#and like god I can’t remember the last time someone has reached for me. because I am worth the effort of repair

[bbokicidal]

So Bitter, So Sweet. .:. SKZ [H.JS]

Genre : Smut Pairing : Han Jisung x Fem!Reader Warnings : Dom!Jisung, Sub!Reader, Hate Sex, Hair pulling, PinV (wrap it, folks), pussy spanking, bruising

Kinktober Day 5 of 10 : Hate Sex w/ Han Kinktober Masterlist

Word Count: 4K

This was supposed to be Day 5 of Kinktober 2024 but I had discontinued the series due to personal reasons at the time. So... Here, have it 5 months later.

“I actually have a presentation for media studies I have to work on tonight, so I really can’t…”

Chris blinks at the comment about a presentation. Media Studies? He had that class with you and he was pretty sure you didn’t have a presentation for that class. There wasn’t even class today, what were you talking about? His brow crinkles in confusion and his nose scrunches up as he looks over at you, opening his big fat mouth and blowing your cover. “I don’t think we have a– Ngh!” His sentence is cut short when your hand collides with his abdomen, knocking the wind from him enough to shut him up. It was too late, though; He’d spilled too much.

“..So… you’re lying just to get out of coming to the party.” Minho’s eyes slowly drag from where his friend is doubling over at your side to you instead. “Is there a reason you don’t want to go or are you just one of those types of people?” He knew you weren’t but he asked anyway.. You’d come to parties he had held before so what was keeping you from coming to this one? It was Halloween - Basically the biggest parties of the year, other than New Years, were held on Halloween!

“I don’t like Jisung.” Your answer is plain and simple. You hadn’t liked Jisung since you met him. He played so sweetly with the boys; Kissed their cheeks, helped them with homework, and he was all smiles and laughs when he was with them. But as soon as you came around he would shut down and his precious little eye smile would turn into a glare pointed in your direction - which led you to assume that the dislike was mutual.

Jisung blinks heavily beside Minho, brows both cocking upward as if he’s surprised by the statement. He stares down at his hands, twisting a ring to fit right on his finger. “Let me just go fuck myself,” He comments shortly after and Changbin shifts on the other side of him, eyeing the younger man as if silently trying to get him to back down. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Jisung looks directly at you then, not shying away from the heavier conversation.

You scoff as if finding it ridiculous that he doesn’t know. Is he playing dumb, or is he actually an idiot? “You’re an asshole every time I’m around you. You won’t even look at me half of the time and when you do you just sit and brood. And either way - I don’t need a specific reason to dislike someone. Maybe I just hate your face.” That was… one of the biggest lies you had ever told. Jisung was far from ugly; He has big round eyes, soft cheeks, soft features in general really and he looked like a prince who had stepped right out of a Disney movie. He was gorgeous, actually, but you’d never say that to his face given his ugly personality. All of that, all of his behavior towards you, had simply ruined his image for you. ��Remember last week?”

“Last week? Oh, God - You’re still whining about that?” Jisung’s eyes narrow over in your direction, his glare as heavy as your own. 

You scoff once more, anger bubbling in your chest. Chris reaches to rest a hand gently between your shoulder blades, ready to guide you away if the situation turns left. “You poured alcohol on me just because you could - right after I said I was going to talk to a guy I like. That was a dick move, Han!” You point a finger at the man and he smirks at your heated demeanor. Chris’ hand becomes guiding, giving a gentle push to steer you away from the three men before Jisung had a chance to bite back at you. 

He offers a shaky smile to the three, keeping his eyes directed towards Minho and Changbin in hopes he can clear this up at least a little while Jisung calms himself down. Or… tried to. “I’ll.. figure something out with her, okay? Expect us to be there.” Chris chuckles, his voice wavering with uncertainty before he fumbles quietly with the last bit before he walks away with you. “There’snopresentation.”

Minho gives a heavy sigh as his eyes draw to Jisung who seethes between himself and the third, blinking slowly at the younger. Jisung glances up and glares, his snarl looking almost like a pout on plush lips. “She drives me crazy sometimes-! I never poured anything on her on purpose.”

“I can tell,” Minho’s eyes rolled. “You need to tone it down. There’s no reason for you two to have this bad of a relationship with each other. Maybe you should’ve just explained that to her when you had the chance?”

“She never gives me an opportunity to clear it up,” Jisung scowls. “She’s ridiculous.”

Changbin claps a hand on the younger’s back before moving it up to grip at the nape of his neck, giving a subtle squeeze as he pushes Jisung forward to keep walking. “You almost laughed at her anger - right in her face. Don’t think you’re making the best impression.” When Jisung turns to bite back at that comment, Changbin forces him to face forward and keep walking by the grip he had on the other’s neck. “Ah; Keep walking. We’re not having this discussion right now. You two need to talk it out. I’m not involved.”

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to tie a tie.” Your fingers laced carefully through the small knot you had created with the carefully sewn fabric, pulling it through and tightening it with care. The tie sits neatly against the white button up Chris wore, contrasting so perfectly yet matching with the long coat he had on over top. “Aren’t you like twenty five or something?”

“Twenty-six.” Chris smiles, his lips forming a straight line and quirking up at the corners that makes his cheeks dimple heavier than normal. It makes you smile as well, the sight of his face squishing of its own accord. “And I do know how to tie a tie; I just wanted a pretty girl close to me.” His eyes drop from where they had been looking over your head to peer right at you instead. You sigh out a soft laugh through your nose and give a small shake of your head. Ever the flirtatious one, you knew Chris meant nothing by it; He was always calling you pretty, always sticking close to your side, always protective. You were his best friend so of course he was always going to be showering you with compliments; You did the exact same thing. 

As you take a step back and pivot on your heel to look, Chris lets his head tip in the mirror. “What exactly are you supposed to be, again? A businessman?” Your eyes drag over his choice of clothing and he giggles at the assumption, shaking his head in a manner that makes his hair fall down into his eyes. The one white contact made him a little scarier than usual.

“I’m a sexy vampire!” Chris exclaims as if it should be obvious. He turns to look at you, extending his arms and then giving a little turn just to show off. He giggles shortly after when he realizes you’re laughing at him, one hand pressed over your mouth in adoration. You had the stupidest yet cutest best friend in the world. “Can’t you tell?”

Your giggles subside as you answer him, keeping one hand pressing to your lips while you look him over. “Aren’t vampires usually wearing, like, Victorian era clothing or something? The shirts with the ruffles, the high waisted pants… I’ve never seen a vampire in a suit before, I don’t think.”

“Okay, well then I’m a sexy vampire in a suit.” His head turns back to the mirror and he smiles, pushing the little fangs he wore over his bottom lip with a grin. Stupidest yet cutest. “You’re ripping on my outfit but what are you?”

You had just tugged your jacket on as you looked over, listening to him question your own outfit. “A sexy nun; Duh.” He should’ve been able to tell by the veil you wore but apparently that one white contact took away some of his vision. Which also explained why he nearly walked into the doorway on his way out of your dorm, smoothing his hair back to play it off while you laughed. “Go, go.” You shoo him out into the hallway, turning to shut and lock the door behind you as you took your leave.

The drive to the party is short, given it’s only on the other side of campus - but Chris insists on driving you two because he doesn’t want you walking in the chilled night air wearing that outfit. You’d be cold even with your jacket and he can’t subject you to that! So he hops in the car, heats the seats and carefully navigates his way down a few blocks before finding a parking spot across the street. The two of you peek out the driver’s window to look at the house the party is being held in. Minho had snagged one of the nicer, smaller places on campus and all he had to do to get it was find three willing roommates to move in with him; Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung.

The windows of the house are flooded with lights colored orange, red, white, and green while music pounds at the walls and threatens to bring them down. The outside is decorated with Jack-o-lanterns and leaf bags colored orange with faces on them, a skeleton dressed in red lingerie sitting in a lawn chair (by Hyunjin’s doing) and a fake Ghostface from Scream sitting on the steps leading up to the door just to scare away any kids who might want to approach. The front door is covered in Caution tape in a rather messy manner but… you have to admit, the decoration job isn’t horrible. From afar, that is; As soon as the two of you approach the house you end up finding out that someone had shoved a fleshlight between the legs of the skeleton in the lawn chair, and you aren’t sure if that makes the decorating job better or worse.

Stepping into the house, you shrug off your jacket to carefully drape it over a chair nearby that has clearly been taken over by other jackets, hoodies, and even a few blankets people had just wrapped around themselves and ran in. Chris keeps his on because he swears it’s a part of his costume and important to the outfit - and after a small bicker back and forth about it you decide to give in and just go get a drink to start off the night. You end up meeting up with Changbin and Jisung in the kitchen, Changbin’s hand holding a solo cup full of a clear liquid on ice while Jisung’s double fisting two different beers and sipping from them continuously as they talk. 

“Oh look, it's a discount Rob Zombie. Glad to see you here.” You greet with a sarcastic smile, looking away from Jisung to Changbin who chuckles at your comment on Jisung’s outfit. He’d worn a black and white striped long sleeve under a black tank top that hung off his body and proved to be someone else’s he had stolen and cut up for the costume. His jeans were a bit flashy with their belt chains hanging off of his hips, clinking together any time he moved where he stood. He even threw on a choker and a longer necklace with a pendant hanging off of it. And the stupid, pretty black gloves he wore with the rings all over his fingers… 

“I need a drink. Something, anything.”

Jisung’s gaze lowers and he glares as you already shit on his outfit when you’d only just arrived. “I’m a rockstar, actually? Jesus fuck,” He growls out the last bit, turning away and leaving the kitchen. He rounds the island and wanders off to find other people to talk to, seemingly no longer interested in conversing with Changbin when you are around.

Changbin extends his arm with a small smile, one corner of his lips perking upward. He watches as you take his drink right from him and take a few large sips, grimacing at the taste. “It’s… sour.” 

And Changbin nods, chuckling at your realization. “Yeah, it’s made with sour. That’s the whole point.” He holds out his hand to take it back whenever you feel like you’re done with it, your expression less than pleasant as you click your tongue and hand it back to him.

Yet every time you returned to the kitchen, you found yourself mixing Whiskey and Sour into a cup together to get another feeling of that sweet, sweet buzz. It fucked you up fast and that’s how you liked it, even if you were being cautious and pacing yourself. Though you’d spent the last few hours dancing with Changbin, chatting with Minho in a quieter corner and even finding Hyunjin on the couch and sitting in his lap during a small game of Truth or Dare, you managed to always come back to Chris.

Minho had retired for the night and gone upstairs to his room, Hyunjin was still sitting on the sofa now talking to a rather pretty little blond in a black cat costume that hugged him just right, and Changbin was… well, he was somewhere - all over the place, if you were honest. Chris leaned back against the counter as he watched you sip from the fourth drink. You looked pretty well-off despite having so much alcohol in your system. “You came in here kind of hot earlier.”

“Thank you.~” You coo against the rim of your cup, sipping again from the drink as Chris bursts into laughter.

“No - No. I meant coming in hot as in coming in fiery. You ripped into Jisung right away, you know.” He comments, clarifying his statement with a small shake of his head and a bright, gummy smile that showed all of his teeth. He’s always so smiley around you and he really can’t help it.

Your smile falls. “Oh.” You deadpan the reply and Chris almost regrets even talking about Jisung at all. Though, now that you thought about it, you hadn’t seen him since you had first arrived - and roasted him like an oven roasted chicken when you walked into the kitchen. “Yeah. He deserves it, though! His costume isn’t even that cool - He just looks like himself. You know, an emo twink.” You set your cup down on the island behind you and sigh out, turning away with a lazy tip of your head. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom.”

“Don’t fall in,” Chris quips with a smile as you walk away from him, unable to help the corny line of goodbye.

Your walk to the bathroom is short, given that it’s right around the corner and just before the stairs. Your hand finds the doorknob after a bit of tipsy fumbling and as you push it open, you’re met with a sight you’d never expected before in your life.

Jisung stood leaning back against the sink, his jeans pushed down to just above his knees while one hand jerked at his cock - hard and leaking and slick with precum that he’d already smeared over his length. His face is flushed and only grows deeper in color when he sees you push open the door to the bathroom, his lips popping apart - slick with spit and drool dripping down his chin as he looks over. “Either get in or shut the fucking door.”

You’re quick to step in - mostly because you panic. Even if you don’t care for him, it’s a little ridiculous to expose his entire cock to the world outside. So you enter the bathroom with flushed cheeks and lingering eyes. Your state of slight intoxication refuses to let you pull your gaze away from the way his hand still strokes over his cock even with you in the room. Your weight shifts to one side and the moment you pull your eyes away he decides to open his mouth. “Fuck, I hate how sexy you look in that stupid costume.”

His comment makes you squirm, your thighs pressing together to try and hide the way your pussy drips at the sight of him alone. And now he was admitting that he thought you looked sexy? You shift against the door and Jisung reaches out to gently pull you closer with his free hand, laying it against your waist while you take the few steps to reach him. He looks you over up close before sighing out, his thumb sliding over his tip just to tease himself a little. “You want it?”

Jisung chuckles at the way you nod feverishly at his question. Yeah, he was fucking annoying, and yeah his face made a bit of anger swell in your chest even if he was really fucking hot in the moment - but he was just straight up offering his dick to you and you couldn’t say no to a guy with big glossy eyes and a leaking cock. He shifts away from the counter and steps in behind you instead, pressing your hips forward to the edge of the sink. You gasp out and reach out to support yourself, your hand laying on the mirror to leave prints behind as Jisung flips up the bottom half of your dress to lay it over your back. He sighs out in admiration at the sight of the black lace that hid beneath it, hooking one finger into it to tug it aside and see what he really wanted to get a look at.

You peek up into the mirror just in time to see Jisung dipping down behind you and a rush of excitement shoots through your veins. You’re under the assumption he might eat you out a little before he gets to the main ordeal - but Jisung isn’t that nice and he still dislikes you even if you look damn sexy in that tight dress and cute little veil. He spits directly onto your pussy after using his thumbs to spread your lips for him, leaning in soon after to use his tongue and make sure you were plenty wet for easy access as if you weren’t dripping already. Jisung stands back to his full height to look down at your hole, both of his hands gripping at your hips as he lines himself up. His spit clings to your clit before dripping onto the floor between your heels just as his cock slips into you with ease.

You sigh out in admiration at the feeling, eyes rolling back into your head with the way he fills you up. It’s unfair how fucking hot he is considering he’s an asshole to you any time he has the chance. Your hand pushes heavier on the mirror as he starts up a steady rhythm, his cock sliding against your gummy walls with the most sinful sounds bouncing off of the bathroom walls; The wet squelch of your pussy forming to his length as he pushes into you harder when he realizes you can take it - that you want to. “Fuck – Mnh, Ji –”

Jisung glances up at you through the mirror, his hair clouding his vision as it fell into his eyes. He peeks down almost immediately after however, reaching down between your bodies to pull up his shirt as it kept falling down and getting in his way from feeling your skin on his own. He tucks the fabric of the striped shirt between his teeth before he chuckles, his eyes turning back down to where the two of you connect - and as you look at him through the mirror you swear you’ve never seen something so fucking hot in your life. His skin was slick and glistening with a thin layer of sweat which meant his hair was beginning to stick to his face, and with his shirt tucked between his teeth his mouth had formed a small scowl. You could’ve swore you heard a couple quiet growls coming from his throat, too, while he fucked into you harder than before.

Your body rocks against the sink as you hold onto the wall to keep yourself steady, moans flooding from your lips that spur Jisung on to fuck you harder, faster. He reaches with one hand to grab onto your shoulder, pulling you with every thrust so you met him halfway and you whined as you felt his tip prodding at your walls, pushing further each time he pushed into you. Jisung used his free hand to grip at your hip, bruising his fingerprints into your skin as evidence he had been there - been in you. His hand slips lower until he can hoist your thigh up, pushing your leg onto the counter so he can stand even closer to you and sink his cock further into your walls. 

“Ohh - Fuck! Fuck, ‘m gonna come –” Your stutters of release make Jisung glance up, dark eyes staring through his hair as he watches your expressions in the mirror; Your eyes closed, head tipped back, fingers curling against the mirror as your orgasm hit. Jisung’s eyes darted back down to watch you squirt around his cock, slowly pulling out before pushing back into your pussy just when you had thought he’d called it quits. He huffs out, his movements rapid but messy now as he chases his own release. He slumped forward a bit and ended up moving his hand from your shoulder to your hair, his fingers tangling in that thin veil to keep a tight grip on you. Well - that, and he’s always wanted to pull your hair when you got on his nerves.

His breathing is labored and ragged as he lets go of his shirt, the fabric falling down while he spills ropes of cum into your walls to claim you as his own. That’s how he thinks of it in the moment at least. Jisung pulls out shortly after, his cum leaking from your slit and dripping down onto the tile flooring of the bathroom. He reaches down, using two fingers to push it back into your cunt while you whine at the feeling. “God, you’re so noisy,” Jisung huffs out, straightening up and glancing at you as his hand meets you again with a slap to your pussy. 

You jolt the first time and relax the second, his hand stilling against your entrance to carefully rub against you and get you to ease up, your body slumping against the countertop in exhaustion. 

He peeks down and watches as both his cum and your slick cling to his fingers as he pulls his hand away, strings connecting his skin to your own. He usually wouldn’t even think to come inside of someone, but with you it was just another form of proof he’d been there. Something for you to think about when he pissed you off in the following days.

And Minho usually wouldn’t care that people had fucked in his bathroom as he often found evidence of it after the parties he held, stumbling tiredly into the room to piss and find meds that would hopefully cure his hangover migraine; But handprints on his mirror? Really?

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 08. A state of dreams

PREV PART trigger warnings: mental + physical + emotional neglect, Reader is in a ‘limbo’ of nightmares, grief, shouting, I am a bit unsure on what trigger warnings suit this chapter so if you think I missed anything pls do say so main m.list        series m.list

Sleep is supposed to keep pain away from you, it’s supposed to give you a break. But your sleep has been haunted by nightmares from the day of the attack to today, your nightmares filled with violence and the Gods are punishing you. Punishing you for not fighting back, that’s what these dreams have to be.

Nightmares that talk about the ‘what if’, the nightmares that kill your soul. You’re stuck in them, you’re stuck in a river of pain and you don’t know how to get out of it. You don’t want to be asleep, you don’t want to sleep.

“Come on, (Nickname),” your mother chuckles as she opens her arms, no she isn’t. “you don’t want to keep me waiting, right?”

You don’t, you want to rush into her embrace, cry as you wish for a better life. Cry as you ask her why Bruce hates you, cry as you beg for a reason why your family doesn’t love you. But you can’t.

You can’t run into her loving embrace, because before you’ll reach her the scene will change, it will be Bruce holding your shoulders in a crushing grip. Asking you why you couldn’t just stay silent, asking you why you just couldn’t be a good doll and stay in the corner to be forgotten. So you’ll make her wait. Just to see her face.

“Baby,” your mother gasps dramatically, putting her hand on her heart. “did mama do something wrong? Is that why you don’t want to give me a hug?”

You shake your head as you ignore the shifting scene, oh how you hate being aware. “I just want to keep looking at you, mama,” you whisper. “you look so beautiful.”

Your mama laughs as she takes you in her arms but then she disappears. Leaving a younger you behind in a hospital gown, a gown that you remember all too well. It was from the hospital you almost died in. It was the last time you remember being comforted by your mama. “You vowed to stay healthy,” younger you whispers in anger. “you broke that vow!”

“I did,” you admit, not even trying to placate them, not even looking them in their eyes. “health isn’t something you can control. We were destined for this, we are destined for pain. But we’ll find our people through that pain.”

“It’s not fair!” younger you shouts, clenching their hospital gown in their hands. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! We did everything right!” Younger you was sobbing, sobbing to the point you could feel their tears in your own hearts. “Why can’t we be happy?!”

You look at the ground, the scene was shifting again. It was the manor, and this time it was Alfred in front of you. His nose flaring as he raises his arm and starts shouting at you, you can’t hear him but it scares you. You feel threatened, you feel unsafe and most of all you feel like you’re in danger. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it wasn’t enough for him. He grabs your shoulders as spit flies from his mouth as he shouts, your heart just becoming numb. “it’s not my fault… I didn’t do anything!”

Exactly, a voice whispers in the back of your head, you were complicate to your own abuse. You kept the key of your own jail for so long, so can you fully blame Alfred?

You close your eyes and shake your head. That voice is wrong, you weren’t complicate in to the neglect that they gave you. It was never your fault, it never will be. You just need to ignore Alfred, both in dream and when you are awake, just because he wants you a certain way doesn’t mean you have to be that way. You know that right? You just need to wake up for now, can you do that for me?

Can you open your beautiful eyes? (Oh, is that Duke you hear or someone else? Is your mother calling for you?)

But for now you will continue to stay in state. A state of grieving what you could have had, a state where in you experience all the fear that you have ever felt once more, a state where you see your mother but barely can remember her face and voice, a state that reminds you of the hell that awaits you once you open your eyes.

But that hell is your story, and you can take it to another road. You’ll try and try, and you’ll fail. Don’t get me wrong. But after all that failure you are bound to learn, and you are bound to grow. So take the hands that hold out to you, you’ll never have to walk this path alone.

NEXT PART Heard my grandpa is the hospital while writingso updates might be slow for a while, or a bit darker and more chaotic. I have also closed the taglist since whenever I add new people in the editor it shows up but not in the post??

taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret,

[totallyxtaurus]

Depollute me, gentle angel

Summary: Sylus is away on a business trip while you sink deeper into your depressive episode. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader Genre: Angst (I guess, I'm not sure lol) Trigger Warnings: depression, mental health struggles, anxiety, self-neglect, and hints of suicide A/N: Soo I was going to make a fluffy/smutty story but my PMDD hit me hard af and then BOOM, this. This was super hard yet easy to write at the same time probably because it's a self insert lol like this is literally me. Sylus' "perfect" persona does intimidate me and I grappled with the thoughts of "what if Sylus was real, could he actually handle this?" I hope everyone enjoys and please please please remember to take care of yourselves! ��

Next

When was the last time you crawled out of bed today? Your stomach twisting, hunger pangs turn into nausea. But the thought of forcing your limbs to carry you into the kitchen for food feels insufferable. So, you stay buried in the tangle of unmade, unwashed sheets. A hint of fabric softener desperately clinging to the fibers, the stale scent of sweat and skin already taking over. Earlier, you pressed your nose into your shoulder, checking. The sweet floral deodorant from days ago (you think) has spoiled into something sour.  

Each day and sleepless night blend together. They become hard to tell apart, except when the phone rings. Work is calling again—probably to ask when you’ll be back in or to terminate you. You know you should care—you do care! Well, you used to. You liked your job; you were good at it. But does it bring you joy? Right now, does anything?

Everything feels like a chore that you can’t be bothered to attempt. Showering? The thought alone is exhausting. But thinking about the steps that come before the shower is enough to make you sit in your own filth. You reach up absently. Your fingers get lost in the greasy roots and tangle in the mess below. Dandruff flakes dust your pillow. You picked at your scalp while scrolling for hours. Anything to pull you out of this pit you’ve fallen into, for a moment of relief. Your stomach churns each time your tongue touches the slimy coating that has built up on your teeth. Panic spikes at the thought of cavities—the decay, a reminder of neglect. Yet, there you lie, paralyzed by your own anxieties. God, you want to move. You really do. But then you tell yourself, I’ll brush them after I eat, for sure. You know it’s a lie. But it makes the guilt easier to swallow.  

These bouts come and go, pulled in by a force you can’t escape—because you are the force. Like the moon dragging in the tides, summoning waves too strong to withstand. When you’re up, you trick yourself into thinking that you have it all together, like you’ve cracked some secret code. You throw yourself into work, into people, an endless loop on performance mode. Blissfully numb. Until the crash. The tide swells too high, knocking you under and swallowing you whole. Then you’re here, again. Bedridden. Isolated. Time slips through your fingers. Days, weeks—who knows how long. Until someone notices your absence. Usually, him. Then you have to explain why you vanished and begin to collect the pieces of you that have washed back ashore.

“You should trust Sylus more," your therapist had said, voice gentle but firm. “Let him in during these episodes. He wants to help you.”  

You nodded, pretending to consider it, not missing the way they emphasized the "want to help you" part. But the idea was absurd, laughable. Let Sylus see you like this? No, it’s better this way. You can keep your dignity and him, a win-win situation.

This episode—as your therapist calls it—came at the perfect time. Sylus is away on a business trip, conveniently absent when you’ve sunk to your lowest. He gives you roughly three days of no contact before the constant calls start rolling in. This time, luck was on your side, a twisted kind of luck, but still one that was to your advantage. You can’t even begin to imagine the horror that he’d feel if he saw you like this.

Undeserving. That’s the only word that comes to mind when you think of Sylus, especially in moments like these.

Sylus, the man who has everything—and if he doesn’t, he simply acquires it. Always composed, always in control. He’s the kind of person who seems to glide through life, untouchable. You can’t imagine him unraveling, not like this. No, if he ever stumbled, he’d just power through it. There are no obstacles he can’t overcome.  

Until you.

You are the only thing he can’t fix. A threat to the pristine world he’s built. Thankfully, he hasn’t seen you like this, and he never will. He can’t.

Your therapist says your way of thinking is the problem. You don’t let him in. You don’t give him a chance to understand. Your therapist doesn’t know Sylus like you do. What if he does understand—but secretly believes you’re too much? And knowing Sylus, what if he doesn’t leave, but worse—stays out of obligation? Out of pity?

Your chest begins to tighten at the thought, your heartbeat picking up. You’d rather disappear completely than let him see you like this.

But before you can spiral any further, the doorbell rings.

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

-

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl. 

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head. 

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint. 

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew. 

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence. 

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent. 

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time. 

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission. 

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from. 

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful. 

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?” 

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words. 

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare. 

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation. 

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig. 

“It’s not about that,” you croak. 

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours. 

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly. 

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden. 

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out. 

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her. 

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance. 

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers. 

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction. 

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers. 

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening. 

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head. 

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much. 

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence. 

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously. 

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal. 

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway. 

But he does have a scent. 

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing. 

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm. 

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.  

Something is very wrong. 

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door. 

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now. 

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours. 

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold. 

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height. 

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 1

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, mild smut (at the end), threesome 

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: ~1.9K

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

“God my head fucking hurts,” you whine, sitting up to rub your eyes. “That wine really hit out of nowhere.” Your head pounds, it has to be part of a hangover. The last thing you remember before drinking yourself to sleep was getting fired. Your boss hadn’t even had the decency to let you know face to face. An HR representative and your manager requested a zoom call at the end of the day and politely told you to ‘clean your desk.’

After nearly three years of work with the same accounting firm, it was weird to not wake up early and head into the office. The worst part really was that your performance was still stellar, the firm was just hemorrhaging money after several questionable expansions. 

Despite the pounding headache and sensitivity to light, you force yourself to open your eyes. “What the fuck?!” Glancing around the room frantically, you panic as you realize you weren’t waking up in the comfort of your room. You had to be the subject of some prank reality tv show because the decor was undoubtedly some renaissance festival shit. The walls were brick with large tapestries decorating the stone. You were laid in the center of a giant four poster bed, black and red canopies flowing.

Slipping from the tangle of sheets and blankets, you pad towards the door. “Okay,” you call out, “you got me. Very funny.” 

Silence. 

“This is so weird” you murmur, pushing the door open as gently as possible to peak out. A woman rushes by you, dressed in some kind of drab linen and an apron. “Excuse me!” you shout, attempting to get her attention. 

The short woman slowed down, stopping to curtsy quickly at the sight of you. “My lady, forgive me. I didn’t you see you there!”

“My lady?” You asked. “What are you talking about? This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, my lady,” she replied quietly. “Please don’t tell your wife I was making jokes! I swear I meant no harm-”

“My wife?!” Everyone has officially gone off the deep end. First this medieval times shit, now apparently you have a wife.

The woman’s eyes go wide, “Your wife, Queen Rhaenyra. My lady, are you unwell?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I have no idea what’s going on. I lost my job. I don’t know where I am or apparently who I am. I just want-” You choke off into sobs.

“Let me help you back to your room,” she offered, taking your elbow. “I’ll let the Queen know you’re unwell.”

You nodded, letting her lead you back into the room. The woman helped you into a steaming bath and left you to soak while she fetched your wife. “Can’t believe someone made an honest woman of me,” you laugh.

At some point, the entire situation stopped feeling like a prank. Maybe it was watching the maid fill the tub painstakingly bucket by bucket, or the significant lack of electricity. Either way, your situation was beginning to feel more and more real. You grab the bar of soap and lather up a cloth, scrubbing furiously at your skin. 

“That’s weird,” you murmur as you notice that your skin seems far too perfect. You usually had a couple scars littering your arms and legs, leftovers from frequently crashing your bike as a kid and general clumsiness. They all seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but perfectly smooth, supple skin behind. “Okay, I’m officially going crazy.”

You see a small mirror on the ledge next to the tub, and reach out with shaky hands. You sigh in relief as you glance into the mirror and see that you look the same. At least you have something familiar here.

“Admiring the view? I know I am.” A deep voice purred from behind you.

Tossing the mirror back, you swiftly cover your chest and pray that the water obscurs the rest of you. “What the fuck?!” You yell, turning to confront whatever pervert decided to interrupt your bath. A tall man towered over the tub, his white hair practically glowing as the candlelight reflected off of it.

“I’m trying to have an existential crisis in here,” you hiss. “Can you come back later or something?”

He snorted a laugh, stalking forward to grab a brush from the side table and sit behind you. “And miss this opportunity? I should think not, my love.” He gently began detangling your hair and brushing it out. 

“My love? You do know I’m a married woman?” You retort.

“You never let me forget,” he replied, kissing the top of your hair. 

“I mean I have a wife, asshole!” You twist around to snatch the brush from his hands, but he lifts it out of your reach.

“What a coincidence,” he purrs, blatantly staring at your breasts. “I do too. Two, if I’m not mistaken.” His eyes dart down to your left hand, as if he knows something you don’t.

You glance at the ring that’s been there since you woke up. The black metal has a dragon insignia that looks awfully similar to the embroidery on this man’s shirt. “Fuck.” 

The man’s brows furrow, “what’s wrong?” He sets the brush down, grabbing a sheet and pulling you from the bath. He wraps you up and sits you in his lap. The warmth seeping into your skin feels so familiar and you feel yourself begin to break. Tears stream down your cheeks, and you burrow your face into his neck to hide them. 

Warm hands rub up and down your back soothingly. “My love, I cannot fix whatever is wrong if you don’t tell me.” He hums. “You don’t even have to tell me. Just give Rhaenyra a name and I will ensure whoever made you cry will never breathe again.”

You laugh at the irony. “I don’t know who Rhaenyra is. I’m not sure I even know who I am.” 

Before he can respond, a door slams. “Daemon, thank Gods you’re here. The maid said y/n was acting ill and didn’t rememb-” 

Your head peaks up over the man–Daemon’s shoulder to see the woman who ran in. Her hair is just as white as Daemon’s and her clothing adorned with the same dragon insignia. This must be Queen Rhaenyra.

“Y/n?!” Rhaenyra rushes over, kissing your cheek before she hugs you tightly. 

“My queen,” Daemon greets, leaning in for a kiss. You find yourself pressed between the two, and as much as you don’t want to admit it….the warmth and pressure feels comforting…like home. 

“I hate to break this up,” you say, wiping the last of your tears away. “But can someone tell me what is going on. The last thing I remember was being fired, getting wine drunk, and going to bed early.”

“Fired?” Rhaenyra looked confused and immediately started inspecting every exposed inch of your skin. “Did you try to feed Caraxes again? He’s a temperamental old man, just like his rider.”

“Who is Caraxes? Do ya’ll have a dog or something?”

“Dog?!” Daemon sounded almost offended. “A dog?! Rhaenyra we should fetch a maester. Our little dragon is either begging for a punishment or in need of a healer.”

Rhaenyra attempts to cover her laugh. “Caraxes, Daemon’s dragon? You insist on telling him a goodnight story at least once a week.”

“He’s a dragon of war for fucks sake,” Daemon mutters. “You’ve been making him soft.”

“Dragon?!” Your eyes go wide. “You’re joking. You’ve gotta be fucking me right now.”

“We are most definitely no-”

“We certainly could be-”

Daemon and Rhaenyra spoke at the same time. You would have laughed, but the implications of Daemon’s words were starting to settle in.

“Wait,” you being. “So if Queen Rhaenyra is my wife….and Daemon has two wives…and you two seem to be close…that means-”

“That you both are all mine,” Daemon purrs.

“Daemon, we must call for the maester. This seems serious, she doesn’t even remember us.”

“What year is this?” You ask, not sure if you want the answer.

“125 AC.” Rhaenyra responds.

“And where are we?”

“The red keep.”

“What, is that like England or something?”

“We are in Westeros.” Rhaenyra feels your forehead. “Daemon, put y/n to bed while I have the maids summon the maester.”

You yelp in surprise and Daemon stands up, holding you close to his chest. He carries you to a vanity, setting you gently on the bench before rummaging through some drawers. “Arms up, love.” He says, pulling a white shift over your head. You stare of into space as Daemon gently braids your hair. 

“Where’d you learn to do that?” You ask as he ties a ribbon at the ends of the braid.

“You and Rhaenyra are quite the demanding duo when you want to be,” he snorts. “The staff might revolt and establish Rhaenyra’s cunt of a half-brother as king if I bothered them everytime you both needed your hair done.”

“Language,” you chide. Daemon rolls his eyes before he sweeps you back up into his arms. He carries you to the bed, depositing you in the center before he climbs in. Daemon sits up, back against the headboard as he pulls you in to lean against his chest. 

“Do you really not remember us?” He asks. 

“How long have we been married?” 

“Five years. We were married in the old ways. Your High Valyrian wasn’t as good back then though.” Daemon laughs. “But it was perfect, and I wouldn’t trade you both for anything.”

“So if Rhaenyra is queen, what does that make you?” You ask. He had to be King, right?

“A lucky man.”

You laugh, and lightly hit his chest. “No, really. I don’t remember anything. Help a girl out here.”

“Prince consort.” Daemon answers. You nod, so Rhaenyra must be in charge around here.

“So how’d I end up married to Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Daemon?” You ask in the poshest British accent you can muster.

“You threw yourself at my feet saying ‘Please Rhaenyra, I cannot live without you! You are the sun that brightens the sky and the stars that guide ships home!’” Rhaenyra teased. You sit up to see that Rhaenyra isn’t alone, she brought back some balding man with her. 

“I didn’t say that-” You protest.

“Really?” Daemon laughs. “My queen, it’s not proper to toy with someone who is ill.”

“You’re one to talk,” Rhaenyra says, raising a brow. “You seemed rather close when I came in earlier.”

You groan. How did you manage to survive these two for five years. 

!!SMUT BELOW!!

PREVIEW FOR PART TWO

“No,” Daemon scolds, clasping your hands together in his larger one and wrenching your body into his. “You’re not in charge here. You’re going to listen and obey like a good little girl.” You whine in response, nodding furiously in agreement. Suddenly, Rhaenyra’s warm body brushes up against your back. She nibbles lightly at your ear before kissing and licking her way down your neck.

“No need to be cruel,” Rhaenyra purrs. “Our little dragon is just begging for attention the only way she knows how.”

You whimper, canting your hips into Daemon’s. He slides a thigh between yours, pressing it up against your cunt. Your eyes roll back and you moan at the friction. “Please,” you breathe out, your teary eyes meeting his. 

NOTE: Hey all! I'm not dead, sorry for disappearing! Life happened (new job, had to travel home for a funeral). But, I got my shit back together after taking some time for myself and I'm ready to give y'all the stories I've been cooking up. I have some steamy and inspiring requests I'm working on for Feyd Rautha (so if you requested...they're coming). Glad to be back and BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR PART 2!!!! - Lacie <3

Want to be added to a taglist? Click HERE!

[sectumsempraaa]

More Than a Gut Feeling

Pairing: soulmate!Theo Nott x fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Based on this request! :)

TW: none, just unlawful amounts of fluff

Featuring: Theo, Draco, Mattheo, Pansy, Lorenzo, Blaise

Summary: Transferring schools in your fifth year is overwhelming enough. But when you find yourself seemingly tethered to a Slytherin boy, you start to wonder… Did you come to Hogwarts by choice? Or did someone lead you here?

“And there was fog, and dust, and all I could see was this hand reaching out for me-”

“Bloody hell Theo, please, we get it. You smoked before bed and had trippy dreams,” Pansy complains, cutting him off from his hazy explanation. She turns to you and rolls her eyes, expressing her disdain.

It’s a typical Monday breakfast in the Great Hall for the Slytherin lads, except they have you now. They’ve recently (and graciously) taken you under their wing after you transferred schools in your fifth year.

Though you’re still adjusting to your surroundings at Hogwarts, your new friends have made the transition easier.

“I didn’t smoke before bed, bastardo,” he replies, lunging slightly towards her in annoyance.

Your eyes linger on Theo for a moment, his dream piquing your interest for some reason. There’s something about it that feels… familiar.

But you shake it off as deja vu in order to move past it. The last thing you want right now is to stand out amongst your new peers.

It’s only been a week since you arrived, but the connection you have with Theodore is unlike the others, and they are starting to notice.

Like when you first met, and the both of you were each holding a hardcover copy of your mutual favorite poetry book.

And a couple days later, when you turned your head to greet him as he was several yards behind you in the hallway, before he even called your name.

And yesterday, when you watched him win the first quidditch match you’d seen because the golden snitch hovered over you the entire time.

“I wish I could remember my dreams like that,” you respond, adding a touch of understanding to the conversation.

Theo’s head turns in the direction of your soft voice, like his gaze is attached to it somehow.

Blaise looks between the two of you, eyebrows raised in suspicion.

Suddenly and smoothly, Mattheo nudges you with his elbow and leans in close to your ear.

“If you dreamt of me, you would.” He smirks, laughing to himself and earning a light smack on the chest from Lorenzo. You notice Theo’s expression turn a smidge darker, something new looming in his eyes.

Lorenzo comments. “You really do ruin everything. You’re like, the king of ruining everything.”

Draco scoffs at Mattheo’s quip and places his hands on the table to signify that it’s time to leave for class. “Come on, Mattheo. Let’s not traumatize the new girl.”

Draco throws an apologetic glance your way.

“Please don’t listen to this child.” He spits out the last few words with haste.

When you look at Theo, you find him still staring at you with a hint of wonder and confusion.

You blush, feeling the crimson warmth spreading from one cheek to another. You reach down to grab your bag and make your way to potions class with the rest of the group.

—

Today’s lesson is, surprisingly, something you’ve already learned at your previous school. And thank the gods, because something about Theo’s dream has your attention caught like a fly in a web.

You imagine his vision, the fog and the reaching. You look down to your own hand, your brows furrowing as you continue to rack your brain. The longer you look at your hand, the more convinced you are that…

No. You just met him a week ago… there’s no way.

But that’s not it. It’s the other dreams he’s mentioned in the past few days, too. One where he’s at Durmstrang looking for someone, another where he’s trying to find them on the Hogwarts Express, but he doesn’t know who he’s following.

Who he’s looking for.

You can’t help but compare them to your own dreams, strikingly, eerily similar.

You recount images of them, scouring through empty train cabins and following the sound of alluring footsteps in your former school.

A tug on your ponytail pulls you out of your distraction, the slight pain guiding your stare. A sea of giggles spreads through the class as you watch Professor Snape’s hand return to his side.

“Miss Y/L/N, I suspect you were the potions teacher at Durmstrang with the way you ignore my curriculum.” Snape retorts, his stern voice closer than you were expecting.

But one particular laugh catches your ears, the corners of your mouth turning up at the sound of it. Your eyes land on Theo, and something about his expression makes your heart skip a beat.

“Tsk tsk, bella,” He whispers, and you bite your lip in response, turning back to your textbook as that damn blush creeps back onto your face.

There’s no denying how unfathomably handsome this man is when he smiles at you, because of you.

Your desk partner, Draco, looks to Theo and then back to you in bewilderment.

“I can never get him to joke around like that,” He says to you. “I’ll be damned if he fancies you more than me already.”

You smile back to Draco, returning the playful demeanor. “Oh, I bet he just adores you.” You respond loud enough so Theo can hear behind you.

You don’t have to turn around to see the bashful smirk on Theo’s face.

—

That night, you toss and turn more than usual. A wild dream keeps you trapped in slumber, unable to relinquish you from it until your roommate, Pansy, physically shakes you awake.

“I’m right here, you oaf!” Pansy yells, her hands squeezing your shoulders as you urgently sit up in bed.

“What? What are you doing? Why are you yelling?” You ask, genuinely lost. The beads of sweat trickle down your temple.

“You don’t remember just now when you were asking ‘Where are you?’ a thousand times in your own sleep?” She responds, her eyes widening with each word.

And then it hits you, the images of your dream. That laugh, a gentle breeze, and a-

“Paper crane?” Pansy asks, looking down into your lap with eyes like headlights.

You slowly look down, afraid to reveal to yourself what lays in your grasp. In your palm is a small, crumpled paper crane. Your baffled stare freaks her out, her hands retracting from your sides.

“What the filthy fuck is that?!” Pansy yells, but her voice sounds quite distant to you as you try desperately to get a hold on reality.

But you know. You know what this is, and you know how you got it. Accepting this fact is like swallowing glass.

“I brought something out of my dream,” you whisper, your breath picking up in pace and weight. The thought is sending you reeling, your brain suddenly racing yet devoid at the same time, unwilling to connect the dots.

“How is this even possible?” You ask yourself.

Pansy continues rambling on, asking you endless questions.

But you can’t seem to shake the idea that this item didn’t exist before you fell asleep last night.

—

After long deliberation, and a real pull back to reality, you manage to get yourself dressed and out the door. But the mental picture of this thing takes up most of the space in your mind that day, haunting you each time you think of it.

It’s not until Divination class, your last period, that things somehow become even more unsettling.

Professor Trelawney begins a lesson about the influence of dreams in real life and the messages they can send to the dreamer.

“Dreams, they can be so powerful. They can point you in specific directions, impact your decisions, make you see the truth.”

Her shakey, ominous voice echoes through your head, her words bouncing off the walls of your skull as you feel around in your pocket for the mysterious object. When you feel the edges of the paper graze your skin, you gently pull it out and place it on the corner of your desk.

From the table over, Theo absentmindedly observes you, your movement guiding his trailing eyes. He sees the object in front of you, but it takes him a second to register what it is, that curious little thing.

He squints, then performs a stunning double take. And when he’s finally able to identify it…

Everything changes.

“Oh… my… god…” Theo whispers, his heart dropping into his stomach like an anchor. His body goes into a state of utter disbelief and stillness. His eyes piercing white and his face ghostly pale as he struggles to grasp the scene in front of him.

Mattheo notices Theo’s knuckles white against the desk and chimes in to check on his friend.

“Mate, you alright? You look like Enzo after a Friday night at the Three–”

But before Mattheo can finish asking, Theo suddenly stands up and gains the attention of everyone in class by the sound of his bench skidding backwards on the floor.

Professor Trelawney’s gaze shifts from Theo to you as she locates the focus point of his unrelenting stare. She offers to take him to the infirmary as he looks “unwell.”

But Theo shakes his head, places his hand over his heart, and silently dashes out of the classroom.

Pansy’s head slowly turns to you with a look of complete perplexity.

“Better go check on Rome, new girl,” she mutters under her breath, referencing Theo’s hometown. She gestures her head in the direction of the door.

You nod hesitantly, soon following in his footsteps and ignoring any questions from your teacher.

—

When you make it to the hallway, you find Theo pacing back and forth, his hand still placed over his heart as if to stop it from exploding. But when he sees you, it only gets more difficult.

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off before you can even inhale.

“Where in seven hells did you get that paper crane?!” He asks, stopping in his tracks. The conversation continues in bouts of interrupting each other.

“Theodore, I-”

“Don’t call me that, that’s not what you call me in-”

“In what?”

“In my-”

Then a pause. A tense, incredible pause. A stare down.

He continues. “Nothing, it’s mind numbingly mad,”

You take a step towards him, but something in your chest suddenly becomes achingly heavy. In response, you place a hand over your heart, just like Theo is.

In your free hand, you unfold your fingers to reveal the paper crane. His eyes land on it, the shock of it still trapping every fiber of his being.

“You…” you start, the weight in your chest transforms from a brick to a block of anvil with each word.

When you’re within arms length of each other, he manages to reach out, the struggle evident on his face. He fights to finish your sentence for you.

“Made this. Gave this… to you, last night.” He explains, his voice dragging as you notice his hand now gripping his shirt in a fist from the sheer pain in his chest.

“Theo… I think we aren’t dreaming of each other,” you suggest, taking time to breathe between thoughts. The weight on your heart is now seemingly unbearable.

“We’re dreaming with each other,” you say, and just as you finish the thought, Theo’s fingers touch the paper crane in your hand, a graze that feels like lightning.

And just then, as the object fuses the touch of two destined souls, a small clad of thunder emits from between you that only you two can hear. The pains in your chests implode, a knee-dropping sensation of light and warmth replacing it.

Like dynamite in your hearts.

“Bella,” Theo’s hoarse voice is laced with a sincerity that sounds like liquid gold to your ears. There’s no way to describe the feeling inside you right now, this fantastic blend of energies and desires.

The only thing you do know is that it’s burning at both ends, like a charring rope.

“I think… I was meant to find you, cara mia. Gods I sound mental,” he shakes his head, embarrassment written all over his face. To his surprise, he finds your hand gently caressing his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours.

“Then maybe we both need to visit the infirmary, because I’ve only just arrived here and for some reason I can’t fathom a minute away from you.”

Relief washes over him as he drinks in your words, and the stunning sight of you confessing the very same sentiment he, too, harbors.

Your heart rate quickens as you feel an arm snake around your lower back, out of your line of sight. This feels strangely comfortable, like you’ve felt it for a lifetime already.

“Y/N…” he beckons, his forehead dropping to rest on yours. “I can’t ask you to be mine, because I think someone, or something, else already decided that.” He jokes, the huff from his laugh hitting your face.

The sight of both your smiles is what shifts everything into place. Everything, all at once. And then, your fists are the ones gripping his shirt, pulling his lips onto yours.

The paper crane falls to the ground between you as your lips move against each other, his hands exploring your back like they’re hunting for treasure. The magnitude of this kiss surpasses any other you’ve shared in the past.

Chills run up and down your body, like it’s finally found its home. Its match. His fingers grasp your hair lightly, keeping you in place as he kisses you with vigor.

He pulls away, looking at you like you’re his most prized possession.

“You’re more than a gut feeling, tesoro.” He confesses, earning another kiss from you. This one feels like an aftershock, the aftermath of the impact of your newfound, yet momentous intimacy.

You nod your head in understanding, barely able to form a coherent sentence at the moment.

“Did you… feel that, Theo?” You question, sending a glimmer of hope his way.

“Yes, like… fireworks?” He asks back. He takes your hand and places it on his chest once again, and you swear you could feel the butterflies erupting from inside.

Behind you, a mess of rushed footsteps make their entrance, accompanied by a couple of stern voices.

“These two, I swear…” Blaise complains, shaking his head and catching his breath.

“What in the Merlin-loving fuck is going on here?” Lorenzo sneers, his expression a mix of urgency and frustration.

But you two never broke that stare, that ruthless, solid stare. Instead you beam at each other as you scramble to put the answer into words.

“Fireworks.”

—

That night, you wander the grounds of Hogwarts together as Mattheo, Draco, and Pansy watch you from the Astronomy Tower. The three of them convene to discuss.

“You reckon she used a love potion?” Mattheo suggests, earning another smack on the arm.

“No, you bloody fool. They’re like, tethered or something.” She attempts to convey the notion to the boys, but they just don’t get it.

“Are we tethered then, doll?” Draco jokingly asks Pansy.

“In your dreams, mate.” Mattheo responds, taking a drag from his cigarette. She responds while picturing the paper crane she found in your lap that one fated morning last week.

“You’d be surprised how accurate that is.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[steddieas-shegoes]

matches my weird

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote "we are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." - dr. seuss

rated t | 1069 words | no cw | tags: pre-relationship, steve has a crush on eddie, open ending but assume they're gonna kiss later

🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒

Steve knows it’s gross, which is why he never does it when someone else is around. He opens the jar of pickles and the jar of peanut butter.

He scoops out a spoonful of peanut butter because he’s not an animal. He would never risk pickle juice getting in the jar when so many people come over to his house and ransack his cabinets. God forbid Robin try to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and end up with the taste of pickle on it.

She hates pickles almost as much as she hates Vecna. Seriously.

He dips the pickle into the peanut butter and puts it up to his mouth to take a bite.

“What is happening right now?” Eddie’s voice is high pitched and Steve jumps, nearly dropping his snack.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks. He can’t hide what he’s doing at this point, so he might as well embrace it.

“I left my jacket here last night, remember? I called and told you I would be by to get it before I went to work?”

Eddie is holding said jacket in his hands and looks…not as disgusted as he probably should be. He just looks surprised.

“Oh, right.” Steve does vaguely remember this phone call, but he was half asleep this morning when Eddie called. He can’t be blamed for forgetting.

“Are you putting peanut butter on your pickles?” Eddie asks as he steps closer.

“I obviously am,” Steve replies.

“Bread and butter?” Eddie clarifies.

Steve checks the jar to be sure. “Yeah.”

“You should try it with the dill ones.”

Steve blinks. “Huh?”

“The regular dill ones are really good in peanut butter. These ones are too, but the savory– Oh! And the sweet and sour ones! I ran out of peanut butter once and used chocolate syrup. Wasn’t as good, but got the job done,” Eddie explains as he walks over and takes a pickle from the jar to dip into the scoop of peanut butter.

“Um. What are you doing?”

“I’ve never known anyone else to do this! I did it when I was little and Wayne thought it was gross, but he always kept pickles and peanut butter in the house for me,” Eddie shrugs as he chews.

“This isn’t you just trying to make me feel like I’m not weird?” Steve doesn’t think someone would go to such lengths, especially not Eddie, but who knows.

“No. Who would do that?”

“I…dunno. I didn’t know anyone else did this. It’s kinda weird.”

“Yeah, have you met me?” Eddie laughs. “I’m a pretty weird guy. Wait until you see what I do to my hot chocolate.”

“What do you do?” Steve takes another bite.

“This is Wayne’s fault, but I usually make it with a mix of milk and cola.”

Steve makes a face, but immediately realizes that’s actually probably pretty good. He’s heard of people using cola in chocolate cake before, so why not make hot chocolate with cola?

“I should try that,” he says.

“Yeah, I can make it for you after work if you want. I only have a four hour shift today.”

“I can go get some hot chocolate packets from the store.”

“We don’t need packets if you have syrup,” Eddie says.

“I always have syrup. El and Dustin drink chocolate milk every time they’re here,” Steve sits back in his chair. “But is that really gonna make it sweet enough?”

“Trust me, Harrington.”

“I do.”

It’s a loaded sentence, and Steve recognizes almost immediately that it’s a bit heavy for a very simple discussion about hot chocolate. His face is warm as he reaches over to grab another pickle from the jar.

“So…I can be here around eight?” Eddie continues after a long pause.

“Yeah, man, sounds good.”

Eddie reaches over Steve to get another pickle from the jar. Steve holds his breath as their arms brush against each other. His heart stops for a moment.

“You know, Wayne always says I gotta find someone just as weird as me. I don’t think he meant this, but maybe it’s that simple.”

Steve blinks, staring ahead so he doesn’t do something stupid like stand up and kiss Eddie or pull him into his lap. Now’s not the time to explore the feelings he’s had simmering in his gut for months, not when Eddie has to go to work. They’ve got plans later, maybe he can be brave about it then.

“Anyways! See ya later, Steve.”

Eddie leaves. Steve waits until he hears his truck start up before he throws his head back and groans. He’s ridiculous.

The phone rings and he groans again. He’s almost positive he knows who it is, and her timing is always impeccable.

“Hello?”

“Steve. You have to hear what Keith just told a customer. We would have been fired it it was us,” Robin whispers into the phone.

“Are you calling me while Keith is next to you?”

“Obviously I am.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “What did he say?”

“He told them that if they wanted to watch kid movies as an adult, they should keep that to themselves,” Robin sounds half-crazed. “I promise it sounded more scathing when he said it. The customer left and said he’d never come back. But I always got the creeps from that guy anyway. You know the one who always asks if I turned 18 yet?”

“Gross. Hate that guy. Maybe he won’t come back,” Steve says as he closes the peanut butter jar. “Hey, you know how I have a crush on Eddie?”

“Duh,” Robin says, half-distracted.

“Think I’m gonna do something about it tonight.”

He’s met with silence.

“You there?”

“I’ve been trying to get you to do something about it for a month now. Why tonight?”

Steve looks at the jar of pickles and smiles. “Because our weird matches.”

“O…kayyyy. You’re probably right about that.” He hears Keith say something about getting off the phone. “I gotta go, but good luck with that tonight.”

“Thanks, Robs. Do you like pickles dipped in peanut butter?”

“That’s disgusting, Steve. Seriously.”

“Just checking.”

“Do you?” Robin asks, but Keith starts yelling about personal calls on the clock and she rushes to hang up the phone before he can answer.

Steve hangs up and leans his head back against the wall.

“He matches my weird,” Steve sighs, smiling to himself.

[bullet-prooflove]

Because Of You: Jack Abbott x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @noxytopy @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis

Companion piece to:

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

Bob Dylan - You help Jack to relax after an incident at the hospital leaves him temporarily blind.

The first time you take Jack's pants off, he had hoped it would be a seduction. There would be music, romance and passion, lots of passion. He doesn’t expect it to occur to because he’s blind as fuck, struggling to climb out of his scrubs. In addition to the temporary vision issues, he has vertigo which is how he ends up on the floor tangled up in his trousers, praying for God to end his life.

“My dicks out isn’t it?” He mutters when you step into his bedroom to find him, grasping the carpet in a hope that the room stops spinning.

“Yea.” You say frankly as you grip the leg of his scrubs and pull them the rest of the way off his body. “But it’s in the top three of ones I’ve seen today so you should be proud.”

He laughs despite himself as he reaches down and rearranges his underwear, hopefully covering his assets.  

“If you can get my sweatpants to my knees I can do the rest.” He tells you, listening to you foraging around the drawers of his dresser.

The plan was that you’d drive him home, get him inside and leave but you’d thwarted that the moment you watched him walk into the sideboard and curse up a storm at the bruise that was now forming on his thigh.

“Ok, we have pants.” You tell him, your hand gently resting on his ankle as you guide his through the hole. You repeat the action, getting the elastic waistband half way up his thighs before he takes over.

“I’m not ready to do the shirt just yet.” He tells you because already he’s exhausted from the whole rigmarole of this thing. Concussions are no fucking joke.

“Alright.” You say and he can hear rustling above him before the comforter is draped over his body like a weighted blanket. Your palm gently cups the nape of his neck, fingers smoothing over his burnished silver curls as you help him to lift his head just enough to slip a pillow underneath it.

“When you’re ready to move I can put it all back on the bed.” You tell him as you settle down beside him on top of the sheets. You exhale, long and slow and he can feel your body starting to relax alongside him.

“You’re sleeping over aren’t you?” He mumbles because the tiredness, it’s claiming him too, dragging him under. “I couldn’t make you leave if I wanted to?”

“Hm.”  You make an affirmative noise.

“Faye.” He says after a minute. “Get under quilt, the temperature supposed to drop tonight.”

“You’re sure?” You ask him. His comfort, it’s always been paramount to you and he finds that somewhat endearing. It’s been a long time since someone’s cared about him and even then it was never like this.

“Yea, I’m sure.” He feels the comforter shifting before you take up residence beside him, the heat from your body graces his skin as your breathing starts to even out. He can’t remember the last time he slept with someone, five years at least he thinks.

You mumble in your sleep as you roll onto your side, tucking yourself against his body and Jack’s senses are suddenly flooded with the scent of daffodils. It reminds of spring mornings before he went to war, of sunshine and happiness, all the things he lost along with his innocence.

They’re coming back he realises as he lies there in the darkness, all those good things he’s been missing, he’s starting to feel them again.

It’s because of you, he thinks, as your palm comes to rest in the space where his heart resides in his chest. All of this healing, it’s because of you.

Love Jack? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[pedroscurls]

The reader and Hugh are in bed in the morning and the reader has to get up for work but Hugh doesn't want her to leave so pulls her back in bed in a big bear hug and she calls In sick 😉

bad influence (one-shot)

summary: already running late for work, hugh convinces you to call in sick. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader tags / warnings: fluff, brief suggestive sexual content (18+), no use of y/n word count: 913 a/n: to the anon who sent this in - i'm so sorry it took me a while to post this! hope you enjoy regardless. and as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

You awake with a jolt, glancing at the clock and realizing that you’ve slept through your alarm. You glance over to the man next to you who’s stirring awake at your sudden movements. He’s lying on his back, shirtless with an arm behind his head as his eyes slowly begin to flutter open. 

“Oh my god, I’m going to be late!” you exclaim, trying to scramble out of bed and bringing the sheet with you. Last night had been amazing and you hadn’t expected to spend the night with Hugh. It had only been your third date with him, but throughout the night, there had been a lingering tension of what the night would bring. 

When he invited you back to his place after dinner, you were excited to accept. To be able to spend uninterrupted time with him behind closed doors without worrying about someone asking for a picture or an autograph was something you were looking forward to. You had both been sitting on the couch – you with your glass of wine and him with his – before the effects of alcohol coursed through your veins and gave you the courage to straddle his lap. 

He had looked up at you in surprise, but with an excited look in his eyes. Hugh had immediately rested his hands on your hips and groaned to himself when you pressed yourself further into him. He wanted to be a gentleman, wanted to be respectful of you and your boundaries, but the more time he spent with you, the more he found it difficult to keep the pent up frustration to himself. His hand could only do so much and he was finding that he needed more relief. He needed you. 

So, when you agreed to come over to his place, Hugh was excited. Not only because of what could happen, but because he was starting to like you more and more with each date. He didn’t want to scare you away, but you had promised him that his lifestyle wouldn’t deter you from pursuing a relationship with him. And it was true. When fans came up to him, you gave him the space and distance he needed but also went so far as to offer to take the picture for the fans; you knew how important Hugh’s fans were to him. 

When the paparazzi would follow him, you’d be right there by his side, just as polite and kind as he was. He knew that not many people could fit into his life, especially after the success of Deadpool & Wolverine, but you managed to fit in so well – like you had always belonged by his side. 

And last night… Well last night was amazing. Falling asleep with you in his arms had lulled him to a deep slumber and it had been a very long time since he had a good night’s rest. Hugh had convinced you to just spend the night, that he’d wake up early today to make sure you leave on time for work, but he was just too comfortable. Too relaxed with you by his side that he had slept through his own alarm too. 

When he hears you mumble under your breath, followed by your sudden movements, Hugh slowly opens his eyes. He sees you from the corner of his eyes lifting the sheet above your chest, covering yourself. He grins to himself, having remembered that you both had fallen asleep naked. 

“What are you doing?” he whispers, the hand behind his head reaching out to gently rest on your lower back as you sit up. 

“I’m going to be late for work, Hugh,” you answer. “I should be at home, already on the way to leave and–”

“Take the day off,” Hugh interjects, eyes gazing up at you. “Spend it with me.”

“Hugh, I can’t. I have a big project that I need to get done.”

“Will it be done today?” Hugh asks.

“Well, no, but–”

“Then at least you’ll have something you can do tomorrow.” Hugh smirks.

You shake your head and go to climb out of his large bed before his arm snakes around your waist to pull you back into bed. He turns on his side and pulls your body flush against him as your back rests against his chest. 

“Hugh…” you whisper, feeling his naked body press against you from behind. You can feel his lower half begin to harden, begin to stir awake at the close proximity. 

“Call in sick, baby,” he mumbles, lips lowering to pepper soft kisses along the back of your bare shoulder. Hugh’s hand slowly dips lower past your abdomen, inching closer and closer to the place between your legs. 

“You’re a bad influence,” you whimper, rolling back into him as your hand reaches down to grip his wrist. 

Hugh grins against you, leaning up to gently nibble at your earlobe. “I’ll take as much time with you as I can get, baby. Now, let me have my breakfast, yeah?” 

You’re about to ask him what he means before he moves to hover above you, lowering himself further and further down the bed until he disappears underneath the sheets. You feel his breath against the inside of your leg and when he licks a stripe up the center of your sex, your back arches and you reach down to grip onto his hair. 

“God, good morning to me,” you whisper, eyes falling shut as you let out a quiet moan. 

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[loveinhawkins]

”How do you do it?” Eddie asks.

The question slips out far too late at night, anxiety thrumming in his chest—he’s not escaped the feeling ever since the boathouse, when he simply couldn’t sleep, felt like a fox just waiting for hound dogs to get his scent, ready to run—

Steve doesn’t need him to explain further, as if he can somehow hear a whole lot of what Eddie’s not saying: like when he picked up the phone an hour ago and hadn’t even let Eddie tie himself in knots, had just said, so easily, “I’ll come get you,” like it wasn’t a huge inconvenience, like he’d been the one to call Eddie instead.

He’s considering Eddie from where he lies in bed, leaning on his elbow, and he’s still got the covers off pointedly—and that’s a big thing, Eddie thinks, a big thing he doesn’t know what to do with, because they’ve not talked, not really, not got much beyond the dizzying relief of still being alive.

But even fraught with profound lack of sleep, Eddie doesn’t think he’s misreading the look in Steve’s eyes.

I know, those eyes say, illuminated by the warm light of the bedside lamp. It’s okay, there’s no rush. I’m right here.

Eddie’s never seen that kind of look before. Not towards him.

“Sometimes Robin sleeps over,” Steve says thoughtfully. “And sometimes the kids are around, and they’re so annoying and I get, like, three hours, tops.” He says it with all the fondness in the world. “And sometimes I’m alone, and it’s fine.”

“What about the other times?” Eddie can’t help but whisper.

If it were a reasonable hour maybe he wouldn’t dare to ask at all, but exhaustion’s worn down the filter in his head—at this point it’s practically see-through.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, they’re shit,” he says with such honesty that Eddie nearly asks it again, how do you do it?

“But then it’s, like, a new day,” Steve says slowly, like he’s carefully weighing up what to say, “and I can… drive.” The pause tells Eddie he means go to someone. “Or, like… call, if it’s really bad.”

Hey, I’m glad you called, man, Steve had said when Eddie got into his car earlier, like they were just going to the movies or something normal—like Eddie wasn’t shaking, forehead pressed against the passenger window.

Eddie feels his throat close up a little. Tries to sniff as quietly as possible.

“Eddie,” Steve says patiently. He moves back in the bed. Gives Eddie space. “C’mere.”

Steve keeps the lamp on which helps; this isn’t the boathouse, Eddie thinks, and the slightest bit of tension leaves his body. Even that feels like a miracle.

He’s just resigning himself to lying there, staring up at the ceiling so at least Steve can get some rest, when Steve turns and catches his eye, still wide awake.

“Tell me about The Lord of the Rings,” Steve says.

The tightness in Eddie’s chest loosens; he laughs in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Eddie turns so he’s facing Steve properly, attempts a casual shrug, knowing already that it’ll be too rigid. “I don’t know, man. We, uh. We kinda lived through Mordor already.”

His hand twists in the bedsheets, knuckles turning white.

I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never had…

Steve’s hand reaches across, eases Eddie’s grip on the sheets, like he’s saying, neither did I. Just give it a shot.

“The shire, then,” Steve says.

Eddie smiles. “Steve Harrington,” he says, suddenly finding enough lightness to tease; he’s missed it. “Are you asking me for a bedtime story?”

“Nope,” Steve says. “We’re just gonna lie here and talk.”

And they do.

Steve asks questions which works out for the best—Eddie can’t quite remember the last time he read the books. To tell the truth, anything that happened before March often has a kind of fog over it.

He’s sure he’s dropped at least a couple of plot points somewhere along the way, but Steve never once complains that he’s not making sense, just gently prompts Eddie until… until…

“Mm, I know what you’re doing,” Eddie mumbles through a yawn that catches him unawares.

“Oh, do you now?” Steve says, sounding smug. God, Eddie loves him. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.” Eddie says. His eyelids are heavy. “Um.” He yawns again. “Where… where was I?”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Steve says. It sounds like he’s smiling—Eddie would check, but it’s suddenly impossible to keep his eyes open.

It’s okay, he thinks hazily, melting into sleep without even thinking about it. He can ask Steve in the morning.

There’s no rush.

[sh4nksslvt]

Hii! Can you please write something for Garp? I mean the young Garp, he has my heart.

finally! someone gets it!! dahaha young garp is just 😋🥵

Clash of Fists and Hearts

In their early days as Marines, Garp and Y/n are the chaotic, unstoppable duo no one dares challenge — sparring with fists, flirting with grins, and slowly realizing they’re doomed for each other.

Young Garp × GN!Reader

tags: fluff, sfw, flirty banter, chaotic duo, friends-to-lovers vibes, cheesy

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Marine base was buzzing with noise. Recruits barked drills across the training grounds, seagulls squawked overhead, and somewhere deep in the mess hall, someone dropped a tray with a resounding crash. But none of it compared to the chaos he brought with him.

"You call that a punch?!" Young Garp — brash, grinning, unstoppable — hollered across the field as he blocked a poor recruit’s trembling fist with one hand.

You sighed heavily from where you leaned against the base’s stone wall, arms crossed, watching him with a mixture of amusement and second-hand exhaustion.

"Maybe you should let the poor kid live, Garp," you called lazily. "You’re going to knock him into retirement before he even gets a pension."

Garp turned at your voice, that wild, boyish smile lighting up his face. "Hey! If he can’t survive me, how’s he gonna survive the Grand Line?"

The recruit looked like he might pass out at any second. You rolled your eyes and pushed off the wall, strolling over with a casual swagger that made Garp’s grin twitch wider.

"Maybe start with something a little less life-threatening," you teased, reaching out to ruffle the poor recruit’s hair. "Like paperwork."

Garp shuddered visibly. "Paperwork’s more dangerous than pirates."

You snorted. "Only because you can’t read half the time."

"Oi!" Garp barked a laugh and pointed at you, puffing up like a kid ready to wrestle. "Say that again, Y/n, and I’ll make you spar me instead!"

The challenge gleamed in his eyes. You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I’m not scared of you, Monkey D. Garp."

The recruits nearest you gasped like you’d just insulted the gods themselves. One even dropped his sword. Garp whistled low, striding forward until he was towering over you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"You should be." His voice dropped into something almost playful, almost daring.

Your heart skipped before you could scold it. You stood your ground, tilting your head up stubbornly. "Last time we sparred, you ended up eating dirt, remember?"

Garp barked out a laugh that turned every head on the field. "Only 'cause you cheated!" he accused, grinning like a fool. "You kissed me on the cheek, you sly bastard!"

Heat crept into your face. "It was a distraction!"

"A damn good one," he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, still grinning that reckless grin. "Might’ve fallen a little bit in love with you after that."

You choked. The recruits exploded in scandalized whispers.

Garp leaned closer until you could see the crinkle of mischief around his eyes. "What’s wrong, Y/n? You can punch a Sea King but you can’t take a little flirting?"

You resisted the very strong urge to punch him instead — or kiss him again, you weren’t sure which would be worse.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself trapped with Garp in the base's strategy room, surrounded by piles of boring reports. This time, you were the one who dragged him in.

"If you don't finish this," you warned, slapping a thick folder into his calloused hands, "the commander said he'll make you scrub the training grounds with a toothbrush."

Garp scowled like you'd sentenced him to death. "Y/n... you're cruel. Beautiful, but cruel."

You snorted and kicked your boots up onto the table. "Flattery won't save you."

"It might," he said hopefully. When you didn't respond, he sighed dramatically, sprawling out on the chair like a defeated dog.

You watched him struggle through the first report, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. There was something weirdly endearing about it — this rough, reckless man trying (and failing) to look serious.

Without thinking, you plucked a pen from his ear (how did it even stay there?) and clicked it against his forehead. He looked up, blinking.

"You’re hopeless," you said fondly.

"And you're stuck with me," he shot back with a grin. "Unless you plan to jump ship?"

You shrugged. "Maybe. I hear that some pirates are recruiting."

Garp gasped, scandalized. "You traitor! I'll have to arrest you myself."

He lunged dramatically across the table. You yelped, laughing, trying to dodge — but he caught your wrist in a gentle, warm grip. The room stilled for a beat, laughter fading into something quieter.

"You’re not really going anywhere, right?" Garp said, voice low and suddenly serious.

You stared at him — at the raw, open trust in those reckless eyes. A slow smile curled your lips.

"Not unless you come with me, Monkey."

He beamed so brightly you thought you might go blind.

A Few Weeks Later

Word got around the base like wildfire. Garp and Y/n were a nightmare duo. During drills, they were unbeatable. During downtime, they were unbearable.

Their teasing matches were the stuff of legend. So were the unspoken glances. The way they always ended up side-by-side without realizing. The way they laughed louder together than with anyone else.

One evening, after a brutal round of training, you collapsed next to him under the fading sun. Both of you were dusted with dirt and sweat, chests heaving from exhaustion.

"You’re not half bad," you teased breathlessly, elbowing him.

Garp grinned, flashing those wolfish teeth. "You too. For a weakling."

You nudged him harder. He shoved back playfully, sending you sprawling onto the grass with a yelp. You caught his wrist before he could retreat, dragging him down with you in a chaotic heap.

There was a moment — a heartbeat where the world faded — and it was just the two of you, tangled together, breathing each other’s air.

You could feel the rumble of Garp’s laugh against your shoulder. "Maybe we should just stay like this," he said lazily. "Nice and comfy."

You rolled your eyes, pretending your heart wasn’t hammering. "You're heavy."

"Muscle weighs more than fat, sweetheart."

You slapped his arm lightly. "Keep sweet-talking me like that, and I might just marry you," you joked without thinking.

Garp stilled for a second. Then — "Good," he said, voice low and warm. "You’re mine anyway."

Your cheeks burned hotter than a cannon blast. But you didn’t pull away. And neither did he.

[joicecubes]

i love the idea of ford and stan healing when they’re on the sea together. i need it. SO BAD. i keep thinking about how one of the last entries ford wrote in his journal was talking about how he wants to repair their relationship and finally make it up to him. if stan gives him a chance.

and stan… oh my god he’s desperate for that!! are you kidding me!! i know to ford it must feel like stan has always held a grudge against him since he came back, and because he feels so unworthy now that he’s come to terms with how he failed the people he loves, it skews his perception of what stan really wants. what he doesn’t realize in doubting whether or not stan also wants to repair their relationship is that stan has yearned for this for his ENTIRE. LIFE. he’s wanted to go back to being what they were to each other as kids from the moment he was kicked out to the moment he remembered who ford was after weirdmageddon. of COURSE he says yes to sailing the world with him. of COURSE he’ll wait as long as it takes to have his brother back, he worked thirty years for this!!

and now it’s just a matter of being there for each other. because neither of them were able to be there in each other’s worst moments. as stan regains memories ford can’t help him reach, he starts realizing just how damaged he became in the time he was homeless. and i’m sure ford’s trauma from bill shows up in ways neither of them expect either! and it must be so healing for them to be each other’s support in the aftermath of their suffering. it must feel like regaining a limb, to have your twin brother back, your best friend. ugh it just kills me.

by the way if ya’ll are looking for fics with this premise of the two of them healing… i highly recommend any gravity falls fics by ao3 user parsnipit. perfect ratio of hurt to comfort. and they’re all about stan and ford. i think about these fics every day no joke someone save me

[traumacatholic]

Whenever I try to return to this blog, I always tell myself “Okay, I’ll start making X,Y,Z content” and then…life happens. I had to make the decision to put the cat that I’ve had since I was like 9/10 years old down - there was no way for her to win the battle with cancer that she had. And I didn’t want to let her down by keeping her alive for my own sake while she was getting into more and more pain. Then in January, I had to put my other cat to sleep. My gran’s dementia is continuing to worsen and I’m in a position where I am struggling to access any kind of resources for her - here resources are a postcode lottery, and we do not live in an area with many options. Options further afield are also not options because everything here works in catchment areas and I cannot drive to transport her elsewhere anyways. We’re currently on the waiting list for a Care Needs Assessment to see what kind of support the Council can offer us. The responsibilities of being a full time carer on top of my own disabilities are tough to say the least. I currently have no ability to earn money outside of my disability payments because there’s nothing I can currently do outside of caring for my gran.

I have not been to Church in some months. I do pray sometimes, but for other people. I can’t remember the last time I prayed for myself. On Monday, I am going to be phoning the doctor and asking to get put back on antidepressants because my suicidal thoughts have been overwhelming me. I have been considering reaching out to a Priest - of any kind, and I just. I’m scared of rejection I guess. I’m just feeling very lost. I do not know if I believe in God, or rather, I do not know if I believe in my ability to practice faith. It has always felt like so many barriers get in the way. I do not know what I believe. I feel as equally sick and anxious about Orthodoxy as I do Catholicism. I guess there is a part of me that wants to return to being faithful, in some way. And equally as much of me is just so exhausted by the situation that I am currently stuck in. Sometimes faith felt like a comfort to me, but more often that not, it just felt like banging desperately against a wall and hoping Someone would hear me.

Back when I was couchsurfing in a place where I could attend an Orthodox Church, sometimes I would drag myself out of bed even though I had spent the night miserable and suicidal and then I would get told off in Church for sitting down during parts of the Liturgy due to exhaustion or for forgetting my veil. Every time I tried to pursue actual Catechism other things got in the way. But this is not unique to Orthodoxy, because I had similar experiences in Catholicism of feeling isolated and dismissed.

I don’t really know what I’m asking for at this point. I’m just really in need of prayers, maybe. I don't know. Everything going on and that has went on is just a lot. I’m sorry that I always come on here to be such a bother to other people.

[riofann]

10. tempestuous

Tempestuous: characterized by strong and turbulent or conflicting emotion.

Previous Chapter

Monday July 4, 2022

“Y/N! Y/N!”

“Yea what's up?” you turn to face your sisters 

Gia asks “You okay?” 

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?!” You ask frustrated 

“Well because I just had to call you like 10 times to get you to respond” 

“I’m sorry Gia just thinking about work” 

“GOD! are they still texting you” 

“Yeaaaa” you say in a ‘duh’ tone

“Then your managers suck that's why you have managers to manage not text you all the time give me that!” she says snatching the phone from you

You reach for the phone “Hey! I need that!” 

“No! Alicia back me up!” she commands before  throwing the phone to her

“ALICIA!” you plead

Alicia moves away from you “I’m sorry sissy but sis is right”

You throw your hands up “Oh my god! You guys are killing me” 

“Look at you!” Gia points at you “you’re killing yourself.” 

You shake your head and sit down on the couch

“When's the last time you treated yourself or went on a date?” 

“Not this again” you say, this has been a recurring topic of conversation 

“No seriously when's the last time you were told you were beautiful” 

You roll your eyes “A lot of my customers tell me that daily” 

“Not your customers, your boyfriend! your man!” Alicia asks 

Gia approaches you “Listen when is the last time you got some really good dick?” 

You feel your palms sweating, “Gia really is that important?” 

“YES IT IS! we have needs too just like guys” Alicia interjects 

“Alicia! I can’t hear this!” you say covering your ears 

“No you’re gonna listen”  Gia says laying on you. “We are worried about you, and you're overworking. It was bad with one bar but now two?!”

Alicia jumps on top making you both groan “and you’ve canceled on us like 50 times!” 

“That's an exaggeration”

“Okay not 50 but every time its like I can’t ‘I'm working I cant gotta run to the bar’ ”

“I'm a busy woman!” 

“We know we also know you won’t make time for things unless someone forces you to ! You’re working too hard!”

You sigh “I promise to do better”

“We want a boyfriend for Christmas if you dont we are gonna snitch on you”  

“Nooo dont tell mom and dad” 

“Well I guess you better get to doing other shit besides working”

You groan and finally get the strength to push them off you 

“Its because we love you” Alicia hugs you 

“Yea I know” you say begrudgingly but hugging her back 

As you drive home that evening you think of the dream  you had recently. You and Rio were in his office arguing over something stupid you can’t even remember the details. Next thing you knew he was kissing you, shoving you back against the wall, and you were kissing him back! It was sloppy, not quite coordinated like it would be in real life, he was groping the same areas, some scenes kept replaying over and over, others were so vivid you could smell his cologne, taste the spearmint gum he chewed occasionally, the fabric of his shirt against your fingers. It ended when he reached up your skirt to yank down your panties, and just as you felt his calloused fingers graze up your thighs your alarm went off. Saved by the alarm! You would have liked for it to continue, because that would be the only way you were getting any. When you go to take a shower you feel the wetness between your thighs. Anyway the conclusion that you came to was you thought there was too much proximity to him and you were horny so your mind conjured him up nothing more, nothing else. 

Saturday August 13, 2022

“It's hot!” you complain as you approached Rio, once again at the country club 

“Its summer” he states the obvious 

“Yup anyway here you go” you stated dropping the bag on the floor. You changed tactics you were either dropping it on the floor/table or in his hand now by holding it with both hands on the straps instead

He shoves the bag to the side next to his duffle “It’s getting cooler though it was burning at 3” he adds 

“You’ve been here since 3? (it was 6:30 in the evening)” 

He nods “had a couple of meetings”

You nod feeling the awkward tension “want anything else or can I go?” 

He smiles, looks at the tennis court then back at you “Not gonna take me up on my offer?” 

“Offer? What offer?” You think to yourself “Oh tennis? I can't” pointing to your attire dress and heels 

He nods “I know you don’t have to work at either place so what's holding you back?” 

“Actually, stalker, I have to be at Oasis tonight so I need to get going” 

He chuckles at your stalker comment before arguing “James said he had it covered” 

“Well James is your hire and he doesn’t ‘have it covered’ because” you show the text message James sent you begging you to go in because the Andersons were gonna stop by with some friends  and only you knew how to make them happy. “I have to go in” 

He sighs with slight irritation “he should be able to manage” feeling like you were just making up an excuse 

You smile at him “He is your hire” you reiterate bringing back the memory of you telling Rio he may not be the best manager but Rio insisting 

“Let him take care of it” he argues 

“Can’t Andersons are big customers spend close to 2 grand or more every time they stop by I gotta go” you turn to walk away

“How is he gonna learn?” he continues 

You shrug and open your hands “You should have asked yourself this before you asserted his position at Oasis!”

He scoffs looking around 

“Oh look at you two! How cute! Again!” 

You both turn to face the older woman and both give her an awkward smile there's a brief moment of silence before Rio asks “Hey I’m sorry do we know you?” 

“Well I saw you two at the launch of Oasis” 

Your mind immediately remembers her “Oh how nice to see you again! Have you been back? I’m sorry if I haven’t recognized you” 

“Oh I have but you're always at the other bar Cure?” You nod “I haven't been but my husband and I plan to stop by with friends”

You give a small pout “I’m sorry I keep missing you”

She waves you away jokingly “Oh it's alright the place is still great, drinks are just the way I like them strong” You giggle “and you know staff is perfect life is still merry!” 

“That's good!” you smile 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt I just thought I would come say ‘Hi’ my name is Edith by the way” she extends her hand 

“Edith nice to meet you I’m Y/N and that's..” 

She answers “Christopher he’s in the Tennis tournament this year saw your profile” she winks 

Rio smiles

You look at your watch. “I have to go, or the manager is gonna be calling me nonstop. It was nice meeting you again Edith and next time you're there have them reach out to me I’ll stop by” 

“Okay see you later young lady” 

You don’t even think to say bye to Rio just wanting to get out of there as soon as possible 

“Boy you must have made her mad!” Edith jokes 

He laughs “something like that”

“That's alright, nothing a bouquet of flowers, chocolate, and a big kiss can’t fix! Always does the job!” She advices

He nods and looks at the older woman Edith looks at the tennis court then back to Rio “You up for another round?”  she asks

He shrugs “sure why not?”

“Good because I'm gonna smoke ya!” 

He takes a sip of his water “I owe you a round of drinks at Oasis if you do”

“Oooh more motivation!!” 

Thursday September 8, 2022

As things slowed down and the staff began closing down at Oasis you went into the office to grab your purse and go home for the night, a vow you recently made to not work past midnight. You hear footsteps walking in after you. You look back to see James standing there 

“Oh James!”, you smile at him even though he annoyed the shit out of you tonight i was just grabbing my bag

“Hey Y/N I wanted to talk to you?” 

“Yea what's up? Today was a hit right? Made a lot.”

“Yea I didn’t want to talk about that” he walks closer “I wanted to talk about you and me”

“Excuse me? I don’t follow” 

“Sorry came on too strong but I have to say it”

“Please don't” 

“You’re really beautiful and you’re an amazing woman”

“James Seriously”

“I know you’re not dating anyone why won’t you give me a chance” he says reaching to touch your cheek 

You jerked back “OH!”  You are shocked that he touched you “Don’t do that!” 

“I like you”

You roll your eyes “I know you do and I told you I’m just not interested right now it's not you its me”

“Why won't you let yourself be loved?” he asks reaching for your 

“James” you warn

He retracts “Seriously I can take care of you, make you feel good, make you feel loved

“I’m just not interested end of discussion”

“I can take care of you, you don’t have to work anymore”

“Well no that's...” 

He cuts you off “Come on” he says stepping closer to you and blocking you in as you push up against the desk “I think you’ve had a lot to drink, we’ll discuss that later but right now I need you to back the fuck up”

“Don’t be scared just let it happen” he whispers 

“James, if you don’t back up, I will shoot you.”  You declare in a flat tone 

He sucks his teeth “you wouldn’t do such a thing to me baby” he says inching closer  as you lean back placing your finger on the trigger 

“You better listen to her” You both hear from the doorway James head snaps to see Rio leaning against the door way “She will shoot you” 

James harshly mugs Rio, “cock blocker” he mumbles 

You’ve never been so grateful to see Rio “I’m going home good night!” you say moving away and walking past James 

“Text me when you get home” James says trying to stake his claim to you

“Good night James!” You say forcefully you’ve never texted him he was either really drunk today or really bold or both

“What the fuck was that about?” James asks stomping up to Rio. “I called first dibs, you knew this, You know I like her!” Rio squares up as James reaches him “you fucking up my spot now?” 

“Take your drunk ass home James before you do something that gets your ass in some shit you'll regret” Rio speaks unwavering 

“Oh you big man now?! You gonna make me regret it?!” Rio doesn't say anything he holds eye contact with him refusing to back down “Fuck you man no ones fucking scared of you!”  They both have a stare down contest before Rio snickers to himself and walks away. He had other things to do he didn't drop by for James 

“Y/N!”  you hear Rio’s voice calling to you as you speed walk to your car

“WHAT?!”  You snapped, spinning around as he was walking towards you. 2 strides and this man caught up to you. Lanky bastard “I am not working with him!” You announce “Did you see that bullshit I had my hand on my gun! I was getting ready to shoot him!”

He waves away your concerns “Don't worry about it Ima take care of it”

“By doing what “talking” to him?” 

He looks you in the eye “What’d I just say?” he responds 

You look up and rub the back of your neck. The migraine was returning  “Why are you here? What do you want?” your feet were hurting your and adrenaline was high 

“Need to talk to you” 

“About?”

“Need a favor”

You roll your eyes again “Favor before apology wow” you mutter 

“What was that?” He asks not fully catching what you said but knowing you made a smart comment 

You smile at him “What is it boss? How can I be at your disposal?” you ask sarcastically 

He drags his tongue on his lips taming the irritation from your sarcastic tone and comment “Got a gala night coming up at the country club need a date”

You scoff and roll your eyes  “Do you really need one? Just take one of the many women around you”

He smirks “Jealous?” he teases

“No! But why the hell do you want me? Don’t you have cousins, aunties or I don’t know?! Lady friends you can take?” He nods “I do but you fit the bill plus how do you want me to tell Edith we broke up?” Your eyes bulge “Did you tell her we were dating?” He smiles seeing your reaction “No but you didn’t tell her either that day or when she saw what happened on launch night” “That was your fault I was trying to move out of the way. I remember correctly you wouldn’t let me!” “So that what?  Your ex could corner you and you stand there looking like you don’t know how to tell him to fuck off I did you a favor”

You throw your hands up frustrated “I don’t get you” 

“Feelings are mutual”

“Why do you want to take me? You don’t even trust me!” you state

“Who told you that?”

You point at him “You!” you look at him unbelieving of his naivety “Every chance someone gets to lie to you telling you I screwed you over you believe them” He scoffs looking away, waving you off “why the hell would you trust me around those country club people? People I am assuming you want to impress” 

He sighs “It was a yes or no question” he asks now annoyed 

“I told you no”

“No you asked about irrelevant shit”

“Okay well the answer is no! There!” 

“Reconsider, I’ll be in touch” he says before walking away

Saturday October 1, 2022

The butterflies in your stomach might as well be wrecking balls your nerves are bad. Why? QTNA. You spent the last 3 weeks finding gala appropriate attire. Some were too much, others too little in any case you had back ups in case your highness didn’t like what you had on. 

You hear the doorbell ring and you hang your head low shaking it as you walk towards the door you had told him to text you so all you had to do was get out of the house. 

You open the door to see him standing there with a tuxedo “Nice tux” an all black tuxedo you couldn’t have predicted anything else 

He nods “clean up nicely yourself”

“Thanks, ready to go?”

He slowly takes you in before responding “mhmm” he hums 

“Okay lead the way” 

The ride to the country club was silent with old school RnB playing in the background. You were temporarily okay until you got to the club and were forced back to reality. You ran over the details you had memorized. 

You and Rio have been together for a little over a year, he owns several businesses around town. He is working on a non-profit to help families pay off medical bills. You’re just there to be his arm candy nothing else as he put it. Even though you argued over him literally getting said arm candy from the slew of women he had at his disposal 

“Ah Mr. Serraño your table number is table 5” 

“Thanks” he says, taking your hand and pulling you along into the room. When the space got too small making it hard for both of you to walk by he would go first, occasionally during that time your hand would bump against his glock that was secured around his waist. 

He stops to mingle a bit catching up with old friends/partners? You don’t know you're just here to be here. 

Eventually you made it to your table. You hated feeling like the newcomer but at least you weren't the only one. 

The night events commence shortly after  with a speech (how the club did this year, plans for next year expansion blah blah blah), announcement of silent auctions, awards, dinner and drinks. 

“Congratulations on the awards Mr. Serraño” He does something that resembles blushing but you write it off as a smile. Rio had gotten 3rd place in the single tournament and 2nd in the double tennis tournament. 

You turn back your attention to the host of the night. The drinks were good, food was good, a good change of scenery from your usual. At some point after dinner during the drinking hour and silent auction Rio excused himself. You don’t question why you just assume it was his usual running to the loo or getting another round of drinks. 

You notice he had been gone awhile when you glance down at your phone and realize almost 30 minutes had passed by. 

He returns shortly after in a huff, irritated. 

“You good?” you ask, glancing at him before you return to listen to the host not wanting to bring attention to his changed mood to your table mates. All he does is grunt frustratedly in response. 

When the host stops talking and the attention is brought back to the table for desserts/drinks/conversation. You notice Rio’s right hand and left, bruised and bloody. With the right being worse, it was bleeding and just as he finishes putting his glass down you grab it in a sly manner bringing it to your lap. 

Rio goes to pull it away but you hold it there pretending to be engaged in conversation while removing the tissue that was in your purse. You hold it firm and in a quick moment you look down at the tissue which was showing stains of red and up at Rio who locked eyes with you. 

That got him to relax enough to let you deal with it. 

When you're confident the bleeding has stopped you let his hand go and Rio takes the hint to go to the bathroom and clean up the rest. You two linger for a little before you both make your exit. You don’t know what he discussed half the night, plans for opening up another business it was all corporate jargon you just weren’t interested in. 

The car ride now is completely silent, no radio, nothing just breathing and the occasional glance at the phone here and there. 

You pull up to a strange building and Rio drives underground and parks the car. He turns to look at you and you stare back not knowing what he’s gonna say

“Gonna wait in here or upstairs?” 

“Upstairs?” you answer unsure of what the right option was

He nods and gets out of the car and being the gentleman of the night he opens the door for you again. You slowly make your way out of the car and walk beside him as he walks into the concrete building, you see number letter combos on the doors. It must be an apartment building you think to yourself. When you arrive on the fourth floor via the elevator only one door is present to you, you assume it was a penthouse unit. 

He opens the door and lets you in, “I’ll be quick just need to change” you nod “make yourself comfortable” he offers before disappearing into the hallway. 

Only  a few lights were turned on. From what you could see it was very much Rio, in some ways it resembled his office at the warehouse. Not a lot of clutter, everything seemed to have its place and served a purpose, no need for the extra fluff. As you continue to take in the space you see a few pictures of Marcus and him along with a larger picture of the greater family. Even the art framed matched him somehow. You turn to the kitchen and think to yourself either he didn’t cook or he cooked everything from scratch except for the very expensive espresso machine sitting on the counter. 

You take a few steps in and your hand grazes the back of his leather couch. It has minimal signs of being utilized. He was busy so a couch with signs of use didn’t seem right. You turn to face the hallway hearing noise coming from that end, a door closed. There were two hallways one by the kitchen the other by the wall where Rio disappeared. You want to walk around exploring his house like he has done to yours several times, you want to strip away any ounce of privacy he had left, you wanted him to feel exposed and vulnerable like he made you feel, not maliciously, maybe some ill intent involved to get back at him if you were being truthful with yourself. To even out the playing field in some sort of way. After he broke into your house the first time and you discovered he looked around you got rid of every sex toy that existed practically became celibate involuntarily. 

“I’m ready” you hear as Rio walks out with a bandaged arm wearing his usual garb. You smile at him and wait for him to approach you. “You could have made yourself a drink or sat down” he chuckles

“It’s okay, I know you have somewhere to be, don’t want to hold you up.” you say before turning to walk away towards the door. 

This time there was music on your way to your house. 

“Sooo what happened to... your...... hand?” you dare to ask after 15 minutes of driving. There's a long silence before he responds. He takes in a deep breath “Fucker moved and I punched the floor” 

“Ouch” you comment 

“Mhm!” 

“Take pain meds?”

“Mhm!”

You nod and look out the window watching as the city lights fade away as you approach the suburbs. Satisfied with his answers. 

He pulls into the driveway turning off the car before slowly turning to face you 

You feel nervous; it's not how he typically looks at you with a blank face or annoyance; there's familiarity in his gaze; he is comfortable with you, well at this moment anyway. 

You giggle nervously “You have somewhere to be”  you say before looking into your bag to find your key “got my keys and cellphone” 

There's a lazy smile on his face “ ‘preciate you joining me tonight” 

You nod, smiling “You made a good impression, they really like you.” That was the whole purpose of the night, right? 

He smiles again looking away  

“Yup well goodnight Rio” you say before opening the door

“Oh come on you wouldn’t let me open the door this time?” he asks jokingly as you step out “Oh! Slipped my mind, sorry” 

He nods stepping out of the car “well the least I can do is walk you to your door” 

You nod in response and close the door making your way towards the house, you were used to him being angry with you, you knew how to navigate around him when he was, this was different it felt like you were being studied in ways you didn’t even understand. 

You fumble slightly to open the door but you do and step in “do you want to come in?” you offer just to offer not that you really wanted it 

He shakes his head “can’t” 

“Right you have things to do, well I guess thanks for the evening I had fun hope your hand heals” 

“Yea here’s your cut” he says handing you the envelope full of money before walking away. 

Friday October 14, 2022

“Have you talked to him?” Alicia asks

“Talked to who?” “Who else?!” 

You sigh “no!” you were starting to regret telling your sisters about the faux date between you and Rio

“Why not?” 

“Well it’s more of like a ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ thing”

“Did you text him the next day?”

You look at the camera on your phone “To tell him what?” 

“Y/N!” Gia scolds 

“Whaaaaat?” You whine

“You were supposed to tell him that you enjoyed your time” she continues

“I already told him that when the night was over! He doesn’t need me to say it again!” 

“You’re supposed to remind him, to keep his mind on you!” 

You roll your eyes “Ugh there's too many rules to dating now”

“Christmas is approaching” she threatens 

“I know!” 

“Either you show up with a boyfriend or we tell mom and dad!” 

You let out a sigh of frustration “Fine! Just tell them. Tell mom and dad!” They remain quiet “What? I don’t think I will have anyone by then guys. I'm busy, I just don’t have the time and I can't ask any man to accommodate this schedule of mine. I know mom and dad won’t be happy  but hey its okay we can’t have it all” 

“That's not true” Alicia speaks up sounding sad

“Don’t Alicia” you warn “I’m not dying here, you guys are acting a bit crazy over this”

“What's wrong with wanting someone to take care of you like you do everyone else?” 

“Nothing I just want you guys to be a bit more realistic on how soon or the possibilities of that happening. But I don’t like talking about myself. I wanna hear about you guys. How are your beaus?”

Authors Note: Please leave your feedback, again please don't steal. Only repost, like, or give credit.

XOXO Rose

Taglist:

@katymae12344, @yinmaggiorebass , @flirtyjen, @wnbweasley, @meadows5, @ffenthusiastt, @rio-reid-whoreee, @belezaya, @meera10, @aunicornmademedoit, @stilestotherescue, @thatoneasiagurl, @baddiereads,

[bitchesuntitled]

Costco

Marcus Acacius x F!Reader wc: 2,421

Summary: Imagine if you will that you work at Costco, there's some weird stuff in the jalapeno poppers and some time travel happens. Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18+ content(GO ON GIT), Sex pollen-ish(?), Unprotected PinV(be smarter than this), jalapeno poppers, costco, inappropriate use of a storage room, explicit language, time travel shenanigans, oral sex, think that's it if I missed anything let me know! A/N: I wrote this for a discord server fic exchange and it is for the wonderful @beefrobeefcal who I also tricked into helping me edit it because she is the sweetest! She's already seen it, I'm just now getting around to posting it. Thank you much to @jay-zzle for the amazing moodboard and helping me brainstorm on this story, without you this would not be a thing <3

Masterlist||AO3

divider by @saradika-graphics

“New! Bacon-wrapped stuffed jalapeños!” The front of the box states. What should be delicious looks more like if someone picked up a dog turd and wrapped bacon around it, trying to pass it off as something edible. John, your boss, was making you pass out the free samples of these supposed stuffed jalapeños.

Surely they aren’t that bad , you think, stomach rumbling, reminding yourself you had skipped lunch today. Glancing around to make sure no customers were about before grabbing one of the samples and popping it into your mouth.

“Oh god,” you mumble past a mouthful of cream cheese, bacon, and jalapeño in disgust. They look and taste like shit. You suppose you can’t expect much from prepackaged frozen food though. The bitter sour taste still on your tongue as you grab your water bottle off the table, chugging some of it to try and rid your mouth of the gross flavor. 

Reaching for the box to check the expiration date on these things, they’ve got to be expired with that sort of flavor. The ground begins to shake violently, toppling the box onto the floor. Your head snaps up to look around. What the fuck was that?

—

All Marcus could remember was running on the battlefield before slamming into this mysterious shelf housing weird colorful goods. A woman in strange clothing gasped, grasping the child next to her, also wearing strange clothes, before quickly scurrying away. Where are their tunics? The footwear they wore looked suffocating compared to his thin leather sandals. He looked around, trying to determine where he was.

Everything in this place was so damn bright and colorful. Not that Rome didn’t have its fair share of colorful beauty, but these appeared ten times brighter than Marcus has ever seen, such as the weird candles above his head that appear to possess the sun’s power with their bright intensity. He starts walking along the smooth stone passage, hoping to find someone he can speak with to figure out where he is and hopefully get some answers on how to get back to Rome.

He spots a beautiful woman in a blue apron standing behind a table. A kind smile graces her face as people walk past her. He thinks she must be selling goods at her table and decides to approach her for help. This must be a sign from the gods. This woman with her sweet smile and beauty beyond anything he could ever imagine, surely she’d be able to help him in his time of need.

—

After eating the supposed stuffed jalapeño, you weren’t feeling the best but you knew the last thing John would do is let you leave. Business as usual, doling out polite smiles as customers pass you by, glancing at the free samples and shaking their heads. No one wanted to try these monstrosities and you didn’t blame them.

“Oh, great,” you huff, rolling your eyes, spotting a man dressed in full Roman garb walking around aimlessly, “Must be some sort of convention in town again.” The man approaches you cautiously.

“Good afternoon,” you say with an upbeat, chipper tone, “Would you like to try some brand new stuffed jalapeño poppers that just came in?” you ask, gesturing to the stuffed peppers before you. “Despite how they look, they are indeed pretty tasty,” you say, giving the man a saccharine smile.

“What?” The man murmurs, glancing at the samples sitting on the table.

“They are a new product we just got in,” you explain, tilting your head to study him. The man continues to stare down at the table; he appears somewhat frazzled, like a small child who has lost his mother in the store. “Have you ever been to a Costco, sir?

“A Cos- what?” The man repeats, brown eyes narrowing as he stares at you. A fire in your veins lit up from his dark eyes peering at you, goosebumps rushing across your skin from his heavy glare.

“Costco,” you gulp, your tongue feeling like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth. You gesture your arms around. “The store we’re in? Listen, you okay, man?” you ask, grabbing your water bottle again.

“Never been here,” he murmurs, gripping the table between you, taking deep steadying breaths.

“It’s all good! I can understand the panic,” you chuckle nervously, taking a swig of your water bottle. The cool water gives your throat a short sense of relief as it travels down your esophagus. “This place is kind of overwhelming your first time. But we like to give customers samples of food so they can try it before they buy it?”

“Is this the local market for your region?” He asks, peering up at you. 

“Market? Region?” You ask, rolling your eyes, “Dude, I get you might be in character or whatever,” your eyes trailing up and down along his form, butterflies flitting about in your stomach as you really take notice of him. His skirt showing off his bare muscular legs, his strong torso filling out the chest plate of the armor he wore, his biceps straining against the fabric of his tunic, “But let’s keep it to today's times, please.” You grab one of the jalapeño poppers and shove it towards him. “Eat it.”

He takes it from you gingerly, fingers brushing against one another and a tingly sensation shoots straight through you to your core, thighs clenching together as you feel a rush of arousal seeping into your underwear. The man looks at you and then at the food.

“Just take a bite of it.” You laugh nervously, “Not like it’s poison or something.”

His eyes narrow at you with the mention of poison and he continues to stare at it.

“Look, I’ll even eat one too, so you know it’s not poisonous,” you murmur, picking up one of the jalapeños and taking a good-sized bite to prove your point. “Mmmm,” you let out an exaggerated hum around a mouthful of the disgusting appetizer. The man slowly brings the pepper to his lips before biting into it, grimacing at the foul taste in his mouth, but continues to swallow before grabbing another to devour. “Hey man, you’re only supposed to take one.” you caution, watching him eat the second sample before he grabs your water bottle, attempting to open it. “Woah now, hold on just a minute there.”

“Water!” he gasps, shaking your water bottle, his big hand gripping the flesh of his throat. “I need water.”

Your eyes widen, nodding dumbly as you open the water bottle for him and hand it over. He snatches it from your hands, suckling down the liquid in heavy gulps, watching as his throat bobs up and down as he swallows. It feels like someone has turned up the heat, your breath coming faster as you watch him. This should not turn you on as much as it is. This man is simply drinking water to quench his thirst.

“W-what’s your name?” you ask, the ache between your thighs growing in intensity the longer you stare, watching as he places the water bottle back on the table with a loud – thunk – he stares at you, his pupils overshadowing the deep brown of his irises.

“Marcus,” he growls. Your cunt flutters around nothing, hearing the baritone of his voice. “And yours?” you let out a small squeak, giving him your name. You can feel the sweat dripping down the column of your spine as you stand there staring at one another. You watch a bead of sweat slide down from his temple, trailing to the side of his neck. It makes your insides scream, wanting to leap across the table and lick it off his skin. You can’t take it anymore.

“Follow me,” you whisper, a small whimper escaping your lips, reaching across the table, gripping his wrist firmly, and pulling him to follow you to the back of the food section. The storage room for the freezers should be a good spot. No one likes going in there because of how cold it is but the frigid temperature doesn’t even register with the way your body feels like it’s on fire.

You grip Marcus’ wrist harder, pulling him in and shutting the door behind you, turning to face him. A puff of air escapes your lips as you breathe out, approaching him slowly, watching his dark eyes drink you in. He grabs your waist, pulling you flush against him, his mouth descending onto your own with a grunt as his tongue flicks against your bottom lip. You gasp, creating enough space between your lips for Marcus to plunge his tongue into your mouth, tongues rolling against one another, fighting for dominance. He grunts, pushing you against the wall, trailing his lips across the column of your throat.

“Marcus,” you pant, breath hitching at the simple touch of his lips against your neck. He groans as your fingers tug his dark curls, “More, Marcus. Please,” you beg, shoving his hand below your apron, letting him feel the heat of your pussy through the jeans that cover your legs. His hand comes to the waistband of your jeans, trying to tug them off before you help him unbutton them and slide them down your legs, kicking off your shoes in the process. Goosebumps ripple down your legs as Marcus’ strong calloused hands caress your skin, inching their way back towards your thighs.

“Beautiful,” Marcus hums, grabbing one leg and placing it on his shoulder, “Such a sight to behold,” he murmurs, kissing the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Marcus,” you gasp, your hand reaching down to grasp his hair and pushing his face where you want it most. He lets out a deep chuckle, nosing the fabric that covers your mound.

“You smell delicious, sweet girl,” He grins, taking a deep breath in against your pussy. His fingers toy with the elastic of your underwear, hooking them in and pulling your underwear to the side as his tongue makes contact with your center. Already feeling the coil in your belly tightening at the first contact of his tongue. You let out a ragged moan as his tongue swirls against your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, Marcus,” you whine, and he grunts against your pussy as you tug on his hair. The vibrations against your clit causing the coil to snap inside you. Your back bows as waves of pleasure wash over you. “ Fuckfuckfuckfuck ,” you cry out, smothering Marcus’ face with your juices.

Marcus stands, his lips and chin glistening from your arousal as he looks down at you, “My turn,” he grunts, gripping your waist quickly and pushing you to the nearest flat surface. His hand comes to the back of your neck, gently nudging you down against the pallet of fish sticks. You want to laugh at how ridiculous this all is, but a moan comes out instead, feeling his thick fingers push inside you. The frills of his skirt hit the back of your thighs, and your pussy clenches around his fingers, turning your upper half to try and get a look at him. His fingers leave the warmth of your sex, one hand still gently on the back of your neck while the other reaches under his skirt and tunic, pushing the fabric aside for his length to bob freely, shuffling closer to you.

“Oh gods, I need to feel your warmth around me,” He growls, looking up at the wrecked expression on your face, “This is okay, yes?” he asks, rubbing his tip between your folds. “Please tell me it’s okay,” he grunts, notching the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Fuck yes,” you cry out, the fire in your veins burning brighter from his touch, “Please,” you whisper, your legs trembling with effort to stay upright. Marcus snaps his hips forward, plunging his length into your heat. Your walls create space for him as his thick cock kisses your womb. Your hands scramble, attempting to find something to hold onto. Marcus’ arms reach past your shoulders, caging you beneath him as he grips your hands and shushes you.

“It’s all right, sweet girl,” he coos. “You’ll be fine,” he continues, pulling back a few inches before snapping back into your warmth with hunger. “Remember, it's my turn now.” He taunts, feeling your walls already beginning to flutter around him.

“Oh god,” you whimper, writhing as his length saws in and out of you with fervor.

“Oh gods, look at you,” Marcus grunts, grinding his cock into you harder, “Taking me so well,” he groans, squeezing your hands tighter as his hips continue to move against you. His chest comes flush against your back, “Are you going to come for me, sweet girl?” he breathes against your neck. You let out a pitiful moan and nod. “I can feel how much you’re enjoying this,” he comments with a grin, moving one of his hands down to your center, feeling his length punch into you over and over again.

“Fuck !” You scream out when Marcus pinches your clit, your walls clenching tightly around his cock as your orgasm takes over. It feels like a ball of energy has erupted within your body and zips down all your limbs, ears ringing as you faintly hear Marcus grunting and growling behind you. 

“Oh gods,” he shouts behind you, thrusting into you half a dozen more times before painting your walls with his warm spend, collapsing on top of you. “I have never felt like that,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

“Me neither,” you hum, feeling your body floating back to earth.

—

You pull your pants on clumsily as you hear your boss calling your name through the faint buzzing in your ears. 

“The hell are you woman?” Pushing through the freezer storage doors, John shouts, “Why are you back here?”

“I- we- I- well,” you start, smoothing your shirt down before slipping your apron back on.

“Save it,” John huffs, glaring between you and Marcus. “Get him outta this room,” he says, pointing at Marcus, “and start pulling those jalapeño poppers off the shelves. The FDA called every grocery store in the country and issued a mass recall. Apparently, they’re having some weird effect on people,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Sure thing, John,” you huff, walking with Marcus towards the door, giving John a pat on the shoulder, “But I gotta go to the health section first and see if we have any plan B in stock.”

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 21

part 1 | part 20 | ao3

“Right?” Steve asks, scratching his head as he glances back at the door. 

“No, I meant you, dingus! What the fuck was that with you?” 

Steve feels his face go hot. “What? What do you mean?” 

She throws her hands in the air, stomping over so she can get in his face and say, “Don’t ‘what do you mean’ me. Your faces” —she lifts her hands like she’s about to applaud, palms hovering an inch apart— “were like thiiis close to just…”

She claps them together, and Steve feels the blood drain right back out of his face, dread pooling in his gut as she twists her palms this way and that, like two people tilting their heads to kiss deeper. Oh, god. Oh, god. Were they—? 

“Mwah,” Robin says helpfully, mashing her hands more tightly together. “Mwah mwah mwah mwah—”  

Steve grabs her by the wrist. “Dude. Stop.” 

She drops her hands and stares at him — one of those Detective Buckley looks, combing over every inch of his soul for missed clues — and then her mouth does some horribly self-satisfied thing that he hates. “If I didn’t know any better,” she draws, “I’d say someone has a crush.” 

I’d say someone has a crush someone has a crush someone has a crush someone has a

Steve’s gonna pass out. The words feel like bile in his brain, acidic and sharp; like puking right after chugging a glass of orange juice. It’s not like he’s— 

Look, he knows that he’s— but—

The bell dings. Thank fucking Christ. A big family group, three generations of people talking and laughing and fussing over a baby in a stroller and carrying leftovers from the Italian place down the strip. 

Steve sags in relief. 

Robin hisses in his ear, “We are so not done talking about this.”

—

He doesn’t want to talk about it.

About Eddie, about the word Robin lobbed at him like a lit bottle rocket, about any of it.

Just thinking about it is giving him a stomach ulcer and a migraine and maybe an aneurysm, too. 

He was hoping he made that obvious enough during the last hour of their shift that Robin would just drop it, but that girl has never dropped a single thing in her life. Worse than Nancy, the little bloodhound. Steve saw this documentary once about crocodiles; remembers how they can lock their jaws shut after clamping down on their prey with up to 4000 PSI of pressure. 

That’s enough pressure to cut a person’s arm off with a jet of water. 

Damn, nature’s cool.

“Steve!” 

You know who’s not cool? 

“Steve!” Robin hollers again over the song he’s currently blasting to drown her out on the drive home. “Steve, you can’t use ABBA against me like this!”

Steve ignores her protests, responds by shout-singing “DIGGING THE DANCING QUEEN, OOH OOOOOH” at her in his most nasal falsetto because he absolutely can and will use ABBA against her like this, and it works like a charm. He’s pretty sure this song has, like, hypnotic power over her or something, because every time without fail she gives the answering “ooh-oo-oo-ooh-ooh-oooooh” as if on auto-pilot.

“HEY!” she shouts when she realizes what she’s doing. “No sir!” She reaches over and mashes the volume button. 

Silence falls over the car. Sucks the air out of Steve’s lungs in the sudden void; his ears adjust slowly, picking up the quiet thrum of the engine, the whispered whoosh of the wind outside. Is he ever going to get used to being kind-of-sort-of-deaf? This shit sucks.

“...Okay, look,” Robin says tentatively. She’s staring at the side of his head, and he keeps his eyes on the road; tightens his grip on the wheel. “We don’t have to talk about you, okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about with me.”

“Right!” she rushes to agree. Playing along like they don’t both know that’s bullshit. “Totally.”

Steve risks a glance at her. Her expression is earnest, some full-paragraph silent communication like: whatever bathroom-floor-confessional crisis you’re having, we can leave it alone for now. We can let it stay hidden in the dark corners for a little longer; I promise I’ll put my flashlight down. 

“Totally,” Steve echoes, nodding at her. 

“Okay. Cool. Cool…”

She lets out a long breath, cheeks puffing out as she sits on her hands. Oh, my god, just spit it out. “Can we please talk about him, though?”

—

part 22

tag list pt. 1 below the cut, comment if you want me to tag you tomorrow (heads up i'm not tagging any new under 21 or ageless blogs unless we’re mutuals or you dm me to verify your age. gonna purge this list when i get some free time)

@heartsong18 @hellion-child @hiimlevi @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @noodle-shenaniganery @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @pending-dope-username @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @questionablequeeries @remosdeerica @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @shamelesspatrolshepherdcowboy @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @taleah-bonnick @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thespaceantwhowrites @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures