling strings or calling in favors.

You will do anything to get your stardom back, even if it means getting your pretty hands a little dirty. Fame is a game. One you have played countless times— you're not about to lose now.

Play as male, female or non binary. Straight or queer. Customise your brand and appearance.

Choose the article that destroyed the reputation you spent years building.

Engage in a scandalous & fiery romance off and on set!

Use whatever means you can to avoid being teared to shreds on the internet.

It's been long since you have acted. You haven't forgotten how to bring those tear ducts to use, have you?

Give interviews. Because isn't that what the blizz and bling all about baby?

Engage with your fans. If they still haven't forgotten about you, that is.

Escape or annoy the unrelenting paparazzi.

Customise your public persona. Do things that transpire behind cameras differ from on camera?

Choose the plot of TTMAB.

⛓ THE BODYGUARD :

Kai D'melio. [he/him or she/her]

Single and in early 30s. Stoic and all business. It's hard to get a read of them. They are a constant in your life.

Tropes : Bodyguard romance, extremely slow burn, quiet yearning from distance, "crush" route, steel armour— soft core.

❂ THE VETERAN ACTOR :

Shiron "Shay" Hill. [he/him or she/her]

Married and in mid 40s, they continue to be a social media sensation to till this day. A friend of you and your uncle. They are the one who introduced you to the director and producer of To The Moon And Back and helped you score the lead role.

Tropes : Extra marital affair, steamy, age gap, forbidden romance, "married in name only," wedding band that feels like a chain and accidental touches that burn.

✵ THE DIRECTOR/PRODUCER :

Victor/ia "Vic" Alvarez. [he/him or she/her]

Single, former actor and in mid 40s. An incredibly close friend of Shiron. They have been attached at the hip since the two first began working together in the industry. All their works have proved to be the public's favourites and you hope that is also the case with T2MAB.

Tropes : Work romance, steamy, commitment issues, power imbalance, age gap, says "We can't do this," and does it anyway.

☼THE M/F LEAD :

Alexis "Alex" Sinclair. [he/him or she/her]

Co-actor and in late 20s. Charming and titled 'Industry's Budding Star' by People's Magazine. They seem to have a tendency to flirt with whatever that breathes. It would serve you best to not get involved with them, judging from their messy dating history.

Tropes : idiots in love, hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, himbo/bimbo, friends/co-workers with benefits, "I will break your heart or, will you break mine?"

𝄞 THE SECOND M/F LEAD :

River Fox. [he/him or she/her]

Co-actor, singer and in late 20s. After having caught their now ex partner cheating on them, they seem to have a hard time trusting people. The fact that they dislike you for the means you used to get the role and the consequences it led to, doesn't help either.

Tropes : Slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, melting the ice king/queen, forced proximity, kind guy/gal who's mean to only you. "Your hurt recognises mine," in some instances.

☌ THE CAMERA(WO)MAN :

Arlo Kent. [he/him or she/her]

Single loyal to you and in their early 20s. They get all starry eyed and overly enthusiastic at the sight of you. More often than not, you have caught them not so discreetly keeping an eye you. You can only hope they are merely star struck and nothing more.

Tropes : Stalker/yandere fluffy romance. "I have always been watching," that somehow turns romantic. "You'll love me eventually," kinda horror romance.

[studioeisa]

is it casual now? (teaser) 🫀 seungcheol x reader.

★ seungcheol x makeup artist!f!reader. ★ teaser word count: ~8,000 ★ genre/warnings: mdni. 18+ content. situationship/friends with benefits, light angst, use of pet name ('love'). soft dom!seungcheol, making out, biting/marking, protected sex. let me know if i missed anything! ★ footnotes: this has been on my backburner for months. it's admittedly a full-blown story in need of hard editing, and so i'm posting this in hopes of bullying myself into working on the whole thing. should it come down to it, though, i like to think this can stand on its own. enjoy. <3

Seungcheol has been in the industry long enough to know that everybody had vices.

Trainees, rookies, veterans. It didn't matter. There were dangerous, risky vices. Alcohol, drugs, smoking. There was dating, too, of course. Dating fans, dating fellow idols.

Seungcheol didn't do drugs. He smoked socially, but he would rather not. And he drank, sure, but never to an unhealthy amount. Dating, however—

Did it really count when there was only really ever one person he treated like a vice?

You've been in his life since the group debuted. Nine years, give or take. And then, at one point, he just... tried something with you. And it clicked, fell into place, and now you've been sneaking around for the better half of three years. It's the one place Seungcheol feels like he can breathe, can get away. But it's also the biggest secret he's kept.

You're his makeup artist, after all.

When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.

That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.

You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"

When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. “Cheol,” you say exasperatedly, slowly. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over him— just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."

"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."

You let out a low hum at Seungcheol’s fingers brushing against your skin. “Mmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,” you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.

You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all over— the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. He’s tired, and you can tell. You’ve always been able to tell. 

You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you. 

One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.” 

“Five”” you repeat as you bear Seungcheol’s weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and there— your soothing touch, your light tone. “Oh, how ever will you live?”

Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.

"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."

“I was asleep,” you protest, but— whether or not you notice— your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.

“That’s my penance,” you say drowsily. 

"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you. 

He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over again— hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument. 

“Greedy,” you mumble, but both of you know it doesn’t matter. 

Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.

All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled in— when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.

He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But it’s done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheol’s, as you smilingly mumble to him, “There. Two kisses.” 

His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in. 

You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. You’re both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morning— there's something else to it.

He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.

“Cheol,” you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. “You’re— mmph— being greedy—” 

"Five—" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.

It’s never a second more with Seungcheol. He’s always out the door when he can go, when he has to. He’s never been a glutton for time, and so it’s enough for you to sense that something is wrong. 

You break away from him. 

Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and you’re looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. “Long week?” 

He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.

He glances at your face— the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyes— and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.

"Long year," he corrects.

You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. This— whatever the two of you have— it’s an outlet that won’t break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wants— he needs—

You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesn’t always know himself. “How do you want your fifth kiss?” you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue. 

Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.

It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.

He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."

You’re back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. It’s a kiss that lovers give each other, even though you’re the furthest from that. 

It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.

His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after. 

"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."

This time, you laugh against his mouth— a slightly muffled sound, not any less amused— but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. “You have to let me breathe, Cheol,” you huff. 

Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.

He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.

"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.

He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but he’s saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved. 

"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."

Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.

He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.

His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."

When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows he’s gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.

It's a little addicting.

"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.

He kisses you— devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night. 

But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.

All it makes him do is pull you closer— press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.

He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.

Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and it’s like music to his goddamn ears. 

He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely. 

A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like that— knows what he's in for.

He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.

There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.

A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.

If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.

Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.

“Seung,” you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. “I’m going to get a noise complaint again—”

“I'll pay the fine,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.

To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.

“You can't just keep paying for— ah— the fines,” you’re babbling. “They're going— t-to kick me— Seung, fuck!"

Whatever you’re trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.

The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.

"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have to—"

“Jesus Christ,” you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheol’s hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. “My neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighbors— wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin. 

His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.

"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.

Of course, that adds up. You hadn’t been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he can’t blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so you’re looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face. 

“Wanna check for yourself?” you taunt. 

A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.

"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."

You give him half an eye roll that’s more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.

“Happy?” you half-joke, your voice low. 

He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."

His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch light— almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.

He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.

He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheol’s gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall. 

He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.

His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.

He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.

He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insane— you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.

He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.

His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habits— a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.

Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."

He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "‘M not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "‘M perfectly— hng!"

Everything is working in his favor.

You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.

"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.

This is his favorite place in the entire world— right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.

"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"

There it is. The million won question.

The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets. 

You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."

That's all he wants to hear.

He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."

The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.

"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Please—" 

When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.

He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."

"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows you’re not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to. 

"You know what I—" you’re saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until you’re completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him. 

Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"

He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."

That thought alone makes his blood sing.

It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like this— he's gone.

And then you’re asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"

He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"

You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear. 

All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication. 

"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and he’s convinced he’ll pass out then and there. 

"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."

He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and it’s nothing short of a command. 

He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back. 

The sight of you underneath him— your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.

He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,” he breathes. 

He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.

The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show often— that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.

He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.

You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that you’re getting from his knee. “Seung,” you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. “Please— don’t wanna wait any more—”

“Where’s all that snark now, hm?” he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But he’s not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately. 

"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing you—” 

A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. “Can we get this off already, please?” you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts. 

He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.

He kicks them off once you’ve yanked them down, and his hand— which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse point— feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.

You’re looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."

"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"

Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.

But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his. 

He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep you’re in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words. 

"Ruin me, Seung."

You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.

He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.

"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minute—"

He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing. 

"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.

You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.

"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."

His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and you’re gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that you’re practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because you’re too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. You’re both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little. 

His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.

When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. He’s completely sheathed inside of you and you’re fluttering around him in a way that’s dangerous. 

“Y’can move, Seung,” you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. “As fast and hard as you want.” 

You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure. 

"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "I—"

His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.

You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out that’s halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you. 

Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."

Your words, your voice— it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.

He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.

It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seung— Seungcheol— Cheol—"

Yes, you're saying, yes.

Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them. 

It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.

You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane. 

"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'm— ah, fuck— Seung—"

His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. It’s a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.

He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Love— I—"

He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.

He's on the edge, he's there, he's—

"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."

It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp. 

He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. There’s the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.

He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. He’s weak because of you. 

"God," he finally manages to mutter.

He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.

His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."

You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "You—" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."

His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. It’s a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.

A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.

"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"

You’re a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this. 

Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s the only answer he’s going to get from you for now, it seems. 

He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."

His eyes opened once again to look at you.

"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.

You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.

He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow. 

It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normal— that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that you’ll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.

But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.

He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, and—

Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.

And then things end, not really by your own accord.

The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign sound— at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling him— his phone in his discarded jeans— in the godawful middle of the night. 

He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.

"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"

You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."

Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.

Once he’s reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Hyung!"

It's Soonyoung— of course it's Soonyoung— calling.

"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."

"It's midnight, Soonyoung." 

You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"

Seungcheol lets out a huff— a mixture of resigned affection and irritation— at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.

But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.

"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"

You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.

"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"

He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.

Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol. 

"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer. 

The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of you— his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.

"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."

You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but you’ve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.

"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."

Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.

"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.

You let the words hang there for just a moment. It’s an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. It’s the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than this—because he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.

You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. You’ve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just… thought about it.

The thought never wins.

"Let’s clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."

He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...

He can't think about it right now, though.

Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."

It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. He’s essentially traded one exhaustion for another.

As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "I’ll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrow’s noise complaint."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."

 "You’re not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. It’s the truth—he’s not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing you’re being pulled close every so often.

When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.

"You’re right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. “Not sorry. Not even a little.”

He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheol’s shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It could’ve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheol’s phone pings with a text—surely Soonyoung asking if he’s found his headset.

You’re the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when you’re there."

Resigned. That’s the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."

True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoung’s headset.

He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.

I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.

Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone. 

you're a fool. head home. take care.

A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.

He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.

He needs to head home. He needs to take care.

And he’s an absolute goddamn fool, in more ways than one. 

[muqingslover]

hiii, can you please share more goofy habits caleb has while sharing a bed with u 💝

[ By popular demand i'm here to share extra thoughts on Caleb's sleeping habits! Kinda of a part two to this, in case you missed! ]

Oh boy there's so much to unpack here. We all know Caleb has experienced a loooot of bad things and has not worked through them in an actual healthy way at all. He is also a master at hiding it from you, but you can get a glimpse of how damaged he truly is during bedtime.

First of all, you will rarely, if ever, catch him sleeping on an actual bed. Or sleeping at all to be honest. What Caleb does is take power naps whenever he can on his couch at the office or when he's at your place waiting for you to. The one to (partially) blame for this is his chronic insomnia. I like to believe Caleb has always been a very light sleeper and it's only gotten worse throughout the years— The sound of a door opening is enough for him to be wide wake in a matter of seconds. Trust issues anyone?

When he wakes up, if alone, his go-to activity is working out. He'll do push-ups or leave the house for a loooong late night jog, anything that will tire his body out since he's wired up. Then, he takes a freezing cold shower to reboot his system and either starts to work early or sits down to solve some calculus problems to prevent his mind from thinking about anything else since it's 98% of the time never anything good.

To add to that, the main reason as to why his insomnia is so bad is the fact he has nightmares on an almost daily basis. They're often about you in some way and he wakes up panicking about where you are, how you are, if you're with someone else, why you aren't here with him instead and if you plan on leaving him. That's why it's so crucial for Caleb that you stay somewhere he can see you whenever he needs to. Otherwise, his anxiety will gnaw at him until he just shows up unprompted on your front door in the middle of the night.

On the topic of nightmares, next thing on the list is a more...sensitive one: His reactions to nightmares that involves the abuse Caleb himself went through. I say sensitive because this man is a trained soldier and he wakes up in very high alert which, sometimes, means he might hurt you by pure reflex similar to retired war veterans.

The first time you woke up with his hands tightly wrapped around your neck you seriously thought you were a goner. The sound of your voice calling his name was fortunately enough to make him snap out of the haze he was trapped in, believing he was under the threat of the ghosts of his past and had to defend himself before it was him the one who would end up dead. You have always been his anchor, it was not a surprise that you were the only one able to pull him back even in a moment like this.

Regardless if he had been in control or not, Caleb would blame himself until his last day on this world. He wouldn't sleep (Key word being sleep because he will stay in bed with you, he just won't *sleep*) on the same bed as you anymore after this and instead spends his nights on a mattress on the floor next to you. The sight of your bruised neck and the tears in your eyes because of his hands, because of him, only serve as fuel for his nightmares. He doesn't even want to imagine what would've happened if you hadn't been able to speak loudly enough to wake him up.

"Caleb is a big spoon!!" people yell at me and I agree! However! If you want this man to have some peaceful sleep then the only way to achieve that is to have him laying on your chest where he can both listen to your steady heartbeat and feel your warmth as he holds you. Run your fingers through his hair and promise him you'll be right there when he wakes up to soothe his anxieties as much as possible and he might just sleep throughout the entire night.

Moving on to more sweet thoughts so we don't end on a bitter note— He has serious beef with the plushies you own, specifically the ones you hug to sleep. I mean, he's right here? Hello??? Why would you want to hug that fat ass bear of yours. If your plushie goes missing one day through suspicious means don't be sad because you can just cuddle him! He promises he'll behave this time!

Another silly thing is Caleb cannot keep his hands to himself when the two of you are sharing a bed. Literally. His hands have a will of their own and they must be touching you at all times in some way. That also means he will bother you by torturing tickling you non-stop until you're on the verge of tears. He loves the sound of your joyful laughter and how red your face gets while you try to escape the evil tickle monster so I'm afraid there's no way to get him to actually stop.

[after-the-end-times]

Eddie sees the photo of The Party from the Halloween of '84 and freaks out about them all being babies! By the time he met them, they were all highschool aged supernatural veterans! Not those little children! Where was Steve?!

He storms over to Steve's and rants about how he just saw the baby!Dustin who took on demogorgons and the government! What was he doing involved in that!? Did Steve know?? How can he keep bitching at Dustin for his attitude, when it's no wonder he's like that! And how can he continue giving him shit when he now knows what little pre-teen Dustin looked like??? He's a baby!

And Steve sits there on the couch watching Eddie pace around the room, waving his hands around to accentuate his points. Steve's kinda glad someone else is having this freakout, he had to have his alone after they finished off the demodogs. Steve sipped at his pop and wondered when exactly Eddie breathed.

On one of Eddie's spins back toward him, Steve picked up the bowl of popcorn he'd been eating before Eddie got there, and held it out to him. Eddie grabbed it and plopped down next to Steve, quiet for the first time in 20 minutes. He grabbed a fistful of popcorn and shoving it in his mouth, wide eyes staring straight ahead into a existential crisis.

"You've asked me a million times why I don't set down my foot more often and say no to doing whatever he asks." Steve finally says. "This is why. He was already a supernatural veteran when I helped him with his little demo pet. So now, I don't know, I just want to make sure there's something he doesn't have to worry about.

And I know he thinks I'm just a dumb push over. But it's really because he's just a kid. And I'm the adult. And someone needs to make sure he stays a kid. 'Cause yeah. Maybe he looked like a baby at 12, but he's still a kid now. So welcome, Eddie, to the Protect the Kids' Childhood club. We can be co-presidents."

He finished his speech leaning into Eddie's space, smiling at him, and holding a hand out for Eddie to shake. Eddie just looked at him, eyes boring into Steve's as he turned on the couch so he could slide his hand into Steve's, holding it still.

"I'll be your co-president, Steve Harrington. As long as I can also be the one to remind you that you were also just a teenager when this all started. Maybe we can go do something fun together...without the kids."

Steve crooked a smile at him, running his thumb over Eddie's knuckles. "Soooo, like a date?"

Eddie sucked in a breath as a blush spread across his cheeks. "I- Would that- I mean- Are you- Hahaha ok."

Steve chuckled. "Ok. Let's go. I have this rental for another night, so why don't we go to the theater? See something new? Their popcorn's better anyway."

He stood, pulling Eddie up, officially ending their first meeting of the Protect the Kids' Childhood club and officially beginning their first date of the rest of their lives.

gif of baby!Dustin beneath the cut

[pedriosofia]

NSFW ALPHABET, PEDRI GONZALEZ.﹙001﹚

➤ Summary: A to Z of what he would be like in bed.

➤ Warning: SMUT +18, Mention of sex, mention of reader.

➤ Author's note: Translated into English, meaning there may be spelling errors.

A = Aftercare (how they look after sex)

Pedri is the type of person who cleans you with great affection, kisses your forehead, pulls you to his chest and rubs your back until you fall asleep. He likes to hear from you afterwards, to know if it was good, if you want something different. He needs that moment.

B = Body part (his and his partner's favorite part of the body)

He loves the curve of your waist, where his hands fit naturally as he pulls you towards him. You? He loves it when you kiss his neck — it gives him goosebumps.

You love his hands. Strong, sure, and when they're where you want them... well, you know.

C = Cum (basically anything to do with sperm)

He loves to cum inside you, but only when he can — with a condom or on the right days. The idea of "filling you up" drives him completely crazy. He also loves to see you licking him afterwards.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, their dirty secret)

Sometimes he masturbates thinking about things you haven't done yet. Like picking you up at the gym or in the locker room at Camp Nou. He's thought about recording you — but hasn't had the courage to ask yet.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they are doing?)

He's not a veteran, but he knows what he's doing. He learns quickly, listens to his body. He likes to test what works. You? You also know what you want, and together you've become masters in tune.

F = Favorite position

He loves to take you sideways, with one leg over his. He can look at you, kiss you, and still go deep. You love it when he turns you over and whispers things in your ear while he fucks you.

G = Goofy (Is he more serious at the moment? Is he funny? etc.)

Every now and then he'll crack a joke in the middle of it — especially if you're being really serious. But overall, it's intense. When you laugh together during sex, it just makes everything more intimate.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they?)

Always trimmed, well cared for. He likes you to keep it the way you want, but he loves it when you appear all smooth — he notices, even without commenting. And he kisses every part.

I = Intimacy (how are they at the moment? the romantic aspect)

Having sex with him is never just physical. He looks into your eyes, compliments you, calls you "my life". There are days when you cum while hugging each other, almost crying from feeling so much.

J = Jack off (masturbation)

He does, of course. But it's slowed down since you started. He'd much rather have you. But he loves it when you masturbate in front of him - he can't even watch for five minutes.

K = Kink

He has a soft spot for light submission — you giving the orders, he obeys. But he also loves it when you beg. Hands tied, blindfolds, and dirty words... he's into it all.

L = Location (favorite places to do it)

He loves places where they shouldn't be: cars, dressing rooms, building stairs. But nothing beats the couch in his house — a little uncomfortable, but that's where it all started.

M = Motivation (what excites them, what keeps them going)

Seeing you in lingerie? That's it. You wearing his shirt? Damnation. But what turns him on the most is hearing you moan softly. It's instant combustion.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, discouraging)

Nothing that involves real pain or major humiliation. He doesn't like to see you uncomfortable. Anything that takes away the connection — it's out.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves to suck you. Like, really waste your time. He stays there until he makes you tremble. Receive? He loves it too, but he gets even crazier when you look up with your mouth full.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Or, Slow and sensual? etc.).

Alternate well - start slow and provocative, then go deep and merciless. But always pay attention to whether you're enjoying it.

Q = Quickie (your opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Amman. In the bathroom before going out, in a dark corner at a party, or even during a break in training. It's pure adrenaline. But then you want a full round.

R = Risk (Are they willing to experiment? Are they risk takers? etc.)

He loves a little risk. An unlocked door, almost getting caught. Having you in public, even if it's just with his fingers, is his biggest addiction.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they last? How long do they last?)

Holds up well. Usually two rounds with stamina — and still gets excited for a third if you provoke him. Likes marathons on the weekends.

T = Toys (Do they have toys? Do they use them? In a partner)

He has a few—a vibrator he holds while he fucks you, and soft handcuffs. He likes to watch you squirm in them. And he's always open for more.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's the king of provocation. He makes you beg, stops you right on the edge of orgasm, leaves you wet all day long just with messages. He likes to see you lose control.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not loud, but he lets out deep moans and muffled groans in your ear. You? He loves it when you moan loudly—he shows off when he makes you scream.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You have a playlist just for the two of you — and he’s already “accidentally” put it on in the car with his friends. He blushes, but inside he’s all proud.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

Athletic, defined body. Strong thighs, firm abdomen. Thick, proportional cock, visible veins — and you already know what he can do with that.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high. He wants you all the time. He sends you a message in the middle of training, comes home and grabs you by the waist. He misses you even when you sleep together.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After all, he quickly falls asleep — but only if you're in his arms. If you get up, he wakes up. It's as if your body is his favorite pillow.

Do not copy or translate. Copyright @pedriosofia on Tumblr!

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Ze has a special moment with one of the veterans ❤️ (1, with commentator voice)

Veteran: “You’re the savior of the people, you bring tears to my eyes.”

Ze: “No no, you saved Europe.”

Veteran: “My hero.”

Ze: “No, you are our hero.”

Veteran: “I pray for you.”

[triplefrontierbabe]

Heyy, I love all of your fics btw, and was wondering if u could maybe write a seb hurt+comfort fic?? Maybe like age gap and reader is a rookie or smth, seb is retired and she gets hate? Or like an argument between them? No pressure tho thxx <3

The Rookie & Seb

summary: you’re a rookie f1 driver, and with the new shift in career you receive lots of unnecessary hate

pairing: f! driver reader x retired Sebastian Vettel

warning: minuscule language, mention of age gap relationship

a/n: yesss more Seb requests!! thank you anon for this!!💛💛

Thank goodness the first race of the season was done and dusted because it was not an easy introduction into your rookie year in Formula 1. Not only was that your first race but you’re the only woman on the grid, an idea that people even in this day and age can’t manage to understand. You had spent the last two seasons as a development and reserve driver, and now you were finally living your dream.

In addition to dealing with the usual skepticism of a rookie, your social media was flooded with nasty comments simply because you’re a woman. A woman who is also dating Sebastian Vettel you might add.

She only has a seat because her old boyfriend pulled strings for her.

Women are ruining the sport.

She’s such a liability on and off the track.

So on, and so forth.

“I don’t get it!” You exclaim, falling back onto the couch in your and Sebastian’s living room.

“It’s like this for all rookies, dear.” Sebastian replies as he takes a seat next to you while sympathetically patting your knee.

“No, Sebastian, it’s not.” You begin, wiping a hand down your face. “Not to pull that card but I guarantee you the other rookies aren’t dealing with this kind of nonsense. I didn’t even DNF this race like everyone else, but I’m getting the brunt of all the hate.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just sits there, blank faced.

Usually Sebastian gets you. He usually understands what emotions you’re going through especially with racing. And, more often than not, he’s able to comfort you when you’re incredibly hard on yourself.

From the start, getting to the top in racing was already a more difficult path to follow. Despite it all you put in the work and some. But, as if it wasn’t hard enough, once the public got wind that you were romantically involved with the veteran driver, rumors started circulating like wildfire. Suddenly you were no longer the young woman who trailblazed a path in motorsports. Instead you were a talentless, paddock bunny whose career was built on nepotism. And that frustrated you to no end.

“Nobody understands me!” You yell as you stand up from the couch, dropping your hands to your sides.

Sebastian’s eyes stay on you as you pace the room ruminating on how you can get through his thick skull.

“Listen, I know it’s hard. I’ve been there. People are going to say things that aren’t true and that get under your skin but you just gotta let it roll off your back.” He says looking you in the eyes.

“You think I don’t know that, Sebastian? I know that’s how it is. But I have to go through this with having a man’s name attached to everything I do. If I excel it’s only because a man was there to help. I get no credit for my own talent. But if I suck, it’s because I’m a mindless woman whose only concern is chasing men and ruining the sport. And it’s not that I’m uncomfortable with accountability— I’m perfectly fine owning up to my shortcomings— but what’s it worth if I can’t even claim my own success? It’s a lose-lose situation no matter what.” As you finish, you feel tears brimming in your eyes, your frustration etched on your face.

That renders Sebastian truly speechless. His silence speaks volumes to you and it hurts. It almost feels like he genuinely cannot understand where your frustration is stemming from.

“See, you don’t get it.” You say sharply pointing a finger at him. And with that you make a quick exit and head for the bedroom.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Minutes, maybe even hours, pass before you hear a knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” Sebastian’s muffled voice says on the other side of the door. After waiting for a moment with no response, he carefully enters the room.

You lay on the bed with your back turned to him, not yet wanting to look at him. The bed dips behind you as Sebastian gingerly sits down behind you. His hand hesitates for a second before extending to gently rest on your back, rubbing slow circles.

“I’m sorry for what I said— or more of what I didn’t say.” He says letting out a small breath. “I know it’s tough out there for you but I guess I never thought outside myself to even think of what additional shit you have to face.”

His words linger in the air before you turn around and sit up in bed to look at Sebastian.

“I just feel so helpless, Seb. I feel like I’m going through this alone because nobody sees it how I do. I thought you of all people would.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t, that was an oversight on my part.” Sebastian interjects taking your hands in his.

“I love you so, so much and I cannot even begin to describe how proud I am of you for achieving your dreams. I’m sorry I didn’t get it before now. Before I even knew you, you were already on this path of greatness. Everything you’ve done in your career, you’ve done through your own power. I’m honored to just get a front row seat to watch you do what you do. No one can steal that from you.”

Your heart strains at the sound of Sebastian’s voice. Nobody has ever talked to you like that. You finally feel appreciated in a new sense. He gets it now.

“I will do everything I can to be your biggest supporter and to drown out all the nonsensical mess that’s thrown your way.”

“Sebastian, I don’t even know what to say.” You reply, your voice hoarse. The look in his eyes tells you more than words could. He’s hurt that he hurt you. He’s hurt that this is what it took for him to see things the way you experience them.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you.”

“I’m not.” he says, cracking a smile. “If you hadn’t, I probably would’ve been walking around longer acting like an idiot offering you useless advice like a broken record.”

You laugh at his words before offering him a silent thank you. And for now, that moment is all you need to lift the incredibly weight off your shoulders.

F1 Masterlist | Indycar Masterlist

600 followers celebration!

requests are open!

[huicitawrites]

The Hunt

Yandere! Miguel O' Hara x Fem! Spider! Reader

T/W: yandere (slow-burn(?)), dark fic, violence, assault, spoilers for across the spiderverse.

Status: rewritten.

Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,4k

"Y/N! Get. Back. Here. NOW", swinging away from an infuriated Miguel O'Hara wasn't something you had planned or ever thought would occur, never entertained the thought of it. At least not until now, as you desperately attempted to get away from him and somehow escape him- for your dimension-travel watch (as wild as the concept of it sounded) had been snatched by the same man that was madly hunting you down.

How did it even all come to this? Let's rewind, back to the beginning.

Part I

After being bitten by a radioactive spider in a school trip to Alchemax at the young age of 15, you obtained enhanced spider-like abilities: a sixth sense for perceiving danger, incredible reflexes, amazing parkour skills, extraordinary strentgh and flexibility.

And for the past ten years, you have been New York's one and only Spider-Woman.

Learning to use your powers was a whole trip on itself. They awakened rather clumsily -nothing a leap of faith could not fix- as you began to grasp the ropes of being a masked hero in your teenage years [it's safe to say that your teenage years were truly a heck of a rollercoaster].

Handling a double-life was not easy, that is something you have learned with your ten years experience. You saved a bunch of people and thus many lives, you won many times and saved the city countless more. Yet you also earned a bunch of dangerous criminals and villains tailing behind your back that would want to kill you without hesitation and harm you in any way possible.

In spite of the times you were beaten down, left made a mess in the ground, or at the brink of death- you would always get back up because you were Spider-Woman.

Sometimes, getting back up was hard.

The weight of the sake of the city was on your shoulders. And sometimes, that weight crushed you. When you lost your parents it was devastating, because not only had you failed as a hero, but as a daughter.

[Your dad perished in an attempt to save you from an attack of one of many enemies- the Green Goblin . You two happened to be on a ‘father and daughter’ outing in a nice dinner when the Green Goblin tried to draw out Spider-Woman from her hiding place in Brooklyn (unbeknownst of your true identity and much to your own misery and guilt.) After battling the Green Goblin and imprisoning him, you rose with your dead father in your arms, and an huge crack in your heart that would leave a deep scar.

Months later, your mother's followed suit. That day was chaotic, panic filled the streets of New York as The Rhino, a veteran soldier with super human strentgh and a high-techno advanced armor resembling a rhinoceros, laid waste to the city. You were evacuating all civilians nearby, swinging across and into buildings, picking up and scooping anyone you could encounter and putting them out of danger.

It happened as you held falling debris with your arms. You picked up wailing in between the many cries of people, and your spider-sense guided your eyes up from the ground.

A child, no older than five, was crying. He was glued to the floor, too overwhelmed by the calamity surrounding him. A wall from a building was falling on him and your heart beat raced. You still had people below you that were crawling out and the child was a or two block away. Your thoughts raced in your head, you had to save everyone, down to the last live.

"Come on, come on, come on" you muttered in between gritted teeth as you gathered power and lifted the debris into the air. With the help of your web shooter, you pulled all the remaining civilians out and casted aside the courtesy of double-checking as you swinged toward the child.

You could see how the wall fell over him, and you reached out your arm with your forearm out desperately, attempted to pull him out with your web but the wall was already about to touch his head and-

She pushed the child out of the danger, motherly instincts impulsing her feet at the cost of her own life. The child was pushed onto you and you brought him flush against you with your web, arms encasing him as you witnessed the wall collapse on her.

In shock and disbelief, you gently lowered the child to the ground and ran to the fallen wall. Once again in despair, you clawed through the debris and searched for your mother’s body.

You found her bruised and crushed, her face deformed. You brushed the dust off it. Her pained groan was faint, and you begged her right there and then not to leave you. Not to leave you alone, again.

“Is the kid al…?”

“Yes! Don’t, don’t talk. Help, help is coming. You have to stay, you have to.” But her eyes were already fading, and her limbs growing weak. Your disguised hand snatched up hers and you cried,

“Mom!”

She recognized your voice, the one she cherished the most. Her fading eyes gathered all the warmth they could muster and she reached out a quivering hand to your cheek. Her fingers slid into your mask, and she felt your tear stained skin.

“Ah my baby…[Y/n]…I’m so proud... Your father would be so proud... keep it up”. Her last words were voiced with strain, but you would always remember them.]

They became the fuel for your mission, and no matter how many times you were beaten to the ground and wounded to no end, you stood back up. You would save everyone else, no more deaths, you swore upon your parents' last moments.

Now in your adult life, you found yourself in a stable life besides the implications your side hustle not-so-side -hustle brought. You had an adequate job as a writer for small titles in a decent newspaper, and you had a department you shared with your childhood best friend, Peter Parker [who eventually became your tech-desk guy. Hiding your true identity from your best friend and roommate would have never lasted long anyway. You remember clearly the day you climbed into the living's window, beat up, bruised and tired, when the lights suddenly turned on and a Peter with crossed arms and an eyebrow raised was waiting for you like a parent whose child was past curfew. You were without your mask on. Nonetheless, after stuttering uncontrollably and failing to explain and just simply breaking down in front of him. Without saying any words, he took out the first aid kit and reassured you with a smile. You were so grateful to him.]

So now here you were, crouching on the top of The Clock Tower, the moonlight casting its light on your back and darkening your silhouette. Earlier in the day you dealt with some thugs and minor crimes, but since the sun fell nothing happened. That was odd, NYC was never quite, least of all times at night.

But your spider-sense was running, not rampant, but definetely there like annoying itch on the nape. Something had to be off, you knew it.

"Um, I'm not picking up anything, (Y/n). Maybe you should be calling it a night, you've been doing good work so far. You did lower the crime rate, after all."

"You sure Pete? There's this feeling in my gut and-"

"Your 'spidey- thingy' ?".

"Spider-sense, spidey-thingy sounds dumb" you answered with a small groan, rolling your eyes although he could not see the.

He chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he turned serious " but I'm not getting anything from anywhere. From police radios and stations to our own hidden cameras"

"Nothing? Sure?"

"I mean everything is awfully quiet now that I think about it... All I can pick up is glitching, let's see... let me do my thing and-" you could hear frantic typing through the comms of your suit within the mask, you could even picture Peter hunching and fixing his eyeglasses.

What he said left you pondering. Glitching? It couldn't be a coincidence that all the radio signals he could pick up were glitching.

"Aha! Here it is, your spidey-thingy was right." this time, you chuckled as if saying 'see?'. He continued, "-this should be a very hidden signal from the special forces team. Seems classified, man they should really put a little more money into whatever software they use to protect their privacy" and he pushed on one final 'enter', the glitching and static got louder almost startling you to which your friend apologized softly, but it evened out.

"Report the situation, Lieutenant Stacy"

"Requesting back-up right now, suspect is armed with advanced equipment, we are at the Port, South East, many of my men and women have been wounded and- oh, shit, shit" The man's words died down with the sound of something big crashing and breaking.

Well, that's your cue. You stood up on your toes and balanced you body weight forward, diving to the ground. With your limbs extended, you stretched your forearm and extended your wrist, web shooting out from the slick web shooter Peter designed.

Swinging from building to building under the night sky, you jumped across billboards and slid past tight spaces as you were heading to the location of the conflict, and the closer you swinged, the wilder your spider sense got.

When you arrived at the port, you saw a SWAT truck that was flipped over, it had a huge dent in the form of a what seemed to be a claw mark, and the windows had been broken. There were a few members on the floor, and you noticed there were two trying to lift the heavy vehicle.

"Let me help," you announced your presence and they whipped their heads. Their faces were glistening with sweat and dirt, and you could notice their equipment was damaged. You crouched and lifted the truck, there was one member there below, and his leg was twisted the other way, but he was breathing- well, panting.

Without further a do, the soldiers went and dragged out their friend. A soldier's face lit up, though they seemed hesitant [after all, your line of work was kind of controversial among the government and its forces] but they were thankful. "Thank you, Spider-Woman", their voice was genuine and you smiled below the mask.

"Your welcome, leave it to me" winking at them through your lense, you nodded and propelled yourself to the ceiling of the warehouse. You noticed a roof canopy at the center, lucky you, and brought the palm of your hand to it. Utilizing your sticky finger pads, you carefully removed a pane of glass and entered the building without making a sound.

"Be careful, please" Peter voiced with worry.

You hanged the web from it's strongest point at the peak, and slowly lowered yourself down until your hand gently brushed the cold floor . You got off the web and crawled in direction of the tingling of the spider-sense. You found some warehouse crates, pressed your back onto them, slowly leaning your head out to take a peak.

A man stood there, a middle aged man by the looks of him. He had a round pair of black sunglasses on and a large leather coat on, but the most outstanding feature was apparently behind him. Four metal tentacle-like arms sprouting from his back, with threatening looking claws. That had to be the thing that put such a dent in a SWAT vehicle, the advanced equipment you heard of in the interception.

He was ranting about something, speaking to himself. "The power of the sun at the palm of my hand, only to be ruined by that fucking-"

‘What is this man even talking about…’

His words died down in your ears as it took a few seconds for your spider-sense to peak, and you scrunched your face features. Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes squinted, cheeks squeezing up and causing the lenses of the mask to stretch and flatten.

"(Y/n)? Found anything yet?" Peter inquired.

"This man... I think I know him... but also not..." At this point, your spider-sense was rampant. Your gaze still confused as you tried to decipher him. Your spider sense was alerting you of this oddly familiar feeling. It was someone you had dealt with before, but also someone new. Simply off-putting.

Then the realization fell on you, his tentacle-like arms.

"Is that Doc Ock!?" Without getting a hold of your reaction, you accidentally raised your voice and revealed your location. Your spider-sense tingled again, this time, sensing imminent danger as you backflipped and dodged the incoming attack. The crate you were hiding behind of was broken into splinters.

"Come on out, Spider-Man!" he shouted, his voice in pure anger.

Spider-Man? As long as you remember, you never referred to your disguised self as Spider-Man...

"It's Spider-Woman, mind you" You revealed yourself off the shadows, and the light basked in your costume, revealing its signature colors and design. "Do I know you by chance?" you tited your head, inquisitive in your tone as you were trying to figure things out.

The man's expression fell, and his rage was replaced by annoyance.

"Is this some kind of sick joke, Spider-Man? Have you forgotten the name of the man whose work of life you ruined, Otto Octavius." His tongue rolled of his name with spite and you widened your eyes.

"Doc Ock? But, you are different. You are totally human". Last time you checked, Doc Ock was a mad scientist that turned himself half-octopus by bioengineering his genetics in the name of some sort of sick evolution idea. He had tried to turn the city into mutants like himself for 'the sake of humanity's future' and you managed to stop his plans. Furthermore, he had been sent to a high-security prison for villains, where an anti-serum is being developed to turn him back and halt his aggression.

"Are you pulling my leg Spider-Man?" He said with disbelief, and he began to appear more and more angry by the second. He muttered something below his breath, and you swore you saw one of his tentacles turn toward his face as if it were sentient and listening...

"I've told you it's Spider-Woman." You huffed out, chest puffing out. You had a bad feeling about this...

The man's hand ran down his own face and he groaned, visibly tired. "Well, whatever, but you do appear to be an ally of Peter Parker's, your costume and your name leave little room for further speculation". The mention of your friend raised up your guard, how did he know Pete? Any doubts and hesitation erased themselves of your mind, for your friend could be in lethal danger.

"Oh? What's the matter, 'Spider-Woman'," he sneered.

"Picked right on the web, hmm?" He edged on, a dangerous smirk dancing on his face and two claws raising up in the air, ready to pounce.

There was not much to it, as you jumped sideways to dodge whatever that clawed-tentacle-armor was. You found yourself right back at the gig, fighting a villain as the one and only Spider-Woman.

Or so you thought.

A/n: Hi! So when I first saw this fictional man I KNEW I had to write about him, originally, it was going to be a long one shot, but I decided to break it into parts. I expect this story to be up to 3 parts or 4 as most. Anyhow, I hope you come to like it!, and sorry for the long- ass intro, I really wanted to dwelve deeper into reader as a spider person. Next is the real thing. I have seen some people have asked me to tag them, so don’t be shy to ask too!

[yawnderu]

Currently obsessed with dbf!Keegan... like just imagine the scary dog privileges that come with having this man around. He doesn't even wear the balaclava or eyeblack when he's out, but just his creepy ass 🔵🔵 eyes are enough to scare off anyone who even looks your way. Like okay, we see them son. You can blink now.

And don't even get me started on how annoying this man would be. Pulling your hair to annoy you, flipping you off, pushing you out of the way and looking over his shoulder with the most annoying shit-eating grin that makes you want to actually punch him dead in the windpipe. Not to mention he'd totally see you struggling to open a jar and go "allow me" just to tighten it up more.

Absolute nightmare driver. He may take you out everywhere, but no one is an atheist when Keegan is driving and you really want to tell him, but he always keeps his gun on him.💀

BUT despite all the banter, his protective instincts kick in super easily with you. Someone is mean mugging you? He's glaring back. Someone says anything mean to you? He'll deal with it. God help any man who tries to flirt with you or catcalls you. He teaches you how to defend yourself since he won't always be there to protect you, often deployed in missions. I can also see him teaching you how to shoot a gun, just in case you ever need to. He takes you to a random field and teaches you the basics, and once you're confident enough, maybe he even takes you hunting.

I can see the dad being a disabled veteran who served with Keegan(?) simply happy to have some help with you, knowing Keegan can take you places and do things he can't do anymore. Despite you being an adult, I'm a sucker for father-daughter fluff, so the dad has def cried in secret whenever you show him new things you learnt or show him pictures of places Keegan took you to. Of course, he's not excluded, always hosting dinners and BBQs in the house whenever Keegan is back, and trying to join both of you if possible.

Keegan is like an annoying older brother, the type of man who makes you believe murder should be legal, yet you still deeply care for. He doesn't keep any things on him that may be linked to your father or you in fears of him being a ghost putting you in danger, but he has a bunch of polaroids in a safe in his house, which he looks at whenever he's off base and feeling down.

Speaking of pictures, you totally forced him to get into a photo booth with you and he now keeps the fucking ugliest pictures ever, threatening to ask a ghost to hack into your account and post them whenever you're being too annoying.

IF things ever go further between both of you, you can count on this man to slonk your shit silly style like sloppy swag. This man has a lot of pent-up frustration, which he only takes out on you after making sure you're okay with it.

He's a bully. Stops thrusting when you're feeling good just to hear you whine, thrusting painfully slow until you're begging for more.

There's definitely guilt when it comes to being intimate with you, despite you being in your mid-20s, you're the daughter of his best friend. It feels wrong, so he makes up for it by treating you extra good. You got spoiled before, but now? Prepare for the most extra and expensive gifts you never even thought about. He earns good money, and has plenty of savings just in case. He's still annoying, though.

[daydreamabout]

Tension (Tim Bradford Imagine x metro!reader)

Summary: The tension between you and Sergeant Bradford is intensifying, making it increasingly difficult to keep things diplomatic.

The night air was thick with the smell of city streets, the lights from the nearby skyscrapers casting long shadows across the alley. You’d been working Metro for a while now, a veteran of the force, always calm under pressure, always the one who knew how to get things done. But tonight was different. You could feel it in your bones.

You were standing in the shadows, keeping an eye on a shady exchange going down between two suspects. Your partner, Detective Sam, was keeping watch from the other side, both of you waiting for the signal to move in.

“Y/N, got your six?” Sam’s voice crackled through the comms.

“Copy that,” you reply, your eyes flicking over the scene, watching as the deal starts to go down. You’re seconds away from taking action when a new voice cuts through the static.

“Y/N, you there?”

You freeze.

It’s Tim.

You almost don’t want to answer, but you do, keeping your tone professional. “I’m here, Bradford. What’s up?”

“Need you to pull back. I’ve got eyes on a different angle. Hold tight.”

You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling just under the surface. You’ve worked with him before — too many times to count — and while he was great at what he did, he always seemed to show up just when you didn’t need him. Always a step ahead, as if he had a sixth sense about these things.

“Bradford, I don’t need babysitting,” you respond, voice clipped.

There’s a chuckle on the other end, that familiar arrogance of his seeping into his words. “Maybe you don’t, but it doesn’t hurt to have a little extra backup.”

You can practically hear his smirk, and for a moment, you’re both trying to pretend that the dynamic between you two isn’t a little… charged. Professional. Tense. But also undeniably something else, something unspoken.

Before you can respond, Sam’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “We’ve got movement. Time to go.”

You glance at your watch, then back toward the suspects. “On it,” you say, ignoring the tension building in your chest as you reach for your gun and move into position.

As you step forward, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. It’s too quick. Too certain. The sharp click of a holster being drawn.

“Bradford, I told you to hold back,” you hiss, but the words are barely out before you see him — Tim, the one man who always seemed to be just a little too close, a little too persistent.

“I don’t do ‘holding back,’” he replies with a grin, stepping beside you. “Besides, you know better than to go in without backup.”

There’s a brief moment where you almost can’t breathe. The way he’s standing there, his presence so close, is distracting. His eyes meet yours, and there’s something in them — something that wasn’t there before. It’s not just the usual calculated professionalism. This time, there’s a flicker of something deeper, something he’s trying to mask with that cocky, effortless smile.

You shove the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand. “On three,” you whisper, and without waiting for a response, you move in.

The exchange happens in a blur — gunshots, voices shouting, the chaotic sounds of the city street coming to life. You and Tim move together, a well-oiled machine, clearing the alley, securing the suspects, taking down one of the most dangerous criminals Metro has seen in months.

But even in the heat of the moment, you can’t help but notice the way Tim's eyes linger on you, how he checks on you with that protective gaze after every move you make. And you know — he’s watching you differently now. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s taking extra care when you clear a corner, the way he moves just a little closer when you speak. It’s the kind of attention that wasn’t there before, and for some reason, it makes your heart race.

By the time you’ve wrapped up the scene, the suspects are cuffed and loaded into a van, and everything is back to business as usual. But there’s a shift in the air between you and Tim, something undeniable. You feel it when he brushes past you, the touch just enough to make your breath hitch. You feel it when he glances over, offering you that same cocky smile — but now it’s different. There’s something softer underneath it.

“Good work, Y/N,” Tim says, his voice low, almost too sincere for your usual banter.

You glance over your shoulder, and there he is. Stepping out of the shadows like he owns the night. His eyes flick to the man you’ve pinned to the ground, then back to you, that sharp edge of approval in his gaze. He takes a slow step forward, his presence demanding attention. “You always take them down that fast?”

You smirk, not missing a beat. “I’ve learned from the best.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting you to flip it back on him. “Oh yeah? Who's that?”

You glance up at him, letting the flirtation hang in the air. “I was talking about myself, but sure, you can take the credit if it makes you feel better.”

He chuckles under his breath, but it’s cut short when he kneels beside you to cuff the guy. You feel the brush of his fingers against yours as he takes control of the suspect, and for a second, the tension between you two feels palpable.

"You did good," he says quietly, his compliment laced with something more than professional approval.

“Thanks, but you should know I’m only here for the paycheck,” you reply with a quick grin, brushing your hair out of your face and standing up. “That’s what gets me through these long shifts.”

Tim smirks, the usual cool confidence still there, but there's a spark in his eyes. "Sure, Y/N. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You give him a sideways glance. “Believe me, it’s not you keeping me up.”

He pauses, and just for a second, you think you’ve caught him off guard. Then he stands up, and the moment passes as quickly as it came.You’re both professionals. You know that. But the chemistry between the two of you? It's anything but professional. And it’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

“Let’s get this guy back to the station,” Tim says, his tone shifting back to the business side of things. “We’re not done yet.”

You nod, still trying to shake off the lingering buzz. “Yeah, yeah. Just another day in paradise.”

As you both move to escort the suspect, you hear a familiar voice from behind.

“You two make such a cute couple.”

Angela, the seasoned detective who has seen it all, standing there with her arms crossed, watching the exchange with an amused smirk.

“Not this again,” you groan, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck.

Tim’s eyes narrow, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t start, Angela.”

She just raises an eyebrow, clearly not backing down. “I don’t know what’s more entertaining — watching you two pretend to be all professional, or watching you both try to deny the obvious.”

You and Tim exchange a look — one part annoyance, one part mutual understanding that Angela has a point. But neither of you is going to give her the satisfaction of confirming it.Instead, you both continue walking, the suspect now in tow. As you pass Angela, you throw one last quick quip over your shoulder.

“You know, Angela, I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say, grinning. “But I’ll have to leave Bradford to do the heavy lifting.”

He shoots you a look, but the playful glint in his eyes makes it clear he’s not offended. “Watch yourself, Y/N,” he warns, his voice low and teasing.

“I’m still the one with the badge here.”

You laugh, the tension still high, but now something else lingers in the air. Something that’s been there all along, always just beneath the surface.As you both head back toward the car, you know one thing for sure: the game between you and Tim? It’s far from over.

He is everything you’ve come to expect — sharp, efficient, a little bit of a jerk sometimes. But tonight, you’ve seen a different side of him. And it’s impossible to ignore the way your heart races every time he looks at you like that.

[madhattervanessa]

Caress

Summary: Life with Simon settles into a routine- but it has to end at some point.

Warnings: (Unedited filth lmao bc I didn't want to wait to post this) Simon being very casually dominant, oral (f receiving), bit of rimming, light anal, P in V, hair pulling, biting, creampie

Words: 1766

A/N: Another another another, and two more down the line. This train is bound to stop sometime soon but until then....

Requests are open as always.

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

prev. Part - next Part

-

Life settles into something absurdly… Normal, after.

After being after Simon had hauled all of your clothes over to his apartment because he had assembled a second dresser in his bedroom next to his own for you.

There had been glimpses of Simon looming over you in your day to day life before but now you can hardly escape the man.

Not that you would want to. 

The store clerk that usually tries to chat you up while you shop for groceries took one good look at the shadow looming over your shoulder and promptly turned the other way.

When Simon picks you up from veteran’s meetings, he always holds your hand as he drives, not even bothering to let go when he shifts gears.

The mask he wears in public doesn’t bother you. It comes off in his apartment, after all.

Or the moment he ate you out on the side of a field because you had fed him a strawberry in his car before murmuring about how you’d thought he’d deserved a reward for picking you up from work. That was enough cause for him to ruck his mask down, too.

It also made for a pleasant dream.

You smile as you open your eyes. It’s still dark outside, the wind howling as it blows through the town. You stretch your body as you rub at your eyes and hear Simon shuffle behind you. He wraps an arm around you to pull you against him. You nudge him with your foot, checking to see if he’s awake.

He grunts in response.

You lift a hand to let it ruffle his damp hair. Blonde, cropped-short.

“Are you leaving again?”

He leans into your touch when you start to put some pressure into your pets, gently massaging his head as you yawn.

“Eager to get rid of me?” His breath feels hot on your cheek, smelling a bit like stale coffee. He trails his lips over your neck until you feel the point of his crooked nose against your skin.

“Don’t know how much longer I can take you fucking me like an animal”, you sigh. He grabs your hand and presses a quick kiss to it.

“‘m set to leave at the end of the week.” Your answering hum is quickly turned into a squeal when Simon pulls you until you are lying underneath him.

His breaths hit your ear and there’s a telltale throb that answers from your legs when he asks you if you think you’ll be able to handle him until then.

You hum and it turns into a whine when he drags his teeth over your neck.

Your breath hitches when he drags the covers off of you and starts making his way down your spine.

“Simon…”

He bites into one of your asscheeks. You squeak in surprise and immediately bury your face in the pillows when you hear him chuckle.

“Spread your legs.”

You blush and hesitate but Simon’s warm hands are already parting your legs. He pushes one of them into the back of your knee, pushing it towards your chest. 

His nose nudges against the swell of your asscheek and you arch your back a little more.

“Mh. Pretty.”

“Si-”, you whine, your cheeks burning already, even though you can’t see the way Simon is staring at you. 

“Can I have a taste?” He is already letting his thumb nudge at the puffy lips of your pussy. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, yes”, you sigh.

He grunts and you jump when you feel his nose nudge against your hole as his tongue licks a broad stripe over your pussy. You sigh and bite at your lip as he repeats the motion, slowly spreading your slick over your pussy before he starts to lick your clit.

He is relentless, always hungry for you- there are already wet sounds from your pussy rubbing against his nose. His wide palms are pulling your cheeks apart as he buries himself in your pussy. When he starts suckling on your clit, he lets his thumb dip inside of your pussy, finally giving you something to clench around.

It’s the focus that turns you on the most- when Simon has sex with you, you feel like the center of the world. The way he focuses on every hitch of your breath, every jump and twitch of muscle as he works you over until he gets it perfect.

You can’t help but jump a little when he pulls your pussy open with his thumb before dragging his tongue over it.

He sits back, his thumb continuing to fuck into you as he does.

“Good girl”, he groans. The wet sounds behind you have you lifting your head from the pillows. Simon’s eyes are still fixed on your pussy as he fists his cock. 

You see his jaw work and watch as he spits onto your pussy. His thumb collects his spit and you feel his thumb travel up. Your brows furrow and you watch, equally confused and aroused, as he circles your asshole with his thumb.

When he pushes it inside a little, you let out a breathy, wet gasp. He continues stroking himself and finally, his eyes meet yours. When you don't protest, he pushes his thumb down with a little more pressure.

“Simon- fuck-... fuck me.”

He hums and slaps the tip of his cock against your pussy, making you whine into the pillow in front of you again, already bracing for him just before he pushes the tip inside of your pussy.

“Fuck love,” he groans. He is careful as he spreads your slick over his cock in shallow thrusts, splitting you apart.

His hand grips hard at your hip as he bottoms out, really making you feel the stretch before he starts to gently roll his hips. You moan and when the next thrust hits you, you go lax in his sheets, blindly trusting him to keep fucking you and keep an eye out for you.

“There you go. You like having somethin’ in your ass, too, hm?”

You just nod weakly, fully focused on the delicious drag of his thick cock in and out of your pussy. Another wet glob of spit meets your ass and he is quick to push it in with his thumb. He moans as he manages to nudge it inside you up to his first knuckle.

You feel unbelievably full, your nerves lit from your head to your toes as you let him pound into you.

“Gonna miss you”, he groans, his second hand grabbing desperately at your hip as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“Not just because of this”, he adds before molding himself to your back. He grinds into you, fucking you with his cock and his thumb as he smothers you into the sheets. His teeth scrape over your shoulder and you take a shuddering breath. 

“Simon-!” Is all you manage but he seems to know just what you need, his second hand reaching underneath you to play with your clit.

He is crushing you with his weight on you but it just feels too good to care about.

Your head swims as you feel yourself rapidly approaching an orgasm. Another pitiful moan follows and you feel the rumble of Simon’s groan as you bear down on him to ride out the sharp spikes of pleasure running through you.

He doesn’t stop. Just slows down, biting lazily into your back. You cry out as he starts to lean back, one of your hands reaching for him.

He catches your hand with his and leans down to press a kiss to it.

“Feel good, love?”, he asks, still going slow, but his deep thrusts are making your eyes cross.

“Uhuh, yeah- fuck- s’good, Si.”

"Yeah.." , he groans, the self-satisfied rumble incensing you for a moment. But then you feel him reaching over until his fingers are gliding through your hair over the back of your neck until they reach the back of your head.

A careful tug has you following his directioning upward. You arch your back and reach out to hold on to the headboard. He leans towards you until you are pressed up against his chest. He continues fucking into you and the angle makes him feel bigger, like he is bulging through your stomach.

Your mouth is hanging open as you pant, trying to keep up with his deep thrusts. You reach back to hold on to his wrist.

"P-Pull harder", you manage. Simon grunts and puts some more strength into his grip, eliciting a deep groan from you. The sharp sting is just enough to make you come again.

The reaction is instant; Simon goes rigid as you grind back against him more, a helpless curse falling from his lips as his thrusts become short and stunted.

He pulls you away from your leverage until you are pressed up entirely against him. He bites down onto your shoulder and fucks up into you, ridiculously overstimulating you, before you feel him twitch and cum inside.

He wraps his arm around your waist and carefully loosens his grip after, still panting heavily. Your head lolls against his shoulder and you feel yourself start to tremble as the tension leaves your body.

He shushes you and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. He lets himself fall back to sit on his legs, pulling you with him.

"You're okay?"

"Uhuh- I just.. I think I need some breakfast", you murmur, still feeling your legs tremble.

"If you can make it to the shower, I'll get something started for you."

He strokes over your arms, rubbing at your legs, slowly bringing you back as you melt into his touch.

"I really want a cinnamon latte. And my back will be killing me after that stunt."

"Okay, love." He presses another wet kiss to your cheek and you smile. You turn your face and catch his jaw in your hand to lead him into a soft kiss.

He hums and leans towards you, making you sway briefly as he all but dips you in the sitting position before pulling you upright.

You're undecided if the motion or the feeling inside of your chest are making your head spin. You open your eyes to find him scooting the two of you towards the edge of the bed.

He helps you get up and you stagger before finding your balance again. When you turn towards him, he slowly scans you until he arrives at your eyes, holding your gaze.

"How long will you be gone for?"

He averts his eyes.

.

[eashgirl]

Tf One AU idea

What if like Decepticon Bee and Autobot Starscream but it occured at the exact same time?

Imagine Optimus already grieving the loss of his best friend — and then, on top of that, his new friend decides to leave with him too. I get it though; B wouldn’t want anyone to be alone, so he’s not siding with Megatron because he agrees with him, but because that’s his friend. And Optimus just has to sit there and accept it — like, yeah, it hurts, but... oh well. It’s their choice, and he has to respect it.

Then he and Elita turn around — and Starscream’s still there.

After Elita tells him to leave, he just flat-out refuses — for a bunch of complicated reasons he won’t say out loud. But really, it mostly comes down to the fact that he just doesn’t want to. Probably out of pure pettiness, since he’s still bitter about being demoted. He figures there’s no point in going back anyway, and now he wants to start grabbing power here instead.

(Also because he’s secretly homesick and dealing with a lot of internalized issues he won’t admit. And a lot of them are related to the Primes and the nagging sense of guilt which he totally won't admit even under threat, tbh my headcanon is a lot of the High Guard do hold a sense of Guilt of failing at their jobs I think Starscream Shockwave and Soundwave would have it to a greater degree since they were high ranking members)

And technically, the High Guard was supposed to serve the Primes — and from his point of view, Optimus was clearly the stronger one. So why should he leave?

Meanwhile, he’s just conveniently ignoring the whole "participated in terrorism" part.

Now Elita and Optimus aren’t just trying to build a faction from scratch while preparing for a possible war against the Decepticons or Quintessons — they’re also grieving the loss of two friends and stuck dealing with someone who basically has no moral compass left.

Meanwhile, to make things even more painfully ironic, a lot of the Decepticons and old High Guard actually end up liking B. He’s like their weird, annoying little brother — it’s a toxic mess, but some of them genuinely care about him.

Bottom line: they’re having way more luck than Optimus and Elita right now.

Meanwhile, Megatron’s still spiraling, but he’s actually trying to be nice to B — he really does appreciate that at least one of his friends stuck with him. But sometimes, no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t keep it together.

Not that B’s having a great time either. Honestly, the only ones who are actually nice to him are Soundwave, maybe Thundercracker, and a few other bots here and there. (Totally not me pushing my Thunderbee agenda.)

Meanwhile, Shockwave and Elita are both just out here having the absolute worst day of their lives

The thing is, no one’s personalities are actually different in this AU. B still doesn’t really approve of Megatron’s actions — just like in the movie — so he’s not exactly a hardcore Decepticon supporter or anything. He just feels lonely overall, he wants to befriend everyone but they are all either hardened veterans who don't want to talk too much to him or straight up ignore his presence unless it's to do something they want,he wants to talk to D/Megatron but the latter is just acting so distant and he can't even talk to Elita and Optimus either.

He also doesn't like actual violence(that isn't fun)too much and is horrified seeing what the decepticons are becoming but feels overall so lonely.

Starscream is still Starscream. He’s still trying to pull the same stunts he used to with Megatron, except now he’s doing it with Optimus — and the difference is, Optimus and Elita absolutely do not put up with his crap. So he has no choice but to back off...and be forced to adjust when they drill into this that this is not okay and seriously messed up! though of course, he still makes himself a pain for everyone around him, he's kind of an Autobot but he doesn't take the insignia until way later once he actually starts to grow to like Optimus, before he used to be thinking "oh wow this is stupid" at times believing Optimus is too naive, he'll even have moments where he's like agreeing with Megatron at some points. While everyone else gets annoyed.

And he can’t exactly go crawling back to Megatron either, because at this point Megatron would just see him as a traitor. So Starscream’s basically stuck trying to make the best of the mess he threw himself into, since he really can't go back even if he wanted to since Shockwave and Soundwave are not picking up his calls( because he deliberately ignored their calls) and he's overall not having a good time because he legitimately would not leave even when he was banished Elita forced his ass to do community service including help rebuild some of the buildings he destroyed which he still holds resentment over. Because over 70+ bots destroyed those building why is he the only one who has to rebuild them lol? Accepting responsibility sucks if you're the only one who has to fix your mistakes while everyone else runs off,It took quite a while but he did do it out of spite. (Not entirely by himself because Optimus was feeling sympathetic)

They both end up in arguments over battle strategies and straight up every possible thing ever and she is so fed up. I ironically think he would try pulling off most of the stunts on her rather than Optimus because Optimus is Prime no point in trying to challenge that, but he can try to one-up Elita or atleast get on her nerves and she is 2 seconds away from personally kicking him out of Iacon, basically just classic sibling dynamic energy. Optimus is in a weird spot where he can't force Starscream to leave(he literally won't even if OP tried to yank him by the foot)but at the same time this might actually be useful if things end up going well so he thinks parole is the best way to do it for now granted if SS behaves. To put it short he's being optimistic, Elita disapproves though.

Meanwhile, Optimus and Elita just want B to come back home.

There's a lot of pettiness in this AU Megatron thoroughly knows yeah maybe this isn't working out but he just doesn't want to show any weakness infront of Optimus, so over battle calls he just tries to pretend B is much happier here than with you, Optimus is fine with their choice even if it pains him but like are you really sure about that because B is looking unhappy? Meanwhile Starscream has passive aggressive interactions with Shockwave and Soundwave, to see how well they are faring without him to rub it in their face he's doing SO much better here

Soundwave is doing perfectly fine actually he's not even mad, he just thinks it's unconventional and kind of funny,Shockwave is mad because he now has to deal with B's ramblings by himself. He and Starscream have petty interactions

"you replaced me with the yellow bug?"

"quit saying that!no one replaced you, you left on your own".

Basically just MegOp divorce arc and having a lot of other problems building their factions.

The end result is no one is happy, but everyone has a horrible time adjusting. Resulting in a weirdly different timeline of events. B might eventually defect once he realizes this is definitely not working and if Megatron does something to make him make that choice,I don't know about Starscream yet if in an AU like this would he even have much of a reason to go to the Decepticons besides maybe kinship? He'll probably end up staying an Autobot though since I want to focus on the charecter development part, this kind of story really can't be expressed in just a short post so I'll try to write a fic about it, probably the best idea I've had in months.

There might be a bit of a Soundwave and Bee mini plotline and some Goldbug plotline but it's really in rough drafts I have a general idea of how it's gonna happen. Bee kind of eventually reaches a point where he's like fed up, and just more annoyed than anything at how badly Dee is fumbling things up.

I have the entire outline of this plotted out to a possible 25 chapter fic, but I can only publish it after exams, fun fact I had this idea in January in the literal middle of my mock exams I had free time after finishing the paper and came up with it lol.

I don't know if anyone already made an AU like this but just wanted to share my thoughts. I just thought it would be funny. I've seen the idea float around in the fandom and a tag in ao3 but I think the one who originally created the decepticon bee AU is yuukirita so I'd say it's partially inspired by it the other part is just me thinking there are 4 of the quartret and with Megatron and the tripe S trio that would also be a quartet wouldn't it be funny if Bee went with Megatron and Starscream stayed back? That's the idea really.

But plz check out their AU it's great.