#and I get paid thursday so it’s like hey! I get $$ for all of the work i’ve done and the time i’ve spent there

[apprenticestanheight]

I have,, I have two things to look forward to this week, and it’s my 60 hour vs my 20 hour. I’m gonna get paid on one of my off days but spending 60 hours at work, plus like five in commuting to and from versus 55 at home??

unless the contract gets extended (I need the money but kind of don’t like my job so I hope it does but also hope it doesn’t) I only have four more weeks. four more weeks of this.

four more weeks. I am STRONG!! I CAN HANDLE IT!!

[rafescvntyclubgf]

⭐ Republished ⭐

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

𝟿.𝟼𝙺 𝚃𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝

3.8k

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

📖 Rafe is your boyfriend… You just don’t know it yet.

⚠️ warnings contain spoliers ⚠️

swearing, Stalking, pet names, degradation, namecalling, public masturbation, dark!rafe, mean!rafe, perv!rafe, mentions of cum play, mentions of unprotected P in V, ownership kink, mentions of rough oral, violence, threats, blackmail, fighting, blood, gore, mentions of sextortion, Rafe sneaks into the reader’s room, panty stealing, panty sniffing, takes pictures of the reader’s private images, cum tasting, oral male receiving, oral female receiving, twist dark reader, mutual obsession, rough oral, gagging, kissing, reader doesn’t ask rafe if he wants to go further than oral but he does and she starts anyway, messy sex, squirting, praise, drinking, smoking, mentions of drug use

✨ “Just do it, baby girl,” I moan, watching as she pinches her top button. I grab mine as well, tugging it open with her. I hiss at the sensation of my rock-hard cock in my hand, feeling some relief. This is the first time I’ve touched myself all day. I was edging myself as I studied her Instagram and TikTok page, saving my favorites to my phone. When I saw her in the parking lot, I swear I could have cum untouched. ✨

Rafe’s POV:

“So, class. What does its structure contribute to the poem “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night?” The professor drones on, sliding her reading glasses down her nose as she looks out onto the lecture hall. I shrink in my seat slightly, along with the other boys, doing my best to avoid her gaze.

Required reading, my ass. Did she honestly expect us to read this shit on a Thursday night? Barely drug my ass outta bed for class. Thank fuckin’ god. I relax in my seat as one of the front-row nerds saves the basic population who doesn’t give a fuck.

“Repetition. The poet used it to stress his key theme for his readers.”

I nod, scribbling a little line of nothingness on my paper, keeping up with the facade. That shit went in one ear and out the next. “Hey, Cameron.” My frat brother elbows me on the side. “You good for the kegs?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. What else can daddy get you?” I sneer as I roll my eyes at Billy, who laughs and scoffs. “I get paid back first, plus 10%. Get me a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle; I ain’t drinkin’ Coors, and I ain’t pickin’ that shit up either.”

“Thanks, daddy,” he responds in a breathy voice, snatching the wad of cash off my hands. “We need ten kegs between the Deltas and Phi Mu… You good for that-”

“Fuck you, ‘Am I good for that’?” I cut him short through a breathy laugh. “You’re holdin’ the cash in your hands, bitch. Stop askin’. Add an extra 5% for questionin’ me-”

“Rafe.” My stomach sinks as my professor’s eyes zero in on mine. “Am I interrupting something?” The old bird cocks an eyebrow, her annoyance visible, matching my own.

“No,” I answer simply, crossing my arms across my chest and relaxing at my desk.

“Splendid. I assume you know the answer then. Correct?” She challenges me, trying to catch me off guard. A smirk pulls on her lips as she does just that. Cunt.

“I agree.”

“The key insight about death in the poem is, ‘I agree’?” She belittles. I stare at her blankly, blinking a few times to let her know she’s wasting her time. She’s not gettin’ shit out of me. I’ve got an A in this class, bitch. What’re you gonna do about it?

She chuckles weakly, shaking her head at my resistance. “Am I wrong, ma’am? I have a bit of conversational anxiety… If you’d like to repeat the question, I’d love to try again,” I ask through a shit-eating smirk, letting my sarcasm drip all the way through, irritating her even more.

“Anyone else?” She invites in a shrill voice as she dismisses me, looking around the room to find another. Some of my frat brothers snicker in the back, making the professor’s features even more rigid. “Miss. Y/n?” Her demeanor changes instantly, shaking off my defiance, moving on to another one of her perfect pets.

Who’s that?

Holy shit. I swallow hard, feeling my mouth dry up as I see her. She twiddles her fluffy pink pen, acknowledging the teacher with a smile. Y/n? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. How have I never seen her before? I watch as a football player shuffles down the row of the lecture hall. My question, answered in a moment as his broad shoulders cut off my line of sight. No. I stretch back, cranking my neck to get her in my sights again.

“The key insight’s that death should be fought against, even though it is inevitable.” Her beautiful voice fills the lecture hall like a song. The teacher smiles at her again, praising y/n for her correct answer. Y/n grins and nods, averting her eyes as she catches the room’s focus. Her cheeks blush the prettiest shade of pink, matching her glossy lips.

Those lips… I lick my own, thinking about the way they would look wrapped around my cock, drool running down her chin as she deepthroats my dick. I’d grip that little ponytail like a handlebar, using her mouth like a toy. I chuckle at myself, still surprised that my mind went there almost instantly, but I know myself too well. I am who I am.

Y/n looks so goddamn innocent… Not for long. She’s a slut for praise. I can tell. I can work with that.

My eyes work lower, following the curve of her cleavage in her low-cut shirt. Fuck, I can’t wait to get her on top; watch ‘em bounce in my face. I’m gonna cum all over her perfect rack. Tiddie fuck her while she cries for daddy’s dick. Smear that shit- “Earth to Rafe?” I grit my teeth as I’m torn from my fantasy. “Buddy, you good?” Billy chuckles, his voice taunting as he follows my focus to her. “Mmm… Y/n,” he sighs blissfully. “So fuckin’ hot, bro. She’s a Phi Mu girl.”

“No shit?”

“Mhmm… Transferred from LSU. Smart, funny, sexy… But she’s mine, buddy. Aight? Been layin’ down groundwork all semester.” He elbows me playfully, chuckling to himself, actually believing his own words.

“All semester, and you haven’t made a move?” I spit, eyes rolling in his direction. This whole conversation is laughable. Has he been sitting on this all semester? Really? She was mine the second I looked at her, buddy. You’re done.

“Long game,” he defends himself.

“Long game?” I scoff. “Doesn’t sound like you got any game at all...”

“Hey. Fuck off… I know she wants me. Her bedroom faces mine and she doesn’t even close the curtains when she changes anymore; she texts me all the time. See?” He gloats as he thumbs through his phone. I don’t even bother myself with the semantics. Why the fuck does that shit matter? What’s he gettin’ at? “I’m gonna help ‘em after class. They have some car wash fundraiser downtown.”

Is that so? “I like the sound of that,” I smile, feeling my cock growing stiff in my jeans at the thought of seeing her in next to nothing, wet and soapy no less.

“You can’t just take her from me, Rafe,” Billy mutters in annoyance. A laugh rumbles in my chest as I take in his empty words. “I’m not fuckin’ around. She’s mine.”

My head turns slowly in his direction as he bends in mine. I mean, the guy’s big, but I’m bigger. He can fight, but he’s not willing to see that shit through. Billy’s got that moral compass that urges him to stop where I couldn’t care less. And he knows it.

He balls his hands up in fists at his desk, jaw tightening as he does his best to intimidate me one last time. My boy’s a bitch.

“Mine.”

I study her movements as she glides through the halls. Her hair bounces with each step brushing along her backpack, half-hiding her perfect ass. Her bum shakes a little as she walks, just a tease for me. Y/n slight skirt grazes just a few inches below her ass, leaving her bare legs on display.

I wonder what they’d look like over my shoulder… Spread wide on my bed as I devoured her perfect pussy. Damn. I bet she makes some pretty sounds. I can’t wait to hear that, to see her face, as she squirts all over my mouth and cock.

Where are you going, pretty girl?

She hooks a left, heading toward the coffee shop. I continue to follow my girl, watching as she strolls inside. Y/n walks toward the line, stalling next to the case of pastries, eyeing the bottom. Do it for daddy, baby. C’mon. There you go… She drops down, surveying the options. That goddamn ass… Does she know I’m watching? She’s gotta know. The paisley material tugs higher on her thighs, a peek of her round ass poking out the bottom.

She stands up again, taking another step, moving with the traffic flow. Y/n reaches into her purse, pulling out her phone. She smiles as she looks at the screen. Billy Hargrove 💕. I feel my heart pick up pace, my breathing quickening; rage boils inside me.

I gave him an order. This shit’s not up to him. I roll the tension out of my neck, fingers twisting into fists of my own. Where’s the fucking loyalty? She bites her bottom lip and smiles at the message, making me physically ill.

I’ve got distracted by her… Say somethin’ to make her forget about that.

“Uh, hey,” I rasp. Y/n continues to type up a little message. “Y/n?” I reach out, resting my hand on her arm.

“Oh, hi… Umm, Rafe?” She says my name, making everything stand still. I look down at the beautiful eyes and soft, pouty lips, the corners of which curl into a sweet smile.

“Uh, yeah,” I answer, trying to level my tone. “We’re in class together.”

“Yeah… She’s kind of a bitch. Right?” Y/n asks weakly as her eyes soften on mine, showing me pity like my feelings might have been hurt by that little exchange between the professor and me.

“Yeah, she sucks,” I laugh lightly, tossing my head down in fake shame. “The boys and I got a little rowdy last night. I didn’t read that shit. Did you? I mean, obviously-”

“On my way to class,” she giggles as she looks around playfully for our professor.

My mouth falls into an open smile. “Naughty girl. Coast is clear, by the way,” I rasp through a little laugh.

“Good,” Y/n sighs as she tucks some hair behind her ear.

“You’re really smart.” I praise, watching her cheeks blushing again, this time closer than before, making my heart bang in my chest.

“Thank you. Oh, umm, you’re a Delta. Right?” She asks, solidifying her answer as she eyes the embroidery on my polo.

“I am. And you’re Phi Mu?” Y/n grins as she nods in reply. “I’m headed over to your car wash after this.”

“Awesome. Yeah, Lyndsey was worried that the University might question where the money came from if we made anything off selling beer tonight.”

“A cover-up?” I smile down at her as I stuff my hands in my jeans.

“Mhmm,” she breathes. “The party’s gonna be huge. Do you think we’ll get busted?”

I chuckle at the sweet nativity of her question. “‘Course we will. Over 500 students in one place… But it’s a block party. Right? So they won’t be able to pinpoint anybody. Not usin’ the frat’s money directly. Cash. The boys are gonna pay me back as they sell cups. Untraceable.”

“Aww. That’s so nice of you,” she smiles. Her demeanor hasn’t faltered since we’ve spoken. She doesn’t seem to care about the material shit; my Breitling watch, the gold rings on my fingers. Her face didn’t light up when I dropped the fact that I would buy beer for the masses. She just said it was nice… Fuck, she’s perfect.

“I try… But, if we get busted, I’ll blame it on some beautiful Phi girl I know.”

She gasps playfully, smacking me in the chest. “You wouldn’t!” Everything tenses in my body as I fight back my arousal, covering the growing excitement in my slacks with my notebook.

Y/n looks over my shoulder, catching the girl’s eyes behind me as she tells us to move forward. “Sorry,” Y/n sighs apologetically, clearing the open space between us and the register. Y/n steps up to the counter, ordering a latte and a muffin before reaching into her purse.

“Oh, shit. No. Sorry! Let me,” I breathe as I hurry to her side. “I’ll pay for whatever she’s havin’ and a coffee for me: one cream, one sugar. Thank you.”

“Wow. Thank you, Rafe. You didn’t need to do that,” she coos.

“No problem, y/n.”

Gifts… That’s what my girl likes.

Well, shit. She’s gonna need a grand gesture. I can sneak into her room tonight. Check the essentials: dress size, music taste; the little things she enjoys.

I’ll take a look at her nightstand. How could I not? Gotta know what she uses to please herself so I know what I’m working with and what it takes to get her there. I want to know her better than she knows herself.

I follow along, trying to keep my eyes on her face, but I can’t help but roam her body. I’ve never seen anything like it, never seen anything so perfect for me. I never wanted anything so bad.

The barista walks over, setting down my coffee. I suck my teeth, regretting my choice, knowing if I got the same shit as her, I could have stayed. But I shouldn’t. “I’ll come by. Yeah? Don’t kill me… I gotta big ass truck, and she’s dirty as shit.”

“No worries,” she smiles sweetly. “I’ll see you there, Rafe. Oh, and thanks for the coffee again.” She reaches out, resting her hand on my arm.

“Of course, sweetheart.” I test a pet name, watching her smile widen. Just gorgeous.

I step away, walking towards the door. Looking over my shoulder as Y/n pulls out her phone, that same smile for Billy setting on her perfect lips.

He’s fucking dead.

I pull up toward the parking lot, falling into the line of cars; a caravan of dicks with their windows already rolled down. Fuckin’ dogs. I lean out as well, surveying the scene looking for her. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I watch the gaggle of girls prancing around in their bikinis, excitement building as I frantically look for her.

My heart skips as I see her sporting the most clothes, donning yet the sluttiest outfit of them all. She’s an absolute fuckin’ tease in her cut-off jean shorts and white t-shirt, soaked with water. The material clings to her curves, teasing me with her little triangle top, gathered slightly, barely covering her tits.

She leans over and reaches into the bucket, pulling out a sponge before ringing out the soap. A guy rolls down the window of his Mercedes, bending his neck to watch as she washes the side. I can already tell where this is goin’. He smirks, watching her ass as she leans down, cleaning the rear fender. “Aww, sweetheart,” he soughs, “Uhh…You missed a spot.” Y/n smiles sweetly, lowering to where she was before, making me huff out an aggravated breath.

Her friend walks over with a hose, spraying down the suds that y/n left behind. Tori Clarence, a late-night Delta regular. She says something that makes Y/n laugh. Y/n claps back, teasing her sister through a wicked smile. Tori lifts the gun, spraying y/n with a stream of water, hitting her directly on her tits.

Y/n gasps as her shirt turns from milky white to practically see-through, the chilly water running down her perfect body, making her nipple hard. She panics to get warm, reaching for the bottom of her shirt. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. She pulls it over her body: soft skin, perfect boobs, and wet hair. Little lines of water cascade down her bare skin, rounding her curves catching on the denim of her shorts. Her eyes fall down her body, eyeing her damp state.

“Just do it, baby girl,” I moan, watching as she pinches her top button. I grab mine as well, tugging it open with her. I hiss at the sensation of my rock-hard cock in my hand, feeling some relief. This is the first time I’ve touched myself all day. I was edging myself as I studied her Instagram and TikTok page, saving my favorites to my phone. When I saw her in the parking lot, I swear I could have cum untouched.

I start to fist my cock as she leans over the trunk, her body perfectly positioned like I’m taking her from the back. Goddamn. I’d snake my rough hand up her soft skin, following the curve of her arched spine, drifting into her hair. I’d pull it back, feeling her pussy clench around my big dick. I’d spank her, cracking her tight little ass with the palm of my hand, leaving her red and bruised. Just one of the many ways I’d mark my girl. “Fuck, Y/n,” I moan her name as heat radiates through my body.

She walks along the side of the next car, letting me see her little triangle top: light blue, thin material, the blush of nipples visible. I roll my hand over my tip, whimpering at the sensation, imagining myself hitting the back of her throat as tears pool in her pretty, innocent eyes. Y/n looking up at daddy, mascara running down her cheeks as she throats me like the slut I know she can be. I’d hold her head in my hands, using her mouth to stroke my cock. My perfect little toy…

Fuck. I got a Fleshlight with her name on it. I’m gonna use those pictures when I get home… Gotta get myself ready for tonight. She has no clue what she’s in for. What I wouldn’t give to have my cock in her hand instead of my own. I’d make her jerk me off as she pleaded for my dick deep in that pretty tight cunt. I bet she’s so goddam wet. So, so fuckin’ tight.

“I know, baby. Daddy’s gonna give you his dick. Don’t worry,” I mumble, feeling my breathing start to increase with my pleasure. I thrust into my hand, fucking up into my fist as I watch her undo the loosened side strings of her bikini, tightening it again.

I eye the sign, catching the time. 11-4 PM. Yes… They’ll be here all afternoon. Just need to make a pit stop. Grab a pair of panties. Whatever I can get. I need to taste her. Stuff ‘em in my mouth as I study my prize. My hips stutter as I feel myself about to bust, imagining just how sweet she’ll taste. I work myself quicker, taking hold of my steering wheel as I rut into my hand.

‘Rafe. Rafe. Rafe.’ I can hear it now. See my little whore creamin’ on my cock as I give it to her over and over again.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby girl. Where do you want it?”

‘Deep in my pussy… Please, baby’. She’ll whimper and beg, pleading to get stuffed full. I’m gonna brush my fingers over her swollen clit, making her gush all over my cock and thighs, wetting everything around us until I’m pumping her full of my cum.

I’ll watch it drip out of her puffy pink hole, fucking it right back in, cleaning the rest off with my tongue before spitting it in her mouth.

My perfect cumslut.

I need it drippin’ out of her for days. Watchin’ my little angel walk into class, knowing just how good I dicked her down. I’ll watch her from my seat as she cleans the little cum tear off her inner thigh, slipping it between her lips as her eyes flick to mine, sucking it clean.

No one will have her again. “She was made for me.” The thought alone has my hand faltering; jaw falling slack. My stomach sinks, eyes doubling as she looks in my direction, matching my gaze. “Fuckkk…” My eyes roll back in my skull, toes curling, head thrown to the headrest as I cum harder than I ever have. Shit. I don’t even care if she saw. If she’s any girl of mine, she’d want to see it anyway.

My dirty little whore.

I look down at my jizz covered hand and lap. Goddamnit. I clear the gap between my car and the next before ripping off my shirt and wiping away my mess. I flip my hat on, snagging my protein shaker bottle from the passenger’s seat floor as I try to disguise the real reason I’m covered head to toe in sweat. I do my best to control my breathing, still running high from my climax, hit with the post-nut clarity that she may have seen it all.

She looks happy to see me… Real happy. Y/n smiles, making my heart race again as I meet her gorgeous eyes. She greets me happily, trotting up to my truck. “How are you doin’, sweetheart?”

She dunks her hand into the soapy bucket, grabbing a sponge. “Livin’ the dream,” y/n smiles, moving closer than expected. I take in her perfume, already so familiar to me, the smell of it revving me right up again.

“Sorry. I’m a sweaty mess,” I sigh. Her gaze falls down my body, studying me with a bashful smile.

“Just got done with a workout?” She asks.

“Mhmm…” I smile and nod in reply. “Pay now? Pay later?” I invite as I snag my wallet.

“Now,” she sings. “Donation based, so whatever you’re willing to give.” I thumb through my wallet, plucking out $200.

“Rafe…” She breathes, taking it off my hands. “Are you sure? This is a little much.” Y/n looks down at the cash in her hands before meeting my eyes again.

“Positive,” I assure.

“Well, that is very nice, Rafe Cameron,” she coos. Y/n uses my last name, making my stomach drop. She wouldn’t have known my last name unless she did some digging. I didn’t give it to her; I never said anything in class before today. She must have looked me up on Instagram or Snapchat… Maybe she asked one of her sisters about me.

I fight off a wide smile as she gets started on the car. She takes her time, putting in a little more effort than the cars before. She walks to the front of the cab, leaning over, breast jiggling as she swirls and circles the sponge on the hood. She rises a little higher on her tippy toes, unable to reach the rest.

“Here you go, babe.” Her friend sets down a ladder for Y/n. She bends over once more, the angle alone making my cock rock hard again as I imagine us fucking raw. Tonight… I’ll bend her over on the bathroom counter, just like she is now, the bass of the party on the street not even loud enough to cover her cries and my moans. I’ll pound into her as the slaps of our skin fill the bathroom. Her eyes shift to mine, catching my stare. She doesn’t drop focus, keeping her eyes on me as she continues to scrub. A smirk spreads on her lips, mirroring my own.

Baby girl…

Y/n steps down from the ladder before walking to her friend, grabbing the hose off her hands; taking her job instead. She sprays down the truck, cleaning off the suds. The light breeze catches the flow of water, sending little beads of it flying, catching on her perfect skin. My mouth waters as I imagine licking the glaze of it off her skin. Fuck… I don’t think I can take this.

“Alright, Mr. Cameron. You’re all set,” she smiles as she eyes her work. I bite my lip and nod.

“Thank you, princess. See you tonight.”

I pull forward, watching her from my wing mirror as she greets the next car. Her excitement fades as she welcomes the next. Good fuckin’ girl.

Next stop, Phi Mu.

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 2

tag list and masterlist on my pinned post

@starkeysprincess @rafesthroatbaby @gri959 @loserboysandlithium @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @akobx @darlydixon83 @hyperfixationgirl @savayvayblr-blog @oxpogues4lifexo @rafesgiirl @sleepiibunniiii

[pinkrelish]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

���Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

[willowsnook]

Right Place, Right Time (pt. 1) Lando Norris

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4

new series featuring lando x american reader who works for Monster. This will be a slow burn!!!!!!! patience

----------------------------------------

When performance review time came around at work you were disappointed to hear that there weren't going to be any raises this time around. As a top performer on the marketing team you were disappointed but it had been a tough year. As a consolation prize, your manager had put your name in the hat to win a trip to the Dutch Grand Prix which you thought was kind of random but your company was a McLaren sponsor and it was all expenses paid so whatever. You kind of followed F1 so when you got the email that you had won you were excited. Even more excited that it was not going to be 90 degrees outside like it currently was in Texas.

You landed in Zandvoort on Thursday night and were up bright and early on Friday to get the whole tour and all. You had never been to a race so it was pretty cool and you liked getting to walk around the paddock looking at all the other teams stuff. You snapped a million of selfies to send back to your sister who you knew was foaming at the mouth in jealousy.

You didn't really care about watching the practices so around 3 you headed back to McLaren to find your stuff and go. As you were turning the corner in a hallway you ran right smack into someone else causing you to drop your phone.

"Omg I'm so sorry," you said reaching down to pick it up. When you stood up you were face to face with Lando Norris, one of the McLaren drivers. He looked sad, like really sad. Like the kind of sad you would be if someone stole your dog.

"Are you good dude?" You asked unsure. He gave you a weak smile mumbling something out, his voice cracking.

"Hey hey it's okay," you soothed putting your hand on his arm. "it's only practice ya know." You tried to joke and he met your eyes with his own watery ones.

"It's okay," he said. "Just a bad day, are you looking for someone or something?" You nodded.

"Yeah I need my bag but honestly I'm kind of lost in here," you said.

"It's probably in hospitality, I can walk you there?" He offered and you smiled.

"That would be great," you said following him the way he came from. You walked in silence and you were trying to rack your brain on anything you knew about this guy. You remembered seeing some shit on twitter about him before summer break and a lot of not nice things.

"So what brings you to Zandvoort?" He asked, breaking the silence.

"I work for Monster Energy, and I won a raffle," you said and he let out a laugh.

"You must be a big F1 fan then?" He asked and you shook your head.

"Not really, I watch the races but I just wanted a vacation."

Someone was walking out of hospitality as you were walking in and stopped to talk to Lando.

"We need to talk about today," they said sternly. "Find me later."

You felt Lando deflate next to you but he nodded and guided you in the room. No one else was in there and you quickly grabbed your bag.

"Well there you ar-"

"Why do you like racing?" You interrupted him and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Uhh.. I don't know," he said and you waited. "I've always been in love with cars and the feeling I get. It's like everything else fades away and it's just me."

"Do you still feel that way?" You asked and he nodded.

"For the most part, the pressure and the things said online get loud though," he said quietly.

"Can I be honest with you?" You asked and he nodded.

"I'll never know what it's like to be in your position," you started. "But these people online don't know you. Yes they know the you that your PR team puts out and what you post but they don't know your character. They don't know who you are inside and they probably never will. But you have people here that do know you. People that do care about you and want you to succeed. Drown out the noise with them because those are the people that matter."

He stared at you not saying anything and you started to get the itch of feeling awkward and then to make it worse he quickly looked away and swiped at his eyes.

"Oh my god I made you cry," you panicked. "I'm so sorry I overstepped I don't know you."

He let out a little laugh looking back at you with red rimmed eyes.

"It's a good thing," he said. "It's hard for me to remember sometimes and it's nice to be seen as a human by someone."

You smiled before holding up your bag.

"Well I got this, so I'm going to go but good luck tomorrow," you said.

"Thank you," he replied. "You never told me your name?"

"Y/n," you said holding out your hand and he shook it. "See ya around."

--------------------------------------------------------

You skipped out on the qualifying sessions on Saturday to hang out and relax in Zandvoort but you were really excited for Sunday. You got the the paddock really early and made a beeline for hospitality to get a much needed coffee. As you were waiting for it to finish pouring you heard someone speak next to you.

"I love those pants, where did you get them from?"

You turned around to see a girl maybe a couple years younger than you with long brown hair wearing a creme top and jeans. You looked down at your own dark jeans that fitted you perfectly if you do say so yourself.

"Thank you!" You said smiling. "They are from Abercrombie's curve line."

"Ahh nice," she said moving to start her own coffee.

"Yeah I spend too much money there," you said.

"I never really got into it," she said.

"I wasn't as a kid because they hated fat people back then but thank god for change," I joked and she let out a loud laugh.

"I'm Lily," she said and you introduced yourself back. "Visiting from the US?"

"Yeah, I won a work raffle so here I am," you said and she nodded.

"Are you watching from the garage?" She asked and you shook your head.

"I'm supposed to but I really want to be in the stands so I think I'm going to sneak in."

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"You wouldn't want to watch from down here?" She asked confused.

"No all the real action is out there with all the other fans," you told her. "Have you never sat there?"

She shook her head.

"Well if you're interested in joining me just let me know!" You offered before waving goodbye.

You spent the next hour wandering the paddock soaking in the atmosphere. About 30 minutes before the race starts you see Lily coming up to you with a burly guy.

"I think I am going to join you," she said. "But he has to come too so that nothing happens."

"Awesome," you say and she smiles. You two start walking towards the stands talking the whole way but are intercepted by a McLaren driver.

"Where are you going?" He asks Lily, looking confused.

"We are watching from the stands," she said pulling him in for a hug. He kisses her but looks worried.

"But why?"

"Because it's the full experience Osc," she said and he looked towards the bodyguard who shrugged. "This is y/n by the way, she works for Monster."

A look of realization washes over his face and he reaches out to shake your hand.

"You talked to Lando yesterday?" He asked and you nodded.

"Briefly yeah," you replied quizzingly.

"Hmm," he said and Lily looked at you confused. "Well I have to go but be safe and I'll see you after."

He left the two of you to get back to walking.

"So you met Lando?" She asked.

"Yeah I ran into him and gave him a little pep talk." This made her laugh.

"A pep talk? Do you know him?" She asked looking at you with amusement.

"No, he was just giving off really sad energy," you said truthfully and she sighed.

"Yeah he's going through a hard time."

You nodded. The bodyguard led you two to a row that had clearly been predetermined and motioned for you to file in.

"Isn't this exciting?" You asked taking it all in. The stands were electric.

"It is pretty cool," she said, here nerves easing.

You both were disappointed to see Lando lose his place at the start but amazed after lap 18. The middle was kind of boring except for when Oscar would come around so you and Lily spent the time getting to know each other. You told her about your life in Texas and she told you about life as a WAG. She gave you her number and made you promise to text her especially for the Austin GP. At the end of the race you both screamed like crazy when Lando crossed the link and made your way down to the podium area. It was very cool getting to see it in person.

You walked back to the garage with Lily and said your goodbyes as she went to find Oscar. As you were getting ready to head out you saw Lando across the garage and you gave him a big thumbs up. He laughed and smiled returning the sign.

Your flight was early the next morning so you headed back to your hotel to get ready to go back to real life.

[c0s-lettuce]

common factor - dave lizewski x reader

gender not explicitly mentioned but dave calls reader "ladybug"

synopsis: after getting stood up, you seek out the one person who makes everything better.

word count: 1517

a/n: recently watched kick-ass and omg atj is so cute. inspired by the scene in kick-ass 2 when mindy goes to dave after getting date ditched.

Tonight was slowly becoming a disaster. It had already been a mediocre week at school. So, when a nice boy with blue eyes asked you out, you were eager to say yes.

And so, you stood alone in front of the movies on a chilly Thursday evening as you waited for your date. You knew you had the right time and place. You had checked Ben's message multiple times. But still, you waited for five minutes. Then ten. Then twenty.

You called it quits after thirty-four minutes.

As you begin your walk of shame, you don't yearn for your home or bed. You don't think of anything that would usually provide you comfort. Right now, all you want is your best friend.

So, you make your way over to his place. It had been a while since you climbed up to his window, but you still remember the spots to step and hold on to. Mr Lizewski was rarely ever strict enough to require sneaking around. But it was too late to knock, so the window it was.

You land softly on the floor inside. Dave sleeps soundly in his bed, the light from the street gently illuminating his face. He looks so peaceful that you begin to feel bad for waking him. But your need for comfort overrides your guilt.

"Dave?" you call out, loud enough to wake him.

Dave awakens slowly, blinking in the dimness. His eyes find yours, and he jolts upright.

"Holy shit," he mutters, reaching over to turn on the lamp. "What are you doing here?"

You take a seat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry for waking you. I just really needed to see you."

He sits up, immediately concerned. "Hey, what's wrong? Did something happen with Ben?"

You had told him about the date, of course. He was happy for you. Dave is always happy for you.

"He stood me up," you tell him.

Dave's eyes soften, and he pulls you in for a hug. You melt in his embrace, unable to stop the stray tears that fall from your eyes.

"Oh, bug. I'm so sorry. He's such an ass," Dave says softly, rubbing your back.

"I think there's something wrong with me," you say as you pull away.

He furrows his brow. "What? That is not true. How could you say that?"

You shake your head. "No, you don't understand. I'm-"

I'm in love with you, is you want to say.

You want to tell him you only agreed to go out with Ben because his eyes reminded you of Dave's. That's the only reason you paid attention to anyone lately. Alex with the hair, James with the smile and Ben with the eyes. If you broke them all down, Dave would be the common factor.

But the words refuse to come out. So, instead, you say, "I'm hopeless."

"You're not hopeless," Dave reassures.

"Then why does this keep happening?" you ask.

Dave's hands take yours. "It's not you. It's them, okay? They're all jerks. And you know what? I'm glad Ben didn't show. Because you're too good for him, ladybug."

You frown, unsure how to respond to that. You look down at your hands, at how they fit in his.

Dave takes this opportunity to continue, "I mean it. You're so sweet and kind and funny. He doesn't deserve a second of your time, much less your tears."

"I know, you're right," you say. "I guess I just... wanted to be liked."

Dave nods in understanding, "You are, though. You're loved. You don't need Ben to prove that."

His words manage to make you smile a little bit. You nod in response, knowing he's right again.

"Why don't you stay over for the night?" Dave suggests. "I can get you some clothes to sleep in."

"Yeah," you reply. "Yeah, that sounds great."

Dave smiles. "Perfect. You stay right here."

Dave gives you a spare shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts you forgot once during a sleepover. After a quick shower, you get changed and take a moment to compose yourself, not wanting to shed any more tears.

Meanwhile, Dave waits for you in bed. He felt as if his heart could break. You looked so beautiful tonight. You should be out being admired and doted on. But instead, you were left in tears. Dave starts considering putting on his Kick-Ass suit and teaching Ben a lesson.

However, his plans don't go much further before you return from the bathroom. You tiptoe over to the bed, and Dave lifts the covers up for you. You slip in beside him, instantly comforted by the soft sheets and the subtle scent that lingers on them.

You and Dave lie facing each other, the setting familiar and cozy. He reaches forward to play with your hair, brushing his fingers from the top of your head to behind your ear. The repetitive motion soothes you.

"I don't want to see Ben tomorrow," you tell him.

He nods. "I'll stick with you as much as I can. I won't let him bother you."

"I don't know how people do it," you say. "All this dating and relationships, especially in high school."

"I couldn't tell you," he answers. "My one and only girlfriend publicly broke up with me and told me she cheated on me at the same time."

You cringe at the reminder. You remember when Dave started dating Katie. He had such a big crush on her, and you tried your best to be supportive. You tried not to hate her. You were glad when she did something worthy of your resentment.

"God, that was horrible," you say.

"Yeah. Maybe we're both cursed with bad luck," Dave replies.

You frown. "I thought ladybugs are supposed to be lucky."

Dave chuckles at your statement, taking a moment to think. "You're right. Maybe the universe is doing us a favour by showing us we don't need them. You know you'll always matter more to me than some random girl."

"That won't always be true," you say quietly.

"Sure it will, bug," he replies. "It's me and you forever, remember?"

His words make you want to shrivel up under the covers. They take you back to the old days when you and Dave had not a single care in the world.

"Yeah, I remember," you mumble.

Dave smiles. "Good. Don't you forget it."

You take a deep breath, shutting your eyes for a moment. You never expected this night to be so emotionally taxing. A few moments of comfortable silence pass as you try to ground yourself.

"Hey," Dave speaks up after a while. "How about I take you out this weekend?"

You open your eyes again, slightly surprised. How about I take you out?* *You wonder if he phrased it like that on purpose.

"You don't have to," you tell him.

"I want to," he says. "It's been a while since we did something without Todd or Marty. Maybe we can see the new Avengers movie. I know you have a crush on Thor."

You glare at him, feigning offence. "I do not have a crush on Thor."

He grins. "Aw, come on. You can tell me the truth. Though, I'll have to try very hard not to be jealous."

You whack him on the arm, and he laughs.

"Okay, kidding," he says, "But seriously, we can do that. Or watch something else. Or do anything, really."

The ideal appeals to you more than you care to admit. You nod, "I'd like that a lot."

He smiles. "Great. It'll be my treat. We'll have the best time, I promise."

You smile back. "Thanks, Dave."

"Don't mention it," he replies. "Now, go to sleep. Let that pretty head of yours rest."

You do as he says, closing your eyes again. You scoot closer to him, and he wraps an arm around your waist. He kisses you gently on the top of your head, and you can't help but smile.

"Goodnight, Davey," you murmur.

"Goodnight, ladybug," he responds.

An unpleasant beeping wakes you in the morning. It takes a moment for your sleep-addled brain to make sense of everything. You notice you're warm, incredibly warm. You realise it's because Dave's chest is against your back, his arms secure around your body.

You feel as if you could be a puddle right now. It's all so perfect, except for that beeping. It's Dave's alarm. Of course. You forgot it was still a school day.

Dave shifts behind you, and his warmth leaves you as he rolls away. You miss it immediately but aren't awake enough to do anything about it. There's the sound of fumbling before the beeping finally stops. Not a moment sooner, Dave returns, wrapping his arms around you again and holding you tighter than before.

He nuzzles his face against your neck, letting out a deep breath that tickles your skin. It's almost enchanting how quickly sleep calls for you again. Dave doesn't say a word, but it's clear you both agree that school can wait five more minutes.

➸

[runningthroughthegarden]

finally kissing you

the relationship you had with art was complicated to say that least. you had always tried your best to keep your feelings for him a secret. you didnt want to be just another girl pining over him. you were his best friend after all, your job was to support him, not fall in love with him. but that didnt matter anymore, cause you had fallen in love with him. and now you were burdened with the task of having to pretend like he was just your best friend.

-

it was a usual thursday night, after training you would head over to art’s place to study or watch a movie. tonight you decided the homework could wait and put on your favorite movie.

his arms clung around your waist as his head lay softly on your chest. you raked your fingers through his curls with a soft smile on your face. it was times like this you truly thought your relationship could be something more. that soon came crashing down.

“thank you y/n” he whispered so lightly you almost missed it.

“for what?” you softly giggled.

“just everything, i cant imagine what id do without you. dont tell patrick but i think youre my favorite best friend” he replied, quickly gazing up at you with a soft smile before snuggling back into you.

best friend. you knew thats all that this was, but the subtle reminder hit harder than youd like.

“yeah of course” you let out a small laugh to cover the break in your voice, tears threatening to spill.

you could tell by his change in breathing he had fallen asleep. before you knew it hot tears were spilling down your cheeks. this was so stupid. you knew you were just his best friend. but here you were crying as his arms clung around you and his breath tickled your neck.

you couldn’t take it anymore. you slowly slipped out of his grip to grab your things. taking one last look at his peaceful state, you left.

-

waking up on friday morning was honestly a shit show. you felt pathetic and just wanted to forget about all of it. so you decided it was time to move on.

it was no secret you had guys who would do anything to go out with you. you never paid them any attention cause you had art. but it was time to get over him so you decided to text a guy from one of your classes and asked if he wanted to hang out. he of course said yes so now you were in your dorm putting on your best dress to hopefully forget about art.

you truly felt so good about yourself and were excited to hang out with someone that wasnt patrick or art.

the date had gone shockingly well. the two of you had a lot in common and were laughing practically the entire time. still, a part of you ached. you felt yourself thinking back to art but tried to snap out of it as soon as you could.

he had offered to walk you back to your dorm which you kindly accepted. walking through the courtyard as the moon shined down you couldn’t help but wish it was art you were walking with. but you weren’t, you had to stop thinking like this.

“thank you for tonight, i had a lot of fun” you stop, looking up at him.

“yeah of course, im just glad i got the opportunity to take such a gorgeous girl out” he replys with a smile.

a blush creeps up on your face as he slowly starts to lean in. cupping your face with his hand, noses slightly touching.

“hey!” a voice you recognize all too well is shouting from behind you. oh my god.

stepping back from the boy you look to see art standing there. a flood of embarrassment washes over you.

“do you have a problem?” the guy asks putting his hand around your waist to pull you in.

“yeah i do get your hands off my girl!” art comes storming up pulling you away from him.

“you two are dating?” the guy steps back, clearly confused.

“no!”

“yes!”

you and art shout at the same time. looking at him with the most confused look on your face.

“it looks like you two have some things to sort out. i’ll see you in class y/n” he states with a sad smile and walks away.

“what the fuck is your problem?!?” you yell, turning back to face art.

“what is my problem? you’re the one who ditched me to go make out with some random guy!” he yelled back.

“why are you so mad?!”

“im not mad! i just think theres better people you could be kissing” he confesses.

“oh and who would that be?” you ask, angrily getting closer to him.

“me” he whispers.

“what?” every thought you had was now thrown out the window.

“i want you to kiss me” he confesses, stepping closer to you.

“but im just your…best friend” you whisper, feeling yourself get nervous under his gaze.

“y/n i think youre the love of my life”

his hands come up to cup your face.

“so can i please kiss you” he asks, desperation written all over his face.

without saying a word you smash your lips onto his.

[magniloquent-raven]

@chaussettecanape your art of tommy in bucks sweater did this to me 💀

**

It’s been seven days. Almost to the hour.

Not that Tommy’s been counting. Not exactly. But sometimes he can’t help glancing at the clock and think, it was 8:48 when I got in my truck that night. His brain does the math from there.

After twelve hours and six minutes without Evan, he gave in to tears. Wholly. He wept, staring at his blurry bedroom ceiling as the morning light crept in. It was the first time in six months he’d woken up to an empty lockscreen. Dragging his fingertip up the picture he took of Evan's sunny smile said yielded nothing but No Older Notifications.

Three days and eight hours after he walked out of Evan’s loft for the last time, he sat in the locker room at work, phone in hand, scrolling numbly through their old messages. He read every I’ll be there in 15 and Wanna watch a movie tonight? until he got to a solid block of text that started with, Hey, Tommy! It’s Buck. Evan. He was sweet and excited, but so unsure. Self-conscious even through text.

For an uncharitable moment Tommy thought to himself they both would have been better off if he’d left Evan on read and never given him that tour. But it wasn’t fair. He knows their relationship was important to Evan. Transformative, was how he put it. He discovered something about himself, and now he gets to live a fuller life because of it. And Tommy wants to be happy for him.

He will be. Eventually.

Five days, four hours, and twenty-six minutes into one of the worst weeks of his life, he found Evan’s blue hoodie shoved underneath a throw pillow on his couch. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw Evan wearing it, and has no idea when he took it off and discarded it there.

He should’ve paid better attention. If he’d known he was running out of time, he would have. If he knew when he was seeing Evan smile for the last time. Kissing him for the last time. He would’ve savoured the moments he stole while he was still allowed to. He wishes he knew why this hoodie and this cushion. Wishes there was a memory attached to it beyond the shadow of their entire relationship haunting his every step.

He left the hoodie where he found it, shoving it back into hiding.

But now…it’s 9pm on a Thursday night, and he’s sitting alone in his bedroom, wearing his ex’s sweater.

He’s been thinking about the damn sweater for days. It might be an excuse to see Evan again, but it would be a flimsy one. Pathetic and transparent. After a rough call yesterday he almost caved, pulled up his phone and typed out three words of a message he never sent.

But he’s being strong about this, he reminded himself. He’s not taking calls from Howie because he wouldn’t be able to talk to him without asking after Evan. He hasn’t even checked the text he got from Eddie the day after the breakup. And he’s staying out of workplace gossip, because God knows the 118 inevitably comes up one way or another.

It’s better this way. Cleaner.

Today was his first full day off since last week, and the empty hours have been chipping away at his resolve. His house is so quiet, and his thoughts are so loud. Tinkering with his truck’s engine did nothing but keep his hands busy.

The sweater has stains on it. Black smudges along the side and spots on the back. Tommy thought he’d been careful not to touch too much, not to get his dirt all over Evan at his sister’s wedding. It wasn’t until later that he noticed Evan parading around with handprints all over.

Tommy pointed it out to him afterwards, but Evan didn’t seem to care, just kissed the frown off of Tommy’s face and changed the subject.

Knowing Evan, he expected him to google cleaning tips and have the sweater looking brand-new by the next day, but he left Tommy’s soot-stain fingerprints where they were.

Tommy can’t fathom why.

He traced the path of his touch along the seam when he pulled the sweater out of his couch a second time. Remembering what it felt like to pull Evan closer, colliding with the solid lines of his body and molding to fit into the space between his palms.

In the end, it was catching the scent of sugar and pine that broke him. The warm notes of his aftershave clinging to the collar of his hoodie. Tommy pulled the sweater over his head, just to feel that softness against his skin again.

He’s been puttering around the house in it all afternoon, trying not to look at his own rumpled, unshaven image in any reflective surfaces, but he ran out of meaningless chores to do and now he’s got nothing but time to think about his phone sitting six inches to the left of his knee.

At 9:12 his screen lights up. It’s a text. From Evan.

The hollowness that’s been gnawing a hole in his stomach for days turns to lead weight dropping into his gut.

He’s tired. Bone-deep exhausted. Sleep has been hard when his dreams are a confusing muddle, snippets of sunshine, Evan’s smile nestled in the dip of his collarbone, memories that crack into nonsensical pieces under the weight of his guilt. When he’s not fruitlessly trying to strong-arm his brain to sleep, he’s working, picking up extra shifts and deep-cleaning his house until it’s in better shape than it was when he moved in.

Between deepening the ache in the middle of his back and peeling the callouses from his fingertips, he’s repeating a mantra. Reminding himself that Evan will heal better without Tommy picking at his scabs.

It’s a marathon he’s running on empty, and he’s not sure how he’s going to keep going.

His fingers itch, and putting his hands in the pocket of his—not his, Evan’s hoodie, does not help.

Two minutes go by, his phone buzzes a second time, reminding him he hasn’t checked the text yet. Like he’s forgotten.

He catches a glimpse of the message.

Can we talk?

He wants nothing more, but the real question is should they. He knew from the beginning that falling for Evan was inevitable. He knew, and he didn’t even bury it that deep to pretend he didn’t. The problem was it was just so easy to forget how dangerous that fall would be. Just being around Evan made him reckless. His sweet words and sweeter smile made Tommy weak in the knees and he let himself ignore the steep drop he was about to step over.

It’s a bad idea. Maybe he’s a coward, maybe he’s always been a coward, but he’s terrified of what losing Evan would look like if he lets himself be vulnerable again.

But he’s so tired. He aches, and he just wants to lay down somewhere warm. Somewhere safe.

He wraps his arms around himself, fingers brushing the soot-stains on his side.

Then grabs his phone.

Ok.

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 34

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: fluff, some light medical stuff, and some slightly possessive behaviors

wc: 3.1k

Chapter Selection

I got my license that week, and Jason promptly took me to a dealership to get my motorcycle. I didn't know much about bikes, so decided to just trust his opinions. We found one we both thought was perfect, he paid in cash and pushed the paperwork toward me.

“You want me to sign?” I tilted my head a bit.

“It's your bike, princess, it's going to be in your name.” He smiled softly. I chuckled softly, ignoring the tightly controlled expression on the salesman's face, and signed the paperwork.

I kissed his cheek, grinning, and the salesman passed us the keys. “Can we swing by Damian's school to pick him up?”

Jason chuckled, kissing my knuckles. “Anything baby girl wants~”

Jason bought a helmet for Damian while I texted Bruce, Alfred, and Damian to let them know the plan. During the ride to the school I felt so free; like everything was slotting into place. Jason led the way, and we parked out front as the last bell rang. 

Damian eventually approached, followed by a girl. I pulled my helmet off, smiling brightly. “Hey Damian! Who's your friend?”

He cleared his throat; “this is Emma. She wanted to see your bike.”

Emma grinned, stepping closer. She babbled off something about the bike, but it all flew over my head. Jason chuckled, answering her questions, and I offered Damian his helmet. He took it, smiling slightly.

Jason answered the girl's questions about the bikes, and Damian hopped on behind me. Emma eventually turned to Damian grinning; “see you tomorrow, Damian~”

He nodded once, gripping my waist. I chuckled softly; “it was very nice to meet you, Emma.”

She grinned, waving, and we drove off.

“So, she seems nice?” Jason's smirk was audible in our helmets.

“Tt. Shut up, Todd.” Damian growled softly.

I chuckled softly. “So, straight to the manor, or?”

He thought for a moment. “... Yes, Father will want me home. And Alfred was talking about your training, he'll want to speak to you before he starts on dinner.”

“Oh, alright then.” I smiled softly, gently squeezing his hand on my waist, and we flew down the streets toward Wayne Manor.

The gate swung open as we approached, and Jason led us to the garage. Duke grinned as he got out of a car. “Hey! You got your license then?”

Damian hopped down, and I took his helmet for him. “Yeah! Jason and I just left the dealership!”

We all headed inside, Alfred the cat immediately jumped up to rest on Damian's shoulders, and Jason and I headed for the kitchen to look for Alfred the human.

He smiled warmly when he saw us coming; “Ah, I'm glad you're here Miss. I had a proposition for you regarding your training.”

I grinned, leaning over the kitchen island. “Hey Alfred! What'cha got for me?”

“Well, we have nearly a month before the spring semester, and nothing in your educational background leads directly to medical school, so I was thinking we could do a … sort of a crash course?”

I nodded; “something to help get me up to speed?”

“Exactly. I was a field medic myself, back in the day, and I still have my old anatomy books. We could get some preliminary training in before your proper education starts.”

“I'd really appreciate that, thanks!”

He nodded, clearly pleased. “Excellent. I'll get you those books before you leave, and you can join me for lessons twice a week? I was thinking before your combat training on Thursdays, and at the same time on Tuesdays.”

“Sounds great! It really won't be too much of an imposition?”

“Not at all, my dear. Miss Barbara may also use some of the time to get you familiar with Bat-tech. I believe she gifted you a Wayne-phone?” I nodded. “She'll want to go over your access to the Oracle system with you.”

Jason wrapped his arms around my waist, gently squeezing. I rested a hand on his, squeezing back. His arms felt so tense around me, but I smiled reassuringly up at him. He sighed, resting his forehead against my shoulder. “Sounds good, thanks!”

Alfred nodded. “Wonderful. And you two are staying for dinner, aren't you?”

“I dunno, Al-” Jason started.

Alfred cut in, a knowing smile on his face; “I'm making pot roast.”

Jason froze, frowning a bit. “... Yeah?”

I chuckled, leaning back against him. “We've got nowhere to be, right Jay?”

“... Yeah, alright. … Thanks, Alfred.”

He nodded, chuckling softly. “Very good.”

My training with Alfred started that week. As promised, he gave me several books, as well as some medical journals. I read everything he gave me, and we started going over anatomy. 

Babs showed up during the next Bat training day, and gave me the rundown on the Oracle app. It was disguised as a news app, but once I logged in I was given access to view her system. I could track active Bats, send and receive messages, and even access the comms.

Babs took my phone and went back to the home page. “Now, if you get in any kind of trouble, click and hold the icon for three seconds, and…”

Dick and Tim both shouted; “turn it off!”

I jumped and laughed. “What was that???”

She giggled, releasing it and opening the app. “I sent a distress call through the system. Dick and Tim are in uniform, so they got the SOS. You turn it off by opening the app and clicking here.”

“... Does the SOS hurt them or something?”

“No, it's just annoying when you're so close!” Tim frowned, looking over at us; “it’s kinda like echolocation, so the closer we are to you the faster the pings come in.”

“... Why?”

“In case you're unable to respond to us after sending the distress call, for whatever reason.” Dick spoke in a carefully neutral tone. Jason growled softly at the idea, and Dick threw his hands up; “not that that's ever gonna happen. Just a little extra security.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. But what if someone takes the phone?”

Babs popped a piece of the phone case off and slipped an ear piece out of the case. “If you ever get called to pick up an injured Bat, or if you think you're being followed at any time, just pop this in and I'll be able to track you.”

I slid it into my ear, there was a soft beep, and a red plus in a black circle joined the Red Robin and Nightwing icons on the map. I put it back in the phone case and my symbol disappeared. Babs showed me all the icons, so I knew what everyone showed up as, and gave me a clear sheet of plexiglass with a metal bar at the top.

“Jason can install this on your bike later - if you're ever called to pick someone up, just turn it on. It will cover your plates so they can't be read, and when the cops try to scan them their system will tell them you're operating on behalf of the Bats. They won't stop you.”

“Not that you will ever have to do that. We will come to you. Right?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

Babs nodded; “yes, Jason. The plan is that they will go to her. But it's always better to be prepared for the plan to fall apart.”

I nodded, putting it with my gym bag. “Yeah, plans A through Y: you come to me. Plan Z: I pick you up.”

Jason nodded once. “... I still don't like this.”

“Would you like it more if we pretended it was impossible that I'll ever have to ask her to grab someone who passed out on the way to the clinic?” Babs sighed.

“Or that I wouldn't insist on going to get them anyway?” I raised an eyebrow, and Jay growled softly, pulling me close.

“... Just don't go out unarmed, and don't wander directly into a fight, ok? Our enemies don't abide by the Geneva Convention, they relish in attacking first responders.”

I grinned, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, and kissed him gently. “No fighting, promise.”

Jason nodded, kissing my forehead. “... I wanna get you licensed to carry a gun too. … Just in case.”

I sighed softly, but nodded. “If it'll make you more comfortable.”

“It will.”

“... You have got to be kidding me.” Jason growled into his phone. I looked over, frowning a bit. “... Fuck. … Fine. Yeah, yeah, I will. … Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

He hung up, tossing his phone aside, and rubbed his face. I raised an eyebrow; “... What?”

He looked over at me slowly. “... That was Roy. … He's got a lead on some unfinished business.”

I nodded. “You sound more upset about this than I'd expect?”

“... I'm probably gonna be out of town all week.”

I nodded, frowning a bit. “That sucks … will you be home in time for the Christmas Gala? Cause I'm not going alone, and Bruce was insistent that we go…’’

“... Last time I left town, I came back to see some jackass trying to hurt you …” he whispered, staring up at me.

I turned the stove off, moving my pan off the heat, and came over to sit next to him. “That was a fluke. I don't have that job anymore, I won't be out alone at night, and I've got the Oracle app if something does go wrong.”

He sighed, gripping my hand. “I … I know … but it did happen. … If I had been two minutes later …’’

I cupped his cheek, making him look in my eyes; “we're not gonna go down that road. You saved me, and since then I've been trained to defend myself better, and I have more resources for if something does happen. You can't be with me every minute of every day, baby. You're not supposed to be; you've gotta live your life too.”

He squeezed my hands, leaning in to kiss me gently. “... I still don't like it … if something happens, I won't be able to help.”

“... Yeah, but do you really think Dick or Tim will allow anyone to hurt me while you're away?”

He frowned. “Huh?”

“I predict that when you leave town your brothers will start checking on me daily. Because if anything happens to me while you're away, they'll never hear the end of it. Will they?”

He stared at me for a moment before chuckling softly, holding me close. “Yeah, I guess not … but …”

“... But that doesn't silence the voice telling you it's not safe, does it?” He shook his head, pulling me closer. I was nearly in his lap, and I stroked his hair gently. “... Is there anything that will make you feel ok about this?”

“... I … maybe, but …”

“What is it?”

“... This is going to sound really bad …”

“That's fine. What can we do?”

“... Can I …. CanIputatrackeronyou?” He mumbled into my shoulder.

“... Baby, you speak so fast when you're anxious. A little slower?”

“... I … I want to put a tracker on you…”

I chuckled softly, holding up my phone. “Oracle already did?”

He looked up at me, unamused, and in an instant he ripped the phone out of my hand, tossing it across the room. “And now you don't have it anymore. See how easy that was? You didn't have time to trigger the SOS, or grab the ear piece. It's just gone.”

I blinked a bit at the dark look in his eyes, stroking down his chest gently. “O- ok, I see your point. … Deep breath, Jay. It's ok.”

He sighed, shutting his eyes tightly as he pressed his face against my shoulder again. “Sorry, I … sorry. … I just … can't lose you, ma.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing the top of his head. “It's ok, baby~ … what kind of tracker are we talking about here?”

“... Something no one will think to take off you. … Like … earrings, maybe? Simple ones, nothing flashy that'd get stolen.”

I nodded. “Like basic studs? Ok. Just as something I can wear while you're away?”

“J- just so I know you're safe … not to be weird, promise, just … gotta know you're safe.”

“Ok, Jace. I'll wear it.”

He looked up at me slowly. “Really? … It's not creepy?”

“If you were literally anyone else it probably would be, but I get why you want it, and I trust you. If it will give you peace of mind, I'll wear a tracker while you're out of town on missions.”

He hugged me tighter, almost knocking the air out of my lungs as he muttered his thanks. I chuckled, stroking his hair gently. “... Don't know where you're gonna get tracker earrings at this time of night, but …’’

“I've got some at a safehouse. I can pick them up tonight.”

“... Why am I not surprised?”

Beep. Beep. Beep. My eyes opened slowly and I looked over at my phone. The green Oracle mask was flashing on the screen as I grabbed it. I tapped on the icon, grabbing my pants.

“Oracle? What's going on?”

“Hey Medic, can you get to the cave? Red Hood has been shot. He's stable, but-”

“Refusing medical care?” I was pulling clothes on, grabbing my wallet and keys.

“Yeah. Penny-One said it would be a good opportunity to teach you how to administer stitches.”

“I'll be there as fast as I can. … What kind of 'shot' are we talking about here?”

“Arm wound. He's ok, just needs the stitches. I'm clearing your route to the cave.”

I grinned, stepping into my boots. “You're amazing, Oracle.”

I locked my door and ran down to the parking lot. I clicked a button on the plexiglass license plate cover, secured my helmet, and took off. As promised, I had green lights all through the city. I drove as fast as I felt was safe, or safe enough, and made it to the cave in record time. Red Hood was sitting at the long table, with Arsenal and Nightwing leaning over him.

Batman looked over as I parked and threw myself off my bike, running over to Jason.

“Move.” Roy jumped a bit as I pushed into him, awkwardly stumbling out of the way.

“Jesus, girly, breath. Jay's alright.” He offered me an encouraging smile, but I just waved him off.

“Jason?” I carefully took his hand, examining the wound. His upper arm was a mess of wet red, but he still smiled brightly for me.

“Hey princess~ I'm ok, it was a clean shot. Just grazed me, promise.”

“He lost a lot of blood. Almost passed out on the way back into town.” Dick helpfully piped up; “Roy called me in to get him back to base.”

Jason growled at him; “just need a couple stitches. It’s fine.”

Alfred shooed the boys away, setting a first aid kit on the table. I sighed, kissing Jason's forehead, and stroked his hair gently. “You are an idiot, you know that?”

He chuckled, leaning against my hand. “Yes dear~”

Alfred and I got Jason cleaned up. He gave me a tube of medicated gel to spread around the wound - a local anesthetic. After giving it a few minutes to start working, the Brit walked me through the process to give Jason stitches. He smiled the whole time, mumbling how well I was doing. I flushed, quietly shushing him periodically.

“Let me focus…”

“Sure, sure …” he sighed, watching me work.

When I was finally done, Alfred and I bandaged his arm. I kissed the top of his shoulder, smiling gently, and stroked his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Just fine, baby. You did good.” He gently squeezed my hand.

I chuckled. “I'm glad. Think we can get you up to your room?”

“Let's just go home, baby.” He frowned a bit.

“I want you here overnight, in case any of your stitches pop or unravel or something.”

“They're not gonna-”

“Please, Jay? Just in case?” I frowned, chewing on my lip. He sighed and nodded.

“Ok, doll. Anything you want …” I kissed his forehead and coaxed him to his feet. He let me guide him to the elevator, upstairs, and to his room where he carefully sat on his bed. I helped him out of his shirt and Alfred brought us a couple sets of pajamas.

“Thanks Alfred.” I smiled brightly.

He nodded, smiling a little. “You did very well down there, Miss. Congratulations.”

“Oh … thank you.” I grinned. “I’m just glad he's ok…”

He nodded, “ah, I believe young Master Damian was hoping to see you before bed as well.”

I smiled brightly. “I'll go say hi when Jason's settled. He's just in his room?” Alfred nodded. “Great. Thanks.”

“Sleep well, Miss.” He continued down the hallway, and I turned to give Jason his pj's.

Jay smiled softly, looking up at me. “... I missed you, doll.”

I chuckled, kissing him gently. “Missed you too, Jay~”

He cupped my cheek; “... Go ahead and check on the demon brat. I'll be fine.”

“Ok, thanks baby.” I kissed him again and pulled on my pj's before going to knock on Damian's door.

“Enter.” His voice called out softly. I opened the door, slipping inside. His bedside lamp was on, and he sat up more in his large bed, setting aside his book. “Good evening, sister.”

I smiled softly, sitting on the side of his bed; “good evening, baby brother~” I held a hand out, and he slowly leaned in, letting me push some hair out of his face. “getting ready for bed?”

He nodded, smiling softly as his eyes fluttered shut. “It is a school night …”

“You want me to sing to you?” He nodded again, shifting to lay back.

Damian got comfortable, letting me tuck him in as I sang softly. Once his soft snores filled the room I kissed his forehead, turned the lamp off, and left the room. In the hall I almost ran straight into a tall, looming figure.

“Oh! Sorry, Bruce.”

He stared at me, a sad look in his eyes. “... It's alright. … Damian asked for you?”

I nodded. “Yeah?”

“... That's … nice.”

“... Something wrong?”

“... I sang for him, that time. … He never asked again…”

“Ok?”

“... He still asks for you though.”

“... It's what our relationship has been the whole time. Your relationship is different, that’s allowed. It's good, actually, for him to have different relationships with different people.”

“... I just … I hoped he'd ask again.”

I shrugged. “I understand, but ... You have your things with him, and I have mine. But if you want to spend more time with your children, there's a really easy way to start.”

He sighed. “What's that?”

“Ask.”

Next ->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics Fanart in the header by: @crowkip

Taglist (open):

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm @v1ckycheesue @roastyyytoastyyy @sarakmec @thestarcatcher7297 @stupidlyunhinged @mishkapi @mermaidgirl-11 @bunniboo0015 @bibibusinessman @iimichie

[purpledemonlilyposting]

Oh good the Lorch is sending herself asks about me again.

[Lily's Post]

Oh yeah Lily calling marginalized people a "pick me" for not having the same exact opinions as you doesn't make you look bigoted at all.

Unlike you I don't think children's cartoons are activism. And my pointing at that some people like to try to downplay the lesbian themes in Steven Universe, or at least the way lesbians interact with the themes of the show, actually has nothing to do with the show itself.

Hey Lily did you know I also really don't like the word queer being thrown around, refuse to call myself that because it means strange and also dislike "anti-assimilationist" types?

Speaking of which:

[Lily's Post]

Yeah I say that about the kids telling me queer has been "reclaimed" for me. I would think you'd agree, Lily.

Those are two completely different concepts you dumbass. We can have gay content in mainstream media without it being insulting dreck driven by rainbow capitalism.

Lily is the one who basically wants the Hayes Code back. She wants every show and movie to tell her who is good, who is bad, what to think and for the bad guy to get thrown off a cliff at the end.

Lily just because those are the only two pieces of media YOU know I like doesn't mean that's all I like or have ever seen. Have you seen But I'm a Cheerleader? How about Saving Face?

Hey Lily if you'd actually watch my responses to you:

No I sneer at shows with bad depictions of gay characters when they have bad depictions of gay characters. Especially when they break their own spines patting themselves on the back for it.

Are you trying to get ahead of my VOD you falsely struck going back up on Thursday? You know the one where you said an early 2000's flaming queen stereotype in some shitty Alicia Silverstone vehicle was super good "gay rep" because you had some retarded need to paint a narrative that Canadian cartoons "did it first"?

The whole "she's just mad other shows are outpacing things she likes" lol it isn't a competition, dawg. That's you, Lily. That's how you think.

This is how I know its a self ask.

Yeah that's why in my reaction to James Somerton's somehow EVEN WORSE takes on Utena than yours I kept saying things like "Utena isn't really that hard to understand it just tells it's story in a very abstract way".

Also if you think the Sword of Dios is "the sword of patriarchy" you really didn't get it but much like James here I doubt you ever even watched it, Lily. I look forward to your "In a Nutshell" video where you will read out TVTropes with zero context and get everything wrong.

Lily I hadn't watched the show fully in over 15 years when I made my very first video on you. I wasn't even expecting to talk about Utena you just went on a tirade about it in the middle of your 2023 Steven Universe video.

In fact, the reason I even cut that video in the first place is I was so impressed with my own recall of the show. And then it got 5k hits out of nowhere on my then completely unestablished channel because people just hate your takes that much.

And now making fun of you has paid for my new GPU and CPU. No Man's Sky is running great and I'm ready for Dragon Age Veilguard so cheers!

[nonclassyparty]

sweet and right and merciful (c.s)

summary:

(A STARRING ROLE SPIN-OFF) Choi San deals with the mortifying ordeal of falling in love.

playlist (tba) // my main masterlist // moodboard (tba)//click to donate to Palestine

notes; i bet you thought you'd seen the last of both me and sr!san well you're wrong! tell me if you want to be added to the taglist

snippet;

As he didn't have a disgustingly large amount of generational wealth to back him up nor parents who dabbled in political meddling and occasional blackmail like some of his peers, San always knew that he would have to fight tooth and nail for his spot in the world.

This would seem fairly overdramatic if all he was seeking out of life was a stable job and paid bills, of course: he was, after all, the son of a middle school teacher and a man that had several jobs which he never did right because hey, they never had much so San should've been satisfied with anything. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how one would look at it), Choi San was too ambitious for his own good. Having been born and raised in the small town of Namhae which was nothing more than an old supermarket some (nobody under the age of fifty) considered a shopping mall and a small beach - the moment he left for college, he swore that he'd never be back there again for nothing more but the holidays. And simply leaving Namhae wasn't enough, no, you see San's goal was money, more money than he would ever need. Bitterness could be considered a man's biggest motivator to get something done and spending his childhood and early adolescence watching his mother work day and night to make sure the bills are paid just for no money to be left spare sure did make San bitter. Call him shallow and materialistic but to San, money most definitely could buy some happiness.

And so, with that thought in mind (placed by no-one else but himself) since the tender age of twelve when he first visited Seoul for a football game and saw what exactly he's been missing out on living in Namhae, San poured everything he had into his studies until he landed a scholarship for Seoul National University in the field of Electrical Engineering. He had been strategic in his choice of career. Electrical engineering required just enough work and brains for it to be considered a lucrative degree and used just enough engineering principles to keep him interested in the job.

And San was excellent at his job. He was quick and efficient, precise and absolutely never wrong. Getting hired to work at one of South Korea's most renowned automobile manufacturing companies not long after he got his degree didn't come as a surprise to no-one. He was competent. The problem with competence and climbing the business ladder though was that it was rewarded with increasingly complex projects almost every month.

And so, our opening scene: A Thursday morning, sometime in January. Amidst the white cubicles on the third floor of Zenith Motor Company, Mr. Kim was doling out new projects to his top engineers with a vengeance.

"Jung, this ones for you," He smacks Jaehyun over the head with the folder before dropping it unceremoniously on his desk, "And try not to get doughnut smudges all over this one."

"Byun, you're continuing the testing from last month." Jaebum nods his head, eyes barely moving from the computer screen in front of him. Mr. Kim continues with an eye roll, "Lim, new model that needs surveillance."

He continues down the room throwing down casefiles as he goes until he stops by San's desk with a smile, "Choi, since you did so well on the Genesis project I'll let you choose." 

"What are my options?" San asks, leaning back in his chair as two files are thrown onto his desk.

Mr. Kim looks down onto his clipboard. "Mr. Jinyoung needs help with the 3D design for-"

Mr. Jinyoung is one of San's bosses.

"-the new model that we're ready to turn in for production. You could send him an e-mail but I wouldn't, he's a bit...difficult to be around these days."

Mr. Jinyoung is also the husband of one Son Danbi, the thirty-four year old woman that San got...very familiar with for a groundbreaking six times at his apartment before he learned that Danbi is a bit too clingy and his job actually might be at stake if she keeps calling the office asking for San instead of her husband. Three times in a row.

She didn't handle San deciding it's best to stop seeing each other very well.

Getting fired for sleeping with his boss' wife and probably getting his nose broken (for the second time over a woman) when his boss' wife inevitably has a meltdown and exposes how San fucked her into his mattress six times once San refuses to meet up with her out of newfound respect for the man she's married to (read: he's scared that he'll get sacked) or literally anything else. The choice was quite obvious.

"I'll take the second option." San quips with ease as he flips over the folder.

"Research and development for a new model! I was hoping you'd pick that one and am not disappointed, you never back down from a challenge." Mr. Kim comments with a grin that San returns because he's been kissing his ass too long to stop now. "You're working with another engineer from the second floor."

San nods and, as Mr. Kim keeps going down to the next cubicle, his eyes sweep over the file and stop at the bottom of the page where one out of two people tasked has already signed their name. In neat handwriting;

Y/L Y/N

He bites back a groan, eyes falling shut and he can hear the Head of the office keep rattling off assignments somewhere in the background.

Nothing registers because suddenly, San remembers honey skin, judging eyes and a sharp tongue and wonders if getting his nose broken a second time right before getting fired by Mr. Jinyoung and losing his entire career would've been the wiser option.

[ciaomarie]

Waiting on my AO3 invite. Here's a one shot Sydcarmy story. Canon compliant. Post season 2. Please excuse the grammar/spelling mistakes. I need season 3 to get here quickly!

Title: Won't You Be My Neighbor

It was her break and for the 89th time in the last three days Sydney reassessed the apartments within 15 minutes walking distance from The Bear. As CDC she no longer wanted to depend on the train should there be some kind of accident, strike, or weather event. There were three that she could afford on her own and many more options if she were willing to become a roommate. She wasn't. If inspiration for a recipe struck her at 2am she wanted to get up and cook if she wanted. She loved the freedom of walking around naked after a shower, picking out her clothes or getting a snack. Most of all she missed turning up her music and dancing like an inflatable tube man in private.

She had sent a message to each leasing office to schedule an appointment next Monday and two of the three had confirmed a 10a and 11a showing. It had been more than 48 hours since she messaged the third so she called. The leasing agent informed her that the specific unit she wanted was no longer available, but they had a gorgeous 2 bedroom for $3800 a month if she was interested. "Okay, now that's just two options" Sydney muttered after getting off the phone.

"Hey mija, what you looking at?" Tina asked sitting down to eat lunch.

"Just apartments. I finally have the funds to move" Sydney answered with a sigh.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy to be getting out on your own?"

"Oh, yeah for sure. It's just I'm really picky"

"Well, it doesn't have to be forever. Just make sure to read the reviews. You don't want roaches or bed bugs".

"Oh, I can't stand bugs! My dad still has to kill them for me, but I better get a fly swatter and spray now that I'll be on my own soon."

Break was over and Sydney stood up to resume her duties. First she needed to talk to Natalie about the upcoming private party. A celebrity had reserved the entire restaurant next Thursday evening. The names of all staff members on duty that night had to be submitted ahead of time with signed NDAs. It was all happening so fast and The Bear's debt was likely to be paid less than a year after opening. First there had been a Grio article about her being a rising black chef. That led to Keith Lee, the TikTok restaurant reviewer, raving about his to-go order that included the T-Bone and the Michael cannoli. It went viral and suddenly, they were booked for the next three months with a waiting list. She was working harder than ever, getting paid pretty well, and she deserved a place of her own.

After talking to Natalie, she found Carmy working on her prep.

"Hey, thanks! I can take over that now if you want"

"Actually….it's done. I wanted to take you somewhere for like 30 minutes" he said finishing up and cleaning the station.

Sydney folded her arms, her eyebrows raised high.

"Okay, where are we going?"

"I know you've been looking for a place and I think know the perfect apartment for you. Just a 10 minute walk from here. The landlord gave me the key so I could show you today" Carmy said trying to sound casual, but a deep pink flush rose in his cheeks.

"Why is he being weird?" Sydney thought but simply said "Okay, that's dope."

The Chicago air was soft and warm, the clean sunlight making everything look new. Summer afternoons like this made you forgive the brutal winters here. Carmy directed Sydney when to turn left and right, but refused to tell her where exactly they were going. Soon they were standing in front of his building.

The reason for his weirdness was now perfectly clear to Sydney and she felt so flattered that she had to avoid looking at Carmy when she said "So, there's an open unit in your building?"

"Uh, yeah. The people who lived just above me moved and I, uh, thought you might want to see it".

The apartment was on the fourth floor. Carmy unlocked the door and let Sydney go in first. The walls were freshly painted in "Cloud White" and the oak hardwood floors creaked comfortably under their feet. The layout was the same as Carmy's apartment with plenty of windows to let in natural light and a shockingly large kitchen for a 1 bedroom place in Chicago. As Sydney inspected the appliances and bathroom, she decided that if the rent was going to eat up even half of her check it was worth it. She had always admired Carmy's spacious apartment and with her sense of style she could make hers, a cozy bohemian oasis filled with plants, wall art, and actual furniture (eventually).

Carmy had let her roam around in silence for a few minutes, muttering and emitting tiny sounds of joy to herself. When she met him in the living room again, he said trying not to grin too widely, "If you like it, it's already yours."

"How? I know places like this are snatched up fast" Sydney said her eyes finally able to meet his again.

"The landlords, they're a couple, and their 20th wedding anniversary is coming up. They want reservations at The Bear." Carmy explained, desperately hoping to sound nonchalant about it.

"Oh, that's nice work, Carmy."

Then Sydney squealed and cried "This is just what I wanted!!" and she flung her arms around his shoulders in a wild hug. Carmy commanded his body not to shudder as he hugged her back. She was just wearing a t-shirt and without her usual layers of clothing he felt her delicate frame, her slim shoulder blades imprinting on his fingers.

In a moment Sydney pulled back shly and let her arms fall to her sides, her face burning. She made a mental note: Hugging Carmy. Not a safe activity for those who want to cook along side him using sharp objects or sleep peacefully at night dreaming innocent thoughts.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!" Sydney said taking another step back and making another turn around the room.

Carmy nodded and concentrated on not melting into the floorboards.

"You're okay with this? We already spend 60+ hours together at the restaurant every week and now I'd be in your building! And literally living on top of you."

"Yeah, well, I want you to. You deserve everything you want, Syd."

"Then I'll take it! Just a warning though. If you hear someone belting out Kpop and an occasional thud, that's just my weekly one woman concert, which will be over no later than 10pm. I'm not being murdered."

Carm was no longer unable to contain the width of his smile. This girl is so cute, his body physically ached. How would he get through service tonight?

With a happy shake of his head, he replied, "Thank you, for the heads up!"

With that Sydney marched towards the door and exclaimed "Take me to your landlord!"

Carmy floated behind her.

Cue: Maxwell's "Whenever, Wherever, Whatever"

[obislittleone]

Don’t Blame Me

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: i am so tired and everyone hates me but hey at least i still have dbf joel

Warnings: girl this whole concept should be a warning but anyways… age gap, some fluff, some smut, probably some editing mistakes bc ya girl is tired ok its 2am… again

This one is awkward ngl

Decided on the song ‘Don’t blame me’ by taylor swift bc I’m a swiftie and what else was i supposed to put?

MASTERLIST

reader is like 21/22, joel is 37

“Here, you grab that end,” you gave his shoulder a light shove, nodding towards the end of the beam as you sunk down by the other. “You shouldn’t overdo it, you might feel sick again.”

“M’ stronger than I look,” he mumbled, and you scoffed.

“Trust me, I know…” you ignored his waves of dismissal, and began lifting from one side. “But you need to take it easy. Save your energy.”

The temp job was easy, mostly because Joel did most of the heavy lifting. It had been all fun and games for the first week, standing by him and watching him work, handing him the specific tools when he asked. Seemed like a dream job in most aspects, getting to sit and look pretty while the man you’re sneaking around with gets all hot and sweaty, his arms a bulging mass of muscle under the short sleeves of his dark t-shirt. 

He would often smirk when he sensed you were taking him in, admiring the view from where the toolbox was sitting. He would tease you relentlessly for it, of course, as is his way… but it didn’t stop your glances and forbidden stares. 

A whole week it had been this way, and you were more than happy to keep the flow of things going, but unfortunately on Sunday night, Joel got sick. 

It was just a fever, nothing he couldn’t sleep off in a few days. He’d called you on Monday morning before he even called anyone else at the site. They all wished him well and sent their little ‘get better soon’ messages thereafter, while you offered to drop by later with some ‘sick day’ supplies. He told you he didn’t want you catching whatever he had, and you understood that if you were sick, too, the odds of seeing each other would get lower. 

Week number two, the first several days of which were spent without Joel, and doing far too much heavy lifting of your own. There was another woman working with you all, and they supposed that two of you could make up for one Joel. You didn’t even realize how truly strong he was until you had to carry the weight he normally did. Even with another person, it was tiring and straining, and downright gruesome on your muscles. You’d been sore every night you went home. 

As soon as Joel came back, you’d have to remember to help him out a bit more, because there’s no way he enjoys not being assisted. He always insists you don’t have to, but you’ve learned how hard it is, so you want to. 

Thursday, Joel’s first day back at work, not feeling completely himself, but better enough to come into work and make some progress. 

You paid mind when he bent down to lift a heavy beam that should have taken two men to carry. 

“Here, you grab that end,” you gave his shoulder a light shove, nodding towards the end of the beam as you sunk down by the other. “You shouldn’t overdo it, you might feel sick again.”

“M’ stronger than I look,” he mumbled, and you scoffed.

“Trust me, I know…” you ignored his waves of dismissal, and began lifting from one side. “But you need to take it easy. Save your energy.”

He gave you a look, narrow eyes and furrowed brows, “Save it for what?”

You shrugged, beginning to walk backwards once he had his part lifted high enough to move the beam. You looked over your shoulder a few times to make sure you weren’t gonna crash into anything. 

“Just don’t want you to keep gettin’ sick. Been missin’ you,” you admitted, waiting for his reaction. He’d been feeling the same way, you knew. He’d sent you texts after you got home from work everyday to tell you so. 

“Missed you too, baby,” he set down his end once you both reached the correct spot on the interior, kicking it into place by the rest of the framework. 

You smiled sweetly at him, continuing the work as if nothing happened. As if your heart didn’t skip a beat from hearing those words in person, in his voice, dripping with the Texan drawl you were so fond of. It was comforting, it was familiar, and it gave you a sense of security. 

-

By the time Monday rolled around again, the framework had been completed and the electrical and plumbing started to take place. This was less of Joel’s and your dad’s specialty, but they still always showed up to oversee everything being done on time and to the company’s standards. 

This, of course, meant that you were nearly obsolete, and didn’t need to show up for the next few days. Now that you were the one being barred from doing any work, you had to come up with other excuses to drop by Joel’s after he came home from work. 

‘You left your jacket on our couch, and I wanted you to have it back before it gets cold out.’ 

Or 

‘My dad made a really good four cheese lasagna, I brought you some to try.’

It was always so much harder to figure out a time or place to meet up, since he and your dad worked together, and Sarah was almost always at the house after school. 

He knew you were going stir crazy, and even though he’d been tired and worn, he knew he had to see you… alone.

You were in the kitchen rinsing out your cereal bowl when your phone buzzed on the counter top. 

Sarah’s going over with a friend to spend the night, I’m on my way home right now.

Is that an invitation?

Damn right it is.

You smiled wide, not even bothering to do anything else with the bowl in your hand. You dropped it in the sink and went galavanting about your house and up to your room. Your dad would probably be getting home about the same time as Joel, maybe a bit later, but you figured you should wait to see him before you leave for the night. You’d feel even more guilty if you just shot him a text and left for his best friend’s place, right next door for the night. 

You got wrapped up in a sweatshirt and some jogging shorts, grabbing your backpack and phone charger, swinging around the doorway and back down the stairs. 

As luck would have it, the sound of keys in the door caught you just as you reached the bottom. You dad pushed through the door, his yawn of exhaustion clearly evident. He hooked the keys on the wall hanger beside him, then turned to see you, pulling the straps of your bag up your arms. 

“Hey there, lovebug,” he smiled, taking a few steps up to hug you around the neck and peck the top of your head. “Where are you off to?” 

You thought for only a split second before forming a story. 

“Nowhere in particular… just got invited by some friends to drive around and get some fast food.” 

Very convincing, and he laughed, shaking his head. 

“Kids these days, I’ll tell ya… back n’ my day we used to go to movies or walk around a mall. Used to do actual activities n’ things.” 

You rolled your eyes, letting him rant on about the ‘strange ways’ of your generation.

“Well, we aren’t kids, but we are easily entertained. I’ll see you later, though.”

You gave him a pat on his shoulder and a quick kiss to his cheek before heading out the door. Right before it shut, you could hear your dad fumbling around in the kitchen. He would probably be distracted for a while. 

Your face turned giddy as soon as you looked over to see Joel’s truck had been parked. You tried to look as nonchalant as possible, walking plainly over to the house next door, just in case there were any neighbors looking through an open window. You had no qualms about being near or with Joel, but you did have a problem with outside people making it their topic of conversation in the neighborhood gossip chain.

You got up to the door, and knocked, the door opening within maybe five seconds or less. The response time was near immediate, and you wondered if he’d been sitting in his chair near the door. 

“Hi there, I’m here to tell you about our lord and savior Jesus Christ,” you said seriously when he leaned into the doorframe, only breaking your facade when he stood there, unamused. You let out a giggle and at the noise he dropped his hard exterior.

He rolled his eyes and nodded inside before stepping back enough to allow you entrance.

“How was work?” You asked, dropping your backpack on the chair and waiting for him to close the door. 

“S’ alright. Mostly just a long and boring day with nothing pretty to see.”

“I’m sure my absence had nothing to do with that,” you remarked sarcastically, letting him take the last few steps to meet you. He looked so tired, and yet, completely awake just at the sight of you. 

“No, nothing at all.”

He took you into his arms and leaned down by your ear, whispering the last part of his words to you. It had been several days since you could stand like this, out of sight of others, their prying eyes all but away to witness the way he held you and squeezed you tightly. 

He smelled of sweat and concrete powder, which, though wasn’t a horribly unpleasant smell, you felt it couldn’t be comfortable to have it all over one's body. 

“Why don’t you head up to the shower and I’ll order a pizza?” You suggested, pulling back to see his worn out face, feeling the deep inhale of his breath by his chest. He let it out with a hunch of his shoulders as he replied. 

“I got food here, I can cook up sum’ quick-”

“Joel you’re exhausted, and besides… I got dominoes rewards,” you joked, pressing up to kiss the tip of his nose. There was no room for protest after that, and he nodded in agreement before pulling away to head upstairs. 

He had half a mind to ask you to join him, but having not crossed that line before, he didn’t really know what was on and what was off of the table. He shook the thought from his mind, going into his bathroom and starting the water. 

The domesticity was intoxicating. Hugging you after he got home from a long work day, of which he missed seeing your face. Seeing your smile and hearing your laugh and all the little gestures you make that you don’t even realize you’re doing. Sending him upstairs to get cleaned up only so he can come back down to you and eat pizza on the couch together. He hated how much he loved it, relaxed into it, even.

It’s almost too good to be true… and maybe it is. Because while you fit him perfectly, and while you both can pick up without missing a beat, you’re still the kid next door. His best friend’s daughter, and someone he should absolutely not be doing anything stupid with. That’s exactly what this was, wasn’t it? Stupidity. There’s no way this relationship ends well. Whether your dad comes around, or Sarah does, or the entire town for that matter. Whether or not his reputation is ruined, or yours. Nothing good can come from sneaking around, the quiet embraces or the late night stolen kisses. But you can’t stop, and neither can he.

He gets into the shower with a clear mind. Whatever happens, I have her for right now. 

-

You paid for the pizza and carried it inside, kicking the door shut as you balanced it along with the sides and sauces all in your arms. Joel had gotten out of his shower a few minutes ago, and was probably getting dried off and changed, so it was perfect timing that you had everything set out on the countertop when he came trotting down the stairs. 

“Hey, I got you some wings,” you told him, pointing to the box labeled ‘hot buffalo’ across from where you sat on the barstool. You’d been dipping a breadstick in marinara when he walked around you, kissing the side of your head before sitting down beside you. 

“Thank you,” he spoke gratefully, his hands already reaching for the box, moving the pizza to the side for a moment. You knew what he liked, a testament of the time you’d known him for. “So what’ve you been up to? Now that you’ve had a break from work?” 

“I wouldn’t call what I do actual work,” you snorted, but paused and tilted your head, recalling the day’s events. “I cleaned up ‘round the house, went to get some groceries for my dad, came home n’ watched some tv n’ had half a bowl of cereal.”

“Sounds eventful,” he mocked, and you gave him a nudge with your elbow. He chuckled, taking a bite of a chicken wing. 

“Haven’t really had anything else to do,” you shrugged, grabbing a pizza slice and dragging it out of the box, carefully pulling the cheese so it didn’t flop all over the counter top. “Not that I’m complainin’, though. Rather have time on my hands than be too busy.”

He understood that. It seemed like all he ever did was work nowadays. It was the same cycle, over and again. Wake up at six in the morning, eat breakfast with Sarah, drop her off at school, and get back to the grind. Framing, insulating, installing, furnishing, repeat. All day, every day. Come home late to dinner with Sarah and sometimes watch a movie before bed. It’s all he ever does, and though it’s consistent, and it’s familiar, he aches for the additional warmth you bring. It’s why he called you over that first night in the bar. He hadn’t expected to see you back, and moreover, he didn’t expect you to seem so grown up. 

He swears up and down that if you hadn’t been there that night, practically taunting him during that line dance, that this would have never happened. You both would have gone on to live alongside one another, but separately, just as you always have. 

The conversation continued, slowly, with no pressure of any answer from either side. It was easy, natural. Joel didn’t like talking when he didn’t have to, and although it was different around you, he still kept his words to a few. 

Once the pizza was eaten, the trash was discarded, and you’d move to the sink to get some of the grease off your hands. 

“Y’know, we’re gonna be startin’ on interior installations soon, you might be able to come back and work on some stuff with me, if you still want to.”

You were excited at the thought of his words. Getting to watch Joel Miller lift heavy things like countertops and cabinets? And all the while, getting to watch from a now insulated house? That was even better. 

“Well, I’ll obviously have to check my schedule. You know how busy I can be,” you joked, drying your hands on a paper towel from beside the sink. You turned around to throw it away but got caught between Joel and the counter, his arms coming down on either side. 

“You tease me far too much, y’know that?” He lowered his head to meet your eyeline and you took a sharp intake of breath. 

“Only because it’s far too much fun.”

He shook his head, getting close enough to close the gap and kiss you. First just short and sweet, then after a second glance, faster, and more motivated. Your hands found a place on his cheeks right away, holding him close to you while he kissed you deeper, his tongue finding its way between your lips. His hands went from beside you to under your thighs, picking you up as if you weighed nothing, and setting you down onto the edge of the counter by the sink. With your legs open, you pulled him into your body, not even realizing how roughly you’d done so. 

“Damn baby, you’re gettin’ real strong,” he chuckled, burying his face into your neck to kiss and suck marks there. Consequences and aftermath be damned, he wouldn’t stop.

“Must be from all the heavy liftin’ last week… pickin’ up your slack.”

He bit down harsher into your skin, and you moaned out a noise akin to pain and pleasure. 

“Keep talkin’ baby, I’ll show you real slack.” 

“Only gonna make me stronger,” you whispered against the side of his head, a smirk resting on your face, even in the position you were sitting. He had all the power, but you still had your little quips.

His hands at the bottom of your sweatshirt were hesitant. He talked confidently, without pause or conviction, but the truth of the matter would always remain that he was going to be hesitant with you. You’re the forbidden fruit, the thing he wasn’t supposed to touch, and yet… here he stands, his hands under your hoodie and lips thoroughly attached to the crook of your neck and shoulder. 

“Fuck it,” he let out, dragging the hem of your clothing upwards until you raised your arms for it to come off. Where it landed, you’d have no idea. You just know that in this moment, with his hands on your bare skin, you couldn’t care less if you ever saw it again. 

You’d not really paid mind to what you wore underneath it, an old red and gray tie-dye sports bra now the only thing to adorn the top of your body. He didn’t care in the slightest, far too happy to even see you in that.

He quickly moved you from the counter into his arms, journeying through the kitchen and again to the living room, just like last time… except instead of sitting down, letting you remain on his lap, he laid you back into the cushioned area, crawling over you to hover back where he had been before. 

You didn’t think it was fair to let him take off clothing while remaining fully clothed. 

“My turn,” you pushed him back, ripping at his t-shirt to try and rid him of it. It was a fresh shirt, probably just came out of the dryer last night, but you tossed it to the ground without a second thought. 

You don’t recall seeing Joel shirtless. You remember that one time at the water park after graduation, when he wore a pair of trucks, and a sun shirt. Whether it was because he was afraid of getting sunburned, or because he was self conscious, you would never know. From what you could see, you couldn’t possibly imagine it being the latter. He wasn’t ripped, or even overly toned for that matter. He had a sculpted softness about him that was completely beautiful. He doesn’t work out, but he definitely works. His arms are full and muscular from the heavy lifting, and his shoulders are naturally broad, defined by the bulk he’s put on over the years. 

You don’t know if you’ve ever seen a body like his. The boys that have pursued you at college have always been either overly scrawny, or beef cakes. They want to be the hottest thing around. Want to be desired by every girl that walks past them, just so they can feed their ego and feel better about themselves ten years from now. Joel isn’t like that. He’s got a cocky attitude about himself, but it’s more in his teasing and snarky demeanor towards you than anything else. He’s sarcastic, and cynical, but he’s not doing it for show. 

He’s old enough to realize he doesn’t have to impress anyone, because the right person will want him regardless, and you do.

You want him because he’s Joel Miller, not some body builder, or football player, or gym rat that stalks the hallways of your dorms. 

You want him for his strong arms, tan lines right where his shirts normally end. You want him for his wide shoulders, even with the little scratches from bumping into wooden framing all day. You want him for the patchy beard on his face, knowing he only keeps it because he’s far too busy, and nearly always too tired to keep up with the clean shaven look. You want him for his dark curls, graying more every day and turning the color silver when he stands in the sun. You want him for his big hands, with the calluses and rough palms, but with the softest and most gentle fingertips you’ve ever felt on your face. You want him for the softness of his stomach, though seen as a flaw by most of society, you’d much prefer it to the discomfort of a stomach toned with abs. You want him for every bit of himself. You want him because he’s perfect.

He stripped your shorts and underwear from you at once, and it amazed you how adeptly he did it. He’s been doing this for years, he knows what he’s doing, stupid.

“You alright?” He looked back at you, his eyes glazed over completely. The darkness that was there was the same lustfull darkness you’d seen before, and you anticipated what may come from it. 

“Yeah,” you smiled, watching him sink backwards and down your body. He parted your legs in a swift motion, unwilling to slow himself down on account of being so close to what he wants. “You don’t have to-”

“Shh, baby,” he pulled your hips upward and towards his face, admiring the slickness already resting between your legs before he lowered his mouth to taste it. It was so addicting, the smell of you, and he knew the second his tongue ran a long stripe up and down, he would be craving you constantly. Always on the verge of wanting you from now on. 

The noises you made, lordy, he didn’t know someone could sound like that. The very fact that you were unashamed to hide it from him, too. He loves it, how vocal you are, and how much you want him to know how he makes you feel. 

He held one finger to your entrance, coating it in your slick before plunging it deep inside of you, the curl of his knuckle making you writhe under him. He added another finger to see if you could take it. You were so tight already, and he knew that if you weren’t stretched out enough he would hurt you. 

Two fingers wasn’t necessarily painful, but it caused a bit of discomfort at first. You didn’t expect that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, but you tried to relax anyway. You wanted him so badly, wanted him entirely, and didn’t want this to put a damper on anything. 

“That’s it, sweet girl. Just like that,” he praised, trying to help you open up more with the added pressure of his thumb on your clit. The gentle circles helped you to feel less of a stretch, and the pleasure was building. You wove your hands into his hair, trying to feel a tether of reality somewhere. He kept on, and went faster, and you felt yourself at a breaking point. 

With his name on your lips, you broke apart, releasing all the tension left in your body to allow that euphoric rush to consume you. It caused your body to tremble under his, but you paid no mind to it. Once he retrieved his fingers from you, he held them up to his mouth, licking the sweetness from them that you so generously bestowed upon him. 

You tried to sit up, to reach for his belt buckle, but he stopped you. 

“Not tonight, baby,” he grabbed your hands and kissed them, the slightest bit of residue remaining on his lips. 

“But I want to.”

“I know you do,” he smiled, brushing your hair aside to kiss you now, instead. “I just don’t wanna hurt you. Let’s work towards it, okay?” 

You nodded, a bit embarrassed that you weren’t quite experienced enough to continue yet. Not to say you were inexperienced, but you definitely weren’t ready to take him yet, and he knew that for sure. The last thing he’d want to do is go too far and make it unpleasant for you. 

He’s a good man, with good intentions. Even if this relationship - whatever you want to call it - is forbidden, he’s still trying to do right by you. It’s unspoken, but you’re his girl now, and he would never hurt his girl.

.

tags: @justanothersadperson93 @moonchild-warrior @hopplessilse @brittmd115 @michilandcof @untamedheart81 @just-someone-broken @joelalorian @xybil @yvonneeeee @anoverwhelmingdin @theatrelove3000

[midwestgal66]

far from any road (Rust Cohle x F!Reader)

(reader is 21 and rust is 35, takes place season 1)

song rec: train song by vashti bunyan :)

word count: 3.1k

*ding ding*

The sound came from the market door opening. You were sitting in your usual spot, on the stool behind the counter you came to know after the past few months working there. It smelled like rustic wood, cigarettes, and leather all around. 

You looked up from the crossword puzzle you had been working on since your usual morning shift started, 7am. Walking in with his eyes straight ahead, already looking done with his day at 9 in the morning, was your favorite customer: Detective Rust Cohle.

You sat up straight and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Goodmornin', Mr. Cohle," you say in a casual voice. 

His eyes shift over to you, eye bags present. "Hey. How's it goin'?" He responds, his body slightly turned toward you, not waiting for a response before approaching and looking at the cigarette options stocked behind you. 

"Goin' alright. What's it gonna be today, Camels again?" you say with a slight tinge of humor in your voice, trying to uplift his mood. All you wanted to do was to take his mind off of whatever was going on for him that day, the market being a place where you could offer him someone to talk to and feel comfortable around. You knew Rust was pretty closed off, but you were determined to win him over a little.

"Yeah, you know me," he says, eyes meeting yours, picking up on your friendliness. You could've sworn his eyes turned a shade lighter at recognizing how you'd paid attention to his usual purchases. 

"Comin' right up." You get up and turn around, jean shorts and tank top offering him a nice view of your tanned backside as you reach up to grab them off the shelf. You turn back around place them on the counter in front of you, standing before him. 

"Will that be all for today? Can I get you anything else? Cold beer?" you say, just wanting to hear his voice so he can stay a little bit longer. 

"Uh..." 

As you reach down into the cooler where you keep a few beers for yourself by your feet, you hand him one. "It's on the house," you say with a smile as it lands on the counter with a clunk. 

"Well. Thank you, I appreciate that." 

"Of course," you say with a sweet smile. "I know what you do for this town Mr. Cohle..." you look down. "It doesn't go unnoticed. Least not by me," you say, trying to engage him further. You look up at him and find his blue eyes boring into the counter below you.

"Yeah, well, pretty sure whoever's behind all this isn't noticing much. But thanks anyways," he answers, eyes flitting back up to meet your rosy cheeked face. Maybe you imagined it, but you could've sworn the blues of his eyes flicked down to your lips for a moment.

"I'm here if you need anyone to talk to, y'know. Just swing by. I'm here five days a week," you say, tilting your head, hands on the counter, offering him your best comforting smile.

He reaches for the cigarettes and the beer before saying, "Alright then sweetheart, I'll see you around. Stay safe." He turns and heads out.

"I will," you call out after him. "See you around, I hope," you say to yourself with a wide grin once he's out the door, proud of your little interaction with him. Did he just call me sweetheart...? You thought as you felt butterflies in your gut. Rust, the man you are.

..............................................................................................................................

The week went by quickly, and to your disappointment, Rust didn't exactly show up at the store. But as you thought about it further, and instead of taking it personally, you realized he was probably just swamped with work.

As your shift ended on a Thursday afternoon at 2:00pm, you gathered your purse and headed home on your bike. The warm, dry breeze flowed through your hair as you rode along the dirt road to your humble abode.

You lived with your roommate, Cassie. She wasn't home, and you knew she wouldn't be until late at night. You went to make yourself some iced lemon water and brought your little radio out to the back porch to listen to some music as you sat back and thought about Rust.

His hands grabbing the cigarette pack, the way his veins showed on his hand when he strained his arm to open the door when he left. His tanned skin, disheveled hair, tired eyes, and all you thought was: I could fix him. You giggled to yourself at that last thought. Rust didn't need fixing, he just needed someone who understood his complicated character and unpopular opinions. Or someone to hold him at night, you thought. That's when your thoughts traveled further...

Your hand caressing his cheek, a soft moonlit glow illuminating both your features in the early hours of the morning. Your fingers gripping his back muscles, his hot breath in your ear, the sweat trickling down his forehead as he collapses on you...

Okay. Calm down, you told yourself. You've had a couple interactions and you're fantasizing about him already.

After attempting to read a book and painting your toenails red, you needed to get out of the house again. It was around 5:00pm, and the temperature and lighting was begging you to take a walk outside.

You put on your ratty cowboy boots, color fading, and slipped on a simple linen white dress with straps. You liked the way the fabric came down and fluttered against your mid-thighs in the wind. You grabbed a brown bag to put your wallet in case you bought something and headed out, locking the door.

With nothing really on your mind, other than the smoking detective that for some reason you craved like nothing else, you head out by the side of the old road, fields on your left and right that went on forever.

After what seemed like 20 minutes, you came up to an old gas station you knew well. You went inside, nodding politely at the man working there whose eyes were already boring into your ass. You quickly went to the refrigerated drinks aisle and got your favorite: a peach Snapple iced tea. You walked up to the register and greeted him politely, trying your best to ignore his crooked smile and creepy comments.

"Thank you, have a nice day," you said as you grabbed your change and drink and turned toward the door.

"Anytime, sweetheart," he said with a grin that made you uncomfortable. The way he said it was nowhere near how Rust did. You just wished he was here.

You walked outside into the barren landscape toward the bench on the side of the building. You sat down and opened the drink, slurping down the sweet liquid. You reached into your purse and pulled out some vanilla lip balm, and that's when you saw it.

Coming down the road, a 1997 Ford F250HD XL pickup, red paint glistening in the evening sun rays. Rust's car.

You put away the lip balm in your purse and shuffled to smooth down your hair. Sipping your tea, your eyes glanced over at his truck approaching the station, watching his dark silhouette get out of the car in his work uniform, hair once again disheveled, eyes, once again looking exhausted. But your stomach ached for him. As he filled up the car, you wondered if he would notice you. Would it seem too desperate if you got up and went up to him?

Your leg bounced in indecisiveness. But before you could make a decision, the greasy man working at the register walked outside, side glancing Rust. Rust looked back, giving him a dirty look, almost like he could already tell what kind of man he was without even talking to him. You sat back in the bench, trying to look the other way and focus on your nails rather than looking his way.

"Hey there honey," the man's voice came out in a drawl. "You look pretty lonely out here by yourself... why don't ya come inside? We could have a good time together..." he said.

Heart now beating faster, you replied, "Um, I'm alright out here, but thank you." You immediately felt uneasy.

"C'mon now, don't be like that... It's real lonely in there," he said in return as his dirty, eager hand reached down to touch your hair. You jerked back and stood up off the bench, wide eyed and not sure how to tell him 'no' in a way he could comprehend.

But before you could formulate any sort of incoherent mumble, a tall figure appeared behind the stocky man. Your slightly scared eyes moved up to meet those unmistakable blue eyes.

"Everything ok over here?" said Rust. The man turned around and looked him up and down, recognizing the detective's uniform, grumbling out, "Yeah, everything's fine here. Why, is there a problem or somethin'? I ain't done anything wrong," he answered, a bit of sass in his voice.

You slowly took a step back but the grump noticed and whipped his head back around. "Now where do you think you're goin' doll?"

You opened your mouth to answer but Rust's response came first. "I think she's specified she does not want to talk to you anymore. How about you just head on back inside? Register's gettin' cold."

The man gaped at him and physically huffed before walking back inside. Rust eyes moved to you, seeing you looking a mix of concerned and relieved at his presence. You looked back up at him with a grateful expression.

"Hey, thanks for that. Sorry about him," you said with a sarcastic chuckle, your voice still slightly shaken as your eyes flitted down to the dirt you were playing with on the toe of your boot.

Rust could tell you were nervous to be talking to him, but he didn't understand why when it was just him. "Don't be sorry," he said with that deep southern accent you loved so much. "He needed to be told off. Not your fault."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at his words and looked back up at his face. His tanned skin looked too good bathed in sunlight.

"Well, thanks again. I should get home now anyway. Getting late," you said, fiddling with the ends of your white dress.

"You need a ride?" he asked.

Once again, you felt butterflies in your stomach at the thought of being in the passenger's seat with him driving, strong hands gripping the wheel as you fought the urge to grab his face and kiss him.

"Uh... I-I mean, it's not too far a walk from here," was all you could stutter out.

The corner of Rust's mouth twitched up for half a second, amused at your shyness. "C'mon, let me drive you home. It's no trouble."

"Alright. That would be great. Thank you, Mr. Cohle." You started walking forward and the two of you headed to his truck.

His frozen heart seemed to warm at your soft spoken voice, your politeness. So many nights he lay awake thinking of the horrors he encounters on the force, what a horrible man he must be for the things he has to do. He always thought of himself as too powerful, a cop, who could do terrible things to people, with immunity. But your presence brought him back down to earth. He wasn't sure why, but all of a sudden, he felt an urge to protect you from all the gas-station men of the world. From the evil that he knew lurked in the marshlands of Southern Louisiana. You didn't deserve to be exposed to the same things he did.

He wordlessly went and opened the passenger's side door for you. You caught his eye and smiled the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. His face remained hard as stone, but his eyes smiled for him. He shut the door and walked around to his side.

Wow. I'm in his car right now. He's driving me home. Is this real? You thought. You brought your knees together and put your hands in your lap, turning your head to look out the window as Rust drove away from the station you likely weren't coming back to.

After a few moments of silence, you asked, "Mind if I open the window?"

He glanced over at your soft skin, your long hair. "No, go ahead," he said.

You opened the window and felt the warm air hit your face, sticking your hand out to wave it around in the wind like you'd done since you were a kid.

"Y'know if you lay your hand flat against the wind and then slowly tilt it up, you feel how a plane takes off? Like, your hand is the plane, and it's lifting off 'cause the wind is pushing it up," you say with a soft giggle at the end at your childish comment.

Once again Rust felt that feeling of protectiveness. You were too sweet to let any harm get to you. For the first time in a long time, he smiled. At your words. "Yeah, I'd assume that's what the plane would feel at that time," his smile not yet fading.

You giggled again quietly before tilting your head toward him with a smile, hand still waving around outside. "C'mon, try it."

"You want me to try?" He said, still smiling softly at your innocence, eyes glancing between your face and the road.

"Yeah, c'mon Rust."

He rolled down his window and stuck his hand out. He waved it around, flat and then up, echoing your movements. "Yeah, I'm definitely feeling pretty aerodynamic right now." You laughed softly in response.

Both of your hands waving around in the wind, you felt better than you had in a while. Finally sitting with this gorgeous man next you, you felt like you'd manifested this moment.

You put your hand back inside and he brought his back over to the wheel, resting his right hand on the gear stick between the two of you. You tilted your body toward him, eyes raking over his form as he looked out at the road in front of you.

All of a sudden, in a rush of boldness, you reached your left hand over to his, your fingertips grazing over his rough hand on the gear stick. he flinched slightly at your movement, not used to the physical touch. But one look from his eyes at your delicate form, doe eyes looking back up at him sweetly, he didn't move his hand. He actually enjoyed the touch. Wanted more of it.

You continued to trace patterns up his hand, tracing the path of his veins. When you felt like he wouldn't resist, you gently picked up his strong, heavy hand and placed it on your left thigh, just above your knee. His hand hovered slightly in hesitation before relaxing it on your warm, smooth skin.

He looked over at you again to see you smiling up at him, reassuring him that it was okay, that you wanted his hand there. His grip tightened ever so slightly.

Then, he spoke words you never expected to come out of his reserved mouth. "I like that dress you're wearin'. You look... good."

You felt the heat rising up to your throat and cheeks again. "Thanks, Rust. I'm glad you like it." Then, feeling another surge of confidence, you said, "Might just have to wear it more often, just for you." You met his eyes and he smirked in response, looking down at his hand on your thigh.

"I wouldn't mind that at all." His hand then began to gently move up and down your thigh, making sure to not go past the hem of your dress, and you tilted your head slightly back in response.

The rest of the car ride stayed like that, and when you got closer to your house, you directed him on where to go. His hand didn't leave your thigh, and you were glad. I want to be his support system. Someone he can come home to and just lay out all his frustrations and feelings on. Someone he can touch wherever he wants. I want to comfort him, you thought. You were not gonna let him go after this car ride. You were going to stick by him.

As he approached your driveway, you said to him, "Thanks again for the car ride, Mr. Cohle. You didn't have to."

"Of course. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to someone like you," he said, eyes still looking at the road, but you could hear the sincerity in his tone.

"Not if you're here," you said back with a gentle smile.

He turned to you for a moment, your words settling in. So she wants me around, he thought. Yes, I want you around, you thought, as if you could read his mind.

He pulled up in front of your house, finally taking his hand off your thigh to turn the car off, leaving a cold spot where his warm skin had just enveloped.

You turned to him in this moment of silence, and leaned up to his heavenly face. His features took on a form of surprise as you kissed him on the cheek.

"I'll see you around, Rust. Don't be shy to stop in the store. Those Camels won't buy themselves," you said as you got out of the car. Standing outside on the curb, one hand on the door, dress and hair blowing in the wind, you said, "Thanks for the ride," for what seemed to be the tenth time.

"Only for you, sweetheart."

"Bye, Rust."

You closed the door and left him still following your form up into the house. I can't wait to tell Cassie about this, you thought.

As he drove back to his lonely house, he wished you would accompany him one of these cold nights. He realized that no matter how many times he told himself he was better off alone, you might actually be someone he wouldn't mind having around.

[thesupreme316]

Heyyyyy I just came up with this but headcanons with the boys if their so is in college and has a bunch of missing work how and how they would deal with it (not like this is related to me rn totally DONT have have 20+ missing assignments that r do Thursday😮‍💨) if not that’s fine I just needing something to do so I felt like I was being productive cuz I don’t feel like doing work in my week off. Thought I’d submit ideas for writers so I’d be doing smt!

AEW STARS React to: Their S/O In College (and Taking Finals)

Pairings: Nick Wayne x Reader, Darius Martin x Reader, Hook x Reader, Dante Martin x Reader, Christian Cage x Reader, MJF x Reader, Eddie Kingston x Reader, Wheeler Yuta x Reader

Word Count: 1.2K

Supreme Speaks: hey yall, finals kicked my butt, but we back and packed up in here! to this lovely anon, i hope you got everything done and passed with flying colors (ik i struggled). but anyways, please remember that you are loved and appreciated, and also that you are more than a gpa.

Warnings: none i think, grammarly wasn't working so barely proofread, no gifs as tumblr don't wanna work rn

Taglist: @hooks-martin @sheinthatfandom @triscillal @cassie0sstuff @eddie-kingstons-wifey @hookerforhook @batzy-watzy @wwenhlimagines

i totally forgot to add my beautiful besties my bad

Nick Wayne

Hahaha He is the last person you should be going to for help

If anything, Nick believes that you should just leave it alone and just be in candy land with him

But he knows how hard it is for you and how important it is

So he’ll try his best to help you actually do the assignments

Like you two split up how much work you have and he does half the assignment

I think he would find it fun; pulling all nighters in the library and doing work with their S/O until like 4 am

Every night would be a new adventure

Would let you review the work before you submit it

But anything science-related

Don’t ask him shit

I see him as more of a math person

Darius Martin

I see Darius definitely as a liberal arts or literature person

Like he can edit your papers (he’s your personal chat gpt)

I think Darius would help you by creating a schedule

Like when you need to get stuff done by

BUT

He takes it a step further by allocating time limits for each assignment

Like you can only work on assignment 1 for an hour and 30 minutes each day

Something tells me he is particular with schedules

Darius will keep you on track as if he’s getting paid for it

“Y/N, your break ended 3 minutes ago. LETS GO”

Will definitely help you with researching topics cause that takes a while

Don’t ask him shit about math

Dante Martin

Doesn’t particularly understand what you are going through

But nonetheless he hates that he doesn’t see you as much anymore

I can see him just giving you gifts and words of encouragement

Will tutor you if you need help…but realize that this is not high school science

“You mean there is more than Chemistry I? CHEMISTRY VI? ORGANIC-“

He soon gives up

Stays up with you and drags you away from work if needed

IMAGINE DANTE SAYING “COME TO BED BABY” OMG MY HEART

Will help you with assignments like Nick

Will reward you for all your hard work (wink wink)

Tries to distract you and give you moments for fun/relaxation

After the dust is settled, he’s just happy that you are out of the shackles of academia and you two can hang out stress-free

Hook

MANS IS NOT BOTHERED WITH YOUR BULLSHIT

Has the constant “I told you to start on these assignments earlier” look on his face

If anything he will just supply you with food, energy drinks, and emotional support

But if you thing this man will give you any type of physical help

YOU ARE LYIN TO YOURSELF SWEETHEART

Will secretly complain about your lack of self care or wishing he could actually help in Italian

Fancanon: Hook can speak Italian

If he thinks you have been working too much

He will save your work and shut your laptop down

Will make sure you did everything on your checklist before turning the assignments in

If you need him to print stuff off, just ask, he’ll do it

Unless it’s 1 am…then he’s telling you to take your ass to sleep

Wheeler Yuta

Okay, this man can actually help you

WITH HIS CUTE ASS GLASSES

He truly understands what you are going through as he used to be in your shoes

Mans will tutor you until you are smarter than him

Loves helping you with history and shit

“No the War of 1812 didn’t happen in 1937”

Gives you helpful study and test-taking tips

Tries to make you drink healthy caffeinated drinks not Monsters or Red Bulls

Believes they are the devil and will slap them out of your hands

“What did I say? Red Bull gives you horns, not wings…no not horns for being horny”

Will give you little trinkets or treat you out to dinner when you complete your assignments/exams

He just wants you to remain healthy during this stressful time

Christian Cage

I feel like if anything Christian is a professor…with the way he be schooling those-

He’s probably very knowledge in various subjects

He just does them the old-fashioned way

“What the hell is this?…Whatcha mean this is the new way?”

But if anything he’ll adapt to it, just trying to help you

I HAVE A THEORY that he’ll stay up reading the next chapter or the directions for your next assignment and tries to figure out ways to make the process easier

So the next day you walk out to the table and you see the parts of your project laid out and labeled

“I know it’s a lot but we break it up like this, you should be able to complete by tomorrow”

Christian takes pictures of you two so he can look back and bring up times like the Vietnam war

Makes you take breaks, in which he’ll work in your place

When you get your grade back, it’s yalls grade

not yours

MJF

Straight up pays for a tutor/homework helper

But stays in the room and yells at them cause you are still confused and behind

I mean this in the nicest way

Max is no damn help

He is laughing at you while he’s putting on his scarf

“Imagine doing homework to get a little paper for a job! That’s what you get for not being born rich”

Will post you on instagram and claim that homework and exams are to test idiots

But will quickly change his tune when you place a physics worksheet in front of him

“WHY IS THE GREEK ALPHABET HERE?”

Issues you a public apology and vows to never make fun of you again

If anything MJF supplies you with emotional support, letting you know that your feelings are valid

Will buy you new shoes or something massive for surviving and passing everything

Eddie Kingston

Now when I say don’t ask him anything

DON’T ASK HIM ANYTHING! HE’LL JUST SAY

“Doll, imma be real, I have a GED. I dunno shit”

He can only laugh from afar and say “glad I don’t have to do that shit”

But if you ask him anything about English or Shakespeare, he got you

Will recite random Shakespeare quotes to provide entertainment

I think he proofreads your papers to ensure they make sense

I do think he can help with researching and giving you credible websites

Other than that, his designated role is paper weight or waterboy

He believes your every word when you groan about school

That’s all he can do but you don’t complain about it

After he loves you and you love him

[otaku0411]

A GLASS OF WHISKEY PLEASE: Part Two

‼️Part one ‼️

.

.

It’s been 6 weeks since I met the famous Kenji Sato. After learning about him, I did a little research on him and apparently he is on more on the clock your side and he’s a little bit egotistical to say the least. Which honestly I don’t mind, I kinda like it when a guy is cocky and confident, especially when he know what to do, which he does show on the baseball field because based on his stats and record, he is one hell of a baseball player.

A week after our first encounter, he came and based on where my coworkers told me, he came to the bar every night to see me, but he will not see me back there until Wednesday night and that when I saw him his face lit up and he gave me his classic smile. He ordered his drink and we talked that day since it wasn’t busy.

I eventually gave him my phone number and we begin to text and call each other. We got to know each other more about our personal life and family. He tells me that he’s born in Japan, but his mom moved to but him and his mom moved to America when he was younger. I asked him why his dad didn’t come, he reply with business reasons I didn’t prey on it and we carry along the conversation to something else.

I can’t lie, I’m starting to have a crush on this man. Cause after all of his flirting and cocky persona, he’s genuinely and sweet and sincere man. And that’s kinda sexy!

It’s a Thursday night and it’s not really busy, so Kenji decided to come in and keep me company. “How’s my favorite baseball player?” I greet him as he’s taking a sit. “I’ve been doing great now that I saw you.” I chuckle “Well aren’t you a flirt.” He laughs a little, “No baby that just how I talk. But I can flirt with you if that makes you happy,” He smirks as he analyze me from top to bottom where I was standing “No thank you, but my eyes are up here sir.” He put his hands up in defense mode “My fault, love.” I roll my eyes playfully “Whatever, do you want your usual today?” “Why of course.”

After we’re bantering with each other for like 30 minutes, there’s a long pause between us. After what felt like an hour, Kenji finally speaks. “There’s also something I been meaning to ask you about.” “What is it?” I asked, wiping down the counter. “Would it be weird if I-” RINGG

His watch started to ring and he answered it before he could finish his sentence. “Hey, what is it?” His facial expression went from neutral to being worried. “Okay I’ll be there soon,” he hang up, looking more worried than before. He digs into his pockets and pulls out a fifty, “I’m so sorry, this is an emergency! I’ll text you later when I’m done!” And just like that, he was out the door.

For the rest of the shift, all I could think about was if he was okay and what was the call about. I eventually get home and check any notifications. *ZERO*

It’s okay Y/n, he’ll text you back when he gets a minute.

But that minute never came. Before you knew it, it has been two weeks since he abruptly left the bar that day. You couldn’t understand why he wasn’t responding. You even left a few messages after a couple of days hoping he’s okay. No response. After a week, you decided to not stress about it and just continue your daily life.

Saturday night rolls a round and as always, you were busy. Crowds decided to sit at the bar instead of waiting for a table and it left you drained. But you wasn’t completely mad about it since you made over your goal that night.

It’s 15 minutes before closing, and there’s two people sitting at the bar, but they already paid off so I’m not tripping. I call out “Last Call” to let everyone know that this is their last time ordering drinks for tonight. I begin to wipe down the counter when I heard “A whisky, neat please?” I turn over and load and behold it’s Kenji.

He has a pitiful smile on his face, knowing what he did to me. “Sorry we already did last call sir,” I replied, sounding unbothered by his presence. “Come on baby please?” He asked again pouting his lips. I rolled my eyes and turned my back from him as I scoffed.

“Okay I definitely deserved that,” he commented. I turn to him “You think?!” I snapped “I texted you seeing if something happened and I get radio silence on your end!” The two guests see our interaction and took it as a sign to call it a night. Kenji gave me a half scared/ half sad face. “I’m sorry for not calling or texting you. That was a shitty move on my end.” He explained. “It just…that day I got a call from my dad and I might be moving back to Japan soon.”

My eyes begin to widen. “What happened,” I asked. He look around our area and though there was no customers at this point, a couple of servers was still around doing sidework. “Would it be okay if we talk in private?” I had to think for a minute.

A guy I liked is asking back to his or my place, what could possibly go wrong? EVERYTHING!!! But I known him for a couple months now so it’s not like a stranger. Though he could possibly kill me. If I go, it’d have to be at my place. I know my way around it and I have weapons in case of emergency. Ugh why am I thinking so hard about this?! What if we sleep together?! Pfppp, that’s crazy talk?! That would NEVER happen in a million years!

“Uhhh, Y/n?” Kenji said softly. I snapped back to reality, “Sorry that just caught me off guard.” “If you don’t want to talk it’s ok-” “NO!” I shouted “I do, it just have to be at my place though. If you don’t mind.” He smiles at me, “That’s not a problem.” “Good well I’ll be off in 30 minutes so I’ll send you the address and text you when I’m home.” “Sounds good, I’ll see you then.”

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.

.

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I don’t know why but those 30 minutes were the fastest 30 minutes I’ve ever worked since I started working here. Nevertheless, I make it home and try to straighten up the place as much as I can. Before I took a shower, I texted him I’m home. He replied with “I’m on my way.” After getting out of the shower, I put on some loungewear. As soon as I look in the mirror to check myself, the doorbell rings.

I checked the peephole and it was Kenji holding what look like a bottle of champagne. “Heyy” I greeted him moving away from the door, signaling him to come in. He look around my apartment. It wasn’t much just a 1 bed/1 bath place with some outdated appliances, but I made it work.

“I like your place, it’s lovely.” He complement. I smile, “Thank you! Though I expect you seen better places than this.” He look at me a lot dumbfounded. “It’s doesn’t take away the fact that you have a lovely home.” I clear my throat. “Well I got some wine glasses so let’s try to wine down huh,” I nudged him. He laughed at my attempt but obliged.

You and Kenji are now sitting on the couch, with a glass of wine in each other y’all hand. He pours yours in the glass, “Why thank you.” You sip for it. “So, what is you have to tell me in private?” “Doing straight to the point, huh?” “I have to, I know you like to beat around the bush.”

He drink out his glass and begin to talk, “Well my dad got injured back in Japan from his job, and because of that he can no longer work.”

“And let just say, I need to go back and be his replacement to say the least.” “What do you mean by being a replacement?” Kenji straightened up and gives me a serious look “……If I tell you this, you promise me, wholeheartedly that you won’t tell a SOUL?” He made me nervous with the question but I nodded, “You have my word.” I take another sip of my drink

“I’m going to be Ultraman.” He confessed. I nearly choked on the champagne’s. I heard about him from social media times to times but never in a million years would I ever expected this. “What?!” “My family is Ultraman. I know it’s sounds crazy but it’s the truth.”

“How long have you known you were going to be Ultraman?” “Last week, it became official when I got the offer to transfer to the Giants in Tokyo.” He s soaked in the couch feeling defeated and exhausted by the whole situation. I begin to feel bad about the times I cursed him out in my head over not texting or calling him. Who knew he had literally the world on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry for dismissing your texts. You didn’t do anything wrong. I had to take some time to straighten this whole thing out. And it definitely put a damper on my plans.” “What plans may I ask?”

He look at me and our eyes connected each others. Only this time it felt, intimate and a longing for something more, or rather someone.

“That day at the bar, I wanted to ask you Y/n if it would be okay to take you out on a date.” He slides his hand to mine “When I’m with you, I feel comfortable and warmth. I like the way you carry yourself how you can hold yourself together, even when you don’t want to. Your smile and sense of humor is something I would never stop admire about you.”

I never been confessed to like this ever in my life, not even from past relationships. Just by hearing him and looking into his eyes, I can feel myself falling for him. “Kenji, I like you too. I would’ve definitely said yes that day.” I answered. “You bring out my comical side and always there to talk to more annoy whenever I need a break from customers.” We laughed. “But most importantly you’re kind, compassionate, and sensitive despite what the tvs or the world say about you. I know that you are a great person and I would love to take our relationship to the next level.”

He smiles and hold my hand firm. He get closer to my face, yet still hold our eyes contact. “And I promise you, I will prove to you everyday that I am worthy of your love and to never make you feel unappreciated.”

I could feel the tension in the living room that we created, and the wine that’s in my system. I don’t know what I did was the wrong move but I kissed him. His lips felt warm and soft. I quickly back up.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” I apologize profusely.

He grabbed my face and our lips met again. It began slow, but it got deeper and more passionate. I soon straddle him on his lap to embrace him more. I run my fingers through his jet black hair and getting caught in it. He place his hands on my hips to get me closer to him. I caught myself coming out for air every few seconds but always going back in for more. I need him, I want him. Even if we only go on one date, he moves, and I never hear from him again, I just want him to make me feel good.

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A/N: PART TWO is hereee😭 I’m so glad everyone enjoy the first one. I hope part two meet yall expectations. The last part should be here by tomorrow or Thursday.

As always hope everyone have a good day/night🩷

And don’t worry, “It does get steamy”



[lesbianboyfriends]

Hey all, I’m making an update post about Rory because the original one is very long and not currently up to date.

Rory is my 4.5 year old dog who was attacked by a dog over twice her size on November 14th. She endured a 4 hour life saving surgery to repair severe tissue and muscle damage. She was at the vet overnight, came home with me on Wednesday evening the 15th, but on Thursday morning the 16th I had to take her back to the vet because one of her wounds wouldn’t stop bleeding, and I didn’t have the means to take care of her in an apartment by myself. She has since been in the hospital receiving life saving care. (Today’s date November 25th,2023)

She developed an infection that has since been treated. She developed necrosis (dead tissue) on several of her wounds, so lots of tissue around her wounds had to be removed. She currently has 5 (that I saw) open wounds that need to be sutured up after they heal a little more. Good news is that the open wounds look very healthy and are not infected. The bad news is that she developed necrosis on one of her ears and might lose it, as it was torn clean through in the attack. They are doing everything they can to save it, but most of her blood vessels in her ear were severed in the attack.

The extra bad news is that she is going to be in the hospital continuing treatment for 1-2 more WEEKS. The vet center she is staying at is nearly 30 minutes away from me which is one of the big reasons why she has to stay there instead of being with me at home. She has already been in the hospital for a week and a half, and as of Wednesday the 22nd, her bill was at $278. The only reason it was that low is because another customer at the vet heard her story and donated several hundred dollars towards her bill.

She has already had 2 surgeries, and will require a 3rd surgery early next week. Her 1st surgery was over $1600(paid). Her 3rd surgery will not be as long, but she will be under anesthesia again for it, which will be very expensive. I have not gotten an updated bill, but I am anticipating it will be in the low $1000’s without the surgery, and with the surgery will likely be close to $2000. With continued hospital care for 1-2 more weeks, it will likely climb to $3000+ and I do not have that kind of money. My Redbubble and Etsy will be linked below via my link tree if you want to help out in that way. I will also include my c*shapp and v*nmo. If you would like to help via PayPal, please DM me.

I will reblog this post periodically with a picture of her updated bill to keep everyone in the loop, as well as any major updates. Thank you to everyone who has donated or bought something so far, I was able to get Rory a few things to keep her comfortable while she’s gone as well as when she gets back.

Linktree

C*shapp: $elmidnights

V*nmo: el-midnights

P*ypal: dm for link